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“He who is unhappy with his existence will have difficulties fully living.“

Immanuel Kant[1]

The catchy and provocative slogan “Still dwelling or already living?” (“Wohnst Du noch oder lebst Du schon?”) is for German consumers synonymous with an international furniture retailer. Making skilful use of the stylistic device of semantic friction, it sets up a rivalry between the verbs “wohnen” (living as in dwelling) and “leben” (living as in being), and implies, through its use of “still” and “already”, an evaluative opposition not present in everyday usage. The English language is by comparison not as discriminating, using the verb “to live” to denote both meanings.

The message behind the slogan implies the promise of a more dynamic, more intensely lived domestic experience.[2] Whether this can be attributed to the then (mid-20th-century) revolutionary, low-cost concept of a Swedish furniture retailer where the customer becomes part of the production process and assembles the furniture himself is doubtful. A contradiction in terms therefore remains; after all dwelling is by definition inherently linked to the notion of settlement. So where does the supposed opposition between “dwelling” and “living” come from? Without wanting to give the game away: the “essence of living” is always characterised by a degree of ambivalence.

Strictly speaking, to live, although an active verb, is not an activity in itself. It would seem ridiculous to say “Right at this moment, I’m living” while standing in one’s home. People usually talk about how they live when they are outside of their own four walls: “I live on the edge of a wood … on the third floor … have lived alone for twenty years … in lodgings…”[3] So although not a distinct activity in itself, the act of living can be regarded as a succession of many individual actions. These are by no means trivial things: a large part of our lives consist of ritualised activities, for example cooking, eating, washing, sleeping and clearing up. Through their regular repetition, consistent pattern and our own recurring gestures, we internalise them physically until they happen “of their own accord” without us having to think about them. The repetition and regularity with which we do things becomes habit and creates a feeling of dependability and security and not least relieves us of the need to continually make new decisions.[4]

For this reason, “to live” can mean to have found one’s place. The notion of living derives from the root of the verb “to gain” and “to wander”, “to roam”, “to search for something”. In the history of mankind, living is a comparatively recent manifestation. The primeval cave, hut or tent has little in common with our contemporary understanding of living. It was not until the Middle Ages that the notion of residing in one place, “to remain”, “to stay”, “to become accustomed to” became anchored in the Old Saxon verb “wonen”, which in turn was derived from the Germanic root “wunian” meaning “Wonne” (delight), “well-being”, “to strive for something”, “to enjoy”, “to be satisfied” and not least “to be enclosed” or to be physically protected.

“To stay” (indoors, in a building), however, does not fully render the contemporary understanding of living. If I stay with a friend, this does not mean that I live there. One’s home represents much more: it is one’s “third skin”, a place of one’s own, a place that encompasses the self. As such, living belongs unequivocally in the category “modern identity”,[5] as echoed by the saying: “Show me where you live and I’ll tell you who you are.”

The ongoing process of habituation results in a growing sense of familiarity with our surroundings that we can call living in a both narrower and broader sense. Through habit we impart a sense of familiarity on a strange environment and begin to live our own lives. Thus living signifies how intricately habit and home are interwoven. It is this interlacement that turns a place where we live into our home. The turbulences associated with moving house have much more to do with breaking with old patterns and developing new habits than with adjusting to a different spatial configuration.[6] We only need think back to the first days and weeks after moving into a new home to know how powerful the force of habit can be.

An inevitable habitual activity that is quite possibly inherent to living is the gesture of opening and closing. Entering and leaving a room is framed by this twin gesture.[7] The door, its frame and the threshold beneath our feet represent a transitional space that we experience physically, whether it leads from one room to the next or from the apartment into the outside world. We also open and close curtains and blinds, cupboards and drawers, a jewel box or a laptop. Superficially, this act describes how we enter or leave a room or our home, how we regulate how much light enters the room or put away our belongings, but at a deeper level it is about experiencing spatial boundaries between “the world” and our own private realm.[8]

Conversely, opening up our private space to strangers means that we reveal information about ourselves and the conditions in which we live; the latter is a more meaningful indicator of ourselves than other supposedly intimate personal details we might volunteer such as “I am vegetarian”. How we choose to live is an expression of our inner selves, externalised outwardly in the form of furnishings as well as the kind of flat or house we live in (period building or new building, terraced house or penthouse). Living is an interactive process between the inhabitant(s) and the room. This interdependency is indissoluble; as I shape the space I live in, so too do I form myself, and vice versa. For the German philosopher Martin Heidegger, being and the built are entwined at a level far greater than “one’s own four walls”. For him “bauen” (to build) as it was originally spoken, “buan, bhu, beo”, is directly related to “bin” (to be). Here the notion of dwelling, and with it the radius of one’s being, is extended far beyond the boundaries of a single enclosed space: “To be a human being means to be on the earth as a mortal. It means to dwell.”[9]

Designing how we live

As intimated at the outset, living can only be superficially shoehorned into “two rooms, kitchen and bathroom”. How and where we live is both trivial as well as deeply existential. For each of us, home is where our own private lives begin, that which makes up who we are.[10] That said, contradictory characteristics arise as soon as the question shifts to qualitative issues such as what form the place where we live should take. On the one hand people suppose that they will find utter bliss in their dream home, on the other “an apartment can kill a man just as easily as an axe!”[11] Accordingly, the question of what an “ideal floor plan” should look like has preoccupied generations of architects for years.

