Want a motto? Do it in Latin.

I am delighted to see that some of the contributors to the great British national motto competition realised that a bit of Latin might help out here. For it is truth universally acknowledged that a society in search of a slogan, must be in need of Latin – which usually puts things snappier and shorter and cleverer than the poor old English vernacular.

I mean, could you ever capture “Per Ardua ad Astra” quite so neatly in our mother tongue? “Through struggles to the stars” seems horribly cumbersome. It's actually only one word more, it feels more like three times as long. (There were in fact a couple of 'tribute' parodies of this posted.."Per ardua ad nauseam" -- or "Per ardua ad Robin Reliant (cant afford an astra)")

I know this truth to be fairly universally acknowledged, as my Faculty in Cambridge gets so many requests from Rugby clubs, charities, WI’s, etc., to turn some reassuring platitude into a Latin slogan that we have a specially designated motto-writer. Professor X (I’m not going to reveal his name for fear of increasing the workload beyond what is manageable) is kept pretty busy.

Well, the British motto suggestions fell into two camps: a few who picked up an existing Latin slogan and redeployed it more or less appropriately; and most who tried their hand at their own bit of Latin. The results of this were what my older colleagues would call “alpha/gamma” – that is, occasionally brilliant but let down by some awful Latin grammar (or alternatively, disappointing in their grip on the Latin language, but enlivened by flashes of genius).

Playing safe with bona fide Latin was John Marshall with “O tempora O mores” (“What times, what customs!”). This is a quote from Cicero in 63 BCE railing in the senate against the standards of his own day and at the terrorist Catiline. Catiline was supposed to be bringing down civilisation as Cicero knew it, and planning to nuke Rome. The only trouble is, it is just as likely that Catiline was a relatively innocent stooge, set up by Cicero looking for reds under the bed, and for an excuse for a brutal campaign of summary executions (or, in our nicer days, detention without trial)…not a dangerous “terrorist” at all. So all the more appropriate then?

The trouble with inventing your own Latin is quite how to make it sound clever rather than “dog”. Not many succeeded. A few admitted their ignorance.

Archimedes thought the "National mottoes are for wimps" might sound better in Latin, but didn't risk it. Simon asked for the Latin for “Keep a stiff upper lip".

What would that be?

Well here we must go back to what out teachers taught us. The way you translate Latin is not “word for word” – but going for the nugget of sense (that’s why, they said, translating Churchill’s speeches into Latin – a task on which I spent many days of my youth – was such a good training in understanding).

So in Simon's case, we wont be going for “Tene labrum rigidum” (literally “keep a stiff lip” – a phrase no Roman would have even begun to understand). But something more like “Vincit qui se vincit” (“he conquers who conquers himself” – the motto of self-control). It’s a bit of a cheat actually, because the slogan was already a Latin one, included in an under-rated proverb collection of the first century BCE.

As for the "wimps" in Archimedes' query, it would certainly involve the Latin "molles" ("softies"), but I'm not quite sure yet how I'd render "national slogans". Any ideas?

For the rest there was an awful lot of very funny "dog" Latin (and don't forget that most "dog" is actually meant to be funny). Sorry, Joseph Botts, nice try with "perdisimus homines sumus" - but some more mugging up is needed here on noun and adjective endings ("Perdidissimi homines sumus", if you must -- "what wretches we are")! And much as I liked Richard’s “Magnus frater spectat te” (“Big brother is watching you”), I would have to opt for “Omnes videantur” ("Let all be seen”). The same principles are at work here as with the Churchill, go for the nugget of sense, not for the words.

But what would I choose as my own motto? Well, I'm going back to real Latin and I’ve got a clear favourite: “capax imperii” (“capable of ruling”)

That sounds grimly self-satisfied on its own, but you need to know what comes next. For those two words are part of what the historian Tacitus says, summing up the career of the elderly, few-month emperor Galba (68-69 CE).  What follows is key. He had looked promising before he came to the throne, says Tacitus, but proved hopeless: he was “capax imperii nisi imperasset”. He was capable of ruling, if only he hadn’t ruled. Or, as one smart translator put it, “he had a great future behind him”.

That’s Britain really: capax imperii….nisi…. (and dont forget the nisi).

