Humans display the intriguing characteristic of making and using objects. The things with which people interact are not simply tools for survival, or for making survival easier and more comfortable. Things embody goals, make skills manifest, and shape the identities of their users. Man is not only homo sapiens or homo ludens, he is also homo faber, the maker and user of objects, his self to a large extent a reflection of things with which he interacts. Thus objects also make and use their makers and users.

To understand what people are and what they might become, one must understand what goes on between people and things. What things are cherished, and why, should become part of our knowledge of human beings. Yet it is surprising how little we know about what things mean to people. By and large social scientists have neglected a full investigation of the relationship between people and objects.

There are, of course, many invaluable insights on this subject in the previous work of other authors, but they seem to be fragmentary and of marginal significance to the authors' argument. Social scientists tend to look for the understanding of human life in the internal psychic processes of the individual or in the patterns of relationship between people; rarely do they consider the role of material objects. These past contributions will be reviewed wherever appropriate. On the whole, however, we shall proceed by developing our own perspective on the exceedingly complex subject of person–object transactions.

By reaching for a mobile hanging above the crib and setting it in motion with a touch, a baby learns a tremendously important fact: “I can make that thing dance if I want to.” An infant starts life with precious little information about the self. At first he or she is aware only of strong feelings of hunger, pain, or delight, which come and go unbidden, and of soothing sensations whenever fed or fondled. Slowly sensory experiences coalesce into predictable patterns, and the outlines of the environment begin to emerge. The infant, although still largely a passive bundle of sensations moved by genetic instructions and random actions, begins to recognize parts of the body and where the boundaries lie that separate that self from others.

Taking possession of this body and transforming dim awareness into a conscious self, the infant learns to connect the action he or she receives with those needs that were satisfied. This is the first evidence that the baby gets of his or her existence as an autonomous agent, capable of independent action. Setting a mobile in motion and seeing it dance at the touch of the fingers might well be the infant's earliest experience of selfhood.

The self grows largely as a function of environmental responses to intentions; it develops out of feedback to acts of control (Seligman, 1975, p. 141). The infant becomes aware of wanting food, company, freedom to crawl; the psychic energy of the infant becomes channeled in order to realize these intentions.

In Western cultures the broad stages of history are marked by the kind of objects people could make. The Paleolithic period derives its name from the crude stone tools that were in use during its long millennia; Neolithic refers to the period in which stone was shaped to conform more and more precisely to the designs of its users. The Bronze and Iron ages define times and cultures in which things were first molded out of metal. Much later, the Industrial Revolution and the Atomic Age mark transitions in the processes of exploiting physical things for productive purposes.

From this perspective the evolution of humankind thus tends to be measured not by gains in intellect, morality, and wisdom; the benchmarks of progress have to do with our ability to fashion things of ever greater complexity in increasing numbers. Whether or not one likes this tacit definition of what history is about, the fact remains that the transactions between people and the things they create constitute a central aspect of the human condition. Past memories, present experiences, and future dreams of each person are inextricably linked to the objects that comprise his or her environment.

In the last quarter of the twentieth century we have the dubious privilege of seeing both the beginnings of the human romance with things, in the distant past, and also its possible end, in the all too imminent future.

We turn now to see the process of cultivation at work in some concrete profiles of families. These case studies are geared to provide a different level of interpretation from the ones used in previous chapters. Through them we shall try to show how cherished possessions, persons, and events may be integrated in a pattern that reflects the goals of the self and the family and acts as a template that motivates the cultivation process.

We have already discussed the empirical patterns associated with cherished possessions. In statistical comparisons, however, the context for the individual is usually lost. The sign is turned into a variable in an attempt to determine the norms of common meanings, that is, the empirical context. With this purpose accomplished, we shall now return to the individual and family context in order to explore the richness and multiplicity of meanings that things can hold for their possessors. Here we hope to explore the transactions between people and things by concentrating on the signs of family life. In many families a common set of concerns was expressed in the meanings attributed to the ecology of signs in the household – the objects, events, and admired persons shared by family members. When these meanings are directed toward related goals, it is possible to see them as “signs of family life,” or vital webs of relationships that give each family a unique identity.