One possible approach, as proposed by the mathematician and architect Christopher Alexander, may lie in distinctly smaller spatial elements or configurations. Alexander strives for a more humane architecture oriented around basic human needs and advocates the dissolution of customary architectonic structures in favour of needs-oriented elements. Rather than placing one room next to the other, in 1977 he proposed a series of basic (relational) patterns which can serve as a basis for the design. According to the architectural theorist, the 253 patterns contained in his book “A Pattern Language” form a structure much like words in a sentence, which can be assembled without having to concern oneself with the actual architectonic appearance. Here Alexander is much more interested in archetypal spatial qualities and elements that apply across cultural boundaries, for example “a bench in front of the house”.[12]

Another building that eschews traditional architectural plans is the so-called “Future Evolution House” being built in Vienna at the time of writing. As its name suggests, the architectural concept of the building not only picks up on Alexander’s ideas but also takes into account the factors of time and evolution. Appropriately, the building will be the home and work space of the future consultant Matthias Horx and his family. The building plan has straightforward labels such as “Love” for where he and his wife will spend time together and “Guests” for the children’s room. The latter may seem shocking for those with a more traditional notion of the family, but as Horx explains, “such thinking supposes that their children will never grow up and leave of their own accord […]. Most people who build a house claim that they are building it for their children. That is utter rubbish.” A house, according to Horx, should not constrain but provide orientation; it should be a hub from where the inhabitants can move around.[13]

Ever since the terrorist attacks on 11th September 2001, sociologists and trend researchers report an increasing tendency towards introversion and staying at home. Professionals use the term “cocooning”, conjuring up images of the caterpillar spinning a cocoon around itself. This withdrawal into the protective sphere of one’s own four walls is posited as an expression of our basic need for safety and security. This return to domesticity is not entirely new. The pioneering American trend researcher Faith Popcorn claims to have “discovered” this tendency as far back as the beginning of the 1980s. At that time cocooning was a synonym for cosiness. The futurologist Horst W. Opaschowski explains the new-found enthusiasm for the home as follows: “The desire to come to rest, to be left in peace and to take things easy points to a shift of consciousness in which the home and home environment play a more important role in one’s quality of life.”[14]

Living in the future

But what is new about the way we live? Our notion of the home is indeed a phenomenon of the modern age and is in the first instance a most personal affair. At the same time it has also become a collective experi­ence. Notions of contemporary living are always an expression of the respective conditions in society and are as such constantly changing. This is particularly evident in the increase in floor area per person, which according to the German Federal Statistical Office has risen sharply over the last few decades: between 1968 and 2002 the average floor area per person has risen by nearly 70% to over 40 m². The trend researcher Harry Gatterer predicts that “the trend towards large living quarters will continue in the future”.[15] At the same time there will be a shift in the way living quarters are arranged: in future, living quarters will be divided into wellness, entertainment and “work@home” zones, according to a study by the Zukunftsinstitut.[16] “The conventional separation into three or four rooms will disappear,” explains Gatterer, “what was once home sweet home” will in future have to fulfil a whole variety of different requirements and needs. The home will serve simultaneously as a place of retreat, of self-fulfilment and as a platform for outward display. One’s living quarters become an expression of one’s personality.

The role of the kitchen in the future will likewise change: living and cooking areas are already fusing optically into a single room with an increased emphasis on comfort and leisure. Friends and family now meet around the kitchen counter. As the social role of the kitchen increases, even those with little interest in cooking are investing in more expensive kitchen fittings. The bathroom, which is already experiencing a shift from washroom to wellness oasis, will be just one of a series of further places for relaxation and contemplation. For example, a private garden, balcony or loggia becomes a place to allow one’s creativity free reign in the outdoors.

The dedicated study or workroom has seen its day. Wireless communications allow one to work with the laptop on the terrace or at the kitchen table. In addition, the “Smart Home” of tomorrow will be equipped with in-built sensors for a more personal ambience and greater security. For example, one will be able to switch between different lighting scenarios via a touch screen, and a fingerprint scanner would obviate the need for door keys.

The desire for greater security is already affecting the structure of cities and neighbourhoods. People with similar cultures and financial backgrounds will congregate in certain neighbourhoods. According to the experts, Gated communities for senior citizens of the like seen in the USA are unlikely to gain ground in Germany; new forms of living for the elderly will, however, certainly become more popular. Most old people today want to live their own lives in a manner they are accustomed to rather than living in an old people’s home.

Whether in old age or as a family, urban living looks set to become a model for the future. In addition to the dense network of services and range of cultural activities that make city life attractive, this tendency could also help improve the environment. Short distances and public transport obviate the need to drive. In addition to reducing petrol consumption, considerable resources can also be saved by building new housing using sustainable building materials and designing them to require less heating.

Such is the opinion of the experts. But are we not all experts in living trends? After all, from childhood to old age we oscillate back and forth between continuity and change and – sooner or later – settle into one or the other semi-permanent makeshift solution. The Swiss author Sibylle Berg finds this reassuring, arguing that “living honed to perfection is a little like being dead”.[17]

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Originally published in: Eckhard Feddersen, Insa Lüdtke, Living for the Elderly: A Design Manual, Birkhäuser, 2011.