There is power in knowing someone's name. Likewise, we strive to have our names recognized and remembered, mostly for positive reasons. The name as a tool of power is interesting because, as Shelley reveals, it is commonly believed that longevity of name equals a testament to power. Most poets would like to think that, after their words are read, their name is remembered favourably.
But what of the danger of a high profile? The more well known you are, the more pressure there is to live up to the, true or not, associations with that name. A famous family name can be a curse as well as a gift. Names can expand to blanket future generations with the shadows of the past.
The story of Eros and Psyche shows the flipside; the power inherent in anonymity. Eros demanded to be anonymous to his lover. Although Psyche loved him, she could never know who he was. This, of course, led to doubt. Eventually, persuaded that horrors lurked behind the anonymity, Psyche chose knowledge (and, arguably, equality) over blind love.
The unknown does not sit easily with us. Despite the promise of bliss, we choose knowledge over heaven. But we can't know everything. What if we decided to not know? What if we chose to not be named? Given our enduring need to commuicate ever more precisely, to know each other more fully, I doubt that anonymity will ever satisfy us. But perhaps transient knowledge is preferable to names carved in stone.
Here's to paper, to water soluble ink, and here's to time's forgetfulness.
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