Secular baptism revives forgotten Spanish names

Eulogio, Protasio and Policarpo return to rebaptize half of Spain

There is an open ceremony where anyone can enter and leave with a new name. No holy water, no font, no godfather. You just have to ask and wait your turn. The officiant distributes baptisms in order of arrival, accumulating saints' days: Eulogio, Archibaldo, Gervasio, Teofrasto, Eustaquio, Praxedes, Romualdo, Protasio, Medardo, Desiderio, Emeterio, Doroteo, Protadio, Nicecio, Secundino, Celedonio, Fructuoso, Policarpo y Filemón Salustiano. One after another, with the formula "you are baptized, amen" and a smile at the end of each line.

It starts with a simple provocation: Fed up with Jonathans and Eizans? And from there, a full-blown claim for the traditional Castilian name begins, the one that sounds like a sacristy, a village of two hundred inhabitants, and a birth certificate from 1947. The striking part isn't the joke. The striking part is the queue.

Which names are being distributed and where they come from

The repertoire isn't random. They are Latin, Greek, and Germanic names that had been out of circulation for decades and now return through the door of humor. Eulogio means "the one who speaks well." Policarpo, "of much fruit." Protasio and Gervasio are brothers in the saints' calendar. Teofrasto is pure Greek. Archibaldo is Germanic. Filemón comes from a New Testament letter. Torrevieja, however, is a place name, and some defend it as the most patriotic name of all.

The list expands every time someone raises their hand. Bernardo, Faustino, Hermenegildo, Venancio, Saturnino, Agapito, Tiburcio, Onofre Atanagildo, Fernannuño, Esmérese, Joaquín Archibaldo. Some ask for double names. Others ask for one for weekdays and another for holidays. Creativity has no limit, and the officiant rejects no one.

The theory of European names versus imported names

At some point during the distribution, a classification appears that gives the matter an almost academic air. It is argued that Jonatan e Izan have Semitic roots and would be excluded; that José María, David, Miguel y Raúl would suffer the same fate; and that instead Óscar is Germanic, Javier is Basque, Ferran is Germanic, and Nuño is Latin, so all these would pass the filter. The label used for the group is "European name with a long history."

It is a homemade taxonomy, without serious philological basis, and probably that is the charm. But it works as a symptom: there is a sector that reads the onomastic change of recent decades as a loss of roots and responds with humor. The same humor with which it is proposed to replace a name of unknown origin with the Iberian Olónico.

Name as memory: when baptism becomes tribute

Not everything is a joke. In the middle of the distribution, a bitter note appears. Someone asks for a specific name and receives an uncomfortable response: there was already a participant with that name, and they are no longer here, and their profile seems to have disappeared. The comment remains there, undeveloped, and the thread continues. It is a reminder that behind each nickname there is a person and that these names, because they are old, are also those of people who have passed away.

That contrast between the baptism party and the void left by a withdrawn name prevents reading the phenomenon as simple nostalgia. Names are not just labels: they are accumulated biographies. Recovering Eulogio is recovering all the Eulogios who existed, including those who are no longer here.

Why these names return now and not twenty years ago

The short answer is that the onomastic pendulum moves by generations. Names worn by grandparents sound stale when parents choose them for children, and sound original when grandchildren choose them. Eulogio, Protasio y Policarpo are in that second phase: no one associates them anymore with a specific living person, so they can be reused without baggage.

Some argue this is a passing internet trend and that within five years short Anglo-Saxon names will return. Against this weighs the argument that the generational cycle is thirty years and similar returns have already been seen with names that seemed extinct. The discussion, in any case, does not close: the saints' calendar remains open and the queue does not run out.

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One data point remains that disorients. The most requested baptism was none of the classics: it was Torrevieja. A place name from the Alicante coast turned into a first name by popular acclaim. With these ingredients, any prediction about what names children will carry in the next decade is, at least, reckless.