How Popes Choose Their Names And What's Its Significance
Choosing a new name is the pope's first public act. From Francis to Benedict, John Paul to Pius, papal names carry stories of reform and transformation.
The pope's chosen name isn't just a preference or a nod to a favourite saint. It is often the first message to the world about who he intends to be, the legacy he honours, and the direction he hopes to steer the Church.
History Of Papal Name Changes
For the first 500 years, popes retained their birth names. The practice of adopting a new name began with Pope John II in 533, born Mercurius. He changed his name to avoid the pagan connotations associated with Mercury, the Roman god.
The last pope to keep his birth name was Marcellus II in 1555.
Over time, adopting a papal name became customary, with most popes choosing names of predecessors or saints they wished to emulate. The most popular papal names have been John, Gregory, Benedict, Clement, and Innocent.
How Does A Pope Choose His Name?
There are no formal rules governing how a pope selects his name. Joshua McManaway, assistant professor at Notre Dame's McGrath Institute for Church Life, told The Pillar, "There are very few rules for the man at the top, so they're allowed to choose what they want."
While popes have freedom in choosing their names, there's an unwritten tradition. No pope has taken the name "Peter II." This is likely out of reverence for St Peter, the first pope appointed by Christ. Mr McManaway said, "I suspect it is humility or perhaps even because one does not want to compare oneself to the one pope we know Christ chose himself."
Not all popes choose their names based on past pontiffs. Pope Pius II, who led from 1458 to 1464, picked his name because he loved books. His real name was Enea Silvio Piccolomini, and he chose "Pius" after a character named Aeneas in a famous poem, 'The Aeneid', who was called "pious Aeneas."
Another example is Pope Julius II. He first wanted to be called "Formosus II". "Formosus" means "handsome" in Latin. The cardinals, however, advised against it, so he went with "Julius II" instead.
There is something odd about the numbering of popes named John. In 1958, Pope John XXIII was elected, but there was never a Pope John XX. This mix-up happened because of confusion in old records, including mistakes and the counting of some fake popes (called antipopes). So now, the official list says there have been 21 Popes named John, even though number 20 is missing.
Why Pope Francis Chose His Name
In 2013, Cardinal Jorge Mario Bergoglio became pope and chose the name "Francis," inspired by St Francis of Assisi. It was a big deal since no pope had picked a completely new name in over 1,000 years, not since Pope Lando in 914.
Pope Francis later said he was moved by Cardinal Claudio Hummes, who hugged him after his election and said, "Don't forget the poor." That made him think of St Francis of Assisi, who is known for living simply and caring for the poor.
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Time of India
8 hours ago
- Time of India
Roman soldier's 1,900-year-old paycheck found buried in English field; Pics inside
Sometimes, historical artifacts show up when we least expect them, hidden in the ground, waiting patiently for someone to notice. These small moments remind us that the past has never really disappeared, and some parts are still beneath the surface. Whether it's an old coin, a lost artifact, or a forgotten ruin, such discoveries help us put together the stories of people who lived long before us. One such moment recently happened in the English countryside, where a surprising discovery has given us a rare glimpse into daily life nearly 2,000 years ago. Roman soldier's 'paycheck' found after nearly 1,900 years In 2023, near the village of Great Ellingham in Norfolk, a metal detectorist made a unique discovery of twenty-five Roman silver denarii, which is thought to represent a Roman legionary's monthly pay. According to the reports by Fox News, the hoard has now been officially revealed to the public by the British officials this month as one of the most fascinating discoveries of recent years. Photo via Andrew Williams, Norfolk County Council Adrian Marsden, a coin specialist with the county, shared that the coins were scattered across the field, likely disturbed by plowing over the centuries, and handed over to authorities. 'We've had a few hoards like this over the years, scattered by the plow and often of a similar size,' he said to Fox News. Historians estimate the coins were lost between the 160s and 170s AD. Marsden pointed out, 'The latest coins [in the hoard] show very little wear and cannot have seen much circulation before the hoard's deposition,' suggesting the coins were freshly minted before being buried. Photo via Andrew Williams, Norfolk County Council The hoard includes images of popular Roman leaders, in which seven depict Emperor Hadrian, while others show Emperor Vespasian and Trajan. Two coins show Marcus Aurelius. The reverse side shows symbolic imagery, where one coin personifies Africa, as a tribute to Rome's provinces, and another is the rare Judaea Capta type, celebrating Rome's conquest of Judaea and the fall of the Second Jewish Temple. Marsden offered context on Norfolk's historical richness, 'This was a wealthy agricultural area in the Roman period.' Indeed, Norfolk remains one of England's most fruitful regions for archaeological treasures. 'There are plenty of Roman discoveries in the area, including the occasional small hoard,' Marsden added. Britain's Roman occupation began in 43 AD and lasted nearly four centuries, leaving behind artifacts that continue to be found across the country.
