Doctor Who?: The Constant Question

A question is asked every episode as the credits appear onscreen: “Doctor Who”?
The title of the acclaimed BBC science fiction series is not a name, but a query: Who is the Doctor?
Though viewers are occasionally given approximate answers, the whole truth has never come out -- not in 31 years of programming. This is part of the draw, the charm as it were, of the series: we’ve never learned the real name of our captivating hero. In the middle years of the series, the question-mark would become a staple of costume adornment: the fifth Doctor’s cricket jacket had them on the lapels, and the garish garb of the seventh Doctor was positively swimming in them. It remains a question without a conclusive answer, which has persisted throughout the entirety of the series. Who Is The Doctor?

The real facts are few and far between: he has a real name, but chose a personal title when he came of age, in the same vein as “The Master” or “The War Chief”. This “choosing” of names is more in line with Native American or African traditions, than with our own Western culture. Susan M. Suzman wrote a fairly in-depth article about the changing nature of specific tribal naming practices; in it, she states that the global trend in naming, cross-culturally, is for names to become progressively more like labels, and less like referents, as time passes and the societies evolve: “Like the social frameworks in which they are embedded, naming practices are in the process of change" (Suzman 253). This is especially interesting when one considers that the Time Lords, the Doctor’s own society, were notoriously un-changing: long-lived and largely passive, they were most content to watch and wait: characteristics which the Second Doctor rails against in “The War Games” and are reportedly the impetus for his original self-imposed exile from the planet.

This tradition is not, apparently, one that every Time Lord or Lady adheres to. Romana, for instance, has no formal title, though her given name is a real mouthful: Romanadvoratrelundar. What, then, are the qualifications for assuming a self-chosen title? It is not gender-specific, since “The Rani,” for instance, is a woman; nor is it based on intelligence, since Romana actually did better than the Doctor in her studies; neither is it, apparently, based on status: both Romana and the Doctor are later chosen as Lord Presidents of Gallifrey. It might be suggested that the name-choosing was specific to one particular group of contemporaries: the Rani, the Master, and the Doctor were all in school together, and the Monk just behind them.

Speculations on the rules for naming aside, the question arises: why “The Doctor?” Modern parlance appropriates this term to mean “a medical practitioner,” and the Doctor certainly has those capabilities, but I would argue that it is not this specific usage of the term that is intended. “Doctor” can also be, according to the Oxford English Dictionary: “one who mends or fixes,” in a general sense, which seems more in line with the Doctor’s proclivities than the health-centered description. There is also a hint of the professor about the Doctor, especially in his early incarnations: a tendency to spout off on any number of complicated issues, in various fields, and not translate for the layman. This is compatible with the definition: “A teacher, instructor; one who gives instruction in some branch of knowledge, or inculcates opinions or principles” or even “One who is eminently skilled in a particular art or craft.” Both of these usages are deemed rare and essentially obsolete by the Dictionary -- and yet, they seem to add and build upon the simple characterization of the Doctor as a mender and fixer.

The naming tradition might probably have been easily accepted by viewers if it were not for two things: one, the title of the show remains, constantly re-questioning the Doctor’s true identity; and two, the later series make so much of the Doctor’s unwillingness (or is it inability?) to reveal his given name.

In one episode, the question of the Doctor’s true name would even become a plot point. In “Forest of the Dead” Professor River Song whispers the name to the Tenth Doctor in an effort to make him trust her. It works: the Doctor is convinced, and is visibly overwhelmed by this. He even begins to give a reason for his surprise: “There's only one reason I would ever tell anyone my name. There's only one time I could...” but Professor Song cuts him off with a warning against spoilers. This adds another layer to the naming practices of the Gallifreyans: that the titles are taken ritualistically, not just as a quaint tradition, and the true names are only to be revealed in very specific circumstances. In this particularly episode, the inference is that Professor Song is the Doctor’s future wife; this further implies that the names are very personal and only to be shared with loved ones.

Even as more facts are revealed, and his character made more complex, the question is still asked every time: Doctor Who? After 31 years, presumably the mystery should be less, the answers more palpable. At times, the Doctor seems a self-appointed champion for existence, a quixotic self-involved genius, a lonely wanderer, a rebellious renegade, a childishly exuberant perpetual tourist, a violently loyal friend and companion, and a deadly adversary. He changes in definition as readily and frequently as he regenerates. Perhaps the true answer is that any answer would be unsatisfactory, or, frustratingly, that there is no answer. There is only the persistent question: Doctor Who?


Work Cited
Suzman, Susan M. “Names as Pointers: Zulu Personal Naming Practices.” Language in Society. 23.2. Cambridge Univeristy Press, 1994. pp. 253-272.