Comments

[Cec Hogarth]

"Vincit qui se vincit" was the motto of Lathallan School, Colinsburgh, Fife back in the '30s and '40s. Perhaps it still is, though Lathallan House itself burned down a couple of weeks after I left in 1949, the school emerging Phoenix-like from the flames in Brotherton Castle, Johnshaven, Angus, in time for the new school year. "Nec tamen consumebatur?"

[Christopher Kelk]

'National slogans are for wimps' could be rendered 'Dicta nationalia mollibus modo placent.'
Chris

[Tony Francis]

Dearest Oliver: I have read your recent post concerning proctalgia. I was under the impression that this was an existent word. I looked through all my medical books, with a proverbial proctoscope. My most recent Internal Medicine Text (Harrison's) gives more information than anyone would want or need on the subject of "Proctitis" - an inflammation of the rectum/anus. There is no mention of the word "Proctalgia". Similar results are to be found in my old "Physical Diagnosis" book, which was written by the Faculty of the University of Kansas School of Medicine. This book is to be regarded as having been conjured by true gods of medicine. It was published on Mount Olympus. If you doubt this, the authors will confirm it to be true.
I did find proctalgia in my medical dictionary. They give the following definition: "Pain at the anus, or in the rectum. Proctagra, Proctodynia; Greek: proktos = anus + algia = pain; Proctalgia fugax: spasm of unknown cause frequently associated with neurosis." (Mixed Greek and Latin!)
Other possibilities are "rectal tenesmus: rectal spasm." Or "Coccygodynia, or Coccygalgia: pain in the tailbone, frequently associated with depressive conditions or neuroses." One suggestion: Proctalgia is non-specific. What about Coitus Proctalgia or Coital Proctalgia?
I think you have dismissed "Analgia" too quickly. I can envision a new journal entitled: "Annals of Analgia". It has a certain penache, don't you think? Analgia could refer to "a state without pain". So it is imprecise. Still, I think you are to be congratulated in your formulation of a good, descriptive word. Sorry to be a PITA (Pain In The A**) about this.

[Xjy]

Great stuff, Ollie. Proctalgia - also suitable for what proctors give rise to...

[Oliver Nicholson]

One Friday afternoon (these 'ask a classicist' questions always seem to come on a Friday afternoon) I had a phone call from a genial colleague in the Medical School wanting me to etymologise 'dyspareunia'. I asked why he wanted to know, and he explained that he was doing research on AIDS and needed to coin a word to denote 'pain during anal intercourse'. He suggested something along the lines of 'analgia", but I objected that it was a Greek/Latin hybrid and anyway it would be confused with 'analogy'. We settled on "proctalgia' - a word which I feel deserves broader emplpyment (e.g. "Fellow gives me acute proctalgia"). Made a change writing a motto for a cake for the Tennessee Valley Authority - who says classicists are sueless ? Merry Christmas

[Terry Walsh]

Yes it could, Jackie...excelsior.

[cheers]

Around 1972, there was a wonderful documentary about finding a name for a new descovery related to cancer research. It told the story of how cells had been observed refusing to die their natural death. It was not cell death but a failure to do so that caused disease.

It was suddenly seen that intrinsic to the very nature of each healthy cell is a programme to die and that it was this that defined the nature of its life and health. The significance of this descovery for all of life was so profound that the research Scientists needed a name to exactly reflect the phenomenon.

John F. Kerr, Andrew H. Wyllie and A. R. Currie, looked to a Latin scholar without success until he found the phenomenon had already been described perfectly in a single word, 'Apoptosis' This is a Greek word for the process of leaves falling from trees or petals falling from flowers.

There seems a moral in this. Something along the lines of having to clearly understand the nature of a thing before the rightness of a name can be found.

At the moment it looks something like a cocktail of

'know thyself and take courage'

[Paul]

I see; a nonsense acrostic--- or across-shtick? Incidentally, the real Oxford motto is from the Vulgate (Psalm 26:1: = Ps 27:1 in most other versions).

[Jenny]

The motto of Oxford does appear to be 'dominus illuminatio mea' - the Lord is my light or somesuch (too late at night for exact syntax) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dominus_Illuminatio_Mea

'Domimina nustio illumea' is what you get if you read across the pages of the logo, rather than down them like a book. It seems to be a trap for the unwary. Unless the asking about it is all some kind of academics' in-joke where the one silly enough to explain it gets laughed at (like my friend at Greek camp convincing me he didn't know what breathings were). Oh dear, I appear to be quite paranoid. Nevermind!

