The Name of the Rose (1986; dir. Annaud) is a multinational production starring Sean Connery. The film is an adaptation of Umberto Eco’s debut novel of the same name. Eco was a professor of semiotics, a medievalist, and a philosopher who held academic positions at several American and Italian universities throughout his prolific career.
I must admit I wasn’t very familiar with Eco’s work, and even now, I have much to learn. I was prompted to watch The Name of the Rose because I will be part of a panel discussing Eco’s influence. Preceding the panel will be a screening of the documentary Umberto Eco: A Library of the World (2022; dir. Ferrario). The documentary is a worthwhile watch and made me realize the depth of Eco’s scholarship and his immeasurable influence on culture. With limited time before the panel, I had to watch the film rather than read the novel, which is on the longer side. Now that I’ve seen the adaptation, I plan to read the novel, as well as explore some of Eco’s other works—both academic and fictional.
The 1986 film stars Sean Connery as William of Baskerville, a Franciscan friar and former Inquisitor. The character is undoubtedly influenced by Sherlock Holmes (cf. The Hound of the Baskervilles), as he is a polymath, a gifted deductive thinker, and suitably arrogant. Furthermore, he is accompanied by a young novice, Adso (played by a young Christian Slater) who serves as his Watson-like counterpart (cf. Adso vs. wATSOn). The film takes place in 1327 at a Benedictine monastery, where William and other Franciscans are summoned to participate in a disputation. The monastery is meant to serve as neutral ground so that the Pope’s delegates can fairly judge the Franciscans’ claim that Jesus’s vows of poverty should also be adopted by the Church itself—a steep hill the Franciscans chose to climb, undoubtedly. Though the disputation serves as William’s reason for being at the monastery, it remains a secondary aspect of the plot. The primary narrative is a medieval murder mystery wrapped in a philosophical debate. At its heart, the story explores the control of knowledge and the suppression of ideas—a struggle that remains as relevant today as it was in the 14th century.
One of the film’s most fascinating elements is its portrayal of the monastery’s vast library. The Benedictine monks keep the library under lock and key, prohibiting entry to all but a select few. It is treated simultaneously as a treasure trove of wisdom and a fortress meant to keep people from that wisdom. However, the film remains true to Eco’s views on libraries and books, which are made clear in the documentary. Namely, that books are the embodiment of human knowledge, and libraries are sacred repositories of our collective understanding. Yet, depending on how they are governed, these institutions can also be used to limit access and suppress ideas. The film’s antagonist, the blind monk Jorge of Burgos, embodies this tension. He censors Aristotle’s Second Book of Poetics out of fear that certain ideas—particularly those about comedy and laughter—could threaten the Church’s authority.
Libraries as Sanctuaries of Knowledge… and Tools of Control
From the moment William and Adso arrive at the monastery, it’s clear that there are secrets being kept. Besides the unusual death that occurred on its grounds, William immediately notes the scarcity of books in the areas where monks are copying and translating manuscripts. This leads him to suspect that the real library is hidden.
Eventually William and Adso uncover the true library, a vast labyrinth that William refers to as “one of the greatest libraries in all of Christendom.” Unlike the libraries we are accustomed to today—places for the open exchange of knowledge—the abbey’s library it is locked away, forbidden, and accessible only to a select few. It’s this way because Jorge fears that releasing certain texts would spread ideas that conflict with the church’s established doctrine. The knowledge stored here is not meant to be disseminated; it is meant to be controlled.
The film presents this library as both a source of enlightenment and a tool of oppression. A library, after all, is only as useful as its accessibility. In the hands of censors, it becomes a prison for ideas rather than a gateway to wisdom.
Censorship and the Fear of Ideas
The heart of the film’s mystery revolves around the mysterious deaths of monks, each of whom William determines had come into contact with a forbidden book. That book turns out to be Aristotle’s Second Book of Poetics, which discusses comedy and the nature of laughter.
Jorge of Burgos, an old blind monk, emerges as the film’s true villain. His crime is murder, but his reasons are just as deplorable. He is bent on controlling what others are allowed to know and think. To protect against this dangerous knowledge from getting out, Jorge has poisoned the book’s pages, ensuring that anyone who reads it will suffer a gruesome death, their fingers and tongue blackened.
