A Man's Home is ... ?

It has been said that “A man’s home is his castle”. What does this phrase mean? And is it true? And, if so, what does that imply in trying to understand the psychology of man?

The phrase, by itself, implies at first glance that a man is the absolute ruler of his own home. It acquires this coloration due to its instinctive association with the politically-incorrect, patriarchal culture of days gone by wherein the man was ranked as dictator, bully, tyrant, Lord and Master, with wife and children to serve his every whim. This was certainly never the actual case for every family within society at large, but there was enough truth to the characterization to sustain the caricature for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. In reality, a man had no more and no less authority in his own home than he was able to earn by his leadership, strength, devotion and charisma; indeed, no man in the past or present age could live in a vacuum, and the pressure of family, neighbors and cultural institutions was generally sufficient to remind the man of the limitations of his assignedment.

A man’s role was to work to provide food, clothing and shelter for his family, to defend them at the risk of his own life, and to pass on the skills and knowledge necessary to ensure the survival of the following generations. It was neither more nor less important than the woman’s role; it merely complemented it.

Owing to the nature of the work generally assigned to a man, there is inherent risk in his everyday activities. There is the risk that he will lose status due to mistake or accident, thereby degrading his earning potential. There is the risk that he will fail at his attendant duties to provide for his family, bringing shame and degradation – if not desolation – to his family. There is the risk that he will die before his offspring have achieved maturity, thus placing his legacy in jeopardy.

Every action of the man outside his home incurs a risk, and every risk that a man takes incurs stress. Stress can serve to drive a man to further achievement, it is true; but it may also serve to poison a man’s mind and body to the point where he can no longer function. Stress is a normal part of life, but it must be ladled out in measured doses to avoid permanent damage.

When a man goes forth from his home to begin his workday, he prepares himself for the stress, both mentally and physically. Internal to his psyche, there is a predetermined limit to the amount of stress he can tolerate with good grace, and, generally, he accepts that he can endure it to within a certain range of that limit for the period of time he expects to be out and about in the world. Should the level rise above his expectations in the course of one day, he may comfort himself with the knowledge that this day must, after all, come to an end, and there will come an hour when he will be free to leave the source of the stress and retire to his ‘castle’. Certainly the cause of the stress may not be removed, but there will be a time during which he will not be in direct contact with that cause, and may have opportunity to recharge his internal batteries.

When a man retires at the end of the workday to enter his ‘castle’ home, he has certain expectations of his homecoming based on the events of the day, and the aggregate level of stress which has built up in his mind during the day. First and foremost, he expects that there should be no more additional stress encountered when he walks through the door. Were this to be the case, there would be no reason to come home, unless the man were a masochist. Second, he expects that those who greet him upon his arrival are genuinely glad that he has come home, or, at the very least, they do not express open displeasure. Were he to be met with an indication that his presence is less than desirable, again, there would be no logical reason to come home. Finally, he expects that other members of the family have been toiling as himself in their assigned duties to improve generally the situation such that the overall status of the family and its possessions is at least no worse than the day before.. In short, he expects that the house is still standing, the electricity is still flowing, the water is not leaking from the pipes, the debris from the day’s activities has been cleared (mostly) from the floor, and he will be able to enjoy a small moment of peace and tranquility in the company of his dearest loved ones.

Notice that the man does not immediately begin to issue orders for his family, or demand that they bow and scrape and obey his every whim. He does not expect to plop into the recliner and prop his feet upon the ottoman and read the paper while the rest of the family cooks and cleans and fetches his slippers. Indeed, he does not desire the role of a spectator when in the company of his dearest loved ones, but rather to be an integral player in the ongoing drama. He understands that there are certain skills that are beyond him, and he does not attempt to usurp anyone else’s gifts, but instead seeks to help out with the daily tasks as best he can. He helps the children pick up toys, he answers difficult scholastic questions (or confirms the wise mother’s answers, if asked), he helps focus little minds on the important jobs to which they have been assigned, and above all he tries to engage his wife in conversation of the type and caliber to which she may not have heard for many an hour. His goal is to re-connect into the life of the family, to re-establish the mental and emotional bonds which have been strained by physical absence through the course of the day, to fall back into the comforting and comfortable flow that defines the organism to which he belongs, in which he is loved and accepted.

