Name

Names have always possessed a magical quality. To know the name of someone or something grants a degree of control over it. Conversely, if the name of the other remains unknown, it retains its mystery, leaving one uncertain about its true nature; it becomes something uncanny and unconscious. Consequently, the great mystery often lacks a name, or its name must not be spoken (e.g., observant Jews never write "God," and early Christians refrained from writing "Jesus Christ"). Alternatively, it may possess a multitude of names, as is the case with the gods of mystery religions.

Knowledge and Control  

In folktales, the hero or heroine frequently needs to guess or uncover the name of the troll or witch (e.g., Rumpelstiltskin). As long as the protagonist does not know the other’s name, the creature holds the upper hand. Yet, the moment the name is uttered, the hero gains mastery over it—whether the monster disappears, dies, or relinquishes a treasure. This theme recurs in legends and folklore. Knowing the name signifies the act of making something conscious; the nameless resides in the unconscious and is thus dangerous. 

Many myths narrate humanity’s journey to naming everything, illustrating the process of becoming conscious of one's environment and rising above an unconscious, nameless animalistic state. 

In an illustrative aside, Bob Dylan captures this motif in his charming song Man Gave Names to All the Animals, where all creatures are named—except the serpent, which, symbolically, epitomizes the unconscious above all else.

Secret

The unknown name, or any unspoken designation, suggests secrecy. In this vein, the alchemists often said that “the old names are not the true names.” This implies that merely reading others’ works is insufficient; one must do one's own work and discover one's own truth. Until that point, the "names" remain hidden.  

In Egyptian myth and magic, control was granted to those who knew the "true name" of a person or entity; thus, the name itself was a secret.  

In Revelation 2:17, the symbol of a name as a secret expression of a person’s innermost essence reappears: “To the one who conquers I will give … a white stone, and on the stone a new name is written that no one knows except the one who receives it.”

Label

Humankind has always named things to understand, categorize, and organize an otherwise chaotic world. In everyday contexts, one may be troubled by a phenomenon that remains incomprehensible, but as soon as it is given a name, it feels less daunting. With a name, it might no longer seem pressing to understand it—perhaps it is “nothing but.” 

Jung emphasizes this dynamic:

“There is an old prejudice which says that the name magically represents the thing, and that therefore merely mentioning the name is sufficient to postulate the thing.” (Aion, par. 60.)  

In other words, naming can sometimes devolve into a meaningless act of labeling, an evasion. Perhaps it is characteristic of our time that so many things are dismissed as “nothing but,” thus requiring no further engagement on our part.  

Identity

A name signifies who one is, and from there, the step to what one is becomes a short one—perhaps explaining why children often become upset if someone mocks their name. It is a question of identity. For instance, after initiation, the initiate is given a new name, symbolizing that they have become a new person through the rite of passage. In many North American cultures, a warrior received his adult name after his first act of valor, marking a transformation into something different from what he were before.  

Some have observed that Indo-European words for “name” are strikingly similar to those for “soul” and “breath” (the latter being synonymous with spirit). In any case, a name is intimately tied to the perception of what something or someone truly is. Names relate to the essential.  

Magical Words  

There is a universal belief that one attracts what one speaks of (e.g. “Speak of the devil”). Thus, one should not speak of the dead, the wicked, the wolf, and so forth. This is the rationale behind euphemistic noanames, such as saying “grey paw” instead of wolf or “the Evil One” instead of the devil. Sometimes, something ominous is even given a pleasant name to ward off its negativity.  

In any case, naming, archetypally speaking, holds a magical quality that recurs in dreams, folklore, and other symbolic contexts.  

As a Symbol

Names in dreams are also symbols. If one knows the name of an otherwise unknown dream figure, the name undoubtedly has symbolic significance worth exploring through associations. This applies equally to proper names of places. A well-known example is Jung’s dream set in Liverpool, a city he had never visited in real life. In the dream, the city was gray and dull, but he discovered an incredibly beautiful and captivating place at its center. Regarding the city’s name, Jung comments in Memories, Dreams, Reflections that Liverpool means “pool of life,” and that liver, according to ancient beliefs, is the seat of life (p. 184). This illustrates how dreams can use names as symbolic expressions.  

Epithets  

Names in myths denote the epithet of a being. Similarly, the names of figures in dreams reveal their psychological qualities. On the one hand, one can "strip" the dream figure of the ego's prejudices by, for example, writing its name in lowercase letters to distinguish it from a known external person. On the other hand, Hillman (The Dream and the Underworld, p. 62f) suggests giving nameless dream figures a mythic name with a capitalized initial to highlight their archetypal nature—for example, "The Woman with the Mask," "The Man with the Bare Chest," "The Mechanic," much like the Greeks gave multiple names to their gods, such as "The Victorious Heracles," "The Protective Heracles," "The Furious Heracles," and so on. These names confer epithets, a mythical-psychological content of the archetypal nature that Hillman asserts all dream figures inherently possess.

In a similar vein, one can give one’s dream ego an epithet: “The Pantsless (I),” “The Hunted (I),” “The Aggressive (I),” and so forth. For in our dreams, according to Hillman, we—like the other dream figures—are imagined, psychological realities.  

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