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or
The Name is the Gathering of the Thingness to the Thing
Introduction
“A dull name can mean a dull child.” (Train, 1977, p. 11) John Train argues in his book Remarkable Names of Real People. The book is a witty, small work that largely comprises of a list of funny names. The book presents itself as an absurdist joke. The author’s own unique name coupled with the absurdist humour such as the acknowledgments beginning “The Office of Nomenclature Stabilization is grateful to its many faithful correspondents...” (p.5) certainly give the book an unbelievable quality. Of course the book tells you that it is real, but when thumbing through the pages and reading names featured such as “Sir Basil Smallpeice” (p. 19) “Cardinal Sin” (p. 23) or “Major Minor” (p. 43) it certainly looks like a badly constructed joke book with a strong theme. Some are however, verifiable, Cardinal Jaime Sin was the head of the Catholic Church in the Philippines, and died in 2005 (The Guardian, 2005). This pang of reality changes the book. Yes, it is absurd, but it’s a small mirror onto an absurdist aspect of reality that is often overlooked. Can the name of a child change the way that the child will live their life, how others will see them and what opportunities they will gain or lose out on? “If you call your little one Elmer he is less likely to amount to anything than if you plunge in with a Charlemagne or Napoleon” (Train, 1977, p. 11). As someone with an ‘interesting’ name, that is, one whose name is its own short sentence; “Will Mark Treasure”, I have found it to be more memorable to others, even if they simply laugh at the surname I bear. To be given a curious name is more a blessing than a curse in my case, it serves as an icebreaker on occasion, a harmless joke, a softener, or a funny name puts people at ease. I’m sure John Train encountered this himself, we have odd names in common, although as an investment advisor he might rather have my name, and as a train enthusiast I might rather his. It’s not all we have in common, of course, the other is our interest in names. Has our interest in names come about from others interest in our own names? Has our interesting names made us interesting people? Train’s focus is on wit and the names that people bear, whereas my interest extends from just people. If “a dull name can mean a dull child” (p. 11), then can “a dull name can mean a dull thing” also be true?
This is the essence of my dissertation, to seek to determine if the name that we give to a thing can change how we perceive it, and if so, to what extent. I will discuss this over four chapters. The first chapter will discuss names in the context of common use. This explores encounterable names, how we might consider things based on the names that they have, and begins to explore what can happen if a name is removed or altered. The second chapter approaches names as memes, seeking to examine why they are so prolific and unavoidable. The third chapter explores the name of a particular object, the jug, in relation to Heidegger’s writings. Heidegger is focused on understanding the jug as a thing, and things in general. This chapter focuses instead on the way that the word ‘jug’ is more of a hindrance than a help in understanding the nature of objects. The final chapter explores the implications of naming through the lens of a propositional object as a thought experiment. This object intends to show the variability of names that forms can receive, and the breadth of changeable outcomes that this can produce.
Chapter 1
The Name
In many ways, names are a tool, a simple means to an end. In modern language they form an invaluable part of our method of communicating. It’s easy enough to point to a ‘thing’ to communicate subject, but it’s obvious that calling something by a shared word, a name, enables a more streamlined communication to take place, one that doesn’t require every object one might discuss to be present. This is evident in the scientific community, where animals share names across languages for clarity. In biology, each animal can have many names, usually a different one in each language, however for ease of communication each also has a scientific name, usually in Latin or Greek. Instead of requiring a whole common language, names for animals use a common system in languages that nobody speaks anymore, enabling people to collaboratively organise genus, family and species without confusion. These names are not isolated to science, as Michael Ohl quickly refutes, citing children's books and the knowledge of dinosaur names in the introduction to his book ‘The Art of Naming’ (Ohl, 2018 p. viii). Ohl discusses the importance of these names, and the effect that they have on us when we learn them and use them. “For those who know its name, it becomes possible to experience and possess Spinosaurus, that fearsome predator of the Cretaceous Period.” (p. viii) For Ohl, the scientific name isn’t just a tool, but a connection to both everyone else who uses the name and to the animal itself. Ohl thinks of the knowledge of names almost like a passcode to a secret club, to know the name is to be ‘in on it’.
Ohl discusses the implications of names on animals when used in common language, as of course we rarely use an animal’s scientific name in colloquial conversation. Each language has their own terminologies that they use for ease in place of Latin names. In German, the equivalent name for shrew is spitzmaus and instead of bat they use fledermaus. In 1942 these were to be changed simply to spitzer and fleder in a decision made by the German Society of Mammalogy (p. 1). This decision was overturned in a strongly worded letter by the head of the government at the time. The reason that the names were to be changed lies in the scientific inaccuracy of the originals, as spitzmaus and fledermaus translate loosely as pointed mouse and flutter mouse respectively, when in fact neither a shrew or a bat are in the same family as the mouse. Aside from the accuracy required from naming of animals, Ohl explains another reason for the desire to change the nomenclature. Biologist Hermann Pohle was one of the first to argue to change the names for shrews and bats because uniquely spitzmaus and fledermaus are also in the common German vernacular. This means that as both have the base of their word, the latter part in German, be maus, then people will associate them with mice, and treat them as such. Of course mice are pests, they live in houses and steal food, leaving only mess. Shrews and bats are harmless to humans, and it was Pohle’s desire to see attitudes towards them change after changing their name (p. 13). Of course due to the intervention of the government at the time the names were not changed, and remain inaccurate, and possibly detrimental to the perception of the animals.
