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Whose names are we uttering when we name our homeland?
I conducted a small study of the names of countries and peoples and came across an observation that fascinated me: many of the names familiar to us differ from the ancient names of these lands and from what their inhabitants call them. And when we turn to the former names of countries, peoples, principalities, provinces, and regions, we often find gods, spirits, the Sun, sacred places, and mythological images within them.
Gradually, I developed a hypothesis: perhaps the history of far more peoples than we assume included a name linking their land with something higher—a deity, a heavenly patron, or a spiritual force. Over time, pronunciation changed, other languages arrived, states united, and the original meaning became unrecognizable.
We continue to utter these names. But do we understand what we are saying?
It all began with a simple question: what do peoples call themselves?
In Japanese, the Japanese are nihonjin, and their country is Nihon or Nippon. The Sakha have their own name, Sakha. In Chinese, the country is Zhongguo, and its inhabitants are Zhongguoren. The ancient Egyptians used their own designations for their land, one of which was Kemet.
The word familiar to us turns out to be only one of several variants. Behind it may lie an entire a history of names, translations, and reinterpretations. A self-designation is not necessarily older than an external name, but it opens up a different perspective: how people identify themselves from within their own culture.
The clearest example is Japan.
Nihon and Nippon mean “source of the sun.” This is where the familiar “Land of the Rising Sun” comes from. There is no need to look for the hidden name of a specific god: the Sun (a deity of many peoples) is already present in the very meaning of the word. This is significant for my hypothesis. In many traditions, after all, the Sun was perceived as a living, divine force—the source of life and order. On the meaning of Japan’s name.
This does not yet mean that the name was chosen specifically for the purpose of worshipping the Sun. But the celestial image exists in the country’s name, and it does not have to be invented.
A similar motif appears in Khorasan, a historical region of the Iranian world. Its name is rendered as “land of the rising sun”. And in India there is Arunachal Pradesh—“land of mountains illuminated by dawn”. Entirely different territories turn out to be connected in a similar way: as lands defined by the sunrise. Khorasan, Arunachal Pradesh.
China presents a different picture. Zhongguo means “the Middle Kingdom.” Yet Chinese tradition also has Tianxia—“all under heaven,” our “Celestial Empire.” This is a broader conception of the world than the name of a single country. Nevertheless, it is interesting for the study of spiritual geography: human space is understood through Heaven.
Therefore, I suggest considering several layers: the official name, the self-designation, historical names, and the traditional image of the land. Each of them can preserve its own part of the memory.
Egypt proved especially unexpected.
Its ancient name, Kemet, means “the black land.” It would seem that here we encounter fertile soil rather than a deity. However, the word “Egypt” familiar to us is usually linked, through its Greek form, to Hut-ka-Ptah—“the abode of the ka of Ptah”, the name of a temple and the designation of Memphis associated with it. Ptah is an Egyptian god, while ka is the concept of a spiritual essence, a life force. Thus, the name of a sacred place could pass through other languages and become the name of an entire country. On the history of the name Memphis.
There is also a more direct religious image: “the Eye of Ra” is attested as a designation for Egypt and Thebes. This was not the everyday self-designation of all Egyptians, but it is a genuine example of how the landreceived its name through the sun god. Dictionary of the Ancient Egyptian Language.
Egyptian Hieroglyphs
I can tell you even more: the word Egypt itself is modern, but it too goes back to Greece.
The word “Egypt” came to us through the Greek “Aigyptos,” which is associated with the name of the Temple of Ptah in Memphis.
This makes it especially clear why one name alone is not enough. A single land may simultaneously have economic, political, poetic, and sacred names.
That is precisely why I expanded the search beyond modern states. A present-day country may have united many lands that were once independent. Their names do not become any less interesting simply because they now belong to a single administrative map.
