Naming and Believing: Practices of the Proper Name in Narrative Fiction
Author(s): Uri Margolin
Source: Narrative, Vol. 10, No. 2 (May, 2002), pp. 107-127 Published by: Ohio State University Press Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20107279 . Accessed: 02/09/2014 16:22 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact support@jstor.org. . Ohio State University Press is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to Narrative. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Uri Margolin Naming and Believing: Practices of the Proper Name in Narrative Fiction BELIEF WORLDS, PROPER NAMES, AND NAME USAGE 1.1 The power of discourse to construct realities is widely asserted in contem porary literary theory. But what exactly is this power? Surely it is only the divine word which can call into existence a mind-independent, external reality which we can all experience in our common life world! The constructive power of discourse in purely human circumstances is much more modest, and could be characterized as the ability to give rise to mental (cognitive) representations, discourse domains, or belief worlds in the minds of individuals, or to belief worlds shared by members of a group. Such discourse domains may be construed as worlds of the mind, which may or may not correspond to any external, intersubjective reality. Semiotic means of some kind (sounds, letters, words, phrases, sketches, etc.) serve in all such cases as both initia tors and underpinnings of the resultant mental representation. One particular kind of mental representation or discourse domain consists of spatio-temporal frameworks containing both individual entities with their properties and relations and dynamic situations, that is, changing configurations of the relations between these entities. Such dynamic frameworks are the cognitive correlate of the narrative discourse type, be it factual or fictional. For it is not the semiotic or cognitive dimension as such that distinguishes the factual from the fictional, but rather the correspondence, or lack thereof, between a mental representation and an external situation. The power of dis course to give rise to a cognitive domain is most evident when we have access to the mental operations through which this domain gets established and subsequently modified, and when these operations occur in a well-defined and well-circumscribed Uri Margolin is Professor of Comparative Literature at the University of Alberta, Edmonton, Canada. His current research focuses on narratology, possible worlds semantics, and the use of logical and cogni tive models for the analysis of narrative. He has published close to fifty articles in collective volumes and international journals. NARRATIVE, Vol. 10, No. 2 (May 2002) Copyright 2002 by The Ohio State University This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 108 Uri Margolin setting. This power is enhanced if the given discourse is the only currently available source of information for the corresponding cognitive domain construction, and it is maximal when the discourse is the only possible source of information about a given domain?namely, when we are dealing with a pure verbal invention, with a world whose very (mental) existence depends crucially and exclusively on a specific semi otic object (discourse, picture, film, etc.). This dependency is of the same nature whether the pragmatic status of the discourse is that of a lie or of a creative artistic invention. The difference between the two will manifest itself rather in the different behavioral disposition the cognitive frame evokes in the individual in whose mind it exists, once she has assigned, at least pro tempore, a pragmatic status to the corre sponding discourse. In fictional narrative contexts, it is a basic assumption that the textual actual world or matrix world is established by the discourse of the narrator, and that many of the domains or worlds projected in the discourses, external or internal, of the char acters constitute their individual mental representations of this matrix world, or their belief systems about it. This assumption, or basic convention of reading, is univer sally accepted when we are faced with impersonal narration in the third-person past tense, in which the narrating voice has unrestricted mental access to the minds of the characters, that is, the denizens of the matrix world. In this case, the narrating voice can present to us fully and reliably the information sources the characters possess and the processes whereby they form on the basis of this information any and all of their mental representations of the textual actual world. Unrestricted mental access also enables us to juxtapose and compare differing mental representations of the same matrix world in the minds of different characters. With the minds of the char acters being an open book, we, the actual readers, are able to have full and reliable knowledge of how and why a character forms a given mental representation, of its specific nature, and of its subsequent impact on his or her thought, communication, and behavior. Finally, the truth-functional status of any individual cognitive repre sentation with respect to the base or matrix world can be defined by its degree of cor respondence to the textual actual world as defined in the discourse of the narrating voice. (On this whole complex of issues, see the fundamental works of Ryan and Werth.) 1.2 We have so far spoken in general terms about the construction of mental representations from verbal discourses. But what elements of discourse, that is, what linguistic elements, are the essential ones, especially when dynamic situations or storyworlds are concerned? Notice that the answer, whatever it is, applies equally to us, the actual readers of narrative fiction, and to the characters inside the fictional matrix world whenever they construct a mental representation of their life world on the basis of a discourse. Following Werth (ch. 6), I would argue that singular refer ring expressions occupy a special place in this context, since they designate or estab lish the individual entities that constitute the furniture of the storyworld and that serve as the objects of all subsequent qualifications or predications. Linguists distin guish three kinds of singular referring expressions: personal pronouns, definite de scriptions, and proper names. But where personal pronouns (e.g., "she") and definite descriptions (e.g., "the prime minister of Canada") may pick out different individu This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Proper Names in Narrative Fiction 109 als on different occasions of use, proper names (PNs) are unique in being fixed points in a changing world. According to the currently dominant philosophical view formulated by Saul Kripke, PNs are rigid designators, that is, they pick out the same individual at all times and in all worlds in which he exists, irrespective of any prop erty or properties he may possess, acquire, or lose. A PN is like a social insurance number or an identifying tag that follows its referent wherever she goes and what ever happens. From a cognitive perspective it is like a label of an information file we keep about someone. The content of this file may change drastically over time due to changes in the information available or due to changes in the individual in question, but it is still the file on the same individual. On the other hand, even a slight modifi cation of an available PN raises serious doubts whether or not it is the same individ ual who is being referred to, doubts which can be resolved only through contextual factors such as speaker's or writer's intentions or noise in the channel of communi cation. An individual is introduced into our, or a character's, mental representation of a domain as soon as a PN occurs in the corresponding discourse, and this is why writers quite often introduce the names of their characters early in the discourse. In narrative fiction, we can observe the introduction of a new entity into the cognitive map a character has of the textual actual world as a result of the occurrence of a PN in a verbal or written discourse about this world that the character is exposed to. A separate, but crucial, issue to be resolved on the basis of the narrative voice's dis course is whether an entity corresponding to this PN actually exists in the matrix world. I have characterized a PN as a label of a mental file we keep about someone. This computer analogy is useful to clarify several relevant cognitive operations por trayed in narrative. The introduction of a PN would correspond to the opening of a new file, and acquiring any information about the individual associated with this PN would be like updating or modifying the file. The occurrence later in the discourse of a somewhat different PN would initially lead to the opening of a new file. If, how ever, we decide the new name is a mere variant or equivalent of the one we already have, the files will be merged. If we believe the bearer of a given PN is no longer alive, then the file will be closed to any additional real-time factual information. Finally, if it turns out a given PN never referred to any actual individual and if we are interested in maintaining files on actual individuals only, the whole file will have to be deleted. We are going to encounter all of these situations in the stories to be discussed. 