What Really Is In A Name?
Nominative determinism is a theory which states that we are drawn to work that is described by our names. Our name determines our work. Nominative determinism. There are a few real life examples of this, perhaps most famously Usain Bolt, a fitting last name for the fastest man in the world. There are also humorous examples. The idea is mocked in an episode of the Office in which Michael asks Dwight the name of the dentist he had supposedly just visited, a lie Dwight told to cover his own plot against Michael, to which Dwight nervously responds, “Crentist.” Michael acknowledges that Crentist sounds a lot like “dentist,” to which Dwight responds by claiming nominative determinism. But aside from interesting real life and funny sitcom examples, the theory doesn’t really mean much. Sure we can find a few examples in the world of a judge with the last name Judge, but how many judges can we point to who don’t have a last name that relates to law in any way? With billions of people in the world, we are bound to run into some such examples eventually, but that doesn’t make it anything other than a coincidence.
Nonetheless, names mean something. In Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, Juliet tries to subvert the importance of a name. In talking to herself, while Romeo waits unseen within earshot, Juliet argues that he should deny his name, trading it for her. Without his last name, there would be no reason for her family to reject him. It is only the blood rivalry between the Capulets and Montagues that would drive them apart. A name doesn’t matter, only the intrinsic properties of a thing matter. “What’s in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet;” (Romeo and Juliet Act 2, Scene 2). Unfortunately, she’s wrong. Apologies if you don’t yet know the story of Romeo and Juliet, but the ending is tragic. Neither of them survive the series of tragic mistakes caused by the familial rivalry. They couldn’t escape the consequences of their names.
The ancient city of Jerusalem wasn’t founded by the Israelites according to the Bible. Its king was defeated by Joshua (Joshua 10). The people destroyed it in time of the judges (Judges 1). Eventually David took the city from the Jebusites to make it his capital (2 Samuel 5). The people had lived in the land of Canaan for several generations before finally claiming the city, and when they did, it was a bloody struggle. It is likely that Jerusalem is shortened to “Salem” when talking about King Melchizedek blessing Abram in Genesis 14, and when David captures it in 2 Samuel, it is alternatively called Jerusalem and “the stronghold of Zion.” So, before it was even the capital of David’s kingdom, it was already Salem, the city of Melchizedek who blessed their forefather; Jerusalem, the city of Jebusites and King Adoni-zedek who formed a coalition against Joshua; and Zion, one of the most important hills in the Bible.
But the problem with these names was—just like Capulet, Montague, and Crentist—they came with baggage. Jerusalem had long been a place of violent struggle before David, and that would continue later in Biblical history. The city was besieged by the Assyrians and then again by the Babylonians who succeeded in destroying it. Wars were waged over it during the crusades, and even today bloody conflict continues as cultures clash around holy sites. Zion could be associated with the holy city of God or with a controversial political ideology. Even the old name, Salem, now shares its name with a city in Massachusetts and the witch trials that occurred there. The controversy around the name Jerusalem was known even in Biblical times. When Nehemiah requested to go to his home city to rebuild the wall, he strategically left out the name for fear that the Persian king would worry about the history of rebellion from that city and refuse his request.
Whether or not we believe in nominative determinism, names do appear to have some degree of power over us, but for the most part, this power is something we give names. The reputation associated with our name is a reflection of our behavior and the behavior of people who share our names. The violent reputation of Jerusalem isn’t something that God gave it. The inhabitants of Jerusalem saw a hilltop military stronghold and treated it that way. The ugly story thrust upon its name followed from that conviction. Eventually, it wasn’t only violence but shame that became associated with Jerusalem. During the exile, they had to deal with the harsh fact that they had lost. Their city had fallen, and they brought this upon themselves with their sins. Other nations would look at Jerusalem as either a home for the rebellious or an utter devastation, a reminder to the world of how brutal failure could be. There would be no way they could dig themselves out of this problem.
In Isaiah 62:2, God promises to give Jerusalem a new name. It isn’t clear if this literally means that God will rename it or if it simply is a figurative way of showing that God will restore its reputation. Certainly, God isn’t against the idea of renaming. God changed Jacob to Israel. He went from the trickster who grabs the heel to the one who wrestles with God, granting him a new name and identity. We can’t be sure what God would call Jerusalem if it were renamed, but it would certainly change things. No longer would the city be a place of violence, shame, and rebellion. Now, it would be a place of hope restored and a right relationship with God.
Though names don’t always mean as much in our world as they have in the past, we still value our reputations today. And though we value our public perceptions, we are just as careless with them now as our ancestors were. We still act in ways that make it hard for people to trust us. We still make our names associated with our worst behaviors. And that impacts our relationships with others as well as our self-perceptions. Perhaps not the sounds of our names, but our identities and reputations shape our destiny. Our only hope to fix the messes we make for ourselves is for God to rename us, calling us through the Holy Spirit in Baptism and Communion and restoring our identities. No longer calling us “sinner” and “rebellious” but rather, “beloved child of God.”