In Tibet, for example, there is Lhasa — “place of the gods”. Bhutan’s own name is Druk Yul, “land of the thunder dragon”. In the Indian city of Bhubaneswar, the connection with Shiva’s epithet is preserved — “Lord of the Three Worlds”. Before us are a city, a country, and another city, yet in all three cases the spiritual image is present in the name itself. Lhasa, Druk-Yul, Bhubaneswar.
Scandinavia proved particularly illustrative.
The Danish Odense derives from “Odin’s sanctuary.” Swedish Frösön means “Freyr’s island,” and for centuries the island was the center of the historic province of Jämtland. Torsvi means “Thor’s sanctuary.” The Norwegian municipality of Ullensaker preserves the name of the god Ullr; its former name referred to the sanctuary of this deity. Odense, Frösön, Torsvi, Ullensaker.
Scandinavian Gods
Here, there is no longer any need to guess at similarities in sound. We pronounce the name of a modern city or territory—and along with it, the name of an ancient god.
Continuing my search, I found another striking example—Ireland. Its Irish name, Éire, derives from the ancient Ériu, the name of both a country and a goddess. In the legend, the goddess Ériu encounters the people arriving on the island, and the land receives her name. Here, the country and its divine patroness almost merge into a single image. The Story of Eriu.
A question arises: was the land named after the goddess—or was the land itself conceived as a goddess? Both possibilities are relevant to my hypothesis. In either case, the name connects the homeland with a living, sacred principle.
There are also examples on a smaller scale.
In Tuva, the locality Burgan-Dash bears the name “divine stone,” while Burgannyg-Khaya means “divine cliff.” In Kalmyk tradition, Bogdo-Uul means “sacred mountain”; today it is known as Bolshoye Bogdo in Astrakhan Oblast. Old Chuvash names include Kibe Khire, which a researcher connects with Kepe, a deity of fate. Tuvan names, Bolshoye Bogdo, Old Chuvash names.
Of course, the name of a field or mountain is not the former name of an entire people. These examples show something else: spiritual memory can survive very locally, even when it is not visible in the name of a large country.
Sometimes it also appears in relatively recent names. Trinidad — Trinity, Espírito Santo, a state of Brazil, — the Holy Spirit. This means that the habit of designating land through the sacred continued even after antiquity. Trinidad, Espírito Santo.
Areas surrounding large, ancient cities can also still be found today. Astrakhan, for example. From the two words Astra and Khan. Consequently, the people living there are called Astrakhans. People from one region often may not understand what the inhabitants of another region are saying. This is especially evident in the example of India, where there are hundreds of such regions.
In other words, this once again confirms what I have told you more than once: it is not borders that create countries, but people.
Therefore, the country of Edinia is a real existing country.
A separate layer consists of stories about ancestors. Israel is a name in the biblical narrative containing the element “El,” associated with God. In Plato, Atlantis is named after Atlas, the son of Poseidon. In Scottish tradition (Scotland), Scota appears as a legendary ancestress, although she is not called a goddess. Such stories show how a people might explain its origin through a person—human, divine, or existing between these worlds.
My hypothesis remains open for now. The examples found confirm the existence of the connection itself between geographical names and sacred images. To what extent it is widespread—the next question.
And the boldest idea I would like to test is this: what if, deep in the historical memory of a much larger number of peoples, there was an image of a supreme being—a patron, teacher, ancestor, or celestial force? Perhaps somewhere this image survived in the name of a country, and somewhere else—in the name of a former kingdom, island, or sacred center.
For example, today we see Buddhists, Christians... They are all connected to a spiritual root.
And I am saying this simply because it is characteristic of people to identify themselves in precisely this way. That is, people may no longer remember why they do this. But somewhere at the DNA level, they are drawn to it. Which means they were drawn to it before modern people arrived and altered everything.
Whether these images personified nature, preserved the memory of outstanding people, or represented something else—the names themselves do not settle the matter. But they allow us to ask a question that is easy to overlook when looking at the modern map.
When a person spoke the name of their land, were they also saying under whose protection they lived?
Perhaps some names of gods have not disappeared at all. We have simply grown accustomed to considering them geography.