The issue of the fledermaus and the spitzmaus being identified as mice because they are called as such is relevant not just in biological terms but everywhere. Names can often be our first point of contact with things. Ernst van de Wetering discusses the surface of objects and their importance is his essay on object surfaces and museum style (van de Wetering, 2012). Surfaces are usually our first actual point of contact with an object. It’s often the first thing we see or touch. Van de Wetering laments that the surface of things is often seen as superficial. Objects are criticised for having a veneer, either literally or figuratively, and people are called ‘shallow’ whereas people with ‘depth’ are more desirable. He comments on the perception that if the surface of objects is emphasised then the objects are often regarded as being deceiving or ‘glitter rather than gold’ (p. 103). He then quotes Hanna Jedrzejewska when she concluded in a paper that “The most important and the most representative part of an object is its surface” (p. 103) and says he was immediately captured by the statement upon hearing it at a seminar. Of course his essay is on museum objects, where glass, guards and alarms prevent objects from being touched. The surface is then all most of us will ever know of an object in a museum, as van de Wetering points out, it is too the part of an object that holds the finishing or finest craftsmanship that was used to make it. It is the surface that holds the detail that is most readily available to us. Similarly, names are the surface of our encounter with things. We often encounter things without knowing their names, but so too do we often know the names of things, animals, or people, without encountering their surfaces. Van de Wetering says he was overwhelmed at the sheer quantity of object surface there are when he first considered it with intent. He likens the intensive experience of each one to a potential “near psychedelic experience”, but that instead of investigating details of objects, we use only a little of their details, making assumptions or drawing on past experiences to extrapolate the qualities of the surface of any given object (p. 103.). Van de Wetering then shares his own example of a case where he assumed the surface of an object based on his past experience. When visiting France as a teenager he kicked a metal ball, assuming it was rubber, having never heard of boules (p. 104). The ball would not have been kicked had van de Wetering examined its surface, but it also probably wouldn’t have happened if, as he admits, he knew the name. In the same way that he assumed it being a ball would mean it was kickable, he would have assumed it was not had he known the object’s name.
In the same way that by seeing elements of an object's surface we make assumptions on the rest of the object, we also make assumptions based on the name, and in the same way that Van de Wetering was in awe at the quantity of object surfaces, we too can be amazed at the sheer quantity of names for things, even only within our own language. When approached in this way, the ball was assumed to be kickable because of both the assumed name, and assumed surface, when knowing the actual name or surface would have shown it not to be. Similarly, the fledermaus and spitzmaus might be assumed to be mice without ever seeing either animal, due to their names. Perhaps the name is as important to our perception of the thing as the surface is. We might experience either first in isolation, or in parallel to each other, as an object surface and with the name as a para-surface. Calling names a para-surface highlights their importance in this way. There are many, many things we will not know the surfaces of, wild animals, dinosaurs, countless plants, let alone anything not on this planet. But by naming them, as we name all things, we develop assumptions about them and relate them to things that we do know. I assume that I know how the rocks on Mars feel because we call them rocks. I feel that I know what a Martian rock is like based simply on the para-surface I know, regardless of how accurate my assumption is. We do not rely on the surface of objects, we utilise the para-surface to allow ourselves to focus on other things, the para-surface enables us to avoid being overwhelmed in the way that van de Wetering was at his exploration of object surfaces. Life would be far too slow if each time we saw an object we were to break down in great detail the surface of it, we learn by touch, sight and smell what each surface is like, then assume similar looking surfaces share these properties. Then we apply a name to each surface so that we can know with more immediacy what it will be like, we hope.
To further highlight the importance of a name Simon Knell removes the name of an object that forms the backbone for one of his key discussions. His essay isn’t about naming, not directly, but he uses the absence of the object’s name to illustrate his point. He begins his essay by discussing the ‘reading’ of an object, saying that while people have believed to read meanings from objects, he contests that they were really “trying out what fits” and “infusing it with their thoughts and desires” (Knell, 2012, p. 324). Knell writes in the context of art objects, which are unique in that they are often abstractly or uniquely named, or deliberately unnamed, things. Art objects are also objects that would not be encountered in many environments, so seem more open to interpretation than non-art objects do. Knell argues that it is this interpretation that makes an art object. A material object cannot also be an art object, or become one, without interpretation being applied to it (p. 325). He then goes into great detail discussing objects, but he omits the name of the objects saying “If I state overtly what they are, you will be inclined to presume to know the arcane world to which they belong” (p. 330). Is the removal of the name not the removal of interpretation? He claims that the interpretation makes an object an art object, but I think it’s more reasonable to argue that the interpretation is not applied to art objects to make them art objects, but that they are open to interpretation. The reinterpretation of a named object is often closed. It has been decided, and new interpretations are incorrect. Knell removes the name of a non-art object to allow the reader to fully consider his words about the object without knowing what it is and relying on the ‘actuality’ of the object.
Knell discusses this quality of objects earlier in the essay when he describes the duality of our experience of material objects, the intangible qualities of the object seem to us, inseparable from the tangible, and that we perceive each object as one whole object. However, when we perceive an object, Knell argues that we actually experience two, one that exists only in our mind, and is the result of our experience of the object. This is unavoidable, but never exists in the physical world. The other object is the material object itself, which will never exist in our thoughts, as we are clouded by our own perception. The name of an object is part of this, an intangible element that pervades our perception and becomes an inseparable part of the object within our consciousness, but never exists within the object itself (p. 326). As Knell acknowledges, some people would argue that “A bowl is made a bowl and does not become one simply through use” (p. 325). However surely the bowl has been interpreted as a bowl, potentially through the act of making it, yes, but regardless, it itself is not a ‘bowl’, it only exists as a bowl in the mind of those that perceive it as such. The distinction here is that the object is common enough that the interpretation of the object is at a pan cultural level rather than at a individual level.
By removing the name, Knell allows the viewer to change their perception of something that they know, or disallow them from making assumptions based on what knowledge they might have based on the name of the thing. Victor Shklovsky explores a literary device which has a similar effect in his essay Art as Device that he terms ‘defamiliarization’ (Shklovsky, 1991). The point of defamiliarization is not to obscure the name of a thing and force the reader to piece together what the writer means through clues, but to replace it entirely with more familiar imagery. The use of imagery in writing replaces the name of the thing or object with a new one. Most commonly this technique is used when the subject matter that the writing is describing is unfamiliar to the reader, instead then, the imagery that is used is familiar to the reader. The result of this is that the reader gains a new perspective on the object or experience, which allows them to become closer to the work.