The Print
2 days ago
- The Print
Postcards from Hyderabad—stories Europeans told about the city
This article, however, is less about the politics of representation—though those debates are in your face and inevitably seep into the conversation. The ghost of the Edwardian nazar (postcolonial gaze) lingers in the corners, impossible to ignore. My intention here is somewhat different: above all else, this is an essay about Hyderabad , a city that has joined the places I now carry with me. What forms the basis of imperial fascination with Hyderabad? Which 'lives' of the city are deemed worthy of remembrance ? (As a brief aside, it is worth noting that the word souvenir derives from the Latin subvenire , meaning 'to occur to the mind,' or more simply, 'to remember.') The postcards often featured the lifeworlds of the imperial subjects, reflecting the empire's unsurprising desire to 'see' its subjects and their worlds. Postcards became an apparatus of imperial representation. These images participated in the construction of what Palestinian-American academic and literary critic Edward Said might call an 'Orientalist mise-en-scène'—picturesque, passive, and eminently collectible. Although ostensibly epistolary, postcards were also ethnographic. At its core, the idea of a postcard is deceptively simple: a portable visual object, often functioning as a souvenir of place, memory, or moment. Between the 1890s and the 1920s was a period now called the 'postcard boom'. Enabled by improvements in lithographic printing, postal reforms, and the growing mobility of bodies and images across empires, the postcard emerged as the perfect distillation of modernity: portable, pictorial, and public. A postcard is often a declaration of 'I have been here'. The idea of coupling an image with proof of presence is hardly unfamiliar to a generation fluent in Instagram stories. Curiously, a postcard from the early 20th century (reproduced below) contains this very declaration as its caption. Issued by A. Abid & Company of Hyderabad, it features a panoramic view of the Nizam's Charminar Palace, surrounded by a reservoir, garden, palm tree, and a fountain. This palace was also the residence of Albert Abid, an Armenian-origin Chamberlain to the Nizam and owner of the postcard firm, along with his wife Annie. Hyderabadis will know 'Abids' as a commercial complex that continues to stand on over 150 years of local history. Albert and Annie enjoyed being in close quarters to the Nizam, but their curious life and story is one for another telling. Abid & Co. was a major local player in Hyderabad's postcard trade, curating an impressive collection that showcased the city's iconic landmarks: Charminar, Golconda Fort, Mecca Masjid, among others. Globally, however, the dominant player was Raphael Tuck & Sons, a London-based publisher renowned for its lavish, hand-tinted postcards and its close ties to the British royal family, distributing imperial imagery across continents. Hyderabad was not as much a darling of the Raphael Tuck &Sons catalogue as Calcutta, Bombay, or Madras. Even so, the postcard's memorialisation of Hyderabad forms the ground for thoughtful scholarship. One postcard that I find particularly fascinating is titled 'Hyderabad. Arms Sellers'. It was released in 1908 by Raphael Tuck & Sons, as part of their 'Native Life in India Series II'. The richly coloured postcard paints the princely state of Hyderabad through a lens of exoticism and martial nobility. Three dark-skinned men, wearing richly hued turbans and flowing garments, seated amid a gleaming display of curved swords and weaponry. The postcard perfectly confirmed Orientalist fantasies, a place where swords gleamed and men wore colourful turbans. Hyderabad was historically notable for its tradition of arms manufacturing and trading, particularly during the Nizam's rule in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The city had a substantial presence of arms dealers, such as the Rafiq Armoury, which was established in 1872 and remains one of the oldest arms and ammunition dealerships in India for over 150 years. By 1908, when this postcard was produced, the world had already entered an era of mechanised warfare dominated by sophisticated European weapons. Yet here, in this carefully curated image of Hyderabad, the weapons of choice are still curved swords. In contrast, the British Empire's power by this time rested on far more 'sophisticated' terms: technological superiority, standardised artillery, and an industrialised army. Equally fascinating is the caption that accompanies the postcard. The caption reads 'Arms Sellers, Hyderabad. Hyderabad, the capital of the state of the same name, is celebrated for its swords and other arms. The population, which is about 500,000, consists of mixed elements, and is full of warlike spirit and nearly everyone carries a weapon. Hyderabad is one of the greatest centers of Mohammedanism in India.' The