Scott Remer
AP English 2*
Be proud, my Race, in mind and soul;
Thy name is writ on Glory's scroll
In characters of fire.
-Paul Lawrence Dunbar, “Ode to Ethiopia”
“Call Me My Name”: The Role of Nomenclature in Toni Morrison’s Beloved
Names are crucial, forming the basis of language itself and helping shape how we
perceive the world. In Toni Morrison’s Beloved, in a world where slaves are constantly subjected
to the vagaries of whites and places and people are not always as they seem, names take on a
magical quality, imbued with totemic powers, capable of altering reality. As Morrison shows,
naming is an integral part of identity, disconnecting slaves from and connecting ex-slaves to their
heritage, families, and past. Whereas whites utilize formulaic names like Paul D, Paul F, and
Paul A Garner as another way to subjugate the slaves during slavery, ex-slaves like Baby Suggs
and Stamp Paid use the process of naming, a basic human right, to assert their newfound
independence and to heal from slavery’s scars to a certain extent. The various names that
Morrison uses span a gamut, running from slaveowner-given to self-chosen (showing how
members of the black community respond to slavery in a variety of ways), but all of them are
reactive – no one has managed to transcend the lingering effects of slavery. On another level,
Morrison uses the process of naming to show how women are oppressed in a predominantly
patriarchal society.
Understanding the texture and flavor of the world the slaves and ex-slaves inhabit is
crucial to comprehending the allure of names in Beloved. It is a world of white dominance,
where slaveowners are nearly omnipotent, controlling even words, free to abuse and misuse them
without opposition. This is seen clearly in the monumental misnomer that is Sweet Home. As
Paul D ruefully remarks, “It wasn’t sweet and it sure wasn’t home.” (16) The misnaming of
Sweet Home, a place which is representative of slavery as a whole, demonstrates how the
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corruption of whites’ moral and ethical codes has contaminated language itself; whites seek any
outlet to assuage their bloodstained consciences, contorting language and names themselves in a
futile attempt to legitimize slavery and convince themselves that slavery is justified. This selfconscious linguistic gymnastics can also be seen in Mr. Garner’s emphasis on calling his slaves
“men,” as opposed to the other slaveowners’ term of choice, “boys,” and the other slaveowners’
equally vehement declarations that there “ain’t no nigger men.” (12) The other slaveowners call
their slaves “boys” to infantilize and dehumanize them; they do so to help themselves forget that
their slaves are “men,” fellow human beings capable of the same hopes, dreams, and goals as
they are. Language, specifically the word “man,” is used as a crutch in the process of
dehumanization, as the slaveowners repress any instinct toward fellow-feeling. Besides
denigrating blacks, however, the word “men” is used to elevate whites. The self-conscious
warping and molding of the word “men” to suit whites’ purposes is also seen in Paul D’s
musings, when he considers “men who knew their manhood lay in their guns…and [that] these
‘men’ who made even vixen laugh could…stop you from hearing doves.” (191) Viewed through
the prism of Paul D’s mind, it is clear that the guards in Alfred, Georgia are conscious of their
inner cowardice and their lack of manhood. As a result of this defensiveness, they aggressively
assert that they are “men” and thus superior to the chain gang members. Although this is untrue,
the whites are successful in forcing many slaves to internalize their inferiority, as is clear when
Paul D tortures himself by considering his life at Sweet Home and asking, “Is this where the
manhood lay? In the naming done by a whiteman who was supposed to know?” (147) Paul D’s
inner turmoil and the inherent untrustworthiness of language in a world marred by lies is further
evinced when he thinks, “Garner called and announced them men – but only on Sweet Home,
and by his leave. Was he naming what he saw or creating what he did not?...It troubled him that,
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concerning his manhood, he could not satisfy himself on that point. Did a whiteman saying it
make it so?” (260) Whites’ control of the word “man” wrought psychological and emotional
havoc in slaves, crushing their spirits and leading them to question their very personhood. The
fact that a single word played such a leviathan role in the inhuman workings of the cogs and
gears of slavery shows the power of language and the naming of things in destruction and
oppression. Schoolteacher ultimately makes this role as an instrument of oppression quite clear:
the text explicitly states that Sixo is beaten to prove that “definitions belonged to the definers –
not the defined.” (225) Language, a tool that imposes order upon and makes sense of the world,
is taken extraordinarily seriously; in the world of the slaves, it is a white man’s prerogative to
process and interpret the sequence of experiences that comprises life. Slaves, regarded as inferior
by Schoolteacher and his ilk, cannot be entrusted with the solemn and awesome power of
language.