Imagery is the key focus of the essay, Shklovsky begins by discussing what he means when he talks about imagery in relation to poetic and prosaic writings. This is largely through discussing the work of Potebnya. Imagery here means not to use pictures in the text, but to write in a way which brings the writing closer to our understanding through common experiences, even more common than those that the imagery is describing (p.1) as there are, of course, many things we read about that we have no real experience of. Furthermore, that as Potebnya’s conclusion is that “poetry equals imagery”, Shklovsky discusses that following it is then supposed that “imagery equals symbolism” (p. 3). This development is what is important, as the context of the image can change what it symbolises, as Shklovsky says, “This presupposes that an image is capable of serving as a constant predicate to a succession of changeable subjects” (p. 3). There is no power in the image itself, only in the context in which it is applied. If we apply this context, imagery, to naming, then we can see that the name of an object too, has no power, only that the word ‘bowl’, as an image, is capable of being used to describe an indeterminable spectrum of forms and that the word ‘bowl’ is rendered meaningless by itself. A bowl to two people is two different things, the use of this imagery is too board and non specific, it has been weakened through overuse. However if one writer were to write someone eating as a prospector, swilling their pan in search of gold and another as a person hollowing out half of a watermelon then it becomes clear how both of these images show how a person eating from a bowl can be transformed using more specific imagery to alter both the bowl’s shape and size and the manner in which the person eats, all without describing either. We know both images, so we use these to become closer that which is intended, without the need for overly detailed prose.
The most pertinent part of Shklovsky’s writing is when he comments on the almost peripheral grasping of an object in our day to day lives, how hard it is to use a pen or speak a second language for the first time, but how over time the challenge of the task melts away, invisibly.
Objects are grasped spatially, in the blink of an eye. We do not see them, we merely recognize them by their primary characteristics. The object passes before us, as if it were prepackaged. We know that it exists because of its position in space, but we see only its surface. Gradually, under the influence of this generalizing perception, the object fades away (p. 5)
This is true not only in the physical world but, as Shklovsky is aware, in written works too. This is the purpose of defamiliarization. Bowl, at this point, to most readers forms such a faint facsimile of a form that it becomes nearly meaningless as an image. The word bowl is then detrimental to the quality of the experience. To alter the experience of the viewer enables them to understand what a writer means when they don’t use the name for something.
It seems that in our normal encounters with them, names entirely transform our experiences of things in an unintended manner, they can flavour our perceptions of things or provide us with a prejudice in some cases, but they also hide things. They allow the minutiae of our lives to remain hidden, enabling us to focus on other things, but this also results in us ignoring so much. We find ourselves incapable of living without names, but the very fact that we can’t live without them and must name everything alters the way we perceive everything irreversibly. But how has this happened? What is it about names that draws us to them? Naming is not a simple linguistic feature, but a more complicated mechanism that is simply able to be expressed through language. This is what the next chapter explores, names as things themselves, as memes.
Chapter 2
The Meme
This chapter explores not the implication of the name upon the thing, but the essence of names themselves, as things themselves worthy of discussion, as things of greater importance than a simple feature of human languages. By approaching names as memes rather than at their face value we can begin to understand the depth of their importance to our interactions.
Richard Dawkins’ seminal work on the passing on of genes and natural selection titled The Selfish Gene is largely focused on discussions of reproduction, competition and genetics. The book isn’t a scientific paper, but a discussion on theory and aimed at understanding through non-technical language. Chapter 11, Memes: The New Replicators is the most relevant to this dissertation. This chapter is about the ability for intangible ideas to be replicated through transmission between people, and popularised Dawkins’ invented term meme.
What is a name? In the most simple way, “A word or set of words by which a person or thing is known, addressed, or referred to.” (Oxford Living Dictionaries, 2019) This isn’t necessarily a description, though it can be, and often is. A laptop describes the fact that the computer is able to be used on one's lap, but doesn’t describe the object. A juicer or blender describes the task the object is intended to perform. This is the case with many objects, however often the description is obfuscated by a language barrier due to the etymological obliqueness of English. Telephone for example comes from the greek words tele meaning far off and phone meaning sound or voice (Online Etymological Dictionary, 2019), this becomes an almost poetic description for the object. Similarly a camera obscura is simply Latin for dark chamber (Online Etymological Dictionary, 2019), initially this is what large pinhole cameras were, a dark chamber with a hole in one wall, used famously by artists to draw accurately by tracing the image projected onto the wall opposite the hole. With modernisation we’ve shortened it to simply camera for our modern devices. Telephone too has been shortened, so now we often just use phone. Tele has been replaced in many uses, with phone often following mobile, cell, house or smart. These all denote differences in use, mobile and cell are British and American variations to suggest portability, house is used for a fixed phone in a house and smart is for phones that have extra features such as internet. This is where the descriptive nature of naming breaks, even when looked at etymologically. Mobile phone means movable sound (Online Etymological Dictionary, 2019), which sort of works, but could this not describe a portable speaker? Of course no description can be exclusive without being absurdly specific, however if we combine the examples of camera obscura and telephone we stumble into camera phones. In the early 2000s camera phones were being sold for the first time and were immensely popular before they were superseded by smartphones. However the name camera phone means room sound, this is nonsensical, of course the mixing of root languages isn’t an issue in modern English, but room sound doesn’t make anyone think of a camera phone. This is my point however, as a name doesn’t need to describe that which it refers to. A name isn’t a description at all, even if it is intended to be. A name is a concept, an idea, a meme. When using the words that describe something we don’t think of what it describes, even if it does so, we think of the learned cultural meaning of the word. A camera isn’t thought of as a chamber, but an object. Just as a blender is thought of as an object, not an action, this is shared among all who use it creating a common cultural interpretation of specific words.
