A Question of Privacy

In my work I view the plans of the houses that are soon to be built. I see about a fifth of the new houses built in my city, so I think I've got a pretty good idea of current housing trends. I've noticed, for instance, that almost every new full bath is designed with a little sub-room separating the toilet from the rest of the bathroom.

It's not a style I particularly care for. I find the use of materials for the extra room to be wasteful and unnecessary, and the tiny rooms so created to be claustrophobic and uncomfortable. Besides, I enjoy interacting with my family while one of us is sitting on the can, and when I want privacy, I can always ask for it. My boys aren't shy about that at all. They tell me in no uncertain terms when they want the bathroom to themselves, and for the most part, I find it easy to respect their desires. (I might not find it so easy if they were teenage girls.)

I can't imagine that it isn't even easier in these new houses, which all have two bathrooms, and more often than not, three or more.

It's not that I don't value privacy. Every time I use a public ladies' room, I'm very grateful for the privacy of the stalls – even as I frequently talk with friends on the other side.

The question that does interest me, though, is this: What does it say about our society that we have come to value a standard of privacy from our most intimate family members that is greater than the privacy we expect and ask for from the public at large?

How Much Is Enough?

Last week I reviewed a plan set for a 7000+ square foot house, built across two lots amounting to over 16,000 square feet total. Stretched across the lot in a sprawling mess of gables and hips and intertwined trusses, the house extended from property line setback on one side almost to the setback on the other. It had seven toilets – and only four bedrooms. When I saw the extravagant wastefulness of it, I almost felt physically ill.

By contrast, we live on a 9400 square foot lot, in a 960 square foot house (including about 230 square feet of unheated garage). The house is a little undersized for the four of us, since K and I no longer share a bed – we have plans to add a room – but the house is comfortable and functional, and despite the occasional “pee-dance,” one toilet seems to be enough. Our lot functions beautifully – we have a big comfortable deck, a modest but functional front yard, and two small, functional sideyards (one of which, the “sanctuary garden” is very private and is currently alive with blue and white columbine, foxglove, a climbing rose, and native bleeding hearts, as well as other flowers). Our backyard is large, comfortable, and varied, with a pond, a chicken yard, a circle lawn, berries, fruit trees, and a plethora of garden beds. It seems to me that, despite the modest extent of our living conditions, we live more comfortably, and certainly in a richer environment, than the poor rich folks who will occupy this new monstrosity.

So I wonder – just how much is enough, and when, and how, do we recognize it? Does ‘enough’ meet human needs better than too much? What do we do with the surplus when we do have too much, and how, and why, do we make that decision? What are the moral implications of that decision, for our society and ourselves?