The Home Ideal of Autarky

The home ideal of self-sufficiency

The ideal of autarky is historically connected to nineteenth-century class-based society and, in particular, to the role of domestic servants in middle- and upper-class households. Before the advent of piping servants carried the buckets of water upstairs, just as they also drained the dirty bath water. Maids emptied the chamber-pots and filled the stoves and furnaces with coal and removed the ashes again. Likewise servants lit the candles and oil lamps when lighting was not yet controlled with a switch. They were also the messengers before the telephone was installed, and their body strength powered the household before electrical devices were introduced. In other words servants were the hidden forces that kept these households running.⁴

From a nineteenth-century perspective servants contributed to the comforts of the home and as such represented the status of the household. That is why the number of servants was part of the Dutch tax on domestic wealth and comfort when it was introduced in 1805. Not only the number of servants, but also the number of windows, front doors and chimneys determined the level of the levied tax.⁵ The number of windows and front doors was a clear indication of the grandness of the house. More windows also brought more light into the rooms, while more than one front door regulated the important class separation between suppliers and visitors to the house.⁶ Not only was the position of windows and doors architecturally determined, the position of the servant quarters was also. Since the seventeenth century, the houses of the Dutch well-to-do were equipped with separate kitchens for cooking and washing up located in the basement or at the back of the house. Fig. 1

The spatial separation between the kitchen as the domain of the servants and the living quarters of the family increased the social distance between the classes. During the day servants stayed in the kitchen and at night they slept in simple bedrooms in the attic. Nineteenth-century town and country houses had separate staircases and passage-ways for servants to minimize the encounter between occupants and staff.⁷ This social play of hide-and-seek led to ingenious constructions of concealed doors to ‘allow’ maids to do the cleaning without being seen. Gradually domestic servants became invisible as they disappeared behind the wall or under the floor, as with basement kitchens.

Also the first electrical installations in nineteenth-century mansions contributed to the maid’s imperceptibility.⁸ The speaking-tube and, later on, the house telephone enabled the mistress of the house to give orders and communicate with her servant in the kitchen. In this way she could avoid as much as possible any actual physical contact with the servant class which was deemed dangerous. Another late nineteenth-century kitchen technology was the electric bell in combination with a panel indicating in what room the service of the domestic was required. ⁹ From the outset the wiring of these early electrical installations in the family’s living quarters was concealed behind decorative wooden mouldings. ¹⁰ The installation of modern conveniences in upper-class households reflected the social inequality of nineteenth-century class society, for servant quarters were initially passed over.

The International Servant Crisis

Considering the servants’ social devaluation, it is unsurprising that maids resigned when alternative employment opportunities–mostly factory jobs–were available. Domestic service, once the most respectable job for a working-class girl, became the least desirable, compared to the fixed working hours in offices and factories. The shortage of servants first became a truly social problem in American cities, but by the turn of the century it had evolved into a full-blown international servant crisis affecting most Western European countries. This was, perhaps, with the exception of Germany where the economic crisis after its defeat in World War I forced many well-educated German girls into foreign, mainly Dutch, domestic service. In threatening the home comfort of the upper classes, the servant shortage was so alarming that all kinds of initiatives were raised to counter the shortage.

There were two types of initiatives mirroring distinct political ideologies regarding the future of the household. The first was based on a socialist-inspired ideal to promote collective urban facilities in line with those created for the working classes, like the public bath and wash houses.¹¹ Although outsourcing had been a common upper-class solution for specialist household tasks it was always home-delivered and not performed in a public facility. In making the outsourcing of daily chores, like cooking and cleaning, acceptable to the upper classes it needed to be home delivered. One of the initiatives–following American examples–was the construction of luxurious apartment hotels with medium-size apartments which had neither dining rooms nor kitchens. All in-house facilities, like the cleaning and laundry service, and the collective restaurant, were run by a professional staff of mixed gender.¹² Fig. 2