1.3 Most literary narratives are concerned not only with the contents and func tioning of individual minds, but also with human actions and interactions in public space, of which communicative exchange forms a key component. PNs are crucial in this context, because they are "the condition for making knowledge and communica tion possible, for getting the enterprise off the private ground" (Barcan 188). Seen from the pragmatic perspective of signs and their users, PNs are there to begin with so that on a given occasion one can refer to (pick out, single out, uniquely identify) an individual or group in a way that is as clear as possible to both name user and his addressee(s). It is hence the referring use of PNs, the referring acts in which they occur, and the perlocutionary impact of these acts that are of major interest to liter This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 110 Uri Margolin ary authors. In simpler terms, what people do with PNs as their users and what these PNs do to their receivers, as well as to the individuals picked out by them, are key is sues here. The "doing" just mentioned can, in its turn, be unpacked into at least three major components: communicative, epistemic/doxastic (issues of knowledge and be lief), and behavioral. In the first instance, PNs as linguistic entities are introduced into circulation by someone and become a constituent of various verbal utterances by the introducer as well as by others, so that eventually they become a common coin of verbal exchange in a community. In standard use a PN is supposed to pick out an individual in a common or shared phenomenal world and to occur in utterances ex pressing some claims about this individual. Beliefs, both individual and collective, are consequently formed over time about the individual answering to this PN. The beliefs entertained by different persons with respect to the same name bearer may differ, and can therefore be contrasted with one another, with shared communal be liefs (if any), and, in fictional narratives, with the certain knowledge about this indi vidual possessed by the narrating voice and representing the facts of the matter (at least in most third-person anonymous narration). Notice that in nonfictional narra tives, too, any participant views may be contrasted with those of the narrator/author, except that now the narrator's views cannot constitute absolute, unquestionable knowledge. In literary narratives, especially, we can also witness the process of the formation, change, and possible abandonment of beliefs, both personal and collec tive, with respect to a putative referent of a given PN. Finally, PNs are also means by which individuals refer to themselves or identify themselves in a generalized or im personal public space, so that the beliefs they hold about themselves (de se beliefs) and their own PN (or the one by which they are known) can be confronted with those held by specific or generalized other(s), or by the narrator. Beliefs are currently un derstood as intentional states responsible for appropriate behavioral dispositions or as cognitive maps by which we steer our actions. Either way, beliefs often lead to ac tion in interpersonal space, and the totality of ensuing acts centered on a specific PN defines the relevant group dynamics. One key issue in the pragmatics of PNs concerns the authority of naming: who, under what circumstances and in what kind of discursive activity, is socially sanc tioned to introduce a PN usage practice into a community (Evans ch. 10), and to have it accepted as an uncontestable fact that an individual answering to this name exists or no longer exists? Differently put, who can establish or disclaim "public facts" with respect to any name bearer, that is, a standard shared network of beliefs about him with a quasi-normative status in a community? This issue is closely associated with the general mechanisms of designation chains (Devitt and Sterelny) encom passing the origination, dissemination, establishment, spread, maintenance, and, on occasion, termination or abandonment of a PN usage practice in a community. The best available philosophical theory about the launching and dissemination of PNs is provided by the so-called historical-causal theory, formulated by Kripke, Geach, and Evans, and codified by Devitt and Sterelny. In its barest outline, this the ory claims that an individual is given a PN by one or more persons through an act of ostensi?n ("This is Jack") or through association (though not equation) with an iden This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Proper Names in Narrative Fiction 111 tifying description. This initial act is termed grounding or reference fixing. The name-giving persons are the producers or originators of a PN usage practice that es tablishes a correlation between a PN and an individual. This initial baptism is fol lowed by a reference-borrowing process: the PN is launched into circulation in a community, and competence in that PN's use spreads through it. The community members thus become the consumers of this naming practice. Note that a person's ability to use a PN results sometimes exclusively from the exercise of such an ability by another person in the chain of communication or from its being an item in a shared repertoire, and not from any knowledge by acquaintance or by description of the referent of the PN. A community practice of the use of the PN is eventually es tablished and underlies its use as a referring expression on numerous occasions. We thus end up using a certain PN to refer to someone because we know that there is a general practice in our community of using this expression to refer to this person, and the use of this PN by any individual can be viewed as an adoption of the group practice. Now the later user intends to agree in reference with those from whom he picked up the name, thereby preserving the reference. This is so, as Kripke reminds us (167), because the use of a PN has a predominantly social character: we use PNs in order to maintain communication with others via a common language, and specif ically in order to maintain a constant correlation between a name and an individual. But if we just borrow the use of a PN from others and merely repeat it, we may not understand the referent, that is, we may not know the truth conditions of any propo sition of the form "[PN] is thus and so." 1.4 A smooth process of name giving, and that name's gradual spread and en trenchment, is largely something we take for granted, in life as well as in literature. We become aware of the presuppositions, conditions of possibility, and enabling conditions of this complex mechanism in cases of breakdown, difficulty, or confu sion. Because fictional narratives can provide full and certain information as to what went awry, how, when, why, and with what consequences, they are an ideal labora tory of the mind for examining both presuppositions and their nonfulfillment. What is more, traditionally literature is largely based on a story having a point, of its pos sessing strong tellability, which, in its turn, is associated with the disturbance of the expected, the normal, and the routine. Fiction can thus tell us the most about the so cial working of PNs, their epistemological and behavioral consequences, through stories concerned with problematic referents, problematic relations of reference be tween PN and person, and problematic or undecided acts of referring. And this is in deed what takes place in the stories I discuss below. PROPER NAMES WITHOUT REFERENTS 2.1 A German craftsman's apprentice with no knowledge of Dutch comes from his neck of the woods to the "big and rich city of Amsterdam." He stops in front of a beautiful house and inquires of a passerby, "what is the name of the man to whom this house belongs?" His inquiry is made in German, a language the passerby does not understand, so the answer he gets is "kannitverstan," that is, "can't understand" This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 112 Uri Margolin in Dutch. The apprentice assumes, mistakenly, that the passerby had understood him and that this is indeed the owner's name, whereupon he makes in his mind the pred ication "Mr. Kannitverstan is a very rich man" and proceeds on his way. We next meet him at the harbor, where a ship laden with goods from the East Indies is being unloaded. Our friend asks one of the stevedores, again in German, "What is the name of the fortunate man to whom the sea brings all these wares?" The answer is "kan nitverstan." The apprentice reasons, "No wonder that the one to whom the sea brings such riches can build such houses." The putative Kannitverstan is now twice quali fied: as owner of a big house and as a rich importer. In the inquirer's belief world a cluster of properties begins to form around the name bearer, and he expresses his wish "if I could just once be as fortunate as this Mr. Kannitverstan." As he goes strolling around the city, he stumbles upon a big funeral procession. He approaches the very last person in the procession and says to him in German, "this must have been a good friend of yours, since you are walking so pensive and dejected." The re sponse is once again "Kannitverstan." The apprentice is really moved; he addresses in his mind the dead Kannitverstan, "poor Kannitverstan, what have you got for all your riches," and watches as the body of the presumed Mr. Kannitverstan is being lowered into his grave. The narrator concludes by telling us that "whenever later on the apprentice felt dejected by the thought that there were so many people in the