Article author: Sergey Veretennikov.
I conducted a small study of the names of countries and peoples and came across an observation that fascinated me: many of the names familiar to us differ from the ancient names of these lands and from what their inhabitants call them. And when we turn to the former names of countries, peoples, principalities, provinces, and regions, we often find gods, spirits, the Sun, sacred places, and mythological images within them.
Gradually, I developed a hypothesis: perhaps the history of far more peoples than we assume included a name linking their land with something higher—a deity, a heavenly patron, or a spiritual force. Over time, pronunciation changed, other languages arrived, states united, and the original meaning became unrecognizable.
We continue to utter these names. But do we understand what we are saying?
It all began with a simple question: what do peoples call themselves?
In Japanese, the Japanese are nihonjin, and their country is Nihon or Nippon. The Sakha have their own name, Sakha. In Chinese, the country is Zhongguo, and its inhabitants are Zhongguoren. The ancient Egyptians used their own designations for their land, one of which was Kemet.
The word familiar to us turns out to be only one of several variants. Behind it may lie an entire a history of names, translations, and reinterpretations. A self-designation is not necessarily older than an external name, but it opens up a different perspective: how people identify themselves from within their own culture.
The clearest example is Japan.
Nihon and Nippon mean “source of the sun.” This is where the familiar “Land of the Rising Sun” comes from. There is no need to look for the hidden name of a specific god: the Sun (a deity of many peoples) is already present in the very meaning of the word. This is significant for my hypothesis. In many traditions, after all, the Sun was perceived as a living, divine force—the source of life and order. On the meaning of Japan’s name.
This does not yet mean that the name was chosen specifically for the purpose of worshipping the Sun. But the celestial image exists in the country’s name, and it does not have to be invented.
A similar motif appears in Khorasan, a historical region of the Iranian world. Its name is rendered as “land of the rising sun”. And in India there is Arunachal Pradesh—“land of mountains illuminated by dawn”. Entirely different territories turn out to be connected in a similar way: as lands defined by the sunrise. Khorasan, Arunachal Pradesh.
China presents a different picture. Zhongguo means “the Middle Kingdom.” Yet Chinese tradition also has Tianxia—“all under heaven,” our “Celestial Empire.” This is a broader conception of the world than the name of a single country. Nevertheless, it is interesting for the study of spiritual geography: human space is understood through Heaven.
Therefore, I suggest considering several layers: the official name, the self-designation, historical names, and the traditional image of the land. Each of them can preserve its own part of the memory.
Egypt proved especially unexpected.
Its ancient name, Kemet, means “the black land.” It would seem that here we encounter fertile soil rather than a deity. However, the word “Egypt” familiar to us is usually linked, through its Greek form, to Hut-ka-Ptah—“the abode of the ka of Ptah”, the name of a temple and the designation of Memphis associated with it. Ptah is an Egyptian god, while ka is the concept of a spiritual essence, a life force. Thus, the name of a sacred place could pass through other languages and become the name of an entire country. On the history of the name Memphis.
There is also a more direct religious image: “the Eye of Ra” is attested as a designation for Egypt and Thebes. This was not the everyday self-designation of all Egyptians, but it is a genuine example of how the landreceived its name through the sun god. Dictionary of the Ancient Egyptian Language.
Egyptian Hieroglyphs
I can tell you even more: the word Egypt itself is modern, but it too goes back to Greece.
The word “Egypt” came to us through the Greek “Aigyptos,” which is associated with the name of the Temple of Ptah in Memphis.
This makes it especially clear why one name alone is not enough. A single land may simultaneously have economic, political, poetic, and sacred names.
That is precisely why I expanded the search beyond modern states. A present-day country may have united many lands that were once independent. Their names do not become any less interesting simply because they now belong to a single administrative map.
In Tibet, for example, there is Lhasa — “place of the gods”. Bhutan’s own name is Druk Yul, “land of the thunder dragon”. In the Indian city of Bhubaneswar, the connection with Shiva’s epithet is preserved — “Lord of the Three Worlds”. Before us are a city, a country, and another city, yet in all three cases the spiritual image is present in the name itself. Lhasa, Druk-Yul, Bhubaneswar.