Naming, the natural extension of language, is also used by whites to denigrate and belittle
slaves. Some slaves like Sixo are given “a number for a name”; others, like Paul A, Paul D, and
Paul F, are given serialized names completely devoid of originality and individuality; and still
others, like Baby Suggs, are called by the wrong name (Jenny Whitlow), with their desires not
even taken into consideration. The undignified names that the slaves are given are meant to break
their wills; their names have all the panache and zest of animals’, cursorily and perfunctorily
given. In fact, in some cases, animals have names with more gravity – Samson the hound has
more of a name than Sixo or the three Pauls. At any rate, the slaves’ depressingly utilitarian
names have their desired effect: the slaves internalize the idea behind them – that they are
worthless and subhuman, not deserving of proper names that hearken back to their predecessors
and ancestral culture – to the extent that Baby Suggs responds to Mr. Garner’s question of “What
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you call yourself?” with “Nothing. I don’t call myself nothing.” (167) An astonishing statement
under any circumstance, bespeaking a complete divorce from the self; a deep, nihilistic
weariness; and pessimism about the future, Suggs’ statement is less shocking in a world
permeated by oppression, lies, and empty language.
Although full of linguistic falsehood and misnaming, the world the slaves inhabit is
heavily populated with names, which have transformative power and deeply influence one’s
identity and connection to the past. In their world, words (and names) can literally change reality.
A dry goods store becomes a church in part due to cosmetic changes, but mostly because it is
labeled “Church of the Holy Redeemer,” and the weaver lady from Delaware is able to pass Paul
D off as her nephew for an astonishing eighteen months “simply by calling him that nephew’s
name.” (133) Stamp Paid’s renaming has a similarly transformative effect: his behavior is
drastically altered after he takes on the name “Stamp Paid” and is liberated from his previous
humiliation and servility. He slips into dissipation for a while, but he soon decides to extend his
newfound debtlessness to others, helping out countless escaping slaves by working on the
Underground Railroad and defying the white slaveowner who once oppressed him. All of these
metamorphoses demonstrate names’ power in effecting change and weaving the fabric of reality
– a dry goods store can become a church, a man can assume a totally different person’s identity,
and a man’s behavior can be totally altered, all through names. The fact that even those ex-slaves,
like Paul D, who could not read “had memorized the letters of their name” reinforces the central
role names play in the world of Beloved. (62) Baby Suggs’ reaction to the overseer’s news about
her children’s deaths provides further support for the importance of names. As Morrison relays
the exchange:
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Of the slaves in the hold who didn’t make it, he said, two were Whitlow pickaninnies
name of…
But she knew their names. She knew, and covered her ears with her fists to keep from
hearing them come from his mouth. (169)
Baby’s refusal to hear the names of her children spoken aloud parallels Denver’s refusal to hear
the answer to Nelson Lord’s question about her mother. Denver’s refusal to hear whether her
mother was a murderer is a defense mechanism; Denver believes that if she does not hear the
answer to the question, her mother cannot be a murderer. Likewise, Baby Suggs feels (at least to
a certain extent) that if she does not hear her children’s names spoken aloud, they have not
actually died. Although she intellectually apprehends that her children are dead, it is the prospect
of hearing their names voiced aloud – particularly by a white man – that fills her with the most
dread. By refusing to hear them spoken by a white man, Baby Suggs is asserting her ownership
of their lives and names. In a similar way, Sethe’s mother drowns the babies she bore by the
crew members without remorse because they are “without names.” (74) By refusing to assign the
white men’s babies names, Sethe’s mother asserts her authority over the fruit of her loins.
Although the babies are helpless and innocent, since Sethe’s mother does not confer names upon
them, in her eyes, they never fully existed. In Beloved, names are the building blocks, the atoms
and molecules, of reality.
Furthermore, names are inextricably linked to identity and to all that entails – one’s own
personal past, the past more broadly, and one’s cultural heritage. When Halle sings a hymn to
alert the other slaves that it is time to escape and travel the Underground Railroad to freedom, he
sings, “Hush, hush. Somebody’s calling my name.” (264) In the process of helping Sethe to 124,
Ella makes sure that Sethe knows her name. When Sethe achieves the complete, unfettered
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freedom that Halle and the others sought, one of the things she enjoys most is “knowing the
names of forty, fifty other Negroes, their views, habits…” (111) Names play a major role both
during and after the escape for a good reason. Knowing other people’s names is nutritive: it helps
build links of trust among groups of slaves on the Underground Railroad, and it helps ex-slaves
forge bonds of friendship. In sum, it is an essential part of the experience of community. By
learning other ex-slaves’ names and identities once she is delivered by the Underground Railroad
to Cincinnati, Sethe meshes with the local black community and attunes herself to her people.