If I am arguing that a name is in fact a meme, then of course we must explore what a meme is first. Dawkins begins by discussing the difference between man and other “survival machines” (Dawkins, 2006, p. 189) as he calls them, meaning any cell, plant, animal, human, or other life form. Dawkins proposes that ‘culture’ can sum up most of what differentiates us from other survival machines. He is clear in his use of the word culture in a scientific sense, not just meaning the arts. He raises language as a part of human culture, and points out how even though modern English is connected to that of Chaucer, they are not mutually intelligible. Each variation of English of course is used by the people who spoke it and they can communicate with both their children, parents, and further generations either way, but there comes a point past their death where they would no longer be understood. This, as Dawkins points out, is analogous to the mutation seen in genetics over generations that we call evolution. However Dawkins is quick to point out that this sort of cultural transmission is not exclusive to man, but is available in the non genetic transmission of songs in some birds, where new songs are created by erroneous repetition over generations. Humans are however where we can most easily study and experience cultural evolution. Of course even in humans language isn’t the limit, Dawkins examples include art and architecture, fashions in dress and diet, and technology.
Dawkins then discusses the ideas of ‘replicators’, such as the gene. The gene is the primary replicator of life on our planet, but surely any life that might exist off earth would have developed differently. It’s unlikely that their genetics are structured similarly to us at all, and so there could be other replicators. Dawkins is unhappy however to limit Darwinian theory to genes and the evolution of a species. He questions that there must be other replicators on our planet, why should we look so far away to off world replicators that we might never find? We can find a different sort of evolution right here. Dawkins names this replicator that is taking root in human culture a meme (p. 192). He says these memes are
Tunes, ideas, catch-phrases, clothes fashions, ways of making pots or building arches. Just as genes propagate themselves in the gene pool by leaping from body to body via sperms or eggs so memes propagate themselves in the meme pool by leaping from brain to brain via a process which, in the broad sense, can be called imitation. (p.192)
In typical Dawkins fashion he discusses the god meme, one of the oldest memes, which has had so many unique permutations that variations of it are alive and competing among and between different groups of humans. As pointed out, the replication methods are obvious, it is spoken of, written about, present in art and in music, buildings are built around it, and lives and careers are focused towards it. However the real question is, why it is more successful than other memes? “What is it about the ideas of a god that gives it its stability and penetrance in the cultural environment?” (p.193) Psychological appeal is the obvious conclusion to Dawkins. It is comforting and provides a sort of answer to troubling questions of justice and mortality. The god meme is so prevalent due to its infective power in the environment of human culture. This contrasts with passive memes, like a recipe or fashion, which provide a more temporary comfort, rather than a life altering one, and so might not even last a year, let alone many lifetimes.
The measure of a meme’s success though is what Dawkins explores next. He breaks this success into three categories, longevity, fecundity and copying fidelity. Longevity is a slightly misleading category title here, it means each copy of a meme, not the meme in general. The second is fecundity, which is how rapidly a meme can replicate to other carriers, and copying fidelity is of course the accuracy of replication. If we take a joke, the longevity is short, jokes are forgotten often, but they have a high rate of fecundity, as you tell them to people who happily pass them on. Although, as we’ve all often encountered, jokes change and mutate with each teller. This contrasts with scientific theory, which are copied more accurately. That’s not to say they are without inaccuracies, but the rate is probably lower. However the rate of transmission would be much slower due to the size and complexity of the meme. Due to the importance that we often afford memes of this nature, it might be likely to last for a much longer time. Of course a meme’s ability to replicate itself means it has to compete with other memes, as pointed out by the author, this is obvious with some memes. The god meme encourages replication and longevity due to the punishments associated with not following it. Jokes are measured by their quality, and replicate accordingly in brains that view them as such. Other seemingly random memes are more difficult to explain. Why is hoover more popular than vacuum, or jacuzzi over hot tub? If iPad is the name that many uninformed people refer to their tablets, as is the case, is the meme replicated more successfully due to sheer exposure? Or is the success of a name meme something else? Brand names often become more successful than generic counterparts, but surely they would when the brand meme has the backing of advertisements strengthening the meme with a sense of style, class and quality.
Names are some of the most successful long lasting memes, my own name William has lasted hundreds of years, the rate of fecundity is high, but the accuracy has to a degree demonstrably faltered, as there are many permutations. William is not the original, but a mutation from Willahelm, an ancient German name. Willahelm was a descriptive name meaning resolute protector. (Behind the Name, 2018) Hardly fitting. This only scratches the surface, modern German still uses Willhelm, and other languages use Guillermo, Guillaume, Guglielmo, Gwilym (Behind the Name, 2018) or others. Each of these has unique journeys and has been inaccurately replicated to create unique but traceable memes, each now void of the original meaning. Other memes, like stories and songs are hidden, less surface level, more complex and with more hidden histories. Names are surface level memes, not thought of as anything important, remembered, but thought of as a tool for clarification rather than an idea. Names have thoroughly, stealthily become one of the most popular memes. Dawkins quotes a colleague, NK. Humphrey, who reviewed an early draft of his chapter and said
Memes should be regarded as living structures, not just metaphorically but technically. When you plant a fertile meme in my mind you literally parasitize my brain, turning it into a vehicle for the meme’s propagation in just the way that a virus may parasitize the genetic mechanism of a host cell. And this isn’t just a way of talking-the meme for, say, “belief in life after death” is actually realized physically, millions of times over, as a structure in the nervous systems of individual men the world over (Dawkins, 2006, p. 192)
What is a more successful meme than names? Only those memes now inseparable from the human experience; language, cooking, clothing. Names are pervasive, unavoidable, and render our day to day existence incomplete and almost unimaginable. These ‘primary memes’ as I would call them have evolved not only themselves, but by occupying us have created a host more willing to continue the propagation of the meme, creating not a parasite/host relationship, but a mutualistic symbiosis between the two counterparts. Susan Blackmore touches on this when discussing the origins of human language in The Meme Machine when she references Deacon likening “language to a personal symbiotic organism” (Blackmore, 1999, p. 98). Memes can be parasitic, they can be detrimental, as Dawkins explores (Dawkins, 2006, p. 198 - 199), the meme of celibacy is supported by a host of other religious memes, but cannot be passed on genetically for obvious reasons. This meme is detrimental to the ability of a human to replicate their genetics, but is helpful to other parasitic memes in passing on copies of themselves as it allows the carriers of the celibacy meme to spend more of their time focused on these other memes rather than on interpersonal relationships. Names are different, rather than hinder a person in interpersonal relationships, they actually provide an advantage. Think only how difficult it is to communicate with someone when you mishear, forget, or do not learn their name, likewise the frustration we experience when you fail to recall the name of an object that you talk of, in this way, the meme of names advances both itself and its host, creating an environment rich for replication. Names are not parasitic by nature, I would argue that it is unfair to call all memes parasites. Some are, but there are many mutualistic memes such as names and jokes, which both advance themselves and possibly the host’s social standing, however marginally. Memes are largely symbiotic by nature, with scope for multiple types of host/symbiont interaction.
