The debate on Nature versus Nurture has been raging for a long, long time. And as far as I’m concerned, it shouldn’t be such an intense debate. Because the answer is clearly and obviously both — and each to degrees that mostly cannot be measured. At least not with our current repertoire of technology.
We all know that genetics plays a significant role in what your life is like. This is common knowledge. And we also all know that the home you’re raised in (or absence thereof) significantly impacts you. This is also common knowledge. And there are studies showing how important both nature and nurture are, across various fields of science.
Genetics (nature) can play a major role in things like long-term health, predisposition for certain aptitudes and interests, emotional makeup, tendency towards addiction, body size and shape, ambition, intelligence, and core values.
And we also know that environment and upbringing (nurture) can be a significant factor in… well, all of the same things. Because environment and upbringing can be the determining factor in almost anything. Especially via the avenue of trauma. But also through simple exposure to and reinforcement of behaviors and priorities.
What is not common knowledge, but is a strong opinion of mine, is that a name can do the same thing. Can play a major role in determining life outcomes, or at least in a person’s development. Not through some magical cosmic process, nor through a strictly “scientific” one per se, but through simple linguistic and social effects that names and words have on people’s brains. Biolinguistics.
And because names do and don’t fit certain behaviors and personality types. And because names, like it or not, play a major role in how other human beings see and interact with us, and in how we see ourselves.
Language as a physically-understood phenomenon
Psychologists and other researchers have created a number of experiments to study the way we match sounds with visual shapes.
The most famous of these is the “bouba/kiki” experiment. In this study, people across various cultures, from various places, speaking various unrelated languages, are shown pictures of two shapes. They are also given the nonsense words “kiki” and “bouba” (regardless of which language they speak) and asked to match each shape to a word. One of the shapes is rounded, one is jagged:
The overwhelming majority of people identify the jagged shape as kiki and the rounded shape as bouba.
There are obvious evolutionary questions to be asked here. For instance, about the shape of our mouths as we speak certain sounds (rounded for bouba, taut and angular for kiki). And about the hardness and softness of the sounds themselves (“k” obviously being a harder sound than “b”). And there are also neurological questions to be asked, like about the way sound and visualization functions overlap in the brain. Which is where synesthesia comes from.
But without asking all of these complicated questions, a basic conclusion is obvious: linguistic sounds affect the way we perceive things in the physical world, and vice-versa. Shape, form, function, and physical and emotional properties also determine what we call things.
Hard sounds produce hard imagery and emotional tension. Soft sounds produce soft imagery and calmness. It’s no mystery why “mama” and “papa” can be universally understood by almost any culture to be loving names for mother and father. You can see why we don’t call our parents something like “vaka” and “kaga.” Because those sound stiff and hierarchical, not soft and loving.
And that’s also why English speakers (at least in America) often think of German, for instance, with an angry, intense stereotype in mind. They hear words like geschenk (meaning “gift”), zusammen (meaning “together”), and verspätung (meaning “delay”), and they think, that sounds like a stiff, harsh language. And the direct opposite with French, even though French and German have a lot in common.
And as a side note, this is also why curse words are more fun and satisfying to say when they have hard and harsh sounds in them. Because those are better at expressing distaste than soft sounds. Even when I’m trying to be an honorable man, “goodness” just won’t do.
Names as pre-loaded social reputation mechanisms
George Carlin said “soft names make soft people.” This is one of my favorite comedy bits of all time. Because I think his observations are spot on in a really jarring way.
My mother has asked me before if I like my name. The honest answer is, not really. I’m not angry or sad about it — it’s a nice name. But I guess that’s what I don’t like about it. It’s a “nice” name. It’s extremely hard for me to build any reputation other than “nice guy.” Which, now that I’m past the age of needing to prove something to the world, is fine… but it still does present obstacles along with its gifts.
Everything’s a trade-off.
Of course a lot of people don’t like their names. So that doesn’t make me special. But there are lots of reasons that people might not like the name given to them. Some of those reasons, of course, have to do with the sound of the name itself. Its beauty or lack thereof, its uniqueness or lack thereof, its hardness or softness, whether it sounds Biblical or not, et cetera.
But I also think that the reason some people dislike their names is because there are baseline, unspoken social scores and pre-definitions attached to certain names that you have to work to overcome. Names evolve with a culture to contain certain images and stereotypes. In other words, because people treat you like your name, whether it’s warranted or not.
For instance, here are some things I’ve noticed about names.
Almost all of the Justins I have ever known have been geeky, awkward, and thin — at least when they were young. (Fuck me, right?) None of them had chiseled arms or facial hair at age 15. None.
If you name a child Karen or Susan, you might as well sign her up for a 40-year career in human resources now.
If you know a guy named Brett, there’s a good chance he plays sports.
If you know a guy named Bernard, there’s a good chance he plays chess.
