Opus 41: "Make Yourself at Home!" - The Concept of Home (abridged)
Make yourself at home, we say. There is, however, something odd about this expression: how is that possible? How can we pretend to be at home when we fully know that we are under the roof of someone else's home? This leads to the main question of my presentation: what does “home” mean? I would like to argue that home is built by differences. Differences, significantly, is grounded on language, which is imaginary. By language, I take the more general meaning of a system of signification. My meaning of “language” then is not restricted to natural language, such as English or Chinese. One’s conduct, dress or habits are also systems of signification and therefore considered as language.
The most common usage of the word “home” usually describes a house that we live in. One might wonder: how is it possible that “home” as a house, which is a physical space, be an imaginary construction, built by differences and on language? After all, I may do all kinds of things at my home without speaking a single word. If I step outside of my home, I physically step outside of it. My home is not imaginary like my imaginary friend. This argument, firstly, fails to recognize the distinction between the concept of “home” and the physical manifestation of “home” in a house. “Home” is really the idea of a space where one invests certain qualities to, such as familiarity, comfort, protection and privacy. A house does not inherently have any of these qualities. Houses may have home-like qualities only if we make a conscious or unconscious investment.
Secondly, there is no idea of “home” without differences or ideas of that which is not home. The reason why I know where my home is is because I know when I am not at home. How I come to know that is through differences marked by language. For example, one may take a chair from my home to a lecture hall, and that chair will come to function differently. The chair is a signifier, which has its meaning through differences. At home it might mean that I can put my shoes on it; in a lecture hall, it definitely functions as a seat for human beings. Language constructs differences, which differences in turn distinguish that which is “home” and that which is not.
“Home” does not have to refer to a specific house. It can also refer to city, country, family, religion and culture. But in all different categories of home the principle of home as built by differences on language remains the same. The only difference between all of these categories is the language that is used to signify the differences. The different boundaries of home in these different languages can be contradictory within or without their specific category, but they gain meaning when an individual decides to make an investment for home. In some cases, these boundaries have real, material existence: I am at home in Lulu Island, not Whistler. In some cases the boundaries are political: I am at home in Canada, not in the United States. Still in other cases the boundaries are more oriented in a specific group of people: I am at home because I can have a family dinner, not dinner at some random restaurant with some random people. All of these, however, are investments. They are arbitrary markers of differences grounded on language.
This formulation of the concept of home as grounded on language is important because it suggests that home is not an essential, stable concept. On the one hand, language, as I have suggested before, is materially influenced and therefore evolves through time and space. Hence, differences as marked out by language also changes through time and space. On the other hand, and perhaps more importantly to our specific enquiry, the concept of home is complicated by the fact that human beings communicate in more than one language, language being taken in the most general sense. Not only do many signs clash with each other in meaning, some signs find no direct translations between the languages an individual might have. If languages change, and differences erupt, then there exists ever changing and challenging contentions in the boundaries of home.
This leads us directly into the question of home especially for the diaspora. What is “home” for the diaspora? Well, I have been arguing that home is always built, not an everlasting essence. It is a continuous construction. The construction, however, is very complex. The complexity has many layers. But overall, one can summarize the complexity into three categories: resistance, assimilation and accommodation. Resistance is the exclusion of other languages outside the home language. Assimilation is a hybridization of the home language and the exterior language to form a new language and therefore a new home space. Accommodation is fitting the home language into an empty space within the exterior language without altering the home language. By no means are all three attitudes toward the construction of home mutually exclusive. In fact, there is really no such thing as successful resistance (because by virtue of resisting one is already changing); and assimilation and accommodation often blend into each other.
* * *
Resistance, accommodation and assimilation: as I have tried to show, “home” for diaspora is always changing in these three ways. Indeed, these are three ways in which home space are constructed. The boundaries of home are ever fluid, never essential. One resists, accommodates and assimilates differences through language. Language, however, is imaginary: the landscape of Canada is physical, but the meaning of the landscape is imaginary.
So what if home is fluid and imaginary? What is the significance of “home” if we now modify our definition of home from an essential one to a constructive one? Home, too, is a site for power. It is a site where one can include and, more powerfully, exclude. Diaspora is often left behind in the politics of home because they do not seem to belong to anywhere. Chinese-Canadians, for example, has a difficult time of finding a space of belonging: dominate Canadian culture (whatever that is) has a difficult time in opening up its boundary to include Chinese-Canadians as Canadians; dominate Chinese culture (whatever that is) are also very protective of its home boundaries. The term “banana” refers to someone who is yellow or Chinese on the outside, and white or Westernized on the inside. If “home” is always a construction, then diasporas have a place of belonging. They are no longer either here nor there, because there is no here nor there. It is with language that we come to construct our homes. At the same time, by understanding the constructive nature of home, we also come to understand, accept and respect other people’s homes, and therefore their identities and differences. The expression “make yourself at home” is very profound: we literally have to make ourselves at home.