In advocating the construction of apartment hotels in 1906 the Dutch architect Cornelis Rutten stressed the efficiency and economics of apartment living in view of the rising costs of hiring servants. One servant would not be enough to maintain a comfortable inhabitation of a big house. Rutten’s goal was to limit “foreign assistance” to the minimum, and make servants redundant in the near future.¹³ Another initiative to remedy the servant shortage for middle-class households was the establishment of so-called co-operative district kitchens, which provided take-away or home-delivered meals for its members, often in combination with a restaurant. The promotion of efficient kitchen designs and the help of electrical household appliances were all part of the middle-class strategy for fighting the servant crisis.¹⁴ The slogan of the Amsterdam electricity company in the early 1920s reflected the spirit of the times: “Let electricity be of help when your servant lets you down.”

The second type of initiatives was based on a new, but more conservatively inspired home ideal of rustic living, which emerged among the Dutch upper classes in the late nineteenth century. Wealthy urbanites left the city and settled down in newly built villa estates in the woods and commuted by motorcar to their urban places of work. The isolated location of the villas in combination with the inhabitants’ professed ideal of self-sufficiency, required private pumping stations, private power plants to generate electricity, and private sewerage in the form of underground septic tanks.¹⁵

Modern domestic conveniences like electricity and central heating were first installed in these rustic villas. The radiators of the central heating were hidden behind the wall panelling, for the nostalgic illusion counted most–as witnessed by the eye-catching fireplaces in the main rooms of the house. The illusion of self-sufficiency joined perfectly with the idea of an electrified household without servants. In reality, however, it proved to be very difficult to manage a villa household without maids. Therefore, employers lured village girls into service by providing them with luxury accommodations in a separate service wing of the house. The autarkic home ideal became increasingly identified with family privacy without prying servants.

The initiatives to counter the servant crisis by collectivizing the upper and middle-class households, like the construction of apartment hotels and the establishment of co-operative district kitchens, were very successful in the inter-war period, albeit short-lived. Private solutions like efficient kitchen designs and the help of electrical household appliances were far more popular in the post-war period. Although the rustic home ideal of self-sufficiency was dormant till the early 1970s, today it has become more prominent than ever, even in an urban context, as illustrated by solar panels on the roofs, private heating systems using the warmth of the earth, or the popular, but less environment-friendly, wood stoves.¹⁶ The energy crisis and the need for sustainable solutions has revived not only the home ideal of self-sufficiency, but also small-scale collective initiatives, like living groups, housing co-operatives, cooking for the neighbours, or car sharing.

Still the hidden locations of central heating boilers are today’s reminders of the former servant quarters, as they are customarily situated in the basement, on the attic, or in the kitchen. Also, the concealed wiring and piping in our homes contribute to the illusion of autarky and are, as such, a historic reminder of the fate of servants running up and down the hidden staircases. However, an early 1930’s American initiative to quantify the electric energy level of households in servant power, with reference to the horse power of cars, failed.¹⁷ If servant power had become the unit of the measure of electricity, it would have created a clear link to the past when the number of servants also indicated the status and wealth of a household. Nowadays the level of home automation is a better indication of the standard of comfort a household is striving for, but so far there is no unit of measure of automation.

Modern digital devices and displays often operate cordlessly, which means that the historical reference will soon be erased. Also, in view of the recent popular industrial trend in interior decoration, visible cords, in particular that of the lighting have become its main fashionable characteristic. The industrial trend typified as “masculine” has its roots in the late 1960s when American artists created simple dwellings and studios, so-called lofts, in former factory buildings in down-town areas. Over the decades loft living evolved into a posh affair which still conspires to the illusion of make-do living on bare concrete floors between damaged brick walls with visible traces of its former industrial use, like conduits and mains in plain view. Today’s loft living–stripped of its rough edges–has become the hallmark of an exclusive, cosmopolitan lifestyle for the young, rich and famous. The present industrial trend in interior styling illustrates the loft-living aspirations of many, albeit on a more modest scale.