[Michael Bulley]

To Paul (Dec 2) and RC (Dec 3): Paulo (Dec 1) has the right to explain his remark about the OU motto, but it looks as if he isn't going to. So I shall, with apologies to him if he was saving it up. I thought everyone knew this. The motto is indeed "Dominus illuminatio mea" but as printed (for example on the front of OUP texts) you have on the left-hand page on successive lines DOMI plus NVS plus ILLU, then on the right-hand page MINA plus TIO plus MEA. Reading them across, then, you get DOMIMINA NUSTIO ILLUMEA, which is what everyone reads out loud, so that, even though they know it's wrong, it's still right and has a good nonsensical sense to it.

[RC]

As far as I'm aware the Oxford motto is 'Dominus Illuminatio Mea', isn't it?...or am I missing something...

[Xjy]

"Never mind..." Perfect national motto! To which my mum, who probably owns some sort of common law property rights in it, would doubtless respond "Oh, dear!"

Now what the hell would "Never mind" be in Latin? Diw, Diw, Diw, Diw, Diw...

[Paul]

Thanks Jenny and Richard. Yes, I have heard of the aorist. About as far as I ever got in Greek was hearing of it.
Now, can you explain 'Domimina nustio illumea'?

[Jenny]

Oh Greek makes the distinction alright - ever heard of the aorist? Actually, best ask someone with a little more than a fortnight of Greek under their belt because I'm sure they could explain it better than me. Fair point, though, about the present perfect, that is evidently what was intended and I was just being glib, so sorry!

Michael - try entering the Wellesley translation for an A-level unseen - you'd get more marks for something like this:

And at the same time fearing the awfulness of the recent crimes, at the same time the old habits of Otho, on top of this the new announcement about Vitellius terrified the nervous city, the slaughter of Galba having previously been suppressed so that it might believe only superior army of upper Germany to have deserted.

The only mark lost there would be for 'it', referring to the city, being unclear (unless I made some glaring Latin errors of course). With next to none of the 'idiomatic English' having been obtained(!), you could still score near enough 100%.

[Richard]

Paul Leopold:
Yes, Greek did have the perfect (of completed actions viewed with regard to their present consequence), and this applies also to the koine Greek of the Roman period, including the NT. And as you intuited, the perfect is found here: in the Greek text (John 19:22) Pilate says "ho gegrapha, gegrapha" ("what I have written, I have written").
Best wishes,
Richard

[Paulo]

As everyone knows, the motto of Oxford University (UK) is 'Domimina nustio illumea'. Isn't that good enough for anyone?

[Paul Leopold]

Correction:What I was remembering must have been Bach's "St John Passion". John is the only Evangelist who relates the "quod scripsi, scripsi" anecdote.

[Paul Leopold]

The only trouble with "What I wrote, I wrote" is that "scripsi" in this context calls for the present perfect not the preterite (i.e. interest in the action is in its present effect, not in the fact that it happened at a particular time in the past). English--- alas, decreasingly!--- makes this distinction, though Latin doesn't. Can sanyone tell me if Greek does--- and If so, whether it survived into the simplified language of the New Testament?
Another good example of Latin pithiness from the Vulgate is in the Sermon on the Mount: "pulsanti aperietur" (Matt. 7:8c). Our traditional version needed eight words to say precisely the same thing: "to him that knocketh it shall be opened". Modernized ("to the one who knocks . . . ") the number of words needed becomes nine; rendered politically correct ("to the person who knocks . . . " or "to him or her who knocks . . . "), it becomes ten. The original used only three words, Greek, unlike Latin, having a definite article.
Come to think of it, "Studenti aperietur" might make a good university motto--- which the vulgar, with your poster of "Freshers Week" in mind, could read as "Students go ape".

[Michael Bulley]

Prompted by Anthony Alcock's comment (Nov 29), I looked up the Church-Brodribb version of Tacitus Histories I, 50. It starts: "The alarm of the capital, which trembled to see the atrocity of these recent crimes, and to think of the old character of Otho, was heightened into terror by the fresh news about Vitellius...". Whether you find Wellesley's version (my comment Nov 26) "plodding" is a question of taste. You can take your pick. I know which one I think is in readable English!