caption appears to be saying a lot about the city in general. It is presented as a repository of martial tradition and religious identity. The mention of 'warlike spirit' and a population where 'nearly everyone carries a weapon' lends the image of curious fascination about civilised primitivism. The reference to Hyderabad as 'one of the greatest centers of Mohammedanism in India' also flattens the city for an European viewership who would have read 'Mohammedan' as a marker of both exotic difference and imperial anxiety. It is also fairly evident that these arms sellers are framed not as individuals, but as representatives of a type: the exotic native warrior, purveyor of arms, vestige of a fading martial culture. This discussion on typification grants up a good point of entry into the next postcard, perhaps one of the most popular recipient of the Edwardian postcolonial nazar— The Nautch Girls of India. This one from Hyderabad stands apart for one primary reason—it attributes a name to the nautch girl. Miss Chanda of Hyderabad. On the surface, it might appear as if the nomenclature resists genrefication of Miss Chanda. The story is a little more complicated than that. Miss Chanda is dressed in a richly detailed outfit: a lavender skirt with gold ornamentation, a white dupatta, and a tightly-fitted bodice, all pointing toward a culture of princely luxury and Islamic court traditions. There is a hint of feminine grace and affluence in the image. But of course, she is not just Miss Chanda—she is Miss Chanda of Hyderabad. Her identity is inseparable from the exotic geography she is meant to evoke. The title alone transforms her from an individual into a representative type, a kind of visual ethnography meant to educate or titillate a foreign audience. Much like the portraits of arm sellers and street scenes, this image offers a version of Hyderabad through its people—yet what it frames is not Miss Chanda's life, but her legibility as an object of curiosity. If Miss Chanda was granted partial visibility through the privilege of a name—only to be reabsorbed into the grammar of exotic femininity—then the next figure's visibility was never in question. Possibly the earliest known postcard of a named Indian ruler (with several to follow) features Mahboob Ali Khan, Asif Jah VI, the sixth Nizam of Hyderabad, and one of the richest men in the world at the time. This postcard marks a shift from anonymous 'types' discussed so far, to named power. But it does so on very specific colonial terms. The Nizam is dressed in full court regalia, the embroidery on his coat ornate, his belt tight across his waist, a heavily jewelled cap crowning his head. The postcard is highly stylised, composed like a studio portrait. The paradox that we must not forget is that despite his opulence and sovereign authority, he is a part of a collection titled 'Souvenir of East Indies', built for exotic European consumption. Also read: What makes someone a Hyderabadi—Irani chai, biryani, Nizam nostalgia, or Dakhni? Bazaars, Boats & Buildings The human figure was not the only object of fascination. The city's monuments, too, featured prominently in this visual archive. A series of postcards from the early 20th century turns its gaze toward Hyderabad's architectural grandeur, most notably the Charminar, the Golconda Fort, and the Mecca Masjid. Each of these postcards, whether of streets, mosques, palaces, or tombs, offers a distinct image of the city. Hyderabad, The Char Minar by Johnston & Hoffmann (Kolkata, c. 1903), for instance, is less about the iconic monument itself and more about the bustling bazaars and the sea of curious onlookers that fill the frame. The bustling bazaars of Hyderabad form the subject of Street at Hyderabad by Unknown Publisher, c. 1905, and the famous Sarojini Naidu poem that reads: 'What do you sell, O ye merchants? Richly your wares are displayed. Turbans of crimson and silver, Tunics of purple brocade, Mirrors with panels of amber, Daggers with handles of jade.' – Sarojini Naidu, In the Bazaars of Hyderabad In The Mosque of Machii-Kaman by Austrian artist Josef Hoffmann, the stock elephant and the lively figures in the courtyard animate the centre of the frame. Possibly the earliest known postcard of Hyderabad, it was created by Hoffmann during his visit to India in 1893–94, when he was in his sixties. In contrast, the postcard titled Tombs at Golconda, Hyderabad adopts a more pastoral tone: a boat gently approaching the rocky shore, softening the memory of empire into picturesque leisure—into a scenic tourist fantasy. These postcards draw a picturesque theatre of the exotic. Hyderabad becomes a living museum, ready for the European gaze and imagination. What then remains of these images, more than a century later? For all their colonial underpinnings, they also inadvertently preserve a trace of local memory: a glimpse of a street, a face, a forgotten name. To read these postcards today is to