This is the ideal. This is what the man strives for every day, though he may not recognize it. It is what he longs for, though he may misinterpret the feeling at times. When the actual does not correspond with the ideal, problems will arise.

Take the simplest example: he arrives at home after a stressful day, and his wife is angry with the children for one reason or another. Perhaps they are unwilling to work on their assigned chores, or simply too hyperactive to take instruction. She is frustrated but cannot express her feelings with them because they are too immature to understand, so as soon as he husband arrives, she vents her frustration in his direction. She is not meaning to deride him for anything he has done (other than siring difficult children!), but she must take advantage of the opportunity of explaining her feelings to the first person with the ability to understand and sympathize. He is taken aback, thinking that he was going to escape stress by coming home, and instead is now forced to add just a little bit more to his already-full cup. If she is the type of person who is unable to signify by her words or expression that she is not, in fact, yelling at him, but is merely expressing her anger at the one person most likely to understand, he might misinterpret her expression and begin to think himself unwelcome in his own house. His immediate impulse is either to lash back at her in defense, or jump back in the car and leave as fast as possible, neither of which is particularly helpful, and both of which may result in serious damage to the relationship. Alternatively, he may even assume that she wishes him to punish the children immediately, which most certainly will cast a dark pallor over the entire evening’s activities.

The man wishes for nothing more than peace and tranquility (which is not the same thing as ‘quiet’), especially during the one moment of the day where he is granted the gift of sitting down at a table with his beloved family and sharing a meal. He has fought the good fight all day long, and now desires to replenish his physical and emotional stores in order to be ready the following morning to repeat the process. He wants to sit down at a table surrounded by his loving family and share a good meal and some good conversation (and possibly even some inane jokes). He wants to let his family know that he has fought for them this day, that he has endured the pressures of the workplace for their benefit, so that they might have a place to live and eat and grow, and that there is nothing more important to him on this earth than his family. And he expects that somehow, they might recognize that this is an important time that he wants to share with them, and would hope that for this one little moment in the day, they can all cast aside the concerns of their own day, and just concentrate on the joy of being with one another.

But – the children don’t like what was cooked for dinner. They complain about how it looks or how it tastes (generally, without tasting it). Or they won’t sit still. Or they didn’t want to help set the table. Or they forgot to wash their hands. Or they are bickering with each other. And suddenly dinnertime turns into another battleground, not unlike the one he just left, and now the evening is ruined and the stress level has gotten even higher, and he’s wondering if it’s going to be like this every night. He has a sudden urge to just stand up and walk away. He doesn’t need this conflict, this anger; he’s already been there, done that.

The castle walls have been breached. There are barbarians inside the gates.

Here’s another example: he gets up in the morning, before the sun rises, to help the kids get breakfast, to make lunches, to get the coffee for his lovely wife, to feed the cats, to do all those things that need to be done to prepare the family for the new day, and he goes about his tasks with simple-minded purpose and joy in his heart to be able to serve them this way. A moment later, he is on his knees attempting to scrape cat-vomit off the carpet – again! – and furiously planning the demise of those wicked, house-wrecking animals. What has turned The Joy of the Morning into Dante’s Inferno? After all, it’s just an accident. Cats do that sort of thing every day, especially cats who don’t go outside. What’s the big deal?

Is the man overreacting? Perhaps, if it were just a place, just a building, just a (ruined) carpet. But it is not just a place – it is his castle, his Fortress of Solitude, his Secret Garden, his Shangri-La, and the cat is treating it as nothing better than a field of anonymous grass and dirt, a place as worthless as to be vomited upon. And keep in mind also that this same cat thinks nothing of leaving its fur and dander in generous quantities throughout the house – on the floor, on the furniture, on the beds. After a time, the man feels that the cat’s sole purpose in life is to destroy all that he has worked so hard to build, and then to (in effect) spit upon the remains.