Indeed, when Stamp Paid is about to leave without introducing himself, Sethe, recognizing the
significance of names, says, “I wish I knew your name so I could remember you right.” (107) In
a similar manner, Amy laments the possibility that Denver will never know her name (and,
transitively, who she was), plaintively stating, “She’s never gonna know who I am. You gonna
tell her?...You better tell her…Say Miss Amy Denver. Of Boston.” (100) As is made clear from
Amy Denver’s preoccupation with Denver not knowing her name, not only do names connect
ex-slaves to the present, but they are also imperative for ex-slaves’ personal histories, connecting
individuals to the past by functioning as compacted, abbreviated memories. Naming is infinitely
meaningful metonymy – entire multifaceted people are distilled into precious syllables, and their
names are all that remain. As Ella shows us when she “listen[s] too for the unnamed,
unmentioned people left behind,” people who are unnamed no longer exist in any form, as
ethereal memories or otherwise. (107) Conversely, much like a dehydrated compound that
reconstitutes when exposed to water, names have the power to summon and conjure up people.
These facts, among others, explain Beloved’s doggedly persistent attempts to find
someone to “call me my name.” (137) In the ex-slaves’ world, as shown particularly clearly
through Beloved’s experience, names are of the utmost importance, nourishing and reassuring,
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endowed with the power to confer individuality and identity and sustain interpersonal
relationships. Knowing someone’s name can be intimate, as suggested by Beloved’s plea for
Paul D to “touch me on the inside part and call me my name,” as if they are equally intimate acts.
(137) Names are not things to be taken lightly or tossed around casually: Sethe is hesitant to give
Amy her real name because she is not well enough acquainted with Amy, calling herself “Lu”
instead; Sethe stops immediately when she hears her name in the mouths of Schoolteacher and
his pupil; and Baby Suggs is filled with revulsion at the prospect of the overseer saying her
children’s names. Knowing someone’s name is such a window into their soul, and speaking
someone’s name with the proper affection such an act of tenderness, that Beloved equates “to
want me” with “to say my name,” placing them side by side when she complains that “there is no
one to want me to say my name.” (251) As a matter of fact, assignation of a name is tantamount
to the assignation of an identity, the identification of the unique quintessence within a person. It
legitimizes a person’s existence and recognizes their existence as a human being. Notably,
Beloved’s name was hastily and posthumously selected; until her death, she was exclusively
referred to as the “crawling-already?” girl, as if Sethe was not yet ready to perform the grave
duty of choosing an appropriate name. (110) Sethe makes numerous attempts to convince both
Beloved and herself that the name Beloved is fitting and apt, asserting that it is “the one word
that mattered,” calling it “a pretty name,” and forcefully averring during a reverie addressed to
Beloved that “Dearly Beloved” is “what you are to me.” (5, 63, 217) Yet, despite Sethe’s
strenuous efforts, the name Beloved is hollow – though it helps Denver recognize Beloved as her
sister, performing the connective function that names are intended to perform, and although
Sethe did love Beloved, it is not fully veridical. The fact that “Beloved” is not Beloved’s true
name, merely what she is called, perhaps explains why Beloved does not go away when Paul D
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says, “Beloved.” (137) In the end, Beloved struggles unsuccessfully to discover her true name,
find love, and receive some kind of acknowledgement of her mistreatment, falling victim to the
unenviable fate she clawed her way back from the grave to avoid. As Morrison phrases it,
“Everybody knew what she was called, but nobody anywhere knew her name. Disremembered
and unaccounted for, she cannot be lost because no one is looking for her, and even if they were,
how can they call her if they don’t know her name? Although she has claim, she is not claimed.”
(323) Beloved’s demise demonstrates the primacy of names – without a true “name,” with only
an epithet that she is “called,” she is swallowed up by oblivion, erased from the mortal world.
Her sad fate suggests a revision of the old adage “Out of sight, out of mind.” In the world of
Beloved, it is “out of name, out of mind.”
