Christopher Rush

Juliet was rather unhappy with Romeo’s surname and for good reason: had he any other name, the barriers to their love and companionship would likely have been much less perilous.  If he could “be some other name” he might still be everything she wanted him to be.  The rose may smell as sweet were it called a pumpkin, but would Romeo Mackintosh be as lovely as Romeo Montague?  What Juliet may fail to grasp in her youthful furor is that the “Montague” aspect of Romeo’s identity is not as arbitrary as the “Romeo” half – he is a Montague by nature, by birth.  He would not exist were he not a Montague.

Whether names are a necessary reflection or indicator of a thing’s identity is a major focus in Plato’s Cratylus as well.  Socrates’ two interlocutors in this dialogue share the desire for names to be innate and accurately reflect the nature or identity of that which is named.  They differ, though, in that Hermogenes is having trouble accepting that it is true: “I have often talked over this matter, both with Cratylus and others, and cannot convince myself that there is any principle of correctness in names other than convention and agreement” (86), he says at the outset of the conversation with Socrates.  He clearly wants names to be objective or, as the video lecturer called it, a “natural rightness.”  Cratylus, at the other extreme, is unwilling to conceive of names being anything other than naturally right: whereas pictures may be imitations and incorrectly identified, “but not in the case of names – they must be always right” (109), he insists again and again.  Cratylus seems like he would be an unforgiving grade school teacher, going so far to say a misspelled word is not “close enough” for young learners, but “if we add, or subtract, or misplace a letter, the name which is written is not only written wrongly, but not written at all” (110) – no partial credit in Mr. Cratylus’ classroom.  Thus, Hermogenes desires names to be naturally right, yearning for a rose to be a rose to be a rose, but he fears that a rose is a rose is an onion, yet that onion would smell as sweet.  Cratylus imperiously cannot believe names could be anything other than what they are: a rose that is an onion cannot exist at all.

Socrates, perhaps in an effort to live up to his assigned name as “wisest man alive,” leads both fellows toward common ground in the middle between such emotional extremes.  He assures Hermogenes that names are true and real and can reflect the authentic identity of a thing or person, yet he also shows Cratylus things have a nature and exist even if one did not know what the proper appellation should be, and perhaps some trial and error in nomenclature is not a bad thing: “But if things are only to be known through names, how can we suppose that the givers of names had knowledge … before they could have known them?” (113).  Names have to come from somewhere.  Humans had left ventricles a long time before anyone knew they existed, let alone what to call them.  In finding that common ground, Socrates attempts to assuage the fear of Hermogenes and soften the obduracy of Cratylus, since the subject is so complex it should be neither one of fear nor pride.  Our attitude toward names should, perhaps, be more calm, yielding what McClay urged for in that “composure in one’s speech” that could balance fear and pride into “composure in one’s soul.”  Perhaps it is courage we need today to call things what they are, as Zach said, not fear of being wrong or pride at being correct.

And perhaps some composure could enable young lovers to stop calling each other the sun and stars and thus really set themselves up for failure.