The Romance of Naming

Good evening, O dearest of friends. Today I wish to speak to about naming. All of us, O friends, have been named, and in general we have not named ourselves. Indeed, we were never meant to name ourselves. This is because having name bestowed is a romantic gesture, in the fullest Chestertonian sense. Recall that, for Chesterton, romance is essentially the unexpected together with the comfortable, adventure and homeland at once. Having a name could hardly fit this mold better. Let us consider the birth of a child. At this time, it is up to the parents of the lad or lass to bestow a name upon him or her, and so they do. The newborn has absolutely no say in the matter; the name is chosen, and that is what he or she is called. This is the element of adventure in having a name; that the child enters into his or her name without willing to do so, just as that child had not willed to be born, birth itself being a grand adventure. It is unexpected, for what is there to expect? Yet the fact that one has no name but one's own and knows of having no other name, this is homeland. It is comfortable to be called by the name that one has always had precisely because one has always had it. In fact, if other human beings are at all like me, there is some meaning in being called by one's own name, especially if it comes in the voice of a well-beloved comrade. It is to say, "I am speaking to your own self, not to an uncertain 'you.'"

Being born is not the only time a name is bestowed on someone by others. If you happen to be a Roman Emperor and you conquer a people or a region, such as Germany or Africa, you might earn the epithet Germanicus or Africanus thereafter. On the other hand, if you are a failure as a leader, you might wind up like Antiochus IV Epiphanes (god manifest), mocked as Epimanes (the mad one), or like Aethelred the Unready. Though many an emperor would bestow these titles upon himself, this is mere pomp. There is no romance in such a willful act because willful choice negates the adventure. It is all comfort. It is a dull homeland, which is as bad as an aimless adventure, which turns out to be no adventure at all, only poor errantry. The naming of oneself removes all the romance from having a name. A name, in order to be romantic, absolutely must be given by another, perhaps because it is earned as in a great military conquest, or even better if it is given out of love, because the lover finds the object of naming lovely. William the Bastard became William the Conqueror because he earned his epithet on the field of battle. A mother who calls her children by diminutive forms of their names or a lover who refers his beloved as Dearest or something of that kind are both giving unearned names to those they love, names that are bestowed only out of love, neither by the will nor the inherent worth of their objects. That which is loved becomes lovely. The name and all it carries are a pure and romantic gift.

What is in a name? A name can only be an expression of the love or disdain of its bestower for its object. Names, unless they are invented, carry meanings, and these can be powerful when applied to a person. Parents presumably seek to give their children names that reflect something true, fine, and beautiful. This could mean naming the child after an admirable person, or it could simply mean finding a name that means something excellent. In the ancient world, names tended to have clear meanings, and they would either tell something about the bearer or something about what the bearer is supposed to be, perhaps ironically. Abram means "exalted father," which is something Abram clearly was not. Abraham means "father of many nations," which is exactly what Abram would become when he became Abraham. When a name is changed, especially Biblically, some significant change has taken place. Similarly, Saul of Tarsus, meaning "asked for," became Paul, meaning "humble." Naming is a serious business, very closely related to identity, so it makes sense that such a change would accompany repentence.

Could an individual not name himself or herself in such a context as this? The answer to that is clearly affirmative, but does it take the romance out of naming? Naming oneself for the mere sake of choosing a name is unromantic. Only an assumed identity can be named by the individual, for this is not just a matter of name changing. If I am a superhero, I have every right to give myself a superhero name, and with respect to the superhero identity, romance is retained. This is because, as a superhero, I must actually be or pretend to be the named character. I must assume the identity associated with that name. I am making no pronouncement about my self as a whole, only about the identity that receives the name. Interestingly, the romance is merely reversed. The comfort in this case comes from the choice of the name, and the unexpected comes with actually bearing it. Imagination, therefore, is quite romantic, as well.

What fun it is to accumulate names from friends and loved ones! How splendid and whimsical it is to assume a new name! Such weight and profundity is denoted by a true change of name. For these reasons I wish that any children of mine shall bear no fewer than four names, at least one of which shall be highly unusual and wonderful. It all makes me wish that I could think of more names by which I am known, but those I have fill me with glee.