When viewed in this context, it becomes clear how naming is so impactful. As words they are simple tools, labels that serve no purpose more than clarification and identification. When we take names as memes, we reveal a power within them. They grow from labels and become ideas, we pass these ideas on and they grow and morph over time, becoming important in their own right. However this raises an issue. If we refer to a thing with another thing, we can struggle to tell them apart. If these two things become so intertwined that we lose sight of their independent thingness, then we lose the ability to accurately assess our surroundings.
Chapter 3
The Thing
As discussed in the previous chapters, there is importance not only in things, but in what we call them too. In this chapter, we explore this in greater detail in relation to one simple object; Heidegger’s Jug. Heidegger seeks to understand the nature of things, using the jug only as an example. This chapter aims to examine how well we can understand this one thing, and from that all others, when it must be viewed through the lens of another thing of equal importance; the name of that thing.
In Poetry Language and Thought (Heidegger, 1971) Martin Heidegger discusses the nature of things, in particular a jug, and our perception of it. Heidegger’s text focuses initially on ‘nearness’ as he puts it. Nearness here translates to ‘understanding’. The initial passage is a lamentation at our desire to bring things ‘near’ to us, to attempt to understand them through proximity. His focus is now slightly dated, as his points on television would also be extremely well suited to the internet. Regardless, he talks of distance being removed by the television, but the nearness remaining unattainable. “Yet the frantic abolition of all distances brings no nearness; for nearness does not consist in shortness of distance.” (p. 193) Heidegger's suggestion is that our understanding of something does not improve by video or images of it being transmitted into our home. We have all seen countless pictures of monuments, on our countless screens, in an attempt to be nearer to them. Many of us too, have been fortunate enough to travel to famous places that we’ve seen images of before and appreciate the difference between the two.
To understand something takes more than a glance or even a detailed study of an image. Take a jigsaw as an example. To complete a jigsaw is to ponder for hours, examine the pieces, the construction and their colouration. Patterns are searched for and found, grouped in their colours and type. Each piece has been inspected closely, analysed, and matched with those that belong near it. Eventually the puzzle is solved and you know every detail of the image. The subject of the image is not yet known however. You see the image completed but what is near to you is the jigsaw. This you would understand clearly, if you cared to. The thoughts however, are focused on the image, the jigsaw often remains far due to the passive interaction of it. In the same way that we look at digital images on a screen, we look through a jigsaw, attempting to understand what it has printed on it. We pay little attention to a jigsaw, like we pay little attention to a screen. The end result is an unfulfilling farness. If the hours spent closely inspecting a jigsaw can’t convey any actuality of the representation, then how can a glance at an image, or a few panning shots in a documentary show us any understanding of the place? This is highlighted yet further when one returns from a place that they have visited, famous or not. Most people today have taken pictures of places they’ve been, and too most people have said something along the lines of “It’s not like it was when you’re really there” when showing images to a friend. I feel that this point of self imposed farness after knowing nearness is the most relatable way of explaining this feeling in our modern world. To see is not to understand, to experience is to begin to understand, and to analyse allows us to comprehend. This is true nearness, and this is what Heidegger does next with his example of a jug.
Heidegger breaks the jug down in order to understand it as an object. If by breaking it down and analysing the pieces in the same manner as the jigsaw, then by understanding the components and reassembling it, it can become near. To understand a thing is to know it intimately, and to know it intimately one must explore the depths of the thing. To see a jug is to see a vessel. This is simply a tool that holds and pours liquids. But to disassemble the jug into its component parts enriches our understanding of the thing. He explores the material, the ceramic nature of the jug which ties it to the earth, by being made from it. His next suggestion is that this ceramic does not make the jug. The ceramic is just a support. “The emptiness, the void, is what does the vessel’s holding, the empty space, this nothing of the jug, is what the jug is as the holding vessel.” (p. 167) The vessel is defined by its void. Without the nothingness within the vessel, the vessel would itself not be a vessel, and it would be nothingness. Nothingness is what we would assume is within the ‘void’ of the jug, however it is actually the purest essence of the vessel. Too, as Heidegger points out, science would say that it’s filled with transparent air. He then counters this, saying “But-is this reality the jug? No. Science always encounters what its kind of representation has admitted beforehand as an object possible for science.” (p. 168) Heidegger’s point here is that the air inside the jug does not help us to understand what the jug is or what it represents, so we cannot understand the nature of the object through a purely scientific approach, as for example an accurate analysis of the composition of the air and clay would help us little to understand the nature of the object.