Nostalgic illusions: From the fire screen to the flat screen

The creation of fireplaces in the main rooms of late nineteenth-century Dutch villas had everything to do with the nostalgic illusion of rural or traditional living that came from copying the hall of an English country house, or recreating a seventeenth-century interior with historic copies of mantelpieces in the dining room and study. Thanks to central heating there was no fear of getting a cold back as was the case with a traditional fire. Still the furniture arrangement remained traditional, for seats were always positioned next to the fireplace protected from the scorching heat of a burning fire. Different kinds of fire screens had to protect garment and carpet from sparks, and female faces from dehydration.¹⁸ The flanked position of the seats next to the fireplace was also copied in the nineteenth-century when the stove retreated from its former more central position in the room to its new position under the mantelpiece. Fig. 3 Traditional furniture arrangements have proven to be very persistent as illustrated by an early advertisement of central heating portraying a woman seated next to a radiator and protected by a screen, which is part of the panelling hiding the radiator. Fig. 4 The hiding of radiators was another reference to the inferior position of the former servants.

When central heating was installed in modern post-war social housing, heating efficiency demanded that radiators were not hidden behind the panelling of the inner walls, but prominently installed under the front window of the living room. Missing the traditional focal point of the mantelpiece the new inhabitants did not know how to arrange the furniture. At first the traditional flanked position was taken, which meant that the seats were placed not only next to the radiator, but also next to the window, which vicinity had always been avoided in wintertime. The inhabitants’ confusion in furniture arrangement was soon resolved when the television set was installed, which became the new focal point in Dutch living rooms. Initially also the television set demanded a position in proximity to the front window, not only to be in close range with the external cable leading along the façade to the aerial on the roof, but also and perhaps more so to keep the set’s connecting cable out of sight, denying its dependence on a public broadcasting system.

From the moment of its installation in the living room the television set changed roles with the mantelpiece by becoming the new house altar decorated with a runner, vase, table lamp and framed photo. Initially even the flanked furniture arrangement was copied with the easy chairs positioned next to the television set. The chairs were turned when the broadcasting started and positioned in front of the screen creating a kind of movie theatre.¹⁹ With the extension of the broadcasting hours the moving of the chairs became impractical and a new furniture arrangement evolved in combination with the lounge suite, which soon became the most popular furniture set in Dutch living rooms. Fig. 5

With the introduction of cable television, the set was no longer tied to its position next to the window. However, it often remained there. In line with the traditional trend in the interior decoration of the 1970s and 1980s modern technology had to be invisible. Also, television sets were put out of sight, hidden in a special cupboard of the wall unit. Just as the wall panelling had to be opened to enjoy the warmth of the hidden radiators, so the doors of the television cupboard had to be opened to watch television. Visible technology spoiled the nostalgic illusion of traditional furniture in the popular Old-Dutch style, which was a legacy of the autarkic illusion displayed in the interior of the nineteenth-century villas and country houses. Fig. 6

The substantial proportions of today’s flat screens have turned television sets from appliances into moving wallpaper, a resemblance which is a bit spoilt when the cord comes into view. At present different sizes of private screens in the shape of computers, laptops, tablets and smart phones have invaded the living room. In contrast to the television screen they are not fixed or integrated into walls, but mobile and hand-held by individual family members. Like their predecessor, these private, blue screens are criticized for ruining sociability among family members who, by handling their devices, demonstrate that they are more attracted to the world outside the living room.

Sociability in the spotlights

The present counter movement in regaining old-fashioned sociability in the Dutch living room is again centred around the dinner table and guided by nostalgic longings for the immediate post-war period when the central lighting above the table brought families together. Large, rectangular dinner tables centrally placed have become popular pieces of furniture in representing the nostalgic desire for traditional sociability entirely focussed on conversation and dining without the distraction of lighted screens. However, the purpose of the central position of the dinner table in nineteenth-century dining rooms lit by a chandelier hanging from the ceiling was not induced by sociability but related to the inferior status of servants.²⁰ They had to be able to move around unobtrusively and serve the guests at the table without reaching.²¹ As such it is one of many examples of the connection between servants and the location of technical facilities, in this case lighting.

