God called the light ‘day’, and the darkness he called ‘night’.
In many ancient cultures, the sovereign possessed the divine right to name and rename as an expression of ultimate power over subjects. The writers are making the point that God alone possesses this power. He is The-One-Who-Names. But this is about more than just power. In naming, He actually defines and signifies reality. The correct name confers proper shape, presence and purpose.
It’s highly significant that God Himself isn’t actually named here. In Creation Story One the given word is El which means something like Divine One: a somewhat generic and impersonal descriptor. It’s used to signify transcendent majesty. In Creation Story Two (2:4b-3:24) a new title is introduced, often translated as Lord. This is meant to be more personal, more intimate, but the Hebrew word is even trickier than El.
It appears in the text as the four letters yod, he, waw, he (יהוה), roughly YHWH. Not exactly mouth friendly. Almost certainly wouldn’t pass the shout-across-the-bar test. We have to jump ahead to Exodus for context. Poor old Moses asks God for His name - to reveal to the people in order to establish his own legitimacy as leader. He needs something clear, accessible and familiar. (Ex 3:13-15) What he gets is: Tell em BEING (YHWH) sent you. Qué? In other words, the ground of all being; one beyond definition and category.
Like El, Lord isn’t really a name. In fact, this time it isn’t even meant to be pronounced! And Moses may have had a stutter!! (Ex 4:10) It simply appears in the Genesis text without explanation. The point being hammered home is that the Lord God is, in fact, The-One-Who-Cannot-Be-Named. Sound familiar?
This whole naming business, then, is a rather mystical and fundamental one. In renaming Abram as Abraham and Sarai as Sarah (Genesis 17), God effectively reshapes their combined destinies. St Gabriel literally brings the names of John and Jesus with him from heaven, (Lk 1:13 & 31). The celebrated word of the Lord comes to Jeremiah thus: Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, (Jer 1:5). Because God is BEING, or total existence, He knows all of us in eternity – everyone, throughout the entire course of human history, exists to Him in eternity even before they exist in time. You might even say that His timeless knowing and naming is what actually makes us exist.
Sometimes parents talk of paring-down the names for their unborn child to a final two until one somehow surfaces over the other. Or, they wait until after the birth and then, in the face of their newborn, seem to know the right choice. Oh yeah, she’s definitely a Pam rather than our other choice, Tarquinutella. In the Bible, one’s name signifies one’s identity in direct relation to the Unnamable One. We are given our correct name, or it finds us, because it has always been our name. Weird. And also wonderful.
Which brings us to character-naming in stories. This can be a world of fun, and one might look no further than Charles Dickens for entertainment. From precisely where in the human psyche does the name Wackford Squeers emerge? But it’s a serious business, too. I’ve changed a character’s name only to change it back again because the original somehow presented as right (!) – and not even just sounded better. Of course, this may be merely subliminal, but I suspect also has something to do with this idea of timeless naming from above.
It can lead to perfect curiosities. I don’t know why Colonel Walter E Kurtz, Murphy, Ignatius J Reilly, Binx Bolling, Major Major Major Major or even Aloy for that matter are absolutely the right names for the characters as experienced, but there you go. Getting a character’s name right may not feel as solemn as naming a child, but then again.
I’m yet to discover a Bible story where someone has the wrong name. There is a near miss, though – in the account of John the Baptist’s naming ceremony, (Lk 1:59-65). The Temple priests assume that he’s going to be called Zechariah after his father. Then they’re met with his adamant mother, Elizabeth, and Zechariah himself, who intervene to ensure he’s called John, (as per God’s instructions – Lk 1:13). It’s highly significant that this allows Zechariah to regain speech or the power of word.
There’s another relevant story towards the end of our mythic opening section of the Book of Genesis (CC 1-11). The tale of the Tower of Babel (11:1-9) serves to provide an aetiology (a story accounting for something’s origins) for the diversity of human languages but is equally a cautionary tale about misplaced human ambition. The turn of phrase is most telling: They said to one another, “Come… Let us make a name for ourselves”… (vv 3-4). In other words, self-name; define our own status and fame; take the place of God, the rightful namer and decider. And this arrogance ultimately leads to the confusion of their language; to a disruption in the unified and consistent naming of things. Premodern postmodernism?
Any school kid who’s ever suffered name-calling immediately knows what all these stories are about. Names have power within them, inside and outside of stories. Our own name is often the very first word we learn to say. In other words, the genesis of our journey in word is our name. The Genesis creation stories teach us to treat names with the utmost reverence because they’re silvered with sacred realities.
I’ve no idea if Wackford Squeers found his name recorded in the Book of Life but, for inventiveness alone, I certainly pray Charles Dickens found his.
Photo by Vince Fleming on Unsplash
Amazing, Adrian. Thanks very much for giving us this.