The most common usage of the word “home” usually describes a house that we live in. One might wonder: how is it possible that “home” as a house, which is a physical space, be an imaginary construction, built by differences and on language? After all, I may do all kinds of things at my home without speaking a single word. If I step outside of my home, I physically step outside of it. My home is not imaginary like my imaginary friend. This argument, firstly, fails to recognize the distinction between the concept of “home” and the physical manifestation of “home” in a house. “Home” is really the idea of a space where one invests certain qualities to, such as familiarity, comfort, protection and privacy. A house does not inherently have any of these qualities. Houses may have home-like qualities only if we make a conscious or unconscious investment.
Secondly, there is no idea of “home” without differences or ideas of that which is not home. The reason why I know where my home is is because I know when I am not at home. How I come to know that is through differences marked by language. For example, one may take a chair from my home to a lecture hall, and that chair will come to function differently. The chair is a signifier, which has its meaning through differences. At home it might mean that I can put my shoes on it; in a lecture hall, it definitely functions as a seat for human beings. Language constructs differences, which differences in turn distinguish that which is “home” and that which is not.
“Home” does not have to refer to a specific house. It can also refer to city, country, family, religion and culture. But in all different categories of home the principle of home as built by differences on language remains the same. The only difference between all of these categories is the language that is used to signify the differences. The different boundaries of home in these different languages can be contradictory within or without their specific category, but they gain meaning when an individual decides to make an investment for home. In some cases, these boundaries have real, material existence: I am at home in Lulu Island, not Whistler. In some cases the boundaries are political: I am at home in Canada, not in the United States. Still in other cases the boundaries are more oriented in a specific group of people: I am at home because I can have a family dinner, not dinner at some random restaurant with some random people. All of these, however, are investments. They are arbitrary markers of differences grounded on language.
This formulation of the concept of home as grounded on language is important because it suggests that home is not an essential, stable concept. On the one hand, language, as I have suggested before, is materially influenced and therefore evolves through time and space. Hence, differences as marked out by language also changes through time and space. On the other hand, and perhaps more importantly to our specific enquiry, the concept of home is complicated by the fact that human beings communicate in more than one language, language being taken in the most general sense. Not only do many signs clash with each other in meaning, some signs find no direct translations between the languages an individual might have. If languages change, and differences erupt, then there exists ever changing and challenging contentions in the boundaries of home.
This leads us directly into the question of home especially for the diaspora. What is “home” for the diaspora? Well, I have been arguing that home is always built, not an everlasting essence. It is a continuous construction. The construction, however, is very complex. The complexity has many layers. But overall, one can summarize the complexity into three categories: resistance, assimilation and accommodation. Resistance is the exclusion of other languages outside the home language. Assimilation is a hybridization of the home language and the exterior language to form a new language and therefore a new home space. Accommodation is fitting the home language into an empty space within the exterior language without altering the home language. By no means are all three attitudes toward the construction of home mutually exclusive. In fact, there is really no such thing as successful resistance (because by virtue of resisting one is already changing); and assimilation and accommodation often blend into each other.
* * *
Resistance, accommodation and assimilation: as I have tried to show, “home” for diaspora is always changing in these three ways. Indeed, these are three ways in which home space are constructed. The boundaries of home are ever fluid, never essential. One resists, accommodates and assimilates differences through language. Language, however, is imaginary: the landscape of Canada is physical, but the meaning of the landscape is imaginary.
So what if home is fluid and imaginary? What is the significance of “home” if we now modify our definition of home from an essential one to a constructive one? Home, too, is a site for power. It is a site where one can include and, more powerfully, exclude. Diaspora is often left behind in the politics of home because they do not seem to belong to anywhere. Chinese-Canadians, for example, has a difficult time of finding a space of belonging: dominate Canadian culture (whatever that is) has a difficult time in opening up its boundary to include Chinese-Canadians as Canadians; dominate Chinese culture (whatever that is) are also very protective of its home boundaries. The term “banana” refers to someone who is yellow or Chinese on the outside, and white or Westernized on the inside. If “home” is always a construction, then diasporas have a place of belonging. They are no longer either here nor there, because there is no here nor there. It is with language that we come to construct our homes. At the same time, by understanding the constructive nature of home, we also come to understand, accept and respect other people’s homes, and therefore their identities and differences. The expression “make yourself at home” is very profound: we literally have to make ourselves at home.
posted by Tristan at 9:19 p.m.
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