world who were so rich while he was so poor, he had only to think of Mr. Kannitver stan in Amsterdam, of his big house, rich ship and narrow grave" (Hebel 157-60). A good story, no doubt, both aesthetically and philosophically. But what is re ally happening here? I think the process could adequately be treated in terms of the communicative/epistemic/actional hierarchy. The linguistic and communicative di mension is the first to come to the fore, as one would expect in any case of verbal in teraction. The speaker's linguistic ignorance and inability to determine that the interlocutor does not understand him leads the apprentice to a category mistake: a phrase (a complex of lexical items standing in grammatical relations to one another) is delexicalized or desemanticized and (mis)interpreted as a mere label or tag, a sin gular term, referring expression, or PN of an otherwise unknown man. Asking "what is the name of. ..," one expects to get in response a string of several phonemes that do not require lexical decoding, and this is exactly what the apprentice thinks he gets. By the time he has heard this supposed PN twice, a further occurrence of a token of it in the speech of an additional interlocutor, even when not perceived as an answer to a question, can only reinforce this (mis)understanding of "Kannitverstan." The irony of the situation is, of course, that the failure to understand that the other cannot understand, and is in fact saying so, leads to the inquirer's own misunder standing, and that the failure to comprehend a metacommunicative expression leads to the failure of the underlying communication, to the misconstrual of this very phrase, and to the consequent formation in the inquirer's mind of a false belief about the common phenomenal world. A linguistic error thus gives rise to the first epis temic one, an erroneous existence claim that there is a Mr. Kannitverstan, and to sev eral claims about him: that he lives in Amsterdam and that he is the owner of a sumptuous house. The reader, who is provided by the narrator with the German equivalent of the Dutch phrase, knows that the phrase is not a PN and that there is This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Proper Names in Narrative Fiction 113 hence no Mr. Kannitverstan being referred to by any of the respondents. The very ex istence of this individual and any property he may possess are thus restricted to the belief world of one individual and are not shared by any coagent or by the narrator, which is equivalent to saying that there is no Mr. Kannitverstan in the storyworld. For the apprentice, on the other hand, the combination of presumed PN and predica tions leads to the formation in his belief world of a person. This parallels the general literary creative process as described by Barthes when he says that a "character" (personnage) is formed when a set of predicates traverses a proper name. And, as in literature, the process is purely verbal, consisting of an empty term and predications with no truth value, but this time not with respect to actuality but inside the story world. On the other hand, while literary characters are created by their authors from words used in a storytelling mode and as part of a pretend or make-believe game, the apprentice's creation is based on ignorance and error. His misconstrual of a signifier gives rise in his mind to a nonexistent signified in whose existence he truly and hon estly believes, so that any claims he makes about this individual are again erroneous but sincere. By the time we get to the funeral and another occurrence of "Kannitverstan," a further cognitive mechanism sets in: that of constructing for the person in question a life story, a coherent narrative with general human significance out of a sequence of situations and events. The additional predicates now possess a dynamic or temporal dimension, the narrative theme being that of sic transit gloria mundi. So, once there was a man who for a while was rich, blessed with many possessions. But eventually he died, and his riches were of no avail to him any longer. At this point, the appren tice's disposition to action, anchored in axiological and deontic claims, becomes rel evant. The set of beliefs he retains about Kannitverstan the man guides him in his own conduct, serving as an exemplary or cautionary tale about greed, envy, and the like, so that, as the narrator says at the beginning of the story, "in the strangest round about way a German craftsman's apprentice arrived in Amsterdam through error to truth" (157). This general moral truth, which is presented as valid inside the story world, may, for all we know, be equally valid in the actual world. If it is, then through two levels of individual nonreference and nonexistence (one inside the storyworld and the other relative to actuality), we have arrived at a valid universal moral insight and an implied behavioral precept. As far as the apprentice is concerned, the conclu sion underscores the fact that he could achieve general knowledge only through fail ure of factual understanding and through lack of awareness of this failure, which is quite ironic. The story contains one further irony, now associated with naming. While its main character, the apprentice, is nameless and designated only by this one definite description, the story itself is titled "Kannitverstan." In view of what hap pens in the story, it would probably not be too far-fetched to suggest that this expres sion could very appropriately serve as the name or nickname of the apprentice. In such a case, the name is again relexicalized and functions as a speaking name (re dender Name), possessing both meaning and reference and in addition correctly characterizing its bearer. 2.2 Juri Tynjanov's "Podporuchik Kizhe" ("Second Lieutenant Salso") is a far more complex story than the previous one. It is the story of Czar Paul I (1796-1801) This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 114 Uri Margolin and how the life careers of two minor officers, Kizhe and Synukhaev, are affected by his reading and signing of official documents in which their names occur. To be, in the world of this story, is not to be the value of a bound variable, as in logic, but rather to be named and certified by an official discourse. This social sanctioning or normative official truth is not treated by philosophers, who are interested rather in mind- and context-independent truth and existence. Kizhe, created by clerical error (a PN introduced without a corresponding referent), prospers, while Synukhaev, real but declared dead by a similar error (PN withdrawn from circulation), wastes away. The story constantly alternates between these two life stories, and contains in addi tion a brief episode of a young soldier who wonders how real the czar is. In this sec tion we will deal with the officer created by scribal error, deferring discussion of the other two cases to section 3.2 and 4, respectively. A young, nervous, and inexperienced regimental clerk needs to copy by 6 p.m. a regimental list. He is supposed to write "podporuchiki zhe Stiven, Rybin" (328), that is, "second lieutenants also Stiven, Rybin etc." He gets distracted and writes by mistake "podporuchik Kizhe, Stiven, Rybin," that is, "second lieutenant Salso, Stiven, Rybin." Kizhe is thus literally Salso in English, and this is how we shall refer to him from now on. Making more errors as he goes along and running out of time, the clerk cannot correct the errors he has made and of which he is fully aware. By 6 p.m. the list is picked up by an officer and submitted to the czar, who is obviously not personally acquainted with the name of every petty officer. The czar reads the docu ment and inserts in his own hand the order "Second Lieutenant Salso to guard duty." The omniscient narrator tells us that "only one clerk in the whole world understood [what was going on], but nobody asked him and he did not tell anybody" (332). The regimental commanding officer does not know who Salso is, cannot find him on any list, and, not knowing what to do, turns to a high-ranking relative for advice. The lat ter tersely instructs him: "Czar not to be informed. Second Lieutenant Salso to be counted among the living. Assign to guard duty" (333). "And thus began the life of second Lieutenant Salso" (338). What started as a clerical error is given "tenuous life" through the czar's hand, quite literally, and "the slip of the pen became a second lieutenant without a face, but with a surname" (338). The poor clerk had no intention of deceiving anybody. For him any PN, like all other words, is a mere graphic unit, a set of letters to be faithfully copied, and ques tions of existence of anybody answering to any PN are irrelevant. He is well aware that he has created an additional PN on the list, but, fearing trouble, he prefers to keep silent. The czar, in an official context of reporting, naturally believes that this unusual PN (it is as strange in Russian as it is in English) does designate a minor of ficer?whom he knows not by perceptual acquaintance but merely as a name associ ated with an important predicate (second lieutenant) and occurring on an official list?and proceeds to assign him a role. By construing and using "Salso" as a singu lar referring term, the czar, through his writing, acknowledges the existence of an of ficer answering to this name, thereby launching a PN usage practice backed by his absolute authority. For the czar's beliefs have a normative force, as they establish the one