The idea that Wellesley's version is a paraphrase is worth taking up, though. Good translations of prose are paraphrases. A translation that is faithful to the words is not needed, since the only people who could tell it was are ones who could read the original and they, obviously, don't need a translation. What is needed for those who can't read the original, and agreeable or instructive for those who can, is one in authentic English that expresses the meaning. As Mary Beard put it, you don't go word for word, but for the nugget of sense.

So, I can imagine Wellesley reading "trepidam urbem", understanding something from it, imagining the situation described by Tacitus, and letting us understand what he had felt by writing "In Rome, public opinion was nervous". For me, that means something, whereas "The alarm of the capital" doesn't mean much.

[Jenny]

But English 'What I wrote, I wrote', matches Latin syllable for syllable, though I agree it's even better in fewer words.

[Paul Leopold]

A good example of Latin pithiness vis-à-vis some modern languages is Pontius Pilate's (in the Vulgate) "Quod scripsi, scripsi", which in German (if I remember Bach's St Matthew Passion right) is something like "Das was ich geschrieben hab', das hab' ich geschrieben".

[Jenny]

No I'm not Mary, promise!! Would that I were... And so sorry for hijacking the topic onto my personal hobby-horse, that was pretty inexcusable.

Back onto topic, my school motto was in Latin, and absolutely awful - I can't remember where they said they got the quotation from, though I fear it may be translated Tennyson, 'candida rectaque'. And a picture of a lily. For all us nice girlies. The school has now merged with the adjacent boys' school, so perhaps the 'no sex please...' suggestion would be more apt.

'Nevermind' would be an excellent national motto, as would 'Oh dear', which according to my French exchange partner is what all the French girls from the exchange went around saying to each other for months after their return. Much though I adore Latin (bien évidement) I do think English can be just as pithy when it wants to be. Out of interest (and, let's be honest, showing off), my version of Catullus 46 has many fewer syllables than the original. Fear not, I shan't be posting it here. It isn't finished yet.

And on the parallel topic (if that's allowed!), I was watching 'Educating Rita' the other night, and thinking about how often the pupil-teacher theme comes up in culture at large. Even as I write this, Rosie on Coronation Street is sleeping with her teacher, and why did anyone think Alan Bennett's 'The History Boys' was so popular? See also 'Phantom of the Opera'. Any more, anyone?

PS I don't think I've been described as 'jaunty' before. I've decided to take it as a compliment :-)

[anthony alcock]

I would call Wellesley's version of Tacitus quoted here by M. Bulley more of a paraphrase, and a fairly plodding one at that. The Church-Brodribb is much better.
I did Catullus as a special book at Oxford, and it was taught by RGC Levens, who used to produce extremely witty and polished translations in class from time to time. A pity he never seems to have put them together for a translation. There's some awful piece of work by a bloke called Michie.
Anyway. Tags. Many years ago I helped a lawyer friend who was interested in theology and drinking, called Nolan, with his Latin. He used to call himself Nollie Prosecco. His translation of the well-known instruction to Mary Magdalene (John 20,17) was "Don't tangle with me", which sort of became his motto.

[Tony Francis]

The Kansas State Motto is: "ad astra per aspera" meaning "to the stars through difficulty". This is somewhat reminiscent of Ralph Kramden (Jackie Gleeson) of "The Honeymooners" threatening his wife, Alice, with: "To the moon, Alice." "Ad luna per apsera"?
http://www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_honeymooners
This comes at a a time when Latin education in the US is at a nadir. Probably not one in a hundred Kansas reseidents could translate the motto, without help. The Kansas Motto also has some similarity to the Canadian/RAF motto featured above.
http://www.netstate.com/states/mottoes/ks_motto.htm