Procedures

The selection criteria for this study were to gather a socioeconomically stratified sample of three-generation families from Evanston and Rogers Park. To accomplish this, census tract information concerning income was used to select neighborhoods in Evanston for canvassing, which would range from lower to upper income. Once the neighborhoods were selected, teams of canvassers would cover an area on a door-to-door basis. They described the general outline of the study to potential respondents and established whether the family possessed the characteristics needed for the study: three interview able generations all living within the general Chicago area. The usual course was to interview both parents, one child, and one grandparent. Potential respondents were given a flyer that restated the goals of the study and which listed telephone numbers they could call for more information. Rogers Park respondents were selected on the basis of telephone canvassing, and in some instances two-generation families were selected.

Approximately 1,000 households were canvassed in Evanston, and at over half of these there were no response on the initial round. Of those households where there was a response, 21 percent of those contracted refused participation, 61 percent were not qualified for some reason, and 15 percent were interested in participating in the study and also met the criteria. Some who accepted dropped out before the entire family could be interviewed, but it is also important to point out that the acceptance rate might have been somewhat higher if the criteria did not include three generations of one family who all lived within the Chicago area.

What difference does it make, if some people talk about their homes in warm emotional terms, whereas others use only neutral descriptions? Perhaps none. Maybe the affective tone of the responses to the home interview is just a superficial stylistic difference without any real psychological consequence. The people who fail to mention that their homes are “warm,” “happy,” or “free” might just be more reticent, more reserved, but otherwise the same as those who do use such adjectives to describe their homes. However, it is also possible that the description of the home in warm emotional terms represents something more essential. Perhaps for those who express such emotion the home provides an important set of meanings not available to others, and this difference has repercussions in other areas of their lives.

When looking at the interviews, we noticed that in some of the families all four members gave positive emotional descriptions of the home. In others, all four gave neutral or negative descriptions. If expression of affect about the home is a meaningful variable, one would expect these two kinds of families to be different in other respects as well. Families that agree on the positive emotional tone of the home should be more integrated. The pattern of feedback provided by a positive emotional atmosphere in the home might help one to cultivate a different self from one nurtured in an emotionally neutral home. Perhaps in families of the first type, members feel emotionally more secure and thus are free to invest their psychic energy in wider goals.

Object categories

The first step in analyzing the data consisted in grouping the household artifacts that people mentioned as special into a limited number of categories. The 41 categories that are subsequently listed seemed adequate to account for all the 1,694 objects mentioned by the 315 respondents. Some of the 1,694 “objects” are groupings of objects, for example, if a respondent said “my plants” or “my art” and did not choose to differentiate separate objects, it would be scored as one object. In formulating the main kinds of objects, the attempt was to inductively draw the categories from the objects named by respondents. Some of the categories are grosser than others, e.g., furniture may be broken down into separate categories of dining room sets, chairs, and so on. But the intention was to draw out categories that would characterize different general kinds of objects and the resulting categories did seem accurate, because interrater reliability was 95 percent.

1. Furniture. Refers to objects on or in which to place things or sit, e.g., tables, chairs, dressers, desks, etc. Beds, lamps, carpets, and other appliances will be scored separately.

2. Bed. R explicitly names a bed, not a couch.

3. Visual art. Refers to the full range of two-dimensional representations other than photographs, commonly hung on a wall. (E.g., an original Picasso as well as a Last Supper reproduction from a 50ȼ & 10ȼ store would be included in this category. Paintings by children or other family members are included in this category.)