The central position of lighting in upper-class dining rooms also became the installation standard of electric lighting in the modest living rooms of the newly built social housing of the 1920s. It resulted in a similar furniture arrangement with the dinner-table and chairs positioned in the centre of the small-sized room beneath the one and only electric lamp hanging from the ceiling. If space allowed, mum’s and dad’s easy chairs were put next to the stove in the traditionally flanked position. A sideboard and some additional high-backed chairs complemented the typical furniture arrangement in these cramped Dutch living rooms. The dinner-table, in combination with the lamp as the only source of lighting in the room, enforced a closely centred family sociability. Fig. 7 Old photographs of families peacefully gathered around the lit table may have become nostalgic icons of longed-for family intimacy at the dinner-table, but youngsters in the 1950s were far from pleased with this forced family togetherness around the dinner table.

A fifties’ promotion film made by the Philips company, a Dutch producer of light bulbs, vividly illustrated the youth’s dissatisfaction. The film starts with quarrelling family members around the table each striving not only for the best lighting for their activities, be it homework, reading the newspaper or knitting, but also for more personal space. Harmony returns as soon as each member is provided with his or her own standard lamp, which enables each of them to retreat into a corner of the room. As such it illustrates that the now criticized individualization in the family home started as early as the 1950s by extending the number of lamps in the living room which was at that time still the only heated room in the house.

In the advice literature of the 1930s the new professional class of interior designers²² vehemently criticized the table’s central position in these cramped living rooms, blaming the occupants for their spatial inefficiency.²³ Their complaint was rather ironic, considering the fact that in the nineteenth-century living spaces of the working classes the table was never placed in the middle of the room, but efficiently positioned at the window as the main source of daylight. In the evening stand-alone oil lamps lit the room. The designers’ crusade against inefficient use of space implied that not only the dinner-table had to be moved against the wall, but also the lamp fixture had to move from its central position to its new one on the ceiling, which would inevitably reveal the connecting electric cord. A general refusal to move the dinner table and a common acceptance of the living room’s spatial inefficiency showed that the concealment of wiring had become a status issue for the working classes too.

However, as soon as the mains connection in the living rooms of newly built houses in the 1960s shifted to an eccentric position in the ceiling, the majority gladly obeyed by positioning the rectangular dinner table with its small side at the wall. While it was disapproved to shift the table back to its former position at the window because of its association with the working classes. As such it proves that furniture arrangements in combination with the mains connection were not neutral, but imbued with status considerations.

A controversy brought to light

The meddlesomeness of interior designers in the 1930s also extended to the design of lamps and chairs, which had to be plain and honest in revealing their construction.²⁴ Not only were the popular tub chairs with their springy comfort – the upholsterer’s showpieces – banned for their dishonesty in concealing their construction, but also flowered lampshades for obstructing the clarity and brightness of electric light. For the same reasons, yellowish bulbs in the shape of candle flames, or electrified imitations of oil lamps were targeted for their nostalgic longing for the cosy clair-obscur of the past.²⁵

Again, the modernist plea did not find much acceptance, as witnessed by the presence of numerous wall-mounted lamps with decorative shades, the so-called twilight lamps, in Dutch living rooms in the post-war period. But the plea revealed a controversy between the modernists who preferred cool, bright light and the traditionalists who favoured warm, yellowish light. The controversy is still not settled, for modernists now favour the industrial trend in interior decoration with its huge industrial lamps of glass or steel shedding cool bright light from high ceilings, while traditionalists like the proximity of the warm yellowish light of real, or fake candles. In finding a more marketable solution designers composed an industrially styled lamp using several cords loosely wrapped around a wooden beam, each one ending in a nostalgic imitation of one of the first electric light bulbs. The bulbs’ yellow filaments create a much softer tone of lighting than the original bulbs, or for that matter the original industrial lamps. Like most Western Europeans, the Dutch do not favour bright light in their living room.²⁶