Of interest are the mottoes of Harvard and Yale. Yale contains a mixture of Latin and Hebrew. This led Alan Dershowitz to comment that anyone who could understand the Yale motto was not welcome there (speaking to anti-semitism):
http://www.en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dershowitz
The meaning of the Yale motto has been the subject of much argument:
http://www.yalealumnimagazine.com/issues/01_03/seal.html
Does the Hebrew "urim v T'hummin" really speak of Christ? You decide.
Harvard, where the motto is "In Christi glorium" - "in the glory of Christ" has its own problems, not the least of which is the statue of John Harvard:
http://www.markdroberts.com/htmfiles/resources/harvardironies.htm
The only brush I have had with the Ivy League was a short stint on an advisory panel at Princeton. They have a Latin motto, which seems to defy simple translation ("Dei sub numine viget."):
http://www.princeton.edu/~paw/web_exclusives/more/more_letters/letters_motto.html
http://www.viget.com/about-name.html
All these mottoes are "too Christian" for the secular Ivy League.
Dearest Foska and Friend M. Bulley: Concerning relevance. It would appear relevance, like beauty, and many other things is in the eye of the beholder. When I was in grad school, one of my advisors was trying to solve the Schrodinger equation with predicted readings like: "1.98754683 Angstroms". This brought great derision from another group, which was studying an obscure enzyme from the lung bases of cystic fibrosis patients. (The enzyme was retrieved from an outsourcer in Illinois, and not actual CF patients.) Or as an old Kansas doctor told me: "Everything they do at KU Med School is irrelevant, but at least it is a good place to send patients we don't know what to with."

[Paul Leopold]

How about a motto that works in more than one language--- the meanings needn't be the same, but they should both be appropriate. The Prince of Wales already has "Ich Dien", which is both Welsh (I'm told) and German. In the (largely Spanish-speaking) subways of New York some years ago, I remember, a beer advertised itself with the slogan, "Real gusto!": in Spanish, "Royal taste"; in English--- well, how do you explain the English word "gusto", semantic offspring of the Spanish/ Italian for "taste" and the Anglo-Saxon for a "blast of wind"?
There are plenty of other examples--- Latin/English in particular--- which I can't think of at the moment.
This, of course, is a whole nother subject, but maybe worth pursuing.

[Michael Bulley]

To clear up the confusion for SWFoska, I admit responsibility for it. No investigation needed. I re-read the comment about translating poetry being fun and attributed it to the wrong person. Why, I don't know. Was it that, at that moment, I couldn't distinguish the two names or was it that, unlike some other newspaper/magazine blogs, this one has the most recent comment at the top rather than the bottom and so I got chronologically confused? Anyway, I hope I don't have to pay another forfeit. It's too early in the morning for me.

[Mary]

No calumnies on Jenny, please folks! She is not me...!

[F.Gamberini]

I think I can do the Tacitus:

The frightened city, fearing at once both the atrocity of the recent crime and Otho's old habits, an additional report concerning Vitellius now exceedingly terrified -suppressed before the slaying of Galba so that only the army of upper Germany was believed to have defected.

[SW Foska]

Michael: you mean "Jenny" is really Mary Beard in disguise? Posting jaunty comments on your own blog under a pseudonym, now that's a bit below the belt. Not quite on a par with having fake contestants in a TV quiz show, but comes close. I demand an investigation.

[Alan Myers]

My own choice would be

Aliis laetus, sapiens sibi

though I can't recall who said it.

A Yorkshire school has Turpe nescire. Very nice.

A funerary one I very much like is:

Sole orto spes, descendente pax.

Geordie wags long ago translated the Tynemouth motto: Messis ab altis (harvest from the deep, referring to fishing) into the colourful local phrase: 'Shite up-aheight', indicating derision.

[SW Foska]

xjy, a longer version exhorts 'aut disce, aut discede; manet sors tertia - caedi'.
As for a UK national motto, I propose 'Never mind', in the vernacular.

[Xjy]

My school motto was pithy enough in Latin - Aut disce, aut discede - but the English even pithier: Cram or bunk...

An earlier school motto in Maori: Kia ihi, kia maru - Be steadfast, be vigilant. (Or: Be strong, be bright!)

A better Maori motto: He tangata, he tangata, he tangata - People, people, people! (In answer to the question - what's the greatest thing on earth? - He aha te mea nui o to ao?)

Like my favourite Icelandic motto: Madhr er manns gaman - Man is Man's delight.

As for a national motto... hm... Pecunia non olet? Nihil sexui, britannici sumus?

Or maybe: Per cloacas ad canes? (or some better expression for "down the drain"...)

Or a slightly amended version of Marx's apercu: "Wir wissen es nicht, aber wir tun es." (We have no knowledge of it, but we do it. Nescientes agamus? but probably be better in Greek ;-) )

Where's Swift when we need him!

