[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.
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