Stripped of their Christmas image, burning candles have become the prominent atmospheric lighting in marking the intended centre of sociability in Dutch living rooms. The position of the burning candles is indicative of the wished-for sociability. Candles on the dinner table indicate that conditions are created for old-fashioned, centred sociability to emerge, while candles on the coffee table in the sitting area, or in the empty fireplace, or even on the floor, create the nostalgic illusion of sitting at the fire. Candle light has an aura of romance, while bright light is associated with labour. Not only the position, but also the colour and intensity of the lighting have become culturally coded indicators of the expectations of the activities to take place in the room.

Domestic individualization

For the process of domestic individualization to proceed neither the table’s position, nor the creation of multiple lighted cosy corners in the living room, was enough. It required the replacement of the only stove in the living room by heated radiators in all rooms of the house. A heated bedroom allowed teenagers even in wintertime to retreat into the privacy of their own rooms to listen to pop music from radio stations or record players. Since the 1980s the bedrooms of even young children showed multiple private devices, not only television sets, but also karaoke sets, video players, audio-devices, and game computers.²⁷ The more recent mobile and wireless technology of laptops, tablets and smart phones enables youngsters to create individual privacy outside the domestic sphere, which puts family sociability under pressure.

Still watching television together–be it football matches or the binge watching of Netflix series – has become a popular pastime and engendered a new form of family sociability. The informality and physical nearness of sitting closely together on the sofa in the living room makes this new form of sociability even more intimate than the centred sociability of yore. Not only the viewers’ position opposite the screen, but also the reflection of their own faces and contours on the screen may typify this form as reflected sociability. Due to the present multiplication of screens this type of reflected sociability has become the dominant form of sociability among the younger generation, the form of which is no longer restricted to the privacy of the home. Fig. 8

Conclusion

The autarkic ideal is more alive than ever in the Netherlands, due to the imminent halt to the extraction of natural gas. For over five decades natural gas has been the clean fuel, invisibly transported by a huge underground network of mains from the wells in the north to not only each and every Dutch household, where it is used for heating and cooking, but also to electricity generating stations. While the state-induced transition to sustainable energy production proceeds slowly, climate-conscious individuals feel more urgency in realizing their autarkic home ideal as witnessed in the installation of solar panels and heat exchangers on the roof, and heat pumps at the back of the house. The inconspicuous locations of these autarkic solutions are reminiscent of the relegation of servants who powered the upper-class households of the past. Above all, the subsequent shortage of servants stimulated the autarkic home ideal, which is still more a cherished illusion than an actual reality.

It is not inconceivable that in the near future autarkic and sustainable solutions will acquire more prominence in proudly displaying the household’s climate-consciousness. The present industrial trend in the interior of fashionably displaying cords and conduits formerly would have been unthinkable too. So far, the trendy display of cords and conduits in the interior has not resulted in a similar display of cables and mains penetrating the walls of our houses, which would lay bare our dependence on collective external facilities. Most people like to think of their houses as an impenetrable fortress, which coincides with the ideal of autarky, while, in reality, our houses are more like porous sponges ready to absorb and exude. The very idea of the porousness of our homes scares us, and that is why the contributions of electricians, heating installers and plumbers to the comforts of home are so widely ignored.

The impact of electric lighting and central heating on the comforts of the living room have been the focus of this essay. The electrician’s installation of power points has determined the potential centres of family sociability in the living room and the degree of individualization. Not only the number and location of lit lamps in the room, but also their colour and intensity have become important indicators of the wished-for sociability. In installing central heating in all rooms of the house the installer enabled the development of individual privacy in the home. Still our current sense of domestic comfort does not tolerate such visible installations. That is why today’s technical installations, such as boilers, control panels and fuse boxes are still hidden in basements, meter cupboards and facility rooms.

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