Cliff and Troy are willing to get in bar fights.
Kyler and Tanner aren’t.
I’ve never met a person named Ashley who I thought was interesting.
I’ve never met a guy named Bobby who was particularly smart.
I’ve never met a woman named Joanna who slept around.
I’ve never met a woman named Crystal or Tiffany who didn’t.
Never met a Cindy with long hair.
Never met a Lexi with short hair.
I could go on and on. And I will bet a hundred dollars that you could think of 5 or 6 names to add to this list.
The point isn’t that these are always true. Because nothing is always true. The point is, people tend to live up to (or down to) whatever name they’re given. People develop long-term habits and accumulate their self-image partially from the way others treat and define them.
People will treat a child (or an adult) according to the strength, softness, tradition, elegance, punchiness, and other characteristics of their name. And the person will then develop in a feedback loop across time with that feedback from others, unless they learn how to break out. Which of course is possible, but usually doesn’t happen until adulthood if at all.
If you had a child named Brick, he would be picked first in gym class every single time. Because Brick sounds like the name of someone who can handle a god damn ball. If you had a kid named Todd, he would never get picked. And he would grow up thinking he’s no good at sports, and that it’s not even worth trying.
If you name your daughter something like Harper or Millie, she’s probably going to be an interesting person. Partially (or even mostly) because she’s going to have a head start — because other people are going to be more likely to treat her like she’s interesting, because of her name. And she’s likely to feed off of that.
But it’s also because when you give your child an interesting name, you give them something, subconsciously, to live up to. You give them a name worth making something of.
Furthermore, when you give your child a unique name, you allow them the freedom to avoid stereotypes completely. If you name a boy something like Bartholomew or Angus, he will have no social pressures, no biolinguistics, to work against. He will become whomever he wants to be. Because he is painting on a more open canvas than the other kids in his generation.
The sweet spot
If I ever have daughters, I want to name them something beautiful. If I ever have sons, I want to name them something sturdy.
I think the sweet spot is to have a name that is somewhat unique, while staying within the realm of something that’s actually a name.
And it’s best not to have any weird, superfluous letters in a name. If you name your child something like “Macqueyleigh,” “Branttley,” or “Jaxxon,” you’re giving your child the linguistic equivalent of a face tattoo.
It doesn’t make them a bad person, but it’s fucking weird. And every time they apply for a job, the person looking at the resume is going to be thinking exactly that.
Setting your child up for a lifetime of people whispering "that's weird" is absolutely not what a name is for. Best not to take any crazy risks with that unless you have good reason to believe that your child will be a superstar.
And names, just like anything else, can evolve. Any name can be interesting — until it becomes popular. Because names move in cycles just like anything else. Which leads them to be uninteresting for a while, and which also leads the stereotypes and pre-definitions around them to shift and change.
A person’s experience of life absolutely can and does depend on how others perceive and treat them, and therefore how they perceive and treat themselves. It begins in childhood with simple games around names. But it doesn’t stop there, because a name will always be part of our identity. In the edge cases, it might even be more important than genetics.
So it’s nature, nurture, and name.
Drink some water and play kickball with Brick.
JDR
“I read in a book once that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but I've never been able to believe it. I don't believe a rose WOULD be as nice if it was called a thistle or a skunk cabbage.” - L.M. Montgomery
To kind of emphasis your point about how we as humans name things, the swahili word for 'wheel' is 'gurudumu' which I can only imagine was named that way because of the sounds a wheel makes when in motion on an uneven surface. I picture swahili natives seeing something like a horse drawn cart for the first time and being hella impressed/shocked, then having to run off and tell their friends what they saw. I've always thought about why this is the first image I conjure up when I think about this, as opposed to a native riding the horse drawn cart, but then when you think of the likelihoods involved, it makes a bit of sense that the former is more likely. So then I'm left to wonder if it would have been named differently if the dominant experience for the natives had been being driven around in one, rather than being observers. I think part of why names matter for character/personality has to do with the social fabric being made up of narratives. For example, I've never met a Mary who wasn't extraordinarily nice, and I think it has to do with Jesus's mother being called Mary. I've also not met a James who didn't have a regal bearing and I think it has to do with the English kings. Or a Michael who wasn't cool, which I think has to do with pop culture having quite a few Michaels. Maybe parents consciously or subconsciously have such narratives in mind when they name their kids. Where I'm from there is a formula for naming newborns. The surname is a given, with the exception that if the mother is unmarried, the kid gets the mother's father's last name. Then the first name has to be a Christian name (John, James, Peter, Paul, etc etc. ). Usually this name is chosen from one of the deceased relatives. Finally a middle name at the discretion of the parents. This is where all the magic/fuckery happens. The funny thing is that the child who takes the first name of a deceased relative often ends up with very similar characteristics. A penchant for gossip, a sense of humor, a melancholic temperament.