Instead of using science, Heidegger launches into an extended exploration of the possible contents of a jug, the use of water and wine, the thirst quenching and god honouring abilities. Heidegger connects the water to the earth along which it flows, and the sky from which it falls, and the wine to the earth from which it grows and to the gods in the sky whose libations it fulfils. He summarises that this is fulfilled all at once, earth, sky, gods and mortals are all held within the void of the jug, gathering together to form the jug. Heidegger explains that the word thing comes from an Old German word meaning gathering (p. 172), this perspective, a thing as a gathering of things and not as isolated objects enables a rich view of every object that we encounter daily. To do this is to bring nearness, this nearness, as discussed earlier, is an understanding. Heidegger discusses more and more the thing, and less attempts a concrete understanding of what jug is. The jug serves only as an introduction, the thing is the focus. Through understanding that a ‘thing’ is a gathering, we can apply this to not just the jug, but to any object, and then approach them from the perspective of a person who understands that the jug is a ‘gathering’ of humans, gods, earth and sky. Heidegger’s explanation of the nature of the jug being a gathering is confusingly explained, but his point is more simply conveyed by Bill Brown in his essay on Thing Theory, he describes things as the excessive parts of objects. The parts that exceed their materialisation or functional use as objects of utility. “The magic by which objects become values, fetishes, idols and totems.” (Brown, 2001, p.5)
However I would argue that the nature of the jug is still not fully understood. To use the word ‘jug’ when describing the jug is akin to looking at a completed jigsaw and trying to understand each piece. One would only attempt to understand the image that the jigsaw shows when completed. The jigsaw and the jug must both be deconstructed to be understood. The word jug prevents this, as the image on the jigsaw prevents the user from considering the jigsaw itself as an entity. The word jug here instead of helping us to understand the jug, could instead be thought of as a name for the gathering that comprises the jug. In this way it is like the image on a jigsaw. It doesn’t help us to understand each piece, but defines them in relation to each other. In this way the word jug becomes the clay, surrounding the void and defining the thingness. Jug then, becomes a specific gathering, as the physical description of the jug is worthless. Heidegger only describes a ceramic vessel made by a potter, with sides and a bottom. He describes something that holds wine and water. He describes a jug, a mug, an amphora, a flagon, a flask, a teapot, and even a chamber pot fits his vague description of a ceramic vessel with a handle. It doesn’t matter what you fill the vessel with, a chamber pot isn’t going to somehow reject wine. Each of these is made of the same physical things, but comprise of entirely different gatherings of things. Culturally, the jug is so ingrained that it is impossible for us to separate it from the gathering that it describes.
This creates a difficult situation where the jug is so concrete to us that the word jug cannot possibly be separated from the gathering within our minds, then, because of this we are less able to understand the gathering that it is made up of. I feel that the word jug, once a name for the gathering, becomes part of the gathering itself. If one reads the text knowing in advance that it is a jug that is being deconstructed then they become prejudiced towards it. If the word jug is withheld and the gathering moulded in the mind’s eye of the reader like the clay from which the thing made then surely as they construct it themselves they will understand the thing to a greater degree. Heidegger himself says
When and in what way do things appear as things? They do not appear by means of human making. But neither do they appear without the vigilance of mortals. The first step toward such vigilance is the step back from the thinking that merely represents - that is, explains - to the thinking that responds and recalls. (Heidegger, 1971, P. 179)
The step back, as he puts it, is to withhold the word jug, to be vigilant and think about the jug as a thing, not the thing as a jug. Here we return to the jigsaw that I discussed earlier. By removing the complete name, the jug initially loses form, but by understanding each piece, the picture is more solid in the mind of the viewer than it ever was before. Heidegger’s discussion of the composition of the jug is limited to the physical materials, the maker, and the cultural usage of the object. But is the name not another element of the structure of the jug?“Men alone, as mortals, by dwelling attain to the world as world. Only what conjoins itself out of world becomes a thing.” (p. 180) The conjoined nature of the thing and the name for the thing reveal the true thingness of the jug. The jug is made by humans, for humans, and named by humans. This gathering is a gathering of humans and human concerns. To approach the nature of the object without considering how we refer to, not only all objects, but each object is to be as worthless as to not consider them at all.
This chapter focuses on the thing, and reveals the complexity hidden within everything around us by showing how each thing does not exist in isolation, but as a gathering of other things, physical or non-physical. However it also shows that the complexity of these things is reliant on us being there to observe them and consider them. The next chapter aims not to remove the consideration of the thing, but by delaying it, discover how this changes the thing and people’s perception of it.
Chapter 4
The Propositional Object
Taking what has been discussed in the previous chapters and applying it to the world of art and design is the focus of this chapter. As shown, the name can serve as an initial impression of an object providing a prejudice and is hugely important in our perception of things. The name itself provides power over the object and over us, changing the very nature of the thing itself. The name becomes an integral part of the thingness of the thing. This chapter aims to highlight this by presenting a propositional object, created by the author of this dissertation, that interacts with names in a more obvious way. By bringing the name to the forefront of the experience the object will be more obviously interpretable and able to transition between any of the names that it is given. The propositional object will be a non functional form with no name and properties conducive to open ended interpretations.
The creation of an object is usually started with a need to fulfil a purpose. The object here however, is in a way intended to have no purpose. Its purpose is to be a canvas, to be able to be swayed by a name. If the purpose of the object is too well known or there is too much affordance that suggests a certain action it will not be convincingly renamed. The object should not have obvious handles, for example, as it denotes human use. Further to that, it is ideal that the object not have any connotations by the use of scale or material. In making the object, it becomes clear that the first hurdle is that of materiality, each material denotes uses or environments. A thing made from brushed aluminium would not make a good children's toy, in the same way that colourful plastic is considered less desirable in high end computers. The second hurdle is scale. A thing changes hugely when the scale is changed. Artists like Claes Oldenburg take advantage of both of these properties by changing the materials or scale of an object to alter our feelings towards it. A work like Pastry Case I (fig. 1) (Pastry Case, 1, 1928) shows familiar desert items represented as painted plaster sculptures. This creates a seemingly familiar artwork that provokes thought in the mind of the viewer. It’s clearly an artwork and non edible, but also very clearly a desert selection. This contradiction leaves us feeling none of the usual thoughts we would have to a desert selection, even though this recognisably is one. Contrasting this, to keep a consistent sense of materiality, but change a sense of scale creates a similarly confusing outcome. Oldenburg and Coosje Van Bruggen created many artworks together which consist of gigantic versions of everyday objects. These dominate the landscapes that they occupy and feel alien compared to their counterparts. They remain easily recognisable but show the viewer a completely unknown view of the object in question. The beauty in those works, and in Pastry Case I is that the subjects are known, so they are immediately recognisable, instead of forcing the viewer to deconstruct the shape and search for something recognisable they instead allow the viewer to be immediately taken by the differences to their known counterparts.
