When we think of America as the “melting pot” of nations, the easiest example is our cuisine. With a Mexican restaurant, a sushi place and an Italian bistro all on one city block, the American palate is just as accustomed to enchiladas and risotto as it is to hot dogs and apple pie. If Italian food is an obvious transplant from Italy into our culture — a foreign thing that, though perhaps altered to fit the native appetite, is recognized as alien — Latin is a subtler Roman resident in America. We tend to forget that our language comes from Latin (or, perhaps we don’t care or take the time to think about our language’s roots). But English is indebted to this “dead” language, and sometimes we even find it intact in its ancient skin.
One common area in which Latin rears its authentic head is the motto — which, incidentally, comes from the Latin muttum, “mutter.”
For Davidson College students, the Latin motto most often before us is Alenda lux ubi orta libertas, “Let learning be cherished where liberty has arisen.” Set above the stone portico of our central building, this is a charming phrase that gives the mundane grind of problem-sets, short papers and vocabulary quizzes a little shade of glory. We hold our heads a little higher and think, “Yes, the work is worth it, maybe even noble.” You've probably seen some such ancient-looking script on your campus, maybe on statues or buildings. But why must these mottos be in Latin?
A simple answer could be exclusivity, which tends to convey the appearance of importance. When only a select few can read a statement, the words take on a kind of mysterious significance. Latin has been thus employed in various spheres including the church (think Catholic prayers) and the legal system (“quid pro quo, Doctor”). Davidson tends to attract students who have had a little Latin, so there’s less obscurity among the natives, but most Americans would look up to scan the front of Chambers and be confused by the scrambled English letters, trying but failing to form real words.
The effect on such a tourist would hardly be anxiety. The fact that they couldn’t read the statement would bother only for a moment. Following the confusion would be recognition: some thought along the lines of, “This is grand" or “This elicits reverence.”
The American founders recognized this effect and capitalized on it. Pull out a quarter and read the words over the eagle’s head: E Pluribus Unum, “Out of many, one.” The American Seal’s obverse (the familiar eagle clutching arrows and an olive branch) also has the e pluribus unum, and the Seal’s reverse, displayed on the back of a one-dollar bill, has annuit coeptis, “he/she/it favors the undertaking,” and novus ordo seclorum, “new order of the ages,” circling the unfinished pyramid and the all-seeing eye.
Annuit coeptis articulates the idea that America’s creation was God’s will, a divine sanction that would inform the concept of “Manifest Destiny” and which probably contributes to the global stereotype of the “arrogant American.” Novus ordo seclorum is not so hard to understand, for the founders were creating something new, after all. But a classical scholar would recognize the phrase from Vergil’s "Eclogues." In a passage where he heralds a new golden age, Vergil tips his hat to Caesar Augustus, the new emperor who would indeed facilitate a long period of peace for Rome that is now widely recognized as the culture’s zenith of artistic, architectural and literary production.
The American founders and the architects of Chambers share an astute observation: people tend to respect Latin even when they don’t understand it. Those who do understand it often know about the Roman culture, and the language of Rome inevitably associates with its success and power. This is the key. Because not just any unintelligible statement written on a building or on currency would demand respect. If, for instance, the phrase etched in stone above Chambers was “-+==-_=>>” instead of Alenda lux, the effect would be different. Why? Because the language of Rome recalls its power.
For non-Latin speakers ignorant of Roman history, a Latin phrase might just mean “high learning,” for they recall that many scholars and priests know Latin. But for the Latin speaker, a Latin phrase harkens to an influential and successful society, nearly mythic in the proportions of its grandeur. For either viewer, a Latin motto gives credence and gravitas to whatever organization or country that brandishes it.
Interested in more articles by Davidson writers? Check out our Facebook page or visit these articles directly: "Danger in the 'Friend Zone" by Gabriella Barrier and "An Anecdote about Soccer and Humility" by Jejun Kang