4. […]

To say that meaning is a process of communication involving signs raises the question: What is meant by “signs”? Apparently, material artifacts are the most concrete things that surround us in our homes: We can point to them, look at them, touch them, sit on some of them, sometimes we even bump into them and thus are forceably reminded of their materiality. One might wonder if signs or symbols refer only to things such as crucifixes, trophies, diplomas, or wedding rings, whose main function – if they, indeed, have any – is to represent something like religion, achievements, or relationships. A wedding ring on someone's hand, for example, is a sign of attachment, just as a trophy tells of its winner's prowess and the family's pride in displaying it. But what about other types of objects that seem to have a more clear-cut function, such as television sets or furniture? Do these things also qualify as “signs”? From our perspective they can provide just as many meanings as a crucifix or trophy. Television sets certainly have a utilitarian significance, although a person could live without them. However, the utility of a television set derives from its status as a means for entertainment and information and from the fact that in our culture about one-quarter of a person's waking day is spent watching television. Thus television sets both represent one of the most important beliefs in American culture as to how people should spend their time (and money) and are signs of the way Americans invest a significant portion of their daily attention.

Few English words are filled with the emotional meaning of the word “home.” It brings to mind one's childhood, the roots of one's being, the security of a private enclave where one can be free and in control of one's life. The idea of home seems to express such basic and universal human needs that it comes as a surprise to realize that many other European languages have no words with the same connotations. In Italian, for instance, casa is the nearest equivalent, yet it is much closer in meaning to “house” than to “home.” The same is even truer of the French maison, and by the time one gets to the Hungarian ház, the references are almost exclusively to the physical structure rather than to the emotional space. Of course, lexicality is not a sure indication of the psychological significance of a concept. Yet the availability of a word with shared meaning makes it easier to experience that meaning in everyday life. In all langauges there are circumlocutions that convey the psychological meaning of “home,” but these are often somehow awkward and not commonly used. The Italian “focolare,” literally “hearth,” or “fireplace,” is the closest poetic metonym, but it is practically never used in speech. The Hungarian otthon, meaning loosely “place of origin,” is more commonly used in the same sense as the French chez nous, but neither one has the concreteness and the wide-ranging content of “home.”

Home interview form

Question numbers

1. 1. We are trying to get a description of the home and rooms as the larger context in which the objects are placed. We are also interested in how people define their living space. Be sure to get a description of both the emotional tone and the physical characteristics of the home.

2. 3. This question concerns the places that people mention as where they feel “at home,” and the range of emotions or reasons that people give for this place. Possibly the places and significations can then be linked with the special objects.

3. 5. This is the main question of the home interview and of the entire interview, and so the interviewer should make sure the person mentions each aspect of the question and is specific enough. We are interested in (1) the rooms that the objects are located in, (2) what the objects are, (3) why the objects are special, (4) what it would mean to the person not to have the objects, (5) when the object was acquired, and (6) how the object was acquired.

By using the word “special” we mean that the object has some meaning, value, memories, importance, or feelings “attached” to it for the person. We are interested in how the object functions symbolically for the person but we do not want to use the word “symbolically” because it might not be understood and because it might limit the person's answer.

Empirical events gain meaning only when they are interpreted through a conceptual framework. This is why in the preceding chapters we have outlined a theoretical perspective from which to view transactions between people and things. It is also true, however, that theories are directed and corrected – in fact, cultivated – by systematic exposure to facts. Therefore in the next four chapters we shall alternate development of the theory with presentation of the findings of an empirical study, highlighting first one, then the other aspect of the investigation. What follows, therefore, is neither a purely theoretical analysis nor the outline of a factual report; instead, it is a combination of both – an exploratory effort – in which insights are gleaned from data and new empirical analyses are presented to bolster emerging hypotheses. Hence, the conclusions will often remain heuristic rather than definitive. On the other hand, the flexibility of such a method will provide us with a greater variety of leads than could a more conventional one.

To find out what the empirical relationships between people and things in contemporary urban America are, in 1977 we interviewed members of 82 families living in the Chicago Metropolitan Area. Twenty of these families lived in Rogers Park, a relatively stable community at the northern limits of the city of Chicago; the remaining were selected from the adjacent suburb of Evanston, an old and diversified city in its own right, even though it is geographically indistinguishable from Chicago.