[Michael Bulley]

I think I can defend myself, without having to pay a fine! Let's see. Mary Beard quoted Tacitus's "capax imperii". So I offered the sentence that follows it, with Wellesley's translation. Commenting on that, Mary Beard said translating poetry was fun. I agreed, with reservations. The washing-lines between one post and the next may have been frayed, but I think they held up!

The word "thread" is used in these things. That seems to me a good word. The comments can digress, I think, from the topic of the original as long as there are threads among them.

If, however, you think I really deserve to pay the penalty of writing something about love, here is my version of Catullus 96:

If there is anything the dead can know,
Receiving it, dear Calvus, through our pain,
As when we feel remembered love again
And weep for friendships broken long ago,
Then, though Quintilia grieve, a ghost too new,
Her joy is greater, being loved by you.

[SW Foska]

I don't want to put a dampener on things but, M. Bulley, having superciliously criticized my charming friend Tony Francis on the grounds of irrelevance, is in danger of being hoist by his own petard, as he has changed the subject totally from motto composition to verse translation. I suggest a small fine, or at least a contribution to the eternally popular subject of love, which Richard at least attempts to justify and writes interestingly about.

[Jenny]

I quite agree, Michael - some of the Horace translations I have read have made me howl with laughter, and I've never found Horace particularly amusing before (it's the rhymes that are the killer, usually). But I don't see why anyone should let that discourage them from having a go! (and no need to publish anything, but it is a good exercise)

It helps to be a poet, but it isn't actually necessary (in my opinion anyway, and I may just be covering my back as I'm an awful poet when I have to come up with the ideas myself - messing around with other people's words, as in translation, suits me much better). Ted Hughes is one of the best (aaah, Tales from Ovid...) and for Catullus you can't beat Josephine Balmer, and yes I do feel obliged to advertise because I've met her! I think she comes up with some of the most elegant solutions to the considerable problems posed by the poems. Yes, classicists shouldn't be allowed near Catullus, or you get embarrassments like that 1950s American chap who thought capital letters counted as EMPHASIS (sorry to any fans of his, the name escapes me...)

[Michael Bulley]

I don't want to put a dampener on things but, while I agree that translating poetry is "fun" (though jolly hard fun), a stern warning needs to be issued to professional classicists about it. I can think of several (I am mentioning no names), a couple of whom I have known personally, whose works of criticism have offered excellent insights into Latin and Greek poetry so that we can understand the poems more clearly and more deeply, but who, encouraged by this, have made the mistake of attempting themselves to put the works into English verse. The outcome can be gruesome. I call it the Suffenus complex (see Catullus 22). That is, a person who otherwise is intelligent, refined, good company, but who, taking pen in hand to write verse, becomes at once a "caprimulgus aut fossor" - a goat-milker or ditch-digger.

Having a refined appreciation of poetry does not mean you are bound to have a good active judgement in it. The best translations of verse have generally been from people who are poets in their own right, rather than professional classicists who sometimes write translations. Think of MacNeice, Logue...

As far as I know, Kenneth Wellesley, whose translation of Tacitus I quote below, did not translate any Latin verse, though he was a fearsomely good writer of Latin verse composition. If any of you have friends who think they can translate English prose into Latin and have not read Tacitus, Histories I, 50, give them Wellesley's translation of the first sentence and ask them to put it into Latin and see how close to Tacitus they get.

[Eileen]

regarding the erotics of pedagogy the whole thing is put best by William Deresiewicz in an article in The American Scholar this past summer. http://www.theamericanscholar.org/su07/love-deresiewicz.html

Here is the most relevant section:

"Still, there is a reality behind the new, sexualized academic stereotype, only it is not what the larger society thinks. Nor is it one that society is equipped to understand. The relationship between professors and students can indeed be intensely intimate, as our culture nervously suspects, but its intimacy, when it occurs, is an intimacy of the mind. I would even go so far as to say that in many cases it is an intimacy of the soul. And so the professor-student relationship, at its best, raises two problems for the American imagination: it begins in the intellect, that suspect faculty, and it involves a form of love that is neither erotic nor familial, the only two forms our culture understands. Eros in the true sense is at the heart of the pedagogical relationship, but the professor isn’t the one who falls in love.