and only correct belief system to be adopted and adhered to by all his subjects. His order (the deontic) establishes the epistemic and doxestic (what is officially This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Proper Names in Narrative Fiction 115 known or believed as fact). His writing on the regimental list is in fact a performative utterance establishing by fiat the existence of Salso, tantamount to saying "I hereby declare that Second Lieutenant Salso exists in my regiment." Of course, no act of speech can change the ontological map, but it can determine the official social repre sentation of reality. In this sense, the czar's word can create an individual ex nihilo, turning an individual scribal error into a public fact. The existence errors in the previous story were restricted to an individual. But once the czar is involved it is not that simple any more. The high-ranking official who advised the regimental commander to go on with the unfounded naming prac tice initiates a long-term collective pretence or collusion, a conniving or deceitful group practice of PN usage that should override the commander's knowledge that there is no corresponding person, and, as we shall see later, the simple soldiers' per ceptual knowledge that when Salso's name is called out nobody can be seen or heard. Over time, the court is split into two groups: those in the know and the rest, in cluding the czar. Members of the first group know that "Salso" dees not refer to any one, but go on with the pretence for their own purposes, endowing Salso over time with more and more attributes and actions. Their use of the name is a deceitful or sto rytelling one that they try to pass to outsiders as a reality-invoking one. Members of the second group sincerely believe that an officer answering to this name exists, yet for obvious reasons most of the "information" about him must come from the first group. We see, especially in the second group, the extension over time of designa tional chains involving "Salso" through reference borrowing, where the next person using the name feels warranted in doing so because he relies on the public shared knowledge that "Salso" has been used by other members of the community to refer to an officer in this particular regiment. The newly created officer comes in handy in solving current problems. When someone shouts "help!" under the czar's window (ironically, the Russian word used for "help" is "karaul," which also has the meaning of "guard duty") and the culprit cannot be found, the blame is conveniently pinned on Salso. "What has been up to now the clerk's distress, the commander's perplexity and the adjutant's quick wit" (338) begins to assume a face and a character, that is, predicates related to disposi tions for action. He is "a mischief maker" sentenced by the czar to be lashed in front of the regiment and then be banished to Siberia. An ongoing, real-time life story as an open-ended narrative now begins to be created and attached to the PN "Salso." His name is called out in front of the assembled regiment, and a mare is then flogged by two soldiers. "The mare, however did not seem completely bare," and when the straps were untied, "it was as if someone's shoulders were freed.... Even though no one was there, yet it was as if someone was" (339). I believe these phrases represent a focalization through the collective eyes of the assembled regiment: direct percep tual evidence and official truth, as manifested in the institution of flogging, collide, and the result is a state of hesitation and indeterminacy in the belief worlds of the soldiers. Truth and official truth seem to be out of joint, but since official truth has the power of life and death, the soldiers better play along. Two guards next accompany Salso to Siberia. It is strange indeed that there is neither sight nor sound of him, but they have an official letter saying that "this is a secret prisoner who has no figure" This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 116 Uri Margolin (344), so whenever they become confused by the looks of the toll keepers, they pro duce the letter and everything is fine. "They soon began to understand that they were accompanying an important criminal. They got used to it and significantly spoke be tween themselves [of him as] he or it" (344), that is, person or official fiction. Court complicity in the hoax goes on, and Salso is next ordered back from Siberia by the czar and commanded to marry a lady-in-waiting in the court who has become preg nant due to a one-night stand with an officer whose name she never knew and whose face she did not clearly see in the dark. When Salso comes back from Siberia, many people already know about him. Fake reference and attached deceiving predications keep spreading, yielding an ever expanding network of false beliefs about him. There are by now "fully definite fea tures of his life" (350), namely, the facts we have seen so far. Life goes on equally whether we really are or are just supposed to be. Over time, the regimental comman der takes Salso for granted in assigning duties, and the czar, poring every now and then over regimental lists, promotes him first to captain and then to colonel. He has a room in the barracks and a study at home, and "after some time, a son was born to lieutenant Salso who, they say, was similar to him" (350). Notice the impersonal form of "they say" or "it is said" or "according to hearsay" ("po slukham"), which does not anchor the claim in any individual source but treats it as a communal phe nomenon. Like most hearsay, it cannot be traced back to a source, and people repeat it as a supposed fact because they have heard it from others, not unlike designation chains in general. The coercive power of such collective doxa over individual knowl edge is so strong that one night even Salso's "wife," when she hears the floor creak ing in the other room, believes for a moment that it is her husband coming back home and takes a fright, since she is with a lover at that moment. Some time later, the paranoid czar feels the need for a modest man who will be absolutely duty bound to him (354), and Salso fits the bill since he had never been either abject flatterer or malcontent, but carried out his duties "without complaint or murmur" (354). Salso is thus promoted to the rank of general, and somebody hears the czar speak about him to the military governor of St. Petersburg. But again the main point is the communal PN usage practice. On the eve of his promotion day, "his name came to the fore and they [the court people] spoke about him" (354): incompatible fake memory claims (or are they rather just false memories, induced by confusion and the felt pressure to show one is well informed?) about his past life and origins are uttered by different unidentified voices. But the moment of truth can no longer be put off. General Salso is summoned to the czar. "On the same day the Czar was informed that General Salso was danger ously ill" (355). (Notice again the anonymous impersonal quality of the source.) On the third day he passes away and is given a state funeral in which his hearse is fol lowed by a crying wife and son. The czar, believing to the end that "Salso" refers to an actual person, gravely remarks, "My best people die" (355), and the narrator, act ing as vox communis, casts a retrospective glance over Salso's career, which obvi ously has no childhood period, and notices that he was "the envy of courtiers" (356). Such is the force of collective PN usage practice that the name and properties asso ciated with it acquire real agency in a group and end up influencing the actions and This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Proper Names in Narrative Fiction 111 attitudes of actual persons. It is only natural, therefore, that Salso's name is posthu mously entered into the official historical chronicles. 2.3 Anatole France's "Putois," the last story to be discussed in this section, is somewhat different in form from the rest. The impersonal narrative voice is mini mized, and the story consists almost entirely of the oral reminiscences of a middle aged man and his sister, made to the man's daughter and to a couple of friends, and of generalizing comments made by all of them. The object of the reminiscences is an extended series of childhood experiences involving "Putois," a gardener whom their mother invented on the spur of the moment to get an annoying great aunt off her back. It is thus, within the storyworld, a true account of a fictitious story that sought to pass for a true one, and of its impact. The point of departure is no longer an error in the interpretation of a signifier that turns it into a presumed PN, but rather a delib erate deceit, an intentional conniving or pretending practice of introducing into the discourse a PN as if it were referring to an individual known to the speaker. The communicative sincerity condition is thus violated. In standard communication, when a token of a PN is introduced by a speaker in the context of reality-invoking discourse, it is understood (default clause) that the speaker is using it as a referring expression, that the speaker knows or believes that the name does pick out an indi vidual in the actual world, and that the speaker could identify this individual by means of ostensi?n and/or definite description if asked to do so. The mother's deceit consists in pretending to be using the name as a referring expression while knowing it does not have any actual