As Morrison hauntingly shows, names are no laughing matter. Thus, it is understandable
that the ex-slaves are hypersensitive to even the subtlest nuances of naming. Ex-slaves’ dialogue
is peppered with names – when the community reflects on Baby Suggs’ liberation, it tells of how
she was driven by “the very man who had been her master…name of Garner”; when Baby Suggs
wants to find her husband, she remembers that “somebody name Dunn got Ardelia and went
West”; when Sethe recalls Sweet Home, she thinks of “those tall red blossoms people call
Diane”; and when Paul D reflects upon being out of Mister’s sight, he thinks, “Praise His name.”
(162, 169, 226, 125) Furthermore, the black community notices that the barker at the carnival
“called them and their children names,” but they decide that “the food on his vest and the hole in
his pants rendered it fairly harmless.” (58) Although they decide not to do anything about it, the
fact that members of the community take such umbrage at the name-calling underscores the
value attached to names. Names are so important that even minor names like “Dunn” and
“Garner” are sedulously memorized; they serve as a way of grounding a community whose
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members had suffered the trauma of being forcibly uprooted and separated from their family in
the past, and they ensure that the reader and the characters listening to the stories that are told are
fully engaged in the details of the memories or “rememories” that are being narrated. They
concretize the memories, and, as such, they are a reflection of the fact that the ex-slaves are only
able to voice the concrete facts of their experience – words ultimately cannot do justice to the
trials, torments, and tribulations of the slave experience. That notwithstanding, names are clearly
some of the most powerful words available to the slaves and ex-slaves – they are compact
packages of meaning, with significance transcending denotation.
Paul D is one example of an ex-slave that is acutely aware of the importance of names.
He represents one extreme of the spectrum of reactions to slavery and white oppression through
names, choosing to accept the name given to him by Mr. Garner and thus symbolizing the exslaves who, permanently damaged by slavery, choose to continue carrying the bitter legacy of
slavery. Paul D’s name shows how little whites – even relatively benign ones – think of their
slaves; the only distinguishing characteristic of his name is his middle initial, and it is unclear
whether it stands for anything. As a matter of fact, his entire name doesn’t stand for anything; it
was thoughtlessly assigned to him, just like the names Paul A and Paul F were to the other slaves,
as if they were cows without personality or individuality. Despite the yoke of his name, Paul D
accepts it as his, electing not to change it. As seen by when he corrects Denver’s
misunderstanding by saying his name is “Garner, baby. Paul D Garner,” he has become
somewhat comfortable inhabiting his name and fashioning it into something that is his. (13)
However, as we see when Sixo christens his progeny “Seven-O” with his dying words, playfully
adapting his name to celebrate the continuity of his line, Sixo perhaps does a better job than Paul
D of taking full ownership of his name and transforming it into something positive. (267) Paul D,
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by contrast, dwells a great deal upon the implications of naming, obsessed with whether it was
Garner who gave him his manhood. Thus, Paul D’s retention of his name can also be seen as an
indicator of his psychological stuntedness; he is scarred and is unready and unable to move on
and begin the healing process. Although he is technically free, mentally, a part of him is still
back on Sweet Home, and he is incapable of casting off the shackles that his name represents to
begin anew.
Much like Paul D, Sethe keeps her name, but she does so for very different reasons.
Sethe’s name constitutes one of the only viable links she has left to her distant past: she has
forgotten the language that Nan and her mother spoke, and she has few memories of her mother,
apart from her mother’s hanging, but her name memorializes the story of her birth and, more
importantly, her father. However, the impact of slavery on slaves’ sense of self-efficacy and selfesteem can be seen in Sethe’s choice of names for Denver. It is true that Sethe names Denver for
commendable reasons, to honor a friend, and it is also true that her naming of Denver after Amy
– a bedraggled, impoverished indentured servant on the outskirts of society – can be interpreted
as a form of rebellion against societal norms. However, Sethe has the choice to name her child
anything in the world – a nomen that honors their heritage or explicitly expresses defiance
towards whites – and she immediately latches on to a white person’s name. Benefactor or no, it
is evident that Sethe, at least at the time when she birthed Denver, had imbibed the prevailing
racial hierarchy and social structure. Rather than trusting herself to craft an appropriate name for
her own child, Sethe relies upon a white person; she does not yet have the faith in herself to
make crucial decisions on her own.