We know then that to change the physical properties of an object means that it creates a different impression. But changing an object by changing its scale or material allows only the new impression and the old, already known one. Oldenburg's giant objects are not ‘new’, but modifications, they are new interpretations and experiences but only really viewable through the lens of the normal objects. This only serves to create two unique objects with little interpretation between them. To create an object with more transient readings we must create something with no purpose, materiality, or scale. If we create an object without these properties then we create a nameless form that is simultaneously able to be many things, and also none of them. Of course the simplest way to make this object is through the use of digital technology. A physical object has to have a scale and a material, but in a digital space these are defined by the computer and are essentially meaningless. They are immediately changeable and only really serve as reference points for the possibility of replicating the digital representation in the real world.
Utilizing digital technology it is then possible to create a propositional object with no physical form such as this (fig. 2). The object here is rendered in black for clarity. The shape has six faces, each of which is curved towards the centre of the shape, with the large faces forming shallow bowl areas and the sides curving only along one axis. In this state it exists only as an expression of digital parameters. It has no name, no context, physical form, scale or material. The object says nothing to us that might be used to interpret it. So what is the value in this non object, this formless form?
By viewing this object in a digital world, we realise that we are not only free to project onto the object, but that for it to have any meaning at all, we must do so. Instead of believing that it speaks to us, we are able to embrace our own interpretations. I refer back to Knell’s comments referenced in chapter one where he says “while art historians believed the object was communicating to them they were really talking to it, infusing it with their thoughts and desires.” (Knell, 2012, p. 324) Knell raised this as a criticism, but it is the point of this object. The object appears blank, but by naming it you summon gatherings towards it from within yourself. The name becomes a conduit for the thingness of the thing. When the object receives a name, it does not only receive a name, but a scale, a material and a context. In the same way that Heidegger discusses a simple ceramic vessel with a handle but gathers it together with the name jug (Heidegger, 1971, p. 167), this object can be gathered with many names. If this object is named as a fruit bowl (fig. 3) then it immediately changes. It becomes a feature made of wood sat upon a table and gains a defined purpose. Fruit nestles inside its gentle curve. If it were instead to be a chopstick rest then it changes completely. The object now sits upended, a small ceramic piece with a glossy glaze. It has blended into the environment it now inhabits, no longer the focal point, but an element of the tableware.
These small functional uses are only the most basic interpretations for the object. The object can be called a building and realised as the one shown here (fig. 4). This interpretation entirely changes the nature of the object, it is no longer a unified whole but an amalgam of metal, glass, concrete and steel. The object becomes reliant on component parts. Conversely, the object in question can become a component part in a building. When used as part of the foundational structure for a building it increases the building’s resistance to earthquakes. This component part of a concave sliding base isolation unit. The object sits between two domes, one end firmly in the ground and the other as a main load bearing column in the building. When the ground shakes, the object allows the building to slide in any direction and return the the centre point. The diagram (fig. 5), simplified for clarity, shows how this would work. The base of the building is at ground level, with the concave sliding base isolation units in more enclosed surrounds at a sub ground level, with the foundations below. When positioned, these are able to be disguised as pillars with rubber seals at points of movement to minimise degradation and visual impact.
The name is powerful, these few examples only begin to show the variety of uses and experiences that new names can provide a thing. This form is boundlessly interpretable, limited only by the mind of the interpreter. However in the same way that Oldenburg and van Bruggen‘s works create new objects, this does the same. Each interpretation here is in a way, final. Once named, these become what the name expects of them, the decisive naming of the object removes the ability to fully explore the form. They cease to be interpretations of the same form and become new named objects that share a similar shape. The name once again limits the perception of the thing, by showing that the removal of the name is freeing, we also show that the addition of a name is limiting. Once defined, the redefinition becomes much much harder. The propositional object is best approached as a mental exercise to encourage us to strive to think how many more uses can be thought of for this one object, and for each other object that we make or encounter. Can we remove the name from other forms, then successfully repurpose them in new ways, scales and materials without simply making ornaments or artworks? Truly, the intention of the propositional object is to embolden the viewer to break through the limitations that names provide us and reinterpret the world full of around them.
In this chapter we see how the creation of an object with no name enables it to become any interpretation. This chapter discovers the level to which we see the name being key in defining the physical features of an object and our relations too it. The very same form is realised in scales and materials so drastically different from each other as to be unthinkable if not for the familiar shape.
Conclusion
The Gathering
This dissertation has discussed the many facets of names and possible implications of naming things. To begin. the dissertation explores whether names for people can impact their lives. This is explored through comedy initially, as people find unorthodox or familiar sounding foreign names enjoyable. Names are also a point of importance to a lot of people when they consider how to name children.
The first chapter develops this by exploring non-human names. The implications of names change when they stop being used to directly refer to one another. Here in exploring the German names for Shrews and Bats we reveal how the names of animals is a possible factor in how we treat them. By naming non-pests as pets we potentially encourage people to treat them as such. (Ohl, 2019 p. 13) This relates not just to animals however, as all objects too are based on their name, we use the name in parallel to the physical surface of an object as a para-surface and judge it based on the name. Surfaces are often all we see of objects, and para-surfaces are all too often how we exclusively refer to objects. Without delving deeper into the properties of the object we limit ourselves to the superficial aspects.