referent, and in supplying, upon the great aunt's demand, further identifying descriptions of the form "Putois is thus and so," which cannot be true with respect to actuality since Putois does not exist in the public world. The baptism or reference fixing or grounding of "Putois" having taken place, the PN usage practice is initiated in the course of a private act of communication. But once it is taken up by the initial addressee (the great aunt), it spreads like wildfire in the small provincial French town and becomes very shortly a shared usage of the town as a whole. The presumed name bearer, not unlike Salso, gradually acquires more and more attributes (physical, mental, and agential); a whole physical and psy chological portrait; and a past life story and an ongoing present one, which consists of all kinds of dubious activities, from mischief to theft to seducing maidservants. What started as a private, occasional deceit turns on short notice into an article of public faith, into a certified abiding existent in the shared belief world of the towns people, and hence into a factor that greatly influences their behavior, judgments, and expectations. Putois becomes the object of collective concern, if not fear. People seem to have false memories of having heard the name before, or of having encoun tered him in the past. At present, he seems to be sighted in different places at the same time. He is an object of a police and journalistic search, yet nobody can agree what exactly he looks like. Things reach their absurd climax when the new maid of the woman who invented Putois comes to her one day and tells her that a man called "Putois" is in the kitchen and wants to speak to her. "This encounter between the maid and Putois has never been explained," says the speaker (759). When the name "Putois" was initially uttered, it had no intended referent and its utterer had no one in mind. By now, many individuals claim to have in mind a specific perceived referent This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 118 Uri Margolin of this name. But in fact Putois is defined by an ever-increasing collective rumor mill that defines the semantic referent of this name. "Putois" is also a beautiful example of the designation chain or reference-borrowing process, where my use of a PN is based on its having been used by others before and on some of the features they have associated with the name bearer. The longer and wider a PN is used, the more en trenched the name and its presumed referent become in the public mind. Another interesting aspect of France's story is the description and juxtaposition of the varied and quite different knowledge and belief worlds associated with the name "Putois" for its inventor (the mother), her husband, the children, the great aunt, and the populace at large (opinio communis). The mother obviously knows that there is no one answering to this name, but as the originator of the PN usage practice she is supposed to be the one with the authoritative knowledge about his looks, where abouts, manner, and skills, being the only one possessing knowledge by acquaintance or perception of him (after all, he is her gardener). She is thus forced into evasive an swers or vague lies when requested again and again by the obnoxious great aunt to provide specific information that will help her locate him. But the supposed appear ance of Putois in her own kitchen gives her pause. The brother says, "I believe that since that day my mother began to believe that Putois could well exist, and she might well not have lied." ("Je crois qu'a partir de ce jour, ma m?re commen?a a croire que Putois pouvait bien exister, et qu'elle pouvait bien n'avoir pas menti" [759].) Notice the modalities: she does not now know that Putois exists, but instead of knowing that he does not exist, she now retreats one step to the twilight area of beliefs about pos sible existence. Quite significantly, this is the concluding phrase of the story. The fa ther is a skeptic and rationalist. Besides, he knows how the whole thing started; he demanded of his wife to invent an excuse not to visit the aunt on the following Sun day, and the excuse she came up with and gave the great aunt was precisely that they were awaiting Putois, the gardener, on that day. Yet, he plays along with the children, and whenever he cannot find his pen or ink he would say "I suspect Putois has passed by" (748). This humoring, make-believe, or pretend attitude towards the children is paralleled by his feigned belief whenever adults are concerned. He is aware of human error and gullibility, and speaks of Putois as of a real human being. He occa sionally speaks so emphatically and in such detail that his wife says "one would say that you speak seriously, but you know well" (758). He answers, "the whole town be lieves in his existence. Would I be a good citizen if I denied it? One ought to think twice before denying an article of common faith." And further, "in order to be a good citizen he professed his faith in the existence of Putois; yet he dispensed with him in order to explain the events in town" (758-59). This is an interesting mixture of a be lief in principle together with a refusal to attribute to "him" any specific actions an chored in space and time. The brother calls him "a follower of Gassendi," a seventeenth-century French philosopher who advocated a via media between the skeptics who doubt we can have knowledge about anything and dogmatic claims for possession of certain knowledge. Like his wife, he juggles private knowledge that Putois does not exist and a publicly declared (feigned) belief in his existence. But he would not commit himself to any assertions about this existent. Furthermore, the pri vate (versus public) behavior of husband and wife cannot, of course, be affected by This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Proper Names in Narrative Fiction 119 any public beliefs about Putois. For example, they cannot entertain any fears or wor ries about him. The populace at large (the impersonal "on") and the great aunt are the true dupes of the piece. All the aunt's fears, biases, and prejudices seem to have found a focal point in Putois, whom she turns into a living embodiment of everything vile and menacing. Because of him she changes her locks and yet cannot sleep at night. The townspeople, communicating with one another, find in Putois a convenient scapegoat for all crimes and misdemeanors that cannot be solved, and start a process of ever-increasing demonization, which ends up attributing to him supernatural pow ers. Notice that the townspeople feed upon each other in this process of invention and exaggeration, and that their unfounded beliefs tend to be therefore mutually en forcing in their incessant upward spiral. In fact, in the absence of any independent supporting evidence for any claim, the only possible support for each claim is the other claims. The false beliefs of many thus turn into a common article of faith. To the children, brother and sister, Putois is present and familiar. His face is never seen, but there are indications of him everywhere. Over time his memory becomes "less real and more poetic" (758). His memory is associated with all the objects that sur round the children (dolls, exercise books, the street, trees, benches) and they com pare him in their minds with figures of tales and stories. For children, who cannot always distinguish between natural and supernatural, actual figures and figures of fiction, who tend to endow objects and events with magical powers, and who popu late the life world with creatures of their imagination on par with observable ones, Putois is one more figure known to all, yet especially attached to their own home. He is, in fact, the most familiar figure of their childhood. This brings me to the last issue of the story: the explicit philosophical com ments made by the adult brother (the teller) and his listeners concerning modes of in dividual existence and the status and impact of invented beings, including the relation between objects of fiction and lies. The story begins with the brother saying that Putois remains the clearest in his memory of all the figures that passed before his eyes as a child, and that features of Putois's looks and character are still present in his memory. Whereupon brother and sister begin to recite these features "like a memorised piece of prose," "a sacred liturgical text used by the Bergert family" and compared by the father with anatomical descriptions in Rabelais (757). Putois was named, and from then he began to exist. The great aunt said he was such and such and from then he had a character. The mother said "I am waiting for my gardener," and immediately he was and acted (750). But how could he act in the sense of im pacting the lives of actual people if he did not exist, asks the interlocutor. In re sponse, the brother speaks about different modes of existence and kinds of entities, including imaginary ones. They are all ens rationis, or objects of mere thought, but, according to him, such entities possess attributes too. He is advocating a philosophi cal view that is crucial to all theories of literary fictions and of fictional worlds se mantics, namely Meinongism, after the Austrian philosopher Alexis Meinong (1853-1920). According to this view, nonexistent individual objects (that is, not ex isting in space and time) can be objects of our thoughts, and can truly and objectively possess the constitutive properties (So-sein), such as