Love is a flame, and the good teacher raises in students a burning desire for his or her approval and attention, his or her voice and presence, that is erotic in its urgency and intensity. The professor ignites these feelings just by standing in front of a classroom talking about Shakespeare or anthropology or physics, but the fruits of the mind are that sweet, and intellect has the power to call forth new forces in the soul. Students will sometimes mistake this earthquake for sexual attraction, and the foolish or inexperienced or cynical instructor will exploit that confusion for his or her own gratification. But the great majority of professors understand that the art of teaching consists not only of arousing desire but of redirecting it toward its proper object, from the teacher to the thing taught. Teaching, Yeats said, is lighting a fire, not filling a bucket, and this is how it gets lit. The professor becomes the student’s muse, the figure to whom the labors of the semester — the studying, the speaking in class, the writing — are consecrated. The alert student understands this. In talking to one of my teaching assistants about these matters, I asked her if she’d ever had a crush on an instructor when she was in college. Yes, she said, a young graduate student. “And did you want to have sex with him?” I asked. “No,” she said, “I wanted to have brain sex with him.”
I’m not saying anything new here. All of this was known to Socrates, the greatest of teachers, and laid out in the Symposium, Plato’s dramatization of his mentor’s erotic pedagogy. We are all “pregnant in soul,” Socrates tells his companions, and we are drawn to beautiful souls because they make us teem with thoughts that beg to be brought into the world. The imagery seems contradictory: are we pregnant already, or does the proximity of beautiful souls make us so? Both: the true teacher helps us discover things we already knew, only we didn’t know we knew them. The imagery is also deliberately sexual. The Symposium, in which the brightest wits of Athens spend the night drinking, discoursing on love, and lying on couches two by two, is charged with sexual tension. But Socrates wants to teach his companions that the beauty of souls is greater than the beauty of bodies. "

[dr venables preller]

Fifty years on, and some of those present still remember an occasion when the formidable Oxford alumna who taught us Latin (generally accompanied by her pet Alsation )requested that we call out our test marks (out of ten) as she called out our names. After a few had complied it seemed perfectly natural that the language of response should change to demonstrate competence with Latin numerals. The deadpan response, followed by ‘please, Miss Jocelyn’ of the chap who had scored six seemed to attract no undue attention, though the dog’s ears momentarily pricked up, possibly in anticipation of disorder which did not materialise!

[Jenny]

I rather like that view, Richard. Love is a fairly unavoidable thing anyway, and acknowledging it would seem to be much more healthy than not.

Of course, we used to do a lot of our mottoes in French (honi soit qui mal y pense etc). I suppose this would no longer be acceptable to the British people, but it seems a bit odd that archaic French is out, while archaic Italian, ie Latin, is still in. The Romans were occupiers just as much as the Normans (discuss...). Surely it would be more appropriate to go for some Celtic tongue or even (shock horror) dear old English itself. But then I like the idea of having Latin because it does go a long way towards acknowledging our unavoidable European-ness, and would guarantee that every child would learn just a few words of the lovely Latin language of which we are all so fond.

Latin would be less insular I suppose, not that English the Global Language is very insular anyway, yet maybe a bit more 'élitist' - that, of course, will just make us lot like it more.

Oh and in response to Michael, translation is about the most fun thing there is, isn't it, and poetry is even more fun to do than prose:
www.stephen-spender.org

[ricardo moraes]

thank you for your information, SW Foska.

[Chris Bratcher]

Given that the various rots are pervasive ("continui"), how about
'venalis atque versurae (borrowings) vicatim (in every street)..

Or de Saxo Aspero acerbe caditur
(Hard Rock is our Tarpeian)

Could do better, but its over forty years since I had an unseen marked..

[Richard]

Not strictly relevant to this topic, but I thought I might post it anyway. Some will remember Mary stirring up predictable dismay when she commented (re stories about the sexual behaviour of a classicist of an earlier generation) on the necessary elimination of erotic feeling from pedagogy in a world which is anxious about expressions of sexuality, and expressed a degree of regret/ nostalgia.