Contrastingly, Baby Suggs unilaterally decides to rename herself as a way of asserting
her newfound freedom. Although she never called herself anything at Sweet Home, she
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immediately decides to shed Jenny Whitlow, the name that Mr. Garner thought was hers, against
his advice. Mr. Garner gently but decidedly tries to exert his authority over Baby, amusedly
counseling, “[I]f I was you I’d stick to Jenny Whitlow. Mrs. Baby Suggs ain’t no name for a
freed Negro.” (167) Yet Baby holds firm, recognizing that, now that she is free, she is the arbiter
of what is proper and improper, no longer beholden to Mr. Garner and his wishes. She chooses
the name Suggs to connect herself to the memory of her husband, proudly claiming her past and
familial ties, and she chooses Baby, her husband’s hypocorism, as a way of further reminding
herself of her husband and differentiating herself from the impersonal nonentity that is “Jenny
Whitlow.” Although all of this seems positive, even Baby Suggs cannot fully flout the strictures
of the world she inhabits. The term “baby,” while a term of endearment and affection, is also
somewhat demeaning and belittling to women; there is a certain ridiculousness to calling a
grown woman a baby. In addition, the fact that Baby Suggs essentially takes her name directly
from her (deceased) husband – although she has the liberty to pick whatever name she desires –
shows how women’s voices are stifled in the world of Beloved. This is supported by the manner
in which Sethe’s mother gives Sethe her appellation. Sethe’s name is taken from her father’s
name; although Sethe’s mother has full control over her daughter’s name, she defers to the male
in the relationship (although he is presumably dead or otherwise absent) because has adapted to
the self-effacement that society requires of the fairer sex. Women are the lowliest members of
society – African-Americans occupy an unenviable rung of the social ladder, but to be an
African-American woman means that you do not feel free to make even the smallest (yet most
intimate) decisions (e.g., naming your child). Thus, even though Baby Suggs’ name is chosen by
Baby herself, it reflects to a large extent the limitations and tribulations inherent in the slave and
ex-slave experience.
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Stamp Paid’s name has a similar duality, illustrating the difficulty of making a clean
break with the unhappy elements of the past and releasing oneself from the prolonged effects of
slavery. Although Stamp takes on a new name in a sort of cleansing process, as a way of molting
his previous identity, the name he chooses crystallizes for eternity the moment of his deepest
humiliation and powerlessness. He mistakenly thinks that he is “debtless” as a result of his
renaming, but the fact that he chooses “Stamp Paid” as a name ensures that he will always be
reminded of what he regards as his craven cowardice. (218) Perhaps most significantly,
embedded in Stamp’s name is the assumption that a name like Stamp Paid is a name fit for a
human being – by choosing such a name, Stamp accepts the dehumanization that the
slaveowners worked so hard to instill in the slaves, particularly because the word “stamp” puts
the reader in mind of a brand like the one used on Sethe’s mother and countless other slaves
throughout history. All this notwithstanding, it is undeniable that Stamp Paid chooses his own
name; therefore, his denomination stands as an act of rebellion and a stepping-stone towards full
healing.
Ultimately, as seen by the entire spectrum of names in the African-American community,
names resonate with a power that extends far beyond the mere superficial, encompassing identity,
history, and culture. The reverence the ex-slaves pay to names is not misplaced: as Morrison
ultimately conveys, the right to assign names and the attendant right to use language are two of
the most fundamental human rights. To define oneself and the world one inhabits is the ultimate
freedom, the safeguard of all others. As Denver relates, emphasizing the prophylactic quality of
knowledge, “One of them with a number for a name said [learning to read] would change his
mind…But my daddy said…If you can’t read they can beat you.” (245) In the world of Beloved,
the process of naming – who is doing the naming, where the name is derived from, and whether
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the person being named consents to the name – has major ramifications for the institution of
slavery itself and society as a whole. When Sethe was married, there was an utter, spirit-crushing
lack of ceremony – as she reminisces, “I thought there should be something – something to say it
was right and true. I didn’t want it to be just me moving over a bit of pallet filled with corn
husks.” (70) If a slaveowner allowed that niggling sense of want, that void, to be completed by
allowing slaves to select their own names, it meant the tacit acknowledgement of their common
humanity. Likewise, if society allowed women to choose their own names, it meant the
recognition of their fundamental equality to men. As the awkwardness of the ex-slaves’ names
(Baby Suggs, Stamp Paid, and Denver) and the names’ complexity and ambiguity suggest,
merely gaining the human right of naming oneself and others is nowhere near sufficient to
compensate for slavery’s psychic toll. However, for the ex-slaves, naming is a start, a first step in
the journey towards a better tomorrow. Although their names are in some cases clunky and
awkward, each name is, as Sethe says of the name Beloved engraved on her baby’s headstone,
“the one [or two] word[s] that matter…” (5)
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