The discussion began with an interruption.
"Christopher."
Professor Quillibrace looked up.
"Yes?"
"I've been wondering," said Mr Blottisham, "whether it would be more efficient if everyone were numbered."
Miss Stray looked over the rim of her teacup.
"Numbered?"
"Certainly."
"No duplicate names."
"No awkward introductions."
"No confusion at committee meetings."
Quillibrace regarded him thoughtfully.
"I see."
"One could simply say, 'Good morning, 427.'"
"And how would 427 feel about this arrangement?"
"I imagine remarkably organised."
The Professor reached for the latest essay.
"Our anonymous author appears to disagree with you."
"I rather expected he might."
"He suggests that names are not merely labels."
"What else could they be?"
"They are invisible machines."
Blottisham sighed.
"I really should have seen that coming."
Miss Stray smiled.
"I think the interesting claim is different."
"What claim?"
"That names organise attention."
Blottisham frowned.
"I thought they organised people."
"They do that as well."
"But primarily..."
"They organise how we notice."
Quillibrace nodded approvingly.
"Imagine a child asking, 'What's that called?'"
"They do that continually."
"What is the child really asking?"
"The name."
"Only the name?"
Blottisham hesitated.
"I suppose..."
"Yes?"
"...they're asking how this thing fits into the world."
Miss Stray looked pleased.
"Exactly."
"The name lets today's encounter join yesterday's."
"So when a child learns the word 'oak'..."
"They no longer meet each oak as though it were entirely unrelated."
"They begin recognising a pattern."
Blottisham considered this carefully.
"I say..."
"Yes?"
"I've always imagined names were attached to things."
"And now?"
"They seem to be attaching experiences to one another."
Quillibrace smiled.
"A subtle but important difference."
After a thoughtful silence, Blottisham asked,
"Then why do scientists keep inventing new names?"
The Professor answered.
"Because they keep discovering new patterns."
"But surely the pattern existed already."
"Indeed."
"So what has changed?"
Miss Stray replied quietly.
"Now everyone else can find it."
There was a brief silence.
Blottisham nodded.
"So the name isn't creating the discovery."
"No."
"It is making the discovery shareable."
"Precisely."
Quillibrace turned another page.
"The essay contains a warning."
"What sort of warning?"
"That names sometimes persuade us we have finished thinking."
Blottisham looked puzzled.
"I don't understand."
"If I say, 'That's only a weed'..."
"Yes?"
"...what have I really done?"
"You've identified it."
"Have I?"
"Well..."
Miss Stray answered.
"You may simply have ended your curiosity."
Blottisham stared into the fire.
"I've never thought of that."
"We often confuse recognition with understanding."
"So knowing the name..."
"...is not the same as knowing the thing."
Quillibrace nodded.
"Exactly."
"It is rather like introducing two people."
"How so?"
"The introduction matters."
"But it isn't the friendship."
For a moment nobody spoke.
Then Blottisham looked unusually reflective.
"I've just remembered my first day at school."
"Oh?"
"I knew almost nobody."
"What changed?"
"By the end of the afternoon I knew everyone's names."
"And?"
"I've always thought that was the beginning."
Miss Stray smiled warmly.
"Perhaps it was."
"The names didn't tell you who they were."
"No."
"But they gave your friendships somewhere to begin."
The Professor folded the essay.
"I rather think civilisation depends upon countless beginnings of that sort."
Blottisham looked towards the bookshelves.
"So every catalogue..."
"Every register..."
"Every family tree..."
"Every map..."
"They're all really collections of names."
"They are."
"But they're also invitations."
Quillibrace raised an eyebrow.
"Invitations?"
"To keep learning."
Miss Stray looked pleased.
"I think that's exactly right."
Another thoughtful silence settled over the room.
At length Blottisham said,
"I must admit..."
"Yes?"
"I've spent most of my life assuming that names were answers."
"And now?"
"They're questions."
The Professor smiled.
"My dear Blottisham..."
"Yes?"
"The finest names always are."
Miss Stray looked out towards the college garden.
"Perhaps that is why the oldest wisdom begins not by naming the world..."
"But by learning to ask it better questions."
No one spoke for a while.
Outside, a student crossed the quadrangle carrying an armful of books.
Blottisham watched him disappear through the gate.
"I suppose," he said quietly,
"the nicest thing about being called by name..."
"Yes?"
"...is discovering that someone was already paying attention."
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