We then explore, with the aid of Knell, the complete removal of the name (Knell, 2012, p. 330) we understand the degree to which it is relied upon, by not naming the object of his discussion we’re shown how much we would have relied upon preconceptions, but are now forced to rely on Knell’s writing instead. Shklovsky then develops this by not removing the name, but replacing it. While the essay Art as Device (Shklovsky, 1991, p. 3) has a literary focus, the essay reveals the use of names as imagery in place of experience. Embracing this, we realise that the name provides an object, and a preconception, it doesn’t provide an experience, but a prepackaged expectation, and that replacing the weak common image, the name, with a more thoughtful image of a specific experience, we can create stronger writing. This can then be applied to non literary fields as well, as we explore later.
In the second chapter we explore names as memes. This exploration revolves around Dawkins’ initial creation of the term in The Selfish Gene (Dawkins, 2006, p. 192) and how this can apply to names. We begin by exploring the nature of names again, but this time not as labels for humans but as descriptive words that refer to objects. These descriptive names often iterate and lose their meaning, showing that we essentially refer to objects with invented terms that no longer describe them.
This discussion is then brought back to humans and the names they bear as we look at how these names sometimes began as descriptors of admirable qualities, but then through transference across languages these meanings were lost while new spellings and pronunciations were gained. This is similar to object names losing meaning as they iterate. It doesn’t make the name less effective, just more removed from the original intention. The name evolves through imperfect replication as memes do.
The issue of memes being parasitic is one of Dawkins’ main points. He argues that we act as hosts, manipulated for their gain, but the name disagrees with this. By embracing memes we further both the meme and ourselves. Jokes are a key example, we further the meme the more we tell it, but we also further ourselves as people will want to speak to us if we tell good jokes. Names work similarly, we further ourselves with memorable names, and by simply using them we allow communication with us to be easier. In this way they become symbiotic rather than parasitic, as each furthers the other while also furthering itself.
Consulting Heidegger in the third chapter we explore the nature of the thing and the name in relation to that. In The Thing (Heidegger, 1971, p. 168) Heidegger deconstructs things to enable us to interpret them as more than simple objects. His focus is on the jug and how it is not a mere ceramic vessel but a complicated assemblage of the non physical elements that form our cultural interpretation of the jug, this is what he terms a gathering. However unpacking this more, the dissertation explores the impact of the name on the gathering of the thing. As the name serves as an image for the thing, then with the name comes its own interpretations and connotations which alter the way we think of it. This is why similar objects such as two vessels could be seen to have such different gatherings, as the name we give each one is instrumental in the gathering of the thing.
When we interpret an object without acknowledging the importance of the name, our understanding of the gathering is hindered, as we struggle to see how much of the gathering is informed by the name. The name is not simply applied to the gathering of things as a label, but is a component in the gathering itself. Heidegger cannot then remove the name of the jug if he wishes to explain it as being a gathering of things, as to remove the name as Knell (Knell, 2012, p. 330) does would severely limit his ability to explain the particular set of things that form the jug. However he does not draw attention to the name being a part of the gathering.
To emphasise the name as part of the gathering of the thing the author created a propositional object with no thingness and no name. This object was created digitally to remove scale, material and physical context. Various names were then provided to this digital form, such as fruit bowl and concave sliding base isolation unit to summon materials to them. Each of these things is then shown as computer renders or composite images with a sense of scale, and in materials that fit the use. It is in this way that the name gathers the thingness to the thing. With each new name a new gathering is summoned.
This thought experiment shows that the name being removed provides forms with nearly limitless applications, but also how once each gathering is complete, the name again limits each new interpretation. The new name provides a finality that the object was created not to have. The name has the power to imbue the object with so much, but simultaneously prevents anything but itself having the same power to do so.
This object makes us return to the statement posed by Train at the start of this dissertation, “A dull name can mean a dull child.” (Train, 1977, p. 11) While this might not always be true in the case of people, the propositional object suggests the opposite might be true for things. Names have been shown throughout this dissertation to have huge impact on the way we interpret things. Indeed, the name can change the very nature of the thing itself, and a dull name could very well mean a dull thing. The name is not unimportant, but hiding, misunderstood and unquestioned, like many memes and things. We fail to see those most close to us, misunderstanding their intentions and interactions. To label names as simple tools is to deny them the hidden complexity that they possess. Appearing superficial and unimportant, but like many things that should not be judged at a glance, names prove to possess great depths of complexity. To name is to define, to become unchangeable, and fully enter the human world as a gathering, and as a thing. For what thing has no name?
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Figures
Fig 1 p. 23 - Oldenburg, C (1961-62) Pastry Case, I [Mixed Media] Available at MoMA Online: https://www.moma.org/collection/works/81721 [Accessed 18/01/19]
Fig 2 p. 25 - Author’s own (11/01/18) Indeterminate Object
Fig 3 p. 26 - Author’s own [Composite] (30/11/18) Fruit Bowl
Jones, S (2015) Seamless Wood Texture [Digital Image] Available at: https://sivioco.com/blog/how-to-create-a-seamless-wood-texture-in-photoshop/ [Accessed 25/11/18]
Fig 4 p. 27 - Author’s own [Composite] (03/12/18) Building
Sketchup Texture club (2019) Glass building skyscraper texture seamless 00949 [Online] Available at: https://www.sketchuptextureclub.com/textures/architecture/buildings/skycrapers/glass-building-skyscraper-texture-seamless-00949 [Accessed 01/12/18]
Google Maps (2019) 51°28’46”N 3°11’08”W [Online] Available at: https://www.google.com/maps/@51.4758056,-3.1713687,275a,35y,282.54h,64.92t/data=!3m1!1e3 [Accessed 30/11/18]
Fig 5 p. 28 - Author’s own (15/01/19) Concave Sliding Base Isolation Unit