Sting: What's in a Name?

There’s something magical about rereading a favorite book. The first time through, you’re swept along by the current of the story, tumbling headfirst into its plot twists, grand reveals, and high-stakes moments. You’re clutching at the edges of each page, desperate to find out what happens next. But when you come back to it—when you know the story’s arc, its destination—you find yourself noticing things you missed the first time. The moments you glossed over in your eagerness to get to the "big stuff" suddenly stand out, quietly demanding your attention. It’s like meeting an old friend and discovering new facets to their personality you never appreciated before.

That’s exactly how I feel as I conduct this read-through of The Hobbit with my fellow

Ringfolk

. Sure, I still delight in the grand sweep of Bilbo’s journey, but a number of little things have caught my attention in this reread that I am immensely enjoying. One of those things comes out of chapter 8.

If you’ve ever cheered for an underdog, you know the kind of quiet satisfaction that bubbles up when they finally step into their own. That’s what happens in Chapter 8 of The Hobbit. Bilbo, who up until now has been a rather reluctant adventurer, finds himself faced with a seemingly impossible task—saving his friends from a horde of massive, terrifying spiders in the heart of Mirkwood. It’s one thing to tag along on an adventure, hoping someone else will handle the monsters. It’s another thing entirely to face them head-on, especially when you’re the smallest and most inexperienced member of the group.

But this time, Bilbo doesn’t hesitate. Armed with little more than his wits and a blade he barely knows how to wield, he leaps into action. He slashes through webs, taunts the spiders, and defeats them in a moment of bravery no one—not even Bilbo himself—saw coming. It’s messy, frantic, and gloriously unexpected. And when it’s all over, when the last spider is driven off and the dwarves are free, Bilbo looks down at the blade in his hand and does something extraordinary: he gives it a name.

“Sting.”

It’s such a simple name, almost laughable when compared to the grand, lofty titles of legendary weapons like Excalibur or Andúril. But there’s something perfect about it. Sting isn’t just a name—it’s a declaration. It’s Bilbo’s way of saying, “This blade is mine, and I am no longer the same hobbit who left Bag End.”

Think about it: before this moment, Bilbo might have told himself he was just along for the ride, caught up in Gandalf’s schemes and the dwarves’ treasure hunt. But naming Sting changes everything. It’s the first real act of agency we see from Bilbo. He isn’t just reacting to the world around him anymore—he’s stepping into his own, taking ownership of his journey.

And it’s not just about the sword. Naming Sting is a turning point for Bilbo’s character. It’s the moment he stops being a passive participant and starts becoming a hero. This unassuming hobbit, with his second breakfast and his comfortable armchair back home, has now faced down danger and lived to tell the tale. More than that, he’s claimed his place in the story, and he’s given himself a tool—a weapon—with which to face whatever comes next.

It’s a moment that might feel small on the surface, but it’s loaded with meaning. And the more you think about it, the more you realize it connects Bilbo to something much bigger—a tradition that stretches back through the myths, legends, and even real histories that Tolkien loved so much.

The Significance of Naming in Tolkien’s World

In Tolkien’s works, names are never just names. They carry weight, history, and power. Think of the great weapons of Middle-earth: Andúril, the Flame of the West, reforged from the shards of Narsil; Glamdring, the Foe-hammer, wielded by Gandalf; and Orcrist, the Goblin-cleaver, carried by Thorin Oakenshield. These names aren’t just labels but statements of identity, legacy, and purpose. They remind us that in Tolkien’s world, a name often reflects the character and destiny of its bearer.

Glamdring wielded by Gandalf

Bilbo naming Sting places him within this grand tradition but with a twist. Unlike Andúril or Glamdring, Sting doesn’t come with a glorious backstory. It wasn’t forged by elven smiths or wielded by a mighty warrior. It’s a small blade, picked up in a troll hoard, utterly unremarkable—until Bilbo makes it remarkable.

This is one of the things I love about Tolkien’s storytelling. He doesn’t just reserve moments of greatness for the grand and the powerful. Instead, he shows us how the seemingly insignificant can become extraordinary. In naming Sting, Bilbo takes something small and plain and elevates it into something meaningful. And in doing so, he elevates himself as well.

But Tolkien’s fascination with naming runs deeper than just weapons. Names in his stories often serve as markers of transformation. Consider Aragorn, who carries many names—Strider, Elessar, Thorongil—each reflecting a different stage of his journey and the roles he plays in the grand narrative. Even Gollum’s tragic descent is tied to his name; once Sméagol, his identity fractures as his corruption takes hold, and his new name reflects his brokenness.

For Tolkien, naming is an act of creation and identity. It’s a way of shaping the world, giving meaning to the things in it. And while Bilbo’s naming of Sting might seem small compared to the sweeping sagas of Middle-earth, it’s no less significant. In that moment, Bilbo isn’t just naming a sword—he’s defining himself. He’s saying, “I am not just a hobbit. I am a fighter, a survivor, and a part of this great adventure.”

I believe this idea of naming as a transformative act ties back to Tolkien’s deep love of language. A philologist by trade, Tolkien knew that words carry power. To name something is to claim it, to bring it into being in a new way. And that’s exactly what Bilbo does. By naming his blade, he gives it—and himself—a place in the unfolding story of Middle-earth.