inhabit a complicated temporality—one in which the empire looks, but we, too, look back. This essay, then, is not an attempt to salvage truth from image, nor to dismantle colonial visuality in totality. These postcards may have once said, 'I have been here,' but today they ask instead, 'What was here—and for whom?' (Note: All postcards have been sourced from online blogs and archives. The following set is drawn from Paper Jewels, a free-access postcard collection: Miss Chanda of Hyderabad; Arms Sellers, Nizam von Hyderabad; The Char Minar; In the Mosque of Machii-Kaman; Tombs at Golconda, Hyderabad; James Bazaar Street, Secunderabad; and Street at Hyderabad.) Souvik Nath recently completed a Master's degree in English Literature from the University of Hyderabad. His research interests centre on colonial modernity and its textual manifestations. Views are personal. (Edited by Ratan Priya)
The Hindu
3 days ago
- The Hindu
For urban lung space
It is refreshing to learn from time to time that civic bodies across cities are taking steps to nurture urban parks by renovating existing spaces, especially those affected by metro and other projects, and developing new ones. Parks, which are compact green spaces, have been consistently playing a vital role in societies from time immemorial. During the different periods of Indian history, groves and gardens were set apart by rulers for public enjoyment. Mark Antony successfully whipped up the emotions of the Roman mob soon after the assassination of Julius Caesar when he announced dramatically that Caesar had 'left you all his walks, his private arbours and new-planted orchards on this side of Tiber'. However, the concept of public parks in Indian urban areas, as we know it, was introduced only during the colonial period on the lines of parks in the West. The People's Park (1859-61), for example, was one of the oldest parks established in Chennai. Considered the 'lungs' of a city, parks are indispensable in metropolitan areas. Peace park Talking of the status of a typical public park today, it is disappointing that its sparse vegetation fails to invest the city with nostalgic rural charm. Though one must not expect placid calm in public parks situated amid the din and bustle of a city, a fairly peaceful place is necessary for citizens. The scene in a park varies with the hours of the day. In the mornings, one can see the superannuated gentility taking the morning constitutional. A few people trudge stertorously around the park as if it is a ritual. Parks become very noisy in the evenings with children playing all around. The balloon vendor produces the usual irritable noise to attract them. Vendors selling groundnuts and ice cream ply a brisk trade. Soon the place gets littered with fruit rinds and bits of paper. Most of the parks have only a minimum supervision by a part-time guard. Lack of cleanliness is a common issue. The growth of grass goes unchecked giving rise to mosquito menace. As the night falls, everything is quiet again in the parks. Early in the morning, one finds some men who have chosen the park for their nocturnal sojourn, unwillingly rising from the cement benches, cursing the sun that disturbed their night-long slumber. Winding down For the common person who does not have the advantage of a beach near his home, a park is the only place where he hopes to find relaxation and respite. In the country as a whole, there is a significant shortage of public parks and green spaces due to rapid urbanisation. It is important to regulate encroachment on lands earmarked for parks and also ensure that parks are evenly distributed over a city. Regular maintenance of public parks will doubtless go a long way in contributing to public health and environmental well-being. Local administrations must allocate adequate funds in their annual budgets for this purpose. They should remember that a park is not a luxury, but a necessity. On the lighter side, I recall an incident related to a park of my school days. My classmate Mani used to be marked absent for a number of days. When he had lost his term days, his class teacher referred the matter to his parents. They were told that the boy was regularly leaving for the school with his books and tiffin box and returning home in the evening. On investigation, it transpired that the boy spent the school hours playing hide and seek with street children in the park adjacent to our school. He used to have his lunch and his siesta under the umbrageous banyan trees in the park and leave for home on hearing the school bell. The parents acted quickly to correct the boy's behaviour. His mother accompanied him to the school, waited for the whole day in the park and ensured that the boy attended the classes. When I met Mani after a long time, I enquired about his profession. 'I graduated with a degree in botany, and I am now the supervisor of public gardens and parks in the city,' he said proudly. ramaraon2014@