Now, reviewing John Davidson's book about Greek homosexuality in the Literary Review, historian Oswyn Murray writes as follows:

"The basis of my forty years of teaching, like that of my pupil James Davidson, has always
been the mutual love between teacher and disciple, created in the pursuit of knowledge.
The modern attempt to suppress the role of love in education is merely a disguised
expression of the homophobia that has been outlawed among adults; however we may seek to
limit the physical expression of their sexual urges, the best teachers must always in
some sense be paiderastai, lovers of the young."

As it seems to me, the real problem is that our various anxieties require us to make a sharp distinction between relationships which involve a sexual element and ones which don't, when of course life isn't really like that (and I hope it isn't necessary for me to add the health warning that I am not recommending that teachers all start groping their students; I'm speaking of feelings rather than the decisions we make about whether to act on them or keep them to ourselves...).

It isn't clear to me why Murray speaks of homophobia in this context. Balliol (his college) admits men and women, and teaching students of both sexes is the usual experience these days and has been for some time, after all: this is not "a gay thing" but a question about power and age difference (or so it seems to me).

The review may be read here:
http://www.literaryreview.co.uk/murray_11_07.html

Best wishes,
Richard

[SW Foska]

I agree with Jackie - there is no reason at all why anyone who thinks they need a motto should choose one in Latin, and not in, say, Japanese.
Ricardo - the saying you quote is used by the nationalist historian Petru Maior in his Istoriia pentru inceputul romanilor in Dachiia ('History of the beginnings of the Romanians in Dacia', 1812) to describe non-Romanian scholars copying off each other erroneous information about the Romanians: 'precum magarul pre magar scarpina'.

[Michael Bulley]

The theme here is how to put English into good Latin, but I thought it might be of interest to give an appropriate example of good Latin put into good English. It's the sentence immediately after the "capax imperii nisi imperasset" one quoted above, and so the first sentence of Histories I, 50, referring to the events just after the assassination of Galba. The translator is Kenneth Wellesley in the Penguin edition.

Trepidam urbem ac simul atrocitatem recentis sceleris, simul ueteres Othonis mores pauentem nouus insuper de Vitellio nuntius exterruit, ante caedem Galbae suppressus ut tantum superioris Germaniae exercitum desciuisse crederetur.

In Rome, public opinion was nervous. Men were not merely aghast at the grisly crimes which had just been committed; they also feared Otho's character, which they knew from the past. An additional source of anxiety was the fresh news about Vitellius. This had been hushed up before Galba's assassination, so that the mutiny was thought to be confined to the army of Upper Germany.

That's how to translate!

[ricardo moraes]

Here in Brazil, the government and the opposition do the same things. Our motto "Asinus asinum fricat"( from Cicero ,maybe?)

[Dominic Berry]

The "relatively innocent stooge" argument was disposed of by E.J.Phillips, “Catiline’s conspiracy”, Historia 25 (1976), 441-8, and it is strange that it should still be lingering on in Cambridge. For "o tempora! o mores!" I prefer "What a decadent age we live in!"

[Michael Bulley]

To represent the public abuse of the English language, we could have "haec ianua anxia est", which is a fairly close translation of "This door is alarmed".

Not being an online Times reader, but a Guardian one, I was unaware of the competition referred to here, but there was a similar column in the Guardian. One online contributor there mistakenly submitted a comment, having intended it as a rebuke to a comment to a quite different article. It was "They are the Falkland Islands, twit". The poster quickly apologized for his error when he realized it, but was soon overruled by other posters and within minutes there was a great consensus in favour of adopting "They are the Falkland Islands, twit" as Britain's national motto, that could be carved in black on the cliffs of Dover. Perhaps not politically very correct, as many admitted, but typifying the enigmatic intransigence of the British character.

[DemetriosX]

I have to say that I have a rather hard time perceiving Catiline as a "relatively innocent stooge" considering the rapidity with which he put together a sizable armed force. Ten thousand armed men is not something you can just conjure up on the spur of the moment because someone back in Rome is out to get you. Not that Cicero didn't make a lot of political hay out of the situation.

[Jackie]

First - why the badge of the Royal Canadian Air Force? The motto of our own RAF is the same, though I was always told (my parents were both RAF) it was 'Through hard work to the stars'.
Second, Latin isn't necessarily the best language. My school motto was 'Upwards and onwards'. Not being a Latin scholar I'm not sure what the Latin would be, but it couldn't be shorter or more to the point.