Yes, yes, it’s just a cat, and cats do that sort of thing. It’s a fact. We accept it. But it is not the biological reality that matters here; rather, it is the perception of the event in the mind of the man. The man’s castle has been defiled. Trashed. Spoiled. What was once a (relatively) pristine environment has been turned into a waste-heap. And while we can accept the ‘normal’ rate of decay of natural objects because we understand the concept of entropy, we cannot accept the fact that we have allowed entities (other than our own offspring) behind its walls whose sole purpose seems to be its slow, painful destruction - entities whose presence within our ‘castle’ is purely optional.

The castle walls are crumbling.

Is it any wonder, then, that the man may oftentimes express a strong sentiment in opposition to these effects? Is it a complete surprise when his anger boils over at a seemingly innocuous, accidental event?

Let’s look at one more example.

The garage is generally accepted as the man’s ultimate personal space, his final refuge from life’s turmoil. When things get tough, the tough get going ... to the garage. His tools are there, his cars are there, his power toys are there. Unfortunately, sometimes he must share this little world. In some cases, he shares it with large appliances (washer, dryer, freezer), or lawn maintenance supplies, or exercise equipment, or piles of boxes with all those items which were never unpacked from the last move. In more drastic cases, he must share it with cat litter boxes. (Well, you don’t really want them in the house proper, do you?) That’s not too bad, though. It’s one of the reasons we tolerate cats at all, because we don’t have to take them for long walks in order for them to relieve themselves. It is possible to co-exist with them in one house and not suffer the scatalogical consequences.

Unless ...

Say you have two cats, a male and a female. And as a responsible cat owner, you read up on the literature about cats. Now, according to cat psychologists, female cats don’t care where they ‘go’; they’ll use whatever facilities you place at their disposal. Male cats, however, are a bit more picky. They don’t share litter boxes, and they are extremely sensitive to your ability to keep the litter box clean. Should you fail in your duties by not providing them a litter box of their own, or by not taking the time to clean up the one they have, they will utilize a distinctive messaging mechanism whose purpose is to alert you to your mistake. They will ‘go’ somewhere else. Could be the garage, could be the living room carpet, could be the kitchen floor. Just so long as you get the point. And if you don’t, they’ll repeat it until you do.

But you, as a responsible cat owner, have done your homework. You are prepared. You have installed not one, but two litter boxes, one for each animal. And you are diligent about keeping them clean.

So the man walks out into his garage in the morning to climb into his car and drive off to do battle with the big, bad barbarian hordes at work. Then he stops because there is an impediment in his path. Right next to the door of his car, in fact. A present from the male cat. A pile of cat dung.

The man is angry, and he is angry not because the cat has chosen to do this vile thing, but rather that he does not understand why it has happened at all. Has he not provided adequate facilities already? Was his research flawed? Has the cat gone blind? Does the cat wish to lodge a complaint about the cleaning schedule of its ‘facilities’? The man walks back to the litter boxes. They are both relatively clean. So why has the cat done this? The man is puzzled, confused, mystified. The chain of logic has broken down somewhere. This is not the way it should be. A man should always understand why things happen in his own house.

In the mind of the man, the cat has spoken. “Puny man,” he says, “you may think that you own this castle, that you control the things which are under you’re roof, but you are sadly mistaken. You cannot control me. You cannot understand me. I laugh at your ridiculous efforts! I can pollute this place and there is nothing you can do about it. It is not you who are master of this dwelling, but I – and I hereby violate this place just to spite you!”

No, the man’s home is not his castle. The man’s home is a Zoo, full of interesting, strong-willed, stubborn, uncontrollable creatures who derive great pleasure from destroying what little peace and quiet might exist within its walls. Some of them he loves dearly, others he merely tolerates – but all of them drive him toward the only true refuge left in the world.

The bathroom.