Scandinavia proved particularly illustrative.
The Danish Odense derives from “Odin’s sanctuary.” Swedish Frösön means “Freyr’s island,” and for centuries the island was the center of the historic province of Jämtland. Torsvi means “Thor’s sanctuary.” The Norwegian municipality of Ullensaker preserves the name of the god Ullr; its former name referred to the sanctuary of this deity. Odense, Frösön, Torsvi, Ullensaker.
Scandinavian Gods
Here, there is no longer any need to guess at similarities in sound. We pronounce the name of a modern city or territory—and along with it, the name of an ancient god.
Continuing my search, I found another striking example—Ireland. Its Irish name, Éire, derives from the ancient Ériu, the name of both a country and a goddess. In the legend, the goddess Ériu encounters the people arriving on the island, and the land receives her name. Here, the country and its divine patroness almost merge into a single image. The Story of Eriu.
A question arises: was the land named after the goddess—or was the land itself conceived as a goddess? Both possibilities are relevant to my hypothesis. In either case, the name connects the homeland with a living, sacred principle.
There are also examples on a smaller scale.
In Tuva, the locality Burgan-Dash bears the name “divine stone,” while Burgannyg-Khaya means “divine cliff.” In Kalmyk tradition, Bogdo-Uul means “sacred mountain”; today it is known as Bolshoye Bogdo in Astrakhan Oblast. Old Chuvash names include Kibe Khire, which a researcher connects with Kepe, a deity of fate. Tuvan names, Bolshoye Bogdo, Old Chuvash names.
Of course, the name of a field or mountain is not the former name of an entire people. These examples show something else: spiritual memory can survive very locally, even when it is not visible in the name of a large country.
Sometimes it also appears in relatively recent names. Trinidad — Trinity, Espírito Santo, a state of Brazil, — the Holy Spirit. This means that the habit of designating land through the sacred continued even after antiquity. Trinidad, Espírito Santo.
Areas surrounding large, ancient cities can also still be found today. Astrakhan, for example. From the two words Astra and Khan. Consequently, the people living there are called Astrakhans. People from one region often may not understand what the inhabitants of another region are saying. This is especially evident in the example of India, where there are hundreds of such regions.
In other words, this once again confirms what I have told you more than once: it is not borders that create countries, but people.
Therefore, the country of Edinia is a real existing country.
A separate layer consists of stories about ancestors. Israel is a name in the biblical narrative containing the element “El,” associated with God. In Plato, Atlantis is named after Atlas, the son of Poseidon. In Scottish tradition (Scotland), Scota appears as a legendary ancestress, although she is not called a goddess. Such stories show how a people might explain its origin through a person—human, divine, or existing between these worlds.
My hypothesis remains open for now. The examples found confirm the existence of the connection itself between geographical names and sacred images. To what extent it is widespread—the next question.
And the boldest idea I would like to test is this: what if, deep in the historical memory of a much larger number of peoples, there was an image of a supreme being—a patron, teacher, ancestor, or celestial force? Perhaps somewhere this image survived in the name of a country, and somewhere else—in the name of a former kingdom, island, or sacred center.
For example, today we see Buddhists, Christians... They are all connected to a spiritual root.
And I am saying this simply because it is characteristic of people to identify themselves in precisely this way. That is, people may no longer remember why they do this. But somewhere at the DNA level, they are drawn to it. Which means they were drawn to it before modern people arrived and altered everything.
Whether these images personified nature, preserved the memory of outstanding people, or represented something else—the names themselves do not settle the matter. But they allow us to ask a question that is easy to overlook when looking at the modern map.
When a person spoke the name of their land, were they also saying under whose protection they lived?
Perhaps some names of gods have not disappeared at all. We have simply grown accustomed to considering them geography.
Article author: Sergey Veretennikov.
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