“Isis” before ISIS

By Gabriel Rubin

Before 1994, “O.J.” existed in a state of blissful innocence, more likely to be mentioned at a breakfast table than in a criminal court. Swastikas used to adorn Chinese pottery, and Gulf Coast parents happily christened their daughters “Katrina” and “Rita.” And, until several months ago, “Isis” was my favorite Bob Dylan song and the ancient Egyptian goddess of marriage and love.

Symbols and names are depressingly malleable, with the past constantly vulnerable to the merciless desires of present-day actors. In his painstaking construction of a Nazi myth, Josef Goebbels and his cronies borrowed and stole freely from other cultures and eras. Hitler’s chief architect and favored sycophant Albert Speer mapped out a new imperial capital of Berlin whose design riffed on everything from Marcus Aurelius’ Rome to the Taj Mahal. Thankfully, perhaps because Speer’s vision for Berlin was never realized, classical architecture and the Taj have retained their positive reputations.

The luck of hurricane names is more of a mixed bag. Andrew, a 1992 storm that caused some $30 billion in damages, suffered only a slight decline in popularity in the years following its landfall. “Katrina,” by contrast, nearly disappeared from the US baby name list, dropping from #246 in 2005 to #815 by 2009, and it’s still in freefall. Whether the name can be rehabilitated will be impossible to know for years.

The less common a name or symbol, the more prone it is to be hijacked by negative connotations. “Andrew” survived its eponymous hurricane because it was the fifth most popular baby name in the US. When the levees broke, whatever tenuous connection people had to “Katrina” was replaced by the image of floating corpses in the Lower Ninth Ward. The same phenomenon applies to “Adolf” and “Joseph”—no American parents would dream of naming their child Adolf unless they have a photo of the Fuhrer on their mantelpiece. But Stalin’s “Joseph” escaped the 20^th century unscathed, because everyone has a buddy named Joe.

Isis, more so than Katrina or O.J., stands little chance of ever being rehabilitated. Tragically, the history of the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria shows no signs of wrapping up soon, and the atrocities of the past months will undoubtedly continue despite the efforts of Obama’s coalition of the (un)-willing.

For most Americans (anyone who hasn’t listened to Dylan’s 1976 album Desire or boned up on Egyptian mythology), “Isis” held little if any significance prior to recent events. Apparently a dog on Downton Abbey bears the name, but even mentioning that fact proves the name’s relative obscurity. The case of the Dylan song deserves further examination, if only to encourage its preservation in opposition to the genocidal jihadist group.

Dylan’s “Isis” also has roots in the Middle East, given that the Egyptian goddess serves as its inspiration. He wrote the song in the midst of a tumultuous separation, and ultimately divorce, from his wife Sara, and the song depicts the odyssey of a marriage through the magical-realist story of luckless tomb robbers:

I picked up his body and I dragged him inside

Threw him down in the hole and I put back the cover

I said a quick prayer and I felt satisfied

Then I rode back to find Isis just to tell her I love her

Dylan played the song frequently on a gypsy-inspired tour known as the Rolling Thunder Revue during the mid-1970s, and never played it again after his divorce was finalized in early 1977. Since then, its electrifying recorded live versions have become legendary among his fans, with many deciding to get married on “the fifth day of May,” as the narrator and Isis do in the song. Telling your friends that you chose your wedding date “because of Isis” can no longer be considered socially acceptable.

The title of a Bob Dylan song is likely the least consequential casualty of ISIS’ reign of terror. But in the context of cultural archaeology, its example is quite instructive. Names, dates, and symbols may all be imbued with meaning, but a meaning that subsequent people and events can redefine. In Chile, September 11^th will forever be the date when the military overthrew the Socialist government of Salvador Allende. But in the United States, articles that refer to the Chilean coup call it “the other September 11^th,” buried under the immense historical weight of the World Trade Center and Pentagon attacks. Unless a symbol, date, or name has an overwhelmingly singular connotation in a society—a hammer and sickle, July 4^th, Jesus— they constantly face the risk of complete, and possibly permanent, redefinition. “Isis” no longer belongs to Bob Dylan- and one can only hope that it won’t always belong to Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi either.