It’s a theme that echoes throughout Tolkien’s work: the power of small acts, the significance of the overlooked, and how even the humblest characters can rise to greatness. And it’s all encapsulated in that single, simple name: Sting.

Beowulf, Arthurian Legends, and Beyond

Tolkien didn’t invent the idea of naming weapons—it’s a tradition as old as storytelling. One of the things that makes The Hobbit such a rich and resonant tale is how deeply it draws on these ancient myths and legends. Bilbo’s naming of Sting isn’t just a personal triumph; it’s Tolkien tipping his hat to the heroic tradition that inspired his work.

Take Beowulf, one of Tolkien’s favorite texts and a story he lectured on extensively. In the poem, weapons are more than tools of battle; they are characters in their own right. Hrunting, the sword given to Beowulf for his battle with Grendel’s mother, is imbued with history and meaning. When Beowulf wields the giant’s sword from the underwater cavern, it’s not just a random weapon—it’s a symbol of victory, steeped in myth and forged for greatness. These named weapons aren’t just things; they’re storytellers, carrying the legacy of those who wield them.

Then there’s the Arthurian tradition, with its most famous blade, Excalibur. Arthur’s sword isn’t just a piece of steel—it’s a symbol of kingship, destiny, and divine authority. The moment Arthur pulls Excalibur from the stone, he isn’t just proving his strength; he’s stepping into his identity as the rightful king. The sword becomes an extension of his character, a physical manifestation of his calling.

Tolkien, a scholar of these myths, understood the weight that names carry in such stories. But he didn’t stop with myth—he drew inspiration from history, too. Consider Charlemagne’s sword, Joyeuse, said to shine with such brilliance that it could blind enemies on the battlefield. Or the Viking swords inscribed with the name Ulfberht, prized for their craftsmanship and nearly mythical in reputation. Naming a weapon was often a way to imbue it with power and meaning, to tie it to the wielder’s legacy and ensure its place in the annals of history.

What makes Tolkien’s use of this tradition so brilliant is how he brings it into the world of Middle-earth in a way that feels both familiar and fresh. By giving Bilbo a moment to name Sting, Tolkien connects his humble hobbit to the grand tapestry of heroism. But unlike Beowulf or Arthur, Bilbo isn’t a warrior or a king. He’s a little hobbit with a lot of heart—and that’s exactly the point. Tolkien elevates the small and unassuming, reminding us that even the most ordinary among us can do extraordinary things.

Bilbo naming Sting is his way of stepping into the heroic tradition, but it’s also a moment that subverts it. Where legendary warriors often inherit named weapons or forge them in grand quests, Bilbo creates his own legend with his own hands. There’s something profoundly human about that—a reminder that greatness doesn’t always come from destiny or birthright. Sometimes, it’s forged in the quiet moments when we choose to face fear head-on and claim our place in the story.

By tying Bilbo’s act to this rich tradition, Tolkien not only honors the myths and histories he loved but also breathes new life into them. Sting may not have the grandeur of Excalibur or the storied past of Hrunting, but in Bilbo’s hands, it becomes a weapon—and a name—worthy of legend.

What Bilbo and Sting Teach Us

At its core, Bilbo’s naming of Sting is a small, unassuming act—but it carries a timeless truth. In our own lives, we might never face down giant spiders in a shadowy forest, but we all have our battles. We all face moments when the world feels too big, too dangerous, and we feel too small. And in those moments, perhaps the lesson of Sting is this: we have the power to define who we are and what we will carry into the fight.

Naming, in its simplest form, is an act of courage. It’s saying, “This is what I will call this thing. This is how I will face it. This is how I will own it.” Whether it’s naming a struggle—like anxiety, grief, or uncertainty—or naming a goal, a hope, or a dream, the act itself gives it shape. It transforms something overwhelming into something we can grasp, something we can confront. Just as Bilbo names his sword and claims his place in the story, we, too, can name what we carry and step boldly into our own adventures.

But there’s something even more profound in this act. Bilbo doesn’t just name his sword; he names himself in the process. Sting reflects the courage Bilbo didn’t even know he had. It’s a reminder that greatness isn’t about size, strength, or destiny—it’s about the choices we make in the face of fear. And if a hobbit from the quiet hills of the Shire can step into legend with a blade named Sting, what’s stopping us from doing the same?

This is where Tolkien’s brilliance shines. He shows us, through Bilbo, that heroism often begins not with grand gestures, but with small acts of courage. It’s in the decision to step forward, to name our challenges, and to claim our place in the story. And just like Bilbo’s blade, those small acts—those little moments of bravery—can sting. They can pierce through doubt, fear, and darkness, lighting a path forward.

So, what will you name today? Maybe it’s a challenge you’ve been avoiding or a dream you’ve been nurturing in secret. Maybe it’s a tool you already have in your hands, waiting for you to claim it. Whatever it is, remember that naming isn’t just about words—it’s about ownership, transformation, and stepping into the story that’s been waiting for you all along.

Bilbo’s journey reminds us that even the smallest among us can rise to great heights. All it takes is a moment of courage, a steady hand, and a name. So go ahead—name your Sting. And when the battle comes, carry it forward with the confidence that your small acts of bravery might just be the start of something legendary.