Casa Jonsson

I have plenty of society blood in me. That is, if you want to count the Frankish nobility and royalty through whom supposedly you can trace my lineage back to A.D. 69. All the same, Holden Caulfield would have thought that our ambitions of engraving a family motto in Latin above our suburban doorposts is as phony as it gets.

But we Americans, the world’s dyed-in-the-wool bourgeoisie, have a soft spot for symbols of aristocracy (such as high-falutin’ personal names) even as we profess a disdain for aristocracy. Across the Pond, a nobleman beloved by the bourgeois gave the world one of its best-known family mottos: orbis non sufficit.

I think a family motto is a good idea for several reasons besides that it makes regular folk feel inferior while they stand outside waiting for the help to answer your door. For one, a family motto seems like a good way to help perpetuate values across generations. Of course, nothing beats good parenting for upping the odds that the contributions one’s children make to society don’t amount to anything beginning with the word ‘aggravated.’ But take James Bond, for example. His parents died in a skiing accident and all he had left was non sufficit orbis (the original motto before Hollywood shuffled the words). Perhaps Bond isn’t the guardian of all virtue, but you could argue that the blame rests with the meaning of his family’s motto.

Another reason families should aspire to a particular kind of motto is that the best-selling book of all time advises it. No, I’m not referring to Dr Spock. “ ‘You shall write [these words] on the doorposts of your house and on your gates’ ” (Dt 6:9).

So here are the mottos that Araceli and I are considering. All of them are from the Bible, but, in a nod to classicism (and probably classism, too), they are all quotations or adaptations of the Vulgate. In case you’re wondering, these Vulgar Latin phrases aren’t likely to get you beat up if you use them south of the border.

Nos ergo diligamus quoniam Deus prior dilexit nos—“we love, therefore, because God first loved us” (1Jn 4:19). I find this a little awkward as a motto, partly for its length and partly because it sounds exclusive. It could be shortened to quoniam Deus prior dilexit nos—“because God first loved us,” but doing so doesn’t solve the latter problem.

Ut non glorietur omnis caro in conspectu eius—“that no flesh may glory [or boast] in his presence” (1Co 1:29). Edited to motto size, this reads ut non glorietur omnis caro—“that no flesh may glory.” It seems to me, though, that a motto should make an affirmative statement rather than a negative one.

That rules out non ex operibus ut ne quis glorietur—“not from works, that no one may glory” (Eph 2:9)—too.

Why not avoid statements altogether and use a question instead? Quid enim scriptura dicit—“but what does the Scripture say?” (Ro 4:3). I’m fond of this because I need to hear it so often. Maybe it’s a bit oblique, though.

How about aliud quid facitis omnia in gloriam Dei facite—“whatever [else] you do, do all things in [or to] the glory of God” (1Co 10:31). Strunk & White would have rendered it omnia in gloriam Dei facite—“do all things in the glory of God.” This is wonderful except that I’m undecided about whether it sounds, when recited, like an inