The More You Know II: Names Are Important

             It was Shakespeare's Juliet who asked "What's in a name?"  The answer to that question appears at times to be: more than you might think.  This truth, which seems to recur in my thinking again and again like a musical theme, struck me again recently as I was watching the science fiction action film Demolition Man (1993).  In that film, Sylvester Stallone plays John Spartan, a late 20th-century police officer sentenced to 70 years in a "Cryo-Penitentiary" for the death of 30 hostages in the course of apprehending the mass-murdering Simon Phoenix.  36 Years later, when Phoenix escapes during his parole hearing, the practically violence-free world that has developed in the interim finds itself unable to deal with him, and must revive the 20th-century "barbarian" John Spartan to apprehend him.

            The revived Spartan finds himself in a world very alien to him, a world apparently free of violence, but also free of nearly everything potentially "bad" for you: tobacco, alcohol, chocolate, caffeine, meat, physical contact, foul language[1]—and apparently, differences of opinion.  One of the people Spartan encounters in this brave new world is Lenina Huxley, played by Sandra Bullock.  When I first saw this film, not too many years after its 1993 release, Ms. Huxley's name did not register with me as important.  Back then, I did not pay attention to such things, because I did not know what I know now—that everything is at least potentially meaningful.  When I saw the movie again recently, however, I could not help but notice her last name: Huxley.

            Huxley is an uncommon name, but a well-known one (and all the more significant, being rare).  Thomas Henry Huxley a 19th-century biologist, was one of the first and most prominent advocates of the evolutionary theory of Charles Darwin; among other things, he is famous for introducing the young H.G. Wells to evolution.  His grandson Julian Huxley followed in his footsteps, acting as one of the architects of the Neo-Darwinian Synthesis.  However, far more relevant in this context is Julian's younger brother, Aldous Huxley.

            Aldous Huxley, following less in his grandfather's footsteps and more in those of his mother's uncle, Matthew Arnold, became a writer.  His most famous work, Brave New World (the title of which, like the question that opens this essay, comes from a play by Shakespeare), is a horrific vision of a future world even less human—and yet, more plausible—than that later envisioned in George Orwell's 1984.  Like the world of Demolition Man, it is a world where order is produced not by the application of government force, but by the dissipation of the vital force of the citizenry; in the case of Huxley's novel, this is accomplished via drugs, feelies (full-immersion films that stimulate more than just two senses), and dissolution of the family in favor of unrestrained sexual promiscuity.

            Remembering Huxley's novel, I of course recognized Lenina Huxley's last name as an homage to that great book and it's author.  Furthermore, I recalled that Lenina (again, not a very common name) was also the name of the main female character in Brave New World.  Was this part of a larger pattern?

            Yes.  Those of us who have read Huxley's novel will recall the one character who is a true outsider, the "Savage" John, born on a Reservation outside of civilization.  At this point, we might suggest a parallel between this character, and Stallone's character in Demolition Man.  They share a common first name (although it is a very common one—yet, this might suggest their status as everyman characters), and while the man in the novel is called simply "the Savage," John Spartan's last name reminds us of those Greek warriors who dedicated their lives wholeheartedly to combat; meanwhile, he is often referred to in the movie  by terms that are essentially synonyms for "savage": "caveman," "Neanderthal," "Cro-Magnon," "barbaric," "savage creature."

            All of which simply illustrates what I have said before, that even our lighter book reading and film viewing may be deepened by the realization of the points at which such reading or viewing touches upon those stories that lie at the back of our collective memory—here, we see Demolition Man in a new light, as in some small way a re-imagining of an earlier, deeper and darker story in a lighter key.  Of course, to do that, and to recognize any such points of contact between the old stories and the new, we have to know those old stories.  It is in the hope of returning us to those stories that are both the best and the oldest, and the oldest because the best, that I write these thoughts here.

 

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[1] “Sometimes, only a swear word will do.”—Craig Ferguson, Scottish-born American Comedian.

The More You Know...: On the Importance of the Tradition

[The following essay and its sequel were first published on my previous blog several years ago, but its ideas are just as relevant as ever, if not more so]

            I first began this little meditation some time ago when I was recalling a commercial for the then-new (and then quickly canceled) television show My Own Worst Enemy.  The show involved a man who was in some sense (what sense, I did not know, nor did I care) a split personality, with two opposed minds within him.  Of the two, the good one was named "Henry," while the evil one was named "Edward."  It was some time before I realized why those names seemed so appropriate: they are, of course, the respective first names of the two eponymous characters of Robert Louis Stevenson's famous short work, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

            So I thought to myself: that was a nice subtle touch.  But then, I began to notice other points at which a little familiarity with our literary tradition enhanced one's understanding of even some of the simplest tales.  One such instance was the popular show How I Met Your Mother.  There, we find a character named Barney Stinson, a man who is, in his own words, "always so psyched all the time"; and his constant verve and energy is certainly part of his charm.  This charm, however, takes on an added dimension when we learn that his full name is "Barnabas T. Stinson."  However, this added dimension is only visible if we recall that the name Barnabas is a Biblical name, and means "son of encouragement" (Acts 4:36).

            And, as if knowing the meaning of that one Aramaic name were not enough, it helps to know Latin and Hebrew too.  These two languages (of the first I know a little; of the second, a little more) came in handy while I, on a slow night for television, was watching the Tim Burton "re-imagining" of Planet of the Apes.  There, I noticed—as, so my mother told me at the time, only I would—a very interesting coincidence of names.  In the film, Mark Wahlberg plays a (human) astronaut who lands on a planet populated by intelligent, English-speaking apes (chimps, gorillas, and orangutans).  His first name is “Leo,” Latin for lion.  This, in itself, is not at all unusual, and unworthy of note, being alone.  What made it worthy of note was that it was not alone: for the main female character among the apes (played by Helena Bonham Carter, whose glory, even in simian form, is such as to give some small element of redemption to that general travesty of a film) was named Ari; which name—and here is where my mother's comment comes in—I recognized as being Hebrew, and meaning (but I have no doubt already given away the punchline): lion.

            This, I thought, could not be mere coincidence: that the two characters who are obviously THE central characters of the film, their relationship key (the sexual chemistry between them at one point becomes palpable, and seems unexpectedly sweet.) should have names, taken from two of the sacred languages of the Western world, that mean the same thing—that this should be so, has to be meaningful.

            Who, I wondered (and I still do) came up with this little detail to tie these two characters together?  It was no one involved with the first film version of this story, where the two characters are named "Taylor" and "Zira.”  Nor does it go back to the original novel by Pierre Boulle, where the names are the same, generally, as in the first film; except that the astronaut, Ulysse Merou, is named after the famous hero of the Odyssey of Homer (yet another point where knowing the tradition helps).

            This, then, is the conclusion of my meditation: everything is worth knowing, and the ideal reader knows everything; for you never know when some small detail of the Western tradition—what has been called "the Great Conversation"—may shed some small light on a weak sci-fi film, or a little bit of your evening television viewing, thus making even the more shallow parts of your cultural experience just a little bit deeper.

Shalom.