being a gardener, predicated of This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 120 Uri Margolin them in our thought. If so, these nonexistent objects can also be the objects of thought of whole populations and influence their beliefs and actions. The brother goes on to cite all the mythological characters of our tradition as proof positive of his claim, and dubs Putois "a low grade mythological figure" (751). While the mother told a lie?in the sense of knowing that what she was saying was not true and yet wanting others to believe it?everybody else, starting with the great aunt, used their experiences, both life worldly and literary, to enrich Putois's portrait and life story in a way not different from that of writers of fiction. Fiction, creative imagination, pre tence, feigning, making a mistake, or lying, it all boils down, it seems, not to differ ences in objects' ontological status or truth-functional properties, but rather to the attitudes and intentions of their inventors or users, to the pragmatics of both individ ual and collective contexts. But pragmatics is a matter of gradation, of one situation shading into another, unlike the strict true/false dichotomy of logic. PROPER NAMES WITH UNCLEAR REFERENTS 3.1 "What's in a name?" the Bard asked long ago. Well, it seems that on occa sion one's very destiny hangs on one's choice of a PN. The main character of An dreas Schroeder's "The Connection," Mr. Derringer (his legal name as given by the narrator) is sent on a business trip by his new employer, a northwestern U.S. oil com pany. He is given various documents and told that "car reservations have been made for you at your destination" (53). Upon landing in New York, a way station on his journey, he expects to meet the company PR man who is supposed to provide him with further information. As he picks his way down the ramp, a stewardess "calls out his name: 'Mr. Derringe of Chicago' " (53). But according to whom is this his name, equating Derringer with Derringe? The stewardess has been given just this name, without individuating or identifying descriptions of any sort, by some anonymous in stitutional source, which functions like the dispatcher in classical narratology. She has no first-hand knowledge of Derringe(r), never having set eyes on him. Nor does she know the semantic reference of "Derringe(r)," or its standard reference in any speech community, since she is not part of any communal PN usage practice involv ing this name. As the messenger, she has no means of fixing the reference or picking out the name bearer, and so she does not have anybody in particular in mind as she uses the token of "Derringe." She has a message for a Mr. Derringe, whoever that may be. In technical terms, this is a wide scope use of the name. In this particular case, "Derringe" may indeed be intended by its originator to refer to Derringer, and may succeed in picking him out in spite of the slight spelling error, a common oc currence when PNs without lexical meaning are transmitted in an impersonal bu reaucratic chain of communication. Or it may refer to someone else whose name is indeed Derringe. After all, Derringer is not the only passenger on this flight. Or "Derringe" may not pick out anyone on this occasion. The decision about who is the intended referent of "Derringe" on this occasion is left therefore to Derringer. Should he or shouldn't he self-identify as the referent of the PN called out by the stewardess? Derringer apparently entertains at least a This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Proper Names in Narrative Fiction 121 probabilistic belief of a pragmatic nature that he is the intended referent of "Der ringe," so he walks up to the stewardess, but corrects her "Derringer, with an r" (53). The stewardess glances at a piece of paper in her hand and says "a message for you Mr. Derringe [no r] in passenger information." Once he has accepted as applying to him a name appearing in some official context, this is henceforth his name for others, his social identification tag, so to speak. He proceeds to information, but does not find the PR man. Instead, the girl at the information desk addresses him as Mr. Der ring, and informs him that there is a message for him to fly on to Florida. But, once again, who is the intended addressee of this message? Derringer protests that his name is "Derringer," whereupon the girl proceeds to produce a ticket for Torre?n, Mexico, for a Mr. Dorrengor, which is the name she now addresses him by. She urges him to "decide which refers to you Mr. Dorrengor" (54). For the stewardess and the information clerk alike, the decisive consideration is to preserve intact the name as it appears on the official paper. It is no concern of theirs who picks it up as "his" name, as long as he owns up to the name as written and signs accordingly. For them, the name is a constant, while its bearer is variable (whoever). For Derringer, the situation is the very opposite. He for himself is constant, one and the same throughout, as assured by both bodily continuity and memory. Various labels are at tached to him temporarily by others, who may know him by different "incorrect" names, but he constantly self-identifies from the inside in one and the same way: he is the individual with the birth name "Derringer." But once again he must make a bi nary choice: Shall I accept "Derringe" or "Dorrengor" as the name intended to refer to me? Naturally, it may well be that neither name picks him out at all, that the whole thing is a colossal mistake or blunder on his part. Nevertheless, he is a man on the move, being sent to a destination, so he cannot not choose. Failing to choose will ground him and will constitute a failure in his mission. It is Sunday, the office is closed, and he chooses "Dorrengor," this time without any reason being given. He signs the ticket (as Dorrengor?) and proceeds to the plane. Notice that another unique identifying feature of an individual, namely signature, is being bandied about here. On documents, the authenticity of a signature is recognized by receivers if they can match the current token with a certified sample signature of the individual in question. The stewardess and information clerk do not have a sample signature of Derringe/Dorrengor, so they must accept Derringer's signature as is; he, in his turn, must however sign the name he has just accepted, not his baptismal one. Arriving in Torreon, Dorrengor, which is his current public identifying tag, is met by a stewardess who addresses him: "Mr. Farronga? Your car is waiting for you on level 5" (54). Dorrengor protests that they have got his name (which one?) wrong again. The stewardess apologizes, goes away, and looks for Farronga among the pas sengers. Nobody comes forward, and after a while he is left alone with her. He de cides "I suppose that massage is for me." Why? Two local pragmatic reasons come to mind. First, in the office he was told about a prearranged car rental, and second, he uses a process of elimination: "if it is for nobody else, then it must be for me." So he now assumes the label of Farronga to keep moving. But the car rental agent has doc uments for a Mr. Fatronca. Neither name bears much similarity to Derringer any more, but by now he is well down the slippery slope anyway so he does not protest This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 122 Uri Margolin and signs. "The signature [which: Derringer? Fartonca?] does not match the name," the rental agent points out (55). Again, our hero has a choice: bog down and start ex plaining, or plough on. He decides to plough on and explains that his name is spelled differently in different countries and that he will spell it the clerk's way if it is so im portant for him. But what is this one name that is spelled differently in different countries, and is there one such name to begin with? These questions are left unan swered. Farronga/Fatronca drives off to the Sao Santos airport, a relatively small one. Mr. Farronga checks with all ticket counters, but no one recognizes "his" name. By now he has got used to identifying himself to others by the last name he has ac cepted as "his" name, so Farronga is probably the name he uses. Suddenly the PA system pages a Mr. Garroncton flying to Peru. "Fatronca" considers it a possibility and walks to the counter. The agent agrees that "the name is certainly not the same" (56) and produces a photo he has been given to identify the expected passenger. Hav ing failed the tests of knowledge by acquaintance, identifying description, and famil iarity with a social practice of naming (semantic reference) and of signature, the correspondence between PN and person is now put to the test of iconic means of unique identification. This means does not presuppose any previous knowledge or information, any beliefs or different degrees of information held by different indi viduals, and it is indifferent to any naming practice, relying on physical similarity alone. But the result is again inconclusive. "Though the similarity with Fatronca is doubtful, there is enough resemblance for the agent to ignore the dissimilarities" (56). So Garroncton is by now on his way to Sicuani, Peru (the place actually exists). Upon arriving at the tiny neglected airport, Garroncton is at a loss how to proceed. A check of the only two ticket offices provides nothing: no one appears to be expecting anyone by a name even resembling his own ("his own" is again ambiguous, between Derringer and Garroncton). After a frustrating, lonely wait, he is approached by a wild-looking bush pilot who asks him: "your name Garotta by any chance?" Again Garroncton hesitates: the name is not that far off (from Garroncton presumably) and, besides, if he "admits the discrepancy," he may end up "stuck in this crumbling hole for days" (57). So he says "Yeah, that's me I guess," and off they fly in a rickety two seater to Cocane. They land in a clearing in the jungle with a small airstrip and a few abandoned buildings. Garroncton learns to his dismay that no company man is com ing, and the pilot takes off. After two days of hungry wait, a native in a donkey cart shows up and asks whether he is Se?or Tarotina. Tarotina does not even speak any more. He just nods and climbs into the cart. The native explains "we are going," and off they go, God knows where. At each of his way stations, Derringer is given a binary choice, either between two names or between a yes-or-no answer to a suggested name. Did he choose wrong, and if so, where and how often? We will never know. And when does one cross over from what is probably a mere (erroneous) variant of the original "correct" PN to an entirely different expression or PN, one picking out a different individual, if at all? The question is obviously implied, but never answered. What we do know, though, is that the adoption pro tempore by the main character of any offered name as referring to him is the only factor that decides the next stage of his life. Derringer is known by any of his adopted names at only one stage of his journey and by one of This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Proper Names in Narrative Fiction 123 ficial only. These officials are in different countries, have no contact with one an other, and none of them is aware of his baptismal name or of his other adopted names. For Derringer alone are all these names coreferential, each picking him on a different leg of his journey to nowhere. It is interesting that all the characters in the story, with the exception of Derringer, are referred to not by name but by an impor tant predicate defining their social role: stewardess, airline agent, and so on. One rea son is that they are focalized through Derringer, who knows them as role bearers only. More importantly, though, their PNs and individuality do not really matter. They are solely there as agents performing general social roles that can be performed by many. The only person whose individual identity matters, who needs to be uniquely identified and who cannot be replaced, is the passenger. And his name is crucial because of the implicit assumption of all the agents that a name is a unique singular term, a unique identifier with a single referent. Finally, why "The Connec tion"? To begin with, the term designates change of means of transportation, but it also problematizes the relation among the different way stations of the journey: is there one, or are they connected solely via the PN Derringer assumes at each stop? But his choice at each juncture is made under conditions of uncertainty, lacking suf ficient information for a reasoned decision, so that the whole thing may be a random journey into chaos. Then there is also the connection between the various names as sumed by Derringer, predicated solely on various degrees of similarity of sound and spelling, that is, solely on the level of the signifier. And, finally, the great paradox: while the connection between Derringer the individual and any specific name he chooses for himself is tenuous and could well have been otherwise, the connection between each name adopted and the next stage of its bearer's destiny is causal, deci sive, and irrevocable: nomen est omen. Absurd as this story may be by realistic stan dards, it does put on display all the available means of connecting a PN with a person, and the destabilization of social identity (I for others) resulting from their failure. Once again, philosophers are mostly worried about the difficulty people have in finding out whether two or more PNs pick out the same person or object, but sel dom wonder about the impact of such a situation on the individual in question. 3.2 We could well know who someone is by knowing a PN and an associated important predicate, yet not know her in the sense of perceptual acquaintance, of recognition and ability to put a face to a name. In Tynjanov's "Second Lieutenant Salso," a young soldier asks an old one "who is our Emperor?" and the old one an swers "Pavel Petrovich," something the young man knows very well. The young man then asks the old one whether he has seen the emperor, to which the old one replies, "I have, and so will you." But the young man is not satisfied: "I don't know. They talk and talk 'Emperor.' But who he is is unknown. Maybe it's only talk" (339). In other words, there is a shared belief in the community that there is an emperor, but no one can anchor the reference of this expression in his own direct sensory experience, so that no one can personally vouch for his existence apart from common belief. As a referent, the emperor stays on a purely abstract level, being whoever bears this title and whatever he may be like physically. Then, all of a sudden, the old soldier whis pers in the young one's ear: "He exists, only he has been substituted" ("on est', tolko on podmenenny" [340]), a Gogolian absurdity if there ever was one. The old soldier This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 124 Uri Margolin has seen the emperor, only it is not the emperor but a substitute. How does he know this if he has never seen the original, and how does he know that the legitimate name and title bearer (still) exists at all? Identification by definite description and by ac quaintance turn out to be equally unable to anchor the name in a referent, and both soldiers will have to go on taking the existence of Pavel Petrovich on faith, by au thority of a universal PN usage practice that may well be unfounded. PROPER NAME WITHDRAWN 4. We have seen before that a PN could give rise to a whole network of beliefs about a person, even though the name is empty and does not pick out any actual in dividual. But what of the reverse case, when an actual living person has someone in an official capacity decide that his name no longer picks out any living individual or, in other words, that this person is dead? We have all heard apocryphal stories of computer errors by government agencies where "deceased" is printed beside a per son's name on some official list, with the immediate result that all ongoing files about him are closed. The first consequence of official death is that the individual is henceforth deprived of all agential properties in public opinion. The name bearer is no longer part of anyone else's ongoing life world, his life story is terminated for all others, and his PN can occur in their discourses in past-tense action statements only. Another consequence of the official, but not actual, death of an individual is that his PN can no longer occur in second- or third-person deictic propositions, but can go on occurring in first person ones. No one can any longer point at a living individual and say "He is Joe" or "You are Joe," but the individual himself can still point to himself and say "I am Joe." But beyond mere logic, what does it feel like to have your PN of ficially withdrawn from the register of the living while in fact you are very much alive? What happens to your sense of self and ability to interact with others? It is only fictional narrative that allows us direct access to the minds of such unfortunate persons, and, in the case of Tynjanov's "Second Lieutenant Salso" it is the mind of Lieutenant Synukhaev. The same hapless regimental clerk whose graphic error gave rise to Salso is the cause of Synukhaev's demise, by writing "deceased" next to his name instead of next to Sokolov's on the previous line. Again, the clerk is dealing with letters only, with signifier s. He has no one in mind while copying the list, and hence does not entertain any beliefs nor make any claims about any individual who may be picked out by any of these names. His sole intention is to copy a list as fast as possible. The list, having been submitted to and approved by the czar, thereby turning it into an official order, is read out the next day by the commander to the assembled regiment. Lieutenant Synukhaev, standing in his usual place and "thinking of nothing," all of a sudden hears "Lieutenant Synukhaev, being dead of fever, is to be considered separated from the service" (333). The commander, noticing the "dead man" standing in his usual place, very much alive, stops momentarily and then goes on reading aloud. Direct, immediate, and incontrovertible sense evidence, based on personal acquaintance, This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Proper Names in Narrative Fiction 125 clashes with a document that defines and establishes the ultimate official truth for the realm. So the lieutenant must be dead after all. And what about the name bearer him self? Nobody in a realistic storyworld can truthfully assert "I am dead," since death, as Wittgenstein has said long ago, is not an event in one's life but its boundary. Con sequently, the de re (about a thing) claim "Synukhaev is dead" cannot imply the de se (about oneself) one "I am dead," even though the officer accepts that his own name is indeed Synukhaev. If up to now "I am so and so" and "Synukheav is so and so," identifying him once for himself from the inside and once for others from the outside, were synonymous for Synukhaev, from now on they are decoupled. Synukhaev begins to suffer from an acute case of cognitive dissonance, where he is holding conflicting beliefs simultaneously. He may be dead for others as a person, but the very fact that he is aware of this provides the best proof that he is not dead for himself as a self or a mind. His public identity, manifested in the PN "Lieutenant Synukhaev," is gone as soon as the name is struck off the official list, but the essen tial indexical "I" is still with him, since it precedes and is independent of any social attribute, including PN. This semantic quandary is compounded by a well-en trenched and long-held pragmatic belief he still holds unquestioningly, according to which words of an (imperial) order are "special words having not sense and signifi cance, but life and power of their own. ... An order could change regiments, streets and people, even if not carried out" (333-34). This sounds very much like a pure performative, where what is said determines what is. Yet, even though he is neither physically nor mentally dead, his status has been changed radically and irrevocably by the very promulgation of the order. After the initial shock and disbelief, "[h]e began to doubt whether or not he was alive" (334). From the sensation in his hand he seemed to be alive, but at the same time "[h]e knew that something was irreparably spoiled. He never thought there could be an error in the order. On the contrary, it ap peared to him he was alive by mistake, due to a blunder. He failed to notice some thing and did not report it to anyone" (334). Since he is officially dead, he does not move from his place when the regiment next starts the institutional practice of exer cising. The commander at first flies at him in rage, but realizing Synukhaev is (offi cially) dead, recoils in silence "not knowing how to speak to such a person" (336). What follows next is a process of estrangement from the shared phenomenal world of the military. The parade ground looks unfamiliar to him, and the whole city of St. Petersburg is now "an altogether unfamiliar city." Having been excluded first from the military social sphere and now estranged from its physical setting, "he un derstood that he had died" (327). He has died, however, as a social entity, as "I" for others, but not as a sentient being. He next goes to his room in the barracks and looks at the things "belonging to Lieutenant Synukhaev." Once again, he regards all insti tutional manifestations of his former official or public self as belonging to someone else, to be referred to in the third person. Later that evening, a young officer enters Synukhaev's room and, in his presence, takes over his bed and belongings. When our hero feebly protests that this is against regulations, the newcomer calmly explains that "on the contrary, everything was according to regulations, that he was acting ac cording to section 2, like the late Synukhaev, the one who died" (341). At the behest This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions 126 Uri Margolin of the newcomer, the former Synukhaev changes into a uniform no longer fit to wear, leaves the barracks and walks around the city all night long. "He never returned to the barracks" (341). But where is he to go? It turns out that he walks to the house of his father, a doc tor in Gatchina, a suburb of St. Petersburg. He looks dejected, and finally says to his father "I am not alive." Upon hearing the full story, the father becomes uneasy about keeping his son at home, places him in a hospital, and writes on the board above his bed "Accidental Death," with only insiders and the reader knowing what kind of an accident it was: the accident of a scribe's errant pen. A petition to the czar, composed by the father and signed by the son, is next handed by the doctor to his neighbor, a baron with close connections to the czar, with a request that he deliver it to the czar personally. The baron dryly informs the emperor that the deceased lieutenant Synukhaev has shown up in Gatchina, where he was put in hospital. The lieutenant declared himself alive and submitted a petition for reinstatement in the rosters. The story reaches its absurd climax with the czar's decision: "The request of the late lieu tenant Synukhaev, withdrawn from the rosters by reason of death, is denied for this very same reason" (349). True, a dead man cannot request to be reinstated into ser vice. But an even greater paradox is lurking in the background. As far as the PN is concerned, if the lieutenant is considered dead, no one can legitimately sign a peti tion with the PN "Synukhaev." Yet how else could the poor man self-identify (sign) in a petition addressed to others in which he claims that he, Synukhaev, is not dead? A catch-22 if there ever was one. The upset baron rushes to the hospital, orders the immediate discharge of the deceased lieutenant, issues him underwear, but keeps his official clothes. Synukhaev is quite literally stripped of the last vestige of his social identity, becoming a no-person. From now on he begins a life of incessant wandering in circles in and around St. Petersburg, not looking people in the eye, smelling them like a stray dog, sleeping outdoors, and living on gifts of bread and milk from ped dlers. Shopkeepers treat him as an outcast and an inversion of nature, shouting after him: "come yesterday," "play backwards." While the officially existent but unreal Salso had a state funeral and his name was noted in the annals, the officially nonex istent yet quite real Synukhaev is not mentioned in any annals. "He vanished without a trace, as if he had never existed" (356). Nomen and its vagaries is omen indeed. To conclude: the map of disruptions as it emerges from the stories is as follows: Hebel's "Kannitverstan," Tynjanov's "Second Lieutenant Salso," and Anatole France's "Putois" all deal, quite humorously, with empty singular terms or PNs with out corresponding referents inside the storyworld, hence with referring acts made and claims formulated without a corresponding object. A PN usage is introduced by some individual and in two cases (Salso and Putois) followed by many others for a fairly long time, but no individual answering to the name exists. We are thus wit nessing the spread of an unfounded referring practice and its consequences. Schroeder's "The Connection" is a humorous yet disquieting story of an individual who is faced with a whole succession of PNs which may or may not be intended to pick him out, and who must decide for each PN whether it does pick him out or not. Differently put, this individual must decide at each stage whether the PN by which he is addressed is a mere distortion or variation on his "correct" name, or whether it This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions Proper Names in Narrative Fiction 127 is a different name, associated with an entirely different individual. But no criteria for making this decision are provided. The unique relation between name and refer ent is put into question, and the individual is turned into a referent with numerous problematic namings. Eventually, this begins to unsettle his inner sense of individual identity as well. A minor character in Tynjanov's story faces a similar quandary: he wonders "who is the Czar." Of course he knows the name, but he is unable to associ ate the name with any experiential details, so identification and connection between name and individual referent remain ambiguous and undecided for him. Another major strand in Tynjanov's story exemplifies the reverse of the first case mentioned above. A PN is withdrawn from circulation and a referring practice terminated or blocked by fiat, although the name bearer is alive and doing well. A referent thus ex ists, but his PN is said not to refer any longer to anyone alive. If in the first case a PN, once launched, created a person as a social fact, here a PN withdrawn uncreates a person by denying the name henceforth any corresponding referent in the social sphere. We end up with an individual denied both PN and official existence, who all the same goes on existing on the biological and private levels. WORKS CITED Barcan, Ruth Marcus. Modalities. Oxford: Oxford Univ. Press, 1993. Devitt, Michael and Kim Sterelny. Language and Reality. Oxford: Blackwell, 1999. Evans, Gareth. The Varieties of Reference. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1982. -. "The Causal Theory of Names." In Collected Papers, 1-24. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995. France, Anatole. "Putois." In Oeuvres, vol. 3, edited by Marie-Claire Bancquart, 746-59. Paris: Editions Gallimard, 1991. Geach, Peter. "The Perils of Pauline." In Logic Matters, 153-56. Oxford: Blackwell, 1972. Hebel, Johann Peter. "Kannitverstan." In Werke, vol. 2, edited by Otto Kleiber, 157-60. Basel: Birkhaeuser Verlag, 1959. Kripke, Saul. Naming and Necessity. Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 1980. Ryan, Marie-Laure. Possible Worlds, Artificial Intelligence, and Narrative Theory. Bloomington: Indi ana Univ. Press, 1991. Schroeder, Andreas. "The Connection." In The Late Man, 53-59. Victoria, Canada: The Sono Nis Press, 1972. lynjanov, Juri. "Podporuchik Kizhe." In Sochinenia, vol. 1, 327-56. Moscow: Terra, 1994. Werth, Paul. Text Worlds. Longman: Harlow, Essex, 1999. This content downloaded from 131.111.7.113 on Tue, 2 Sep 2014 16:22:11 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions