The Place of the Guest

It will seem strange, my calling enigmatic such a familiar figure, the guest. Fundamentally we have relegated to the level of fable those myths in which the gods appear as guests, such as in the case of Abraham, of Philemon and Bauci. And yet, a guest it was who became the fundamental metaphor of existence in the western world: Jesus of Nazareth, who lived not only as guest and host, but also gave birth to an enigma with two observations: "I am your guest and you have welcomed me", and "I was your guest and you did not welcome me".

The guest is always thought of as the guest of someone, and we seem to become guests only at the invitation of another. How could we possibly speak of the guest of no-one? Of a guest, neither invited nor welcomed, to whom no-one has offered a drink, a meal, a roof over his head, or a conversation? How can we accept as a guest someone to whom no hospitality has been offered? And yet European literature, from Homer's Odissey to Joseph Roth's Tarabas, Guest of the Earth, has spoken undaunted of guestes who have neither been excluded nor participants. They appear constantly on the threshold between belonging to and being excluded from society. The guest is always seen as a figure who can take on any social role, but cannot be reduced to any single one, wearing these roles as masks.

The guest need not necessarily be a stranger; the native too can become our guest. He may be a known or extraneous figure; a brother, father or friend can become our guest, just as easily as a rival or an enemy. By honouring the guest in our homes we return to the old dialectic of dominance and submission. The head of the household becomes the servant of the guest, a figure who possesses no power. But the home does not represent the only possibility for hospitality; in the street or during a journey it is possible to be the guest of another traveller. And the race, class, sex, age or qualifications of the guest have no importance. Nor does time have a defining role: brief meetings can take place in a café, lasting only long enough for a drink, a meal, an overnight stay, a few weeks during the holidays.

Since, then, it is not possible to determine the figure of the guest by way of his social role, nor through place, time or social relationships, the commonly held belief is that he can be defined by means of the quality of a 'gift', by the act of inviting the other party for a drink, to a concert or for a meal. Yet it is precisely these gifts that have the function of integrating the guest by means of his participation, which has the purpose of making him cease to be a guest. Each gift, even a friendly glance, presupposes an invitation to respond. This exchange need not necessarily be based upon equal values, but we expect that even the poorest of beggars will respond to our offering with thanks. Even when we give the other something which he cannot give us in return, we can still think of a virtual exchange in that the other, in our position, would have acted in the same way.

In antiquity as well as in the Christian middle ages, it was considered impolite to ask the guest for his name, origins or intentions. These questions were not only considered as demonstrations of suspicion, but also another experience: the guest will never stop in a place where he thinks he may be recognised. This becomes explicit in the meaning etymologists believe can be recognised in the Indo-European root of the word "ospite-hospes-xenos-Gast": in these compound etymons, the elementary morphemes 'st' (German) 'pt, ps' (Greek, Latin) mean 'he himself', or a third person indefinite who is neither I nor you. The other morphemes involve other meanings such as go/come, eat/to be torn in pieces, exchange, honour, fight, imprison, welcome, and others. We can say, then, according to formal logic, that the guest is the 'tertium non datur', the third person in all counterpositions, he who is, but is never given.

If we wish to exclude all calculations, disinterested giving does not correspond to any conscious intention or action: we give without realising, and we receive without noticing. It is only in unconscious desire that we can think of a gift which is disinterested, and therefore does not set up a relationship of credit and debit. In conclusion, then, we can say no more than this: the place of the guest, between being and non-being, is based on the play of unconscious desires which speak to us in the language of dreams. The guest is the sign of a successful innocence.