The Namesake

Names are curious in that they often have to serve a twofold and contradictory purpose. Primarily, names are used for the purposes of disambiguation. Thus, for example, by addressing our comments to “John,” everyone not-named-John knows that we are not addressing them. Additionally, we know this book is not communal property, because “Stacy” wrote her name on it. But at the same time, names are also used for the secondary purpose of creating ambiguity, or unity, where otherwise, no apparent relation may be obvious. Thus, for example, if I were to present you with a given 3 year old girl from Ethiopia, you might not be able to tell me anything about her. If, on the other hand, I introduced her as “Zahara Marley Jolie-Pitt,” you might be able to tell me quite a bit about her by her name alone. Thus, our names concurrently distinguish us from some people while yoking us to others.

However, can we rightly claim that names carry no significance beyond their utility as outlined above? Shakespeare presents an affirmative argument to that question in the mouth of the character Juliet during her famous balcony dialogue with her love Romeo:

O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
And I'll no longer be a Capulet.
…
'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
And for that name which is no part of thee
Take all myself.

Juliet argues that it would be possible, and, in some instances, prudent, to negate one’s name by sheer will alone. For Juliet, identity exists wholly apart from one’s title: ‘thou art thyself, though not a Montague.’ While it is not at all clear what Shakespeare himself thinks of this question (Juliet does, after all, end up dead), it is clear that many others disagree with Juliet’s reckoning.

In the movie The Namesake, the lead character, played by Kal Penn, struggles to discover the significance of his name. Under Bengali tradition, a child is given two names – a legal title (or, “good name”) to be used in official documents and a nickname (or, “pet name”) to be used by close family or friends. Penn’s vacillation from one name to another is an outward expression of an internal struggle for cultural balance so emblematic of most first generation Americans. Penn’s restlessness (and correspondent nameless-ness) is only cured when he discovers the true meaning of his name, how it relates to his father’s life experiences, and how this will shape his identity going forward as an Indian-American. This movie makes the unmistakable statement that identity is inextricably linked to one’s name.

This week in Sunday school, we watched a video by Rob Bell that also explored the relationship between name and identity. (I’ve attached a preview above.) In many ways, it represents the middle ground between Romeo and Juliet and The Namesake. For Bell, our true name, which carries significance as to our identity, is often buried under layer and layer of meaningless labels. Indeed, the great majority of names we apply to ourselves – be they related to our job, our education, or even our emotional or physical state – do not reflect our true essence as individuals. Thus labels such as ‘ivy league graduate’ are shed like layers of clothing in much the same vein as are labels such as ‘homeowner’ or ‘one who is HIV+.’

Bell begins, “In the ancient near east, your name was more than just words. Your name was identity. Your name was reflective of your character, your substance, the very fiber that made you you. Your name told who you are.” Jacob of Hebrew Scriptures pretends to be his elder twin brother Esau in order to secure his father’s inheritance. He is pretending to be someone he is not. Later in the story, after Jacob wrestles with ‘an angel’ or a mysterious ‘man’ (depending on the account) for an entire evening to a stalemate, an angel blesses Jacob by renaming him Israel, meaning ‘one who wrestles with God.’ That is his true identity.

The above description reminds me a lyric by Hafiz, the Persian poet:

At night if I feel a divine loneliness
I tear the doors off Love’s mansion

And wrestle God onto the floor.

He becomes so pleased with Hafiz
And says,

“Our hearts should do this more often.”

Lending some credence to the above, of course, is that Jacob’s namesakes from Hebrew Scriptures – the Israelites, “the people who wrestled with God” – were interchangeably referred to as “God’s chosen people.” A mere coincidence?

Above I suggested that names served a twofold purpose – to disambiguate and suggest unity. But here, we see a third purpose. Names can also be used to assert identity or establish one’s essence. That is to say, when we can truly identify ourselves without relation to other institutions or organizations or outside influences, then we can truly begin to live as individuals, we can truly begin to shape an outward countenance reflective of our inward essence alone. That, I pray, is no easy task.

But the formula is clear. Wrestle with your God (whatever his name). Struggle for righteousness and justice and virtue (however you’ve come to understand them). Bite and claw against all of the things that you deem important, against all the things that give you joy, for they also give you their name: you are their Namesake. And in wrestling like that, you cannot help but discover yourself, not as the world labels you, but as you really are.