His motive is ideological rather than personal. Jorge believes that laughter is dangerous. He argues that fear is essential for faith, and that if people are allowed to laugh at everything, then they will also laugh at God and faith will crumble. He fears that comedy quells fear, and without fear, people will not take the church and its teachings seriously. Furthermore, if believers have a humorous relationship with God rather than a reverential one, then the church will have no ability to command obedience. Put simply, he utilizes censorship to preserve control through fear.
Jorge’s stance mirrors real-world censorship efforts. From the Catholic Church’s Index of Forbidden Books to modern-day authoritarian regimes banning texts for political points, many in power have feared the destabilizing force of laughter and free thought. The Name of the Rose serves as a reminder of the dangers of suppressing ideas and the lengths to which institutions will go to maintain ideological dominance.
Faith, Fear, and the Role of Laughter
Jorge’s argument is that fear is not only a tool of control but a necessary component of religious belief. He insists that people must fear hell and the devil or else faith will erode.
William, on the other hand, represents an opposing view—one that embraces reason, inquiry, and humor as essential to having faith that is meaningful. He is both pragmatic and skeptical, yet maintains that not only can faith and knowledge coexist, but for it to truly be faith, individuals must be allowed to think for themselves.
William’s perspective aligns with the Franciscan order’s historical conflict with the church. The film briefly touches on this political struggle, as the Franciscans argue that Jesus’s poverty should be a model for the Church. The Pope, however, refuses to accept that doctrine, as the Church’s wealth and influence are integral to its power. This mirrors a broader philosophical question—is faith about finding a hidden truth, or is it about control?
If Jorge’s assertion is correct—that laughter diminishes faith—then it seems like faith requires fear to sustain itself. This is not the most uplifting view. It’s not faith for the sake of belief of a greater good; rather, it’s simply blind obedience that can be applied to an institution, ideology, individual, or emotion. Any of which could be bad influences that bring about abhorrent behaviors in its followers.
William’s view of faith, on the other hand, tells us that belief can exist alongside critical thought, humor, and intellectual freedom. Arguably, this type of faith is far stronger. It’s one people choose to accept after having a free and open look at the evidence. Along these lines, if someone chooses to believe after a critical look that takes in the various considerations at hand, one has a better chance of being guided by the good aspects of the institution, ideology, individual, or emotion that one is following.
The Name of the Rose sides with William’s perspective that suppression and fear are not the foundations of a faith worth having.
The Destruction of Knowledge
The film’s climax is both tragic and symbolic. As William and Adso finally navigate the labyrinth and confront Jorge, the blind monk sets fire to the library, ensuring that its one-of-a-kind books will never be copied and can never fall into the hands of those who might challenge Church doctrine.
William desperately tries to save as many books as he can, gathering what he can carry before the flames consume everything. But ultimately, the library is lost, and with it, centuries of wisdom.
Though The Name of the Rose is fiction, it is interesting that Eco chose Aristotle’s Second Book on Poetics. The book has, in fact, been lost to time, and while its disappearance could have been due to nefarious reasons, such as through deliberate suppression, it may also have been lost by more mundane means, such as neglect or too few copies being made to survive to modern times. Nonetheless, the richness of that historical detail is worth noting.
Conclusion: The Name of the Rose as a Warning
The Name of the Rose is not just a medieval detective story; it is a film about power, censorship, and the battle between faith and reason. It challenges us to consider the role of libraries as both sanctuaries and battlegrounds of knowledge. It reminds us that the suppression of ideas—whether through censorship, book burnings, or restrictions on education—is a tool of control.
I find Jorge’s belief that laughter weakens faith to be perplexing, though I also recognize that it likely reflects many people’s default view of faith. But if fear is necessary to sustain belief, what does that say about the nature of faith itself? If faith and fear are inextricable, then the validity of faith must be called into question.
Even more troubling than the fear-based view of faith is the underlying assumption that knowledge is dangerous. If certain truths must be suppressed, then who decides what knowledge is safe to share? I find this question more dangerous than the idea that knowledge itself poses a threat. On the contrary, I believe that the pursuit of knowledge—without artificially defined limits—is the only path to greater understanding and a greater good.
In the end, William and Adso leave the monastery behind, changed but not broken. William, ever the seeker of truth, continues on his path, while Adso, reflecting on his master’s lessons, carries forward the memory of a world where knowledge is both sacred and vulnerable.
The film leaves us with an enduring message—knowledge isn’t meant to be locked away, suppressed, or censored. It’s only through knowledge that we can come to the truest expressions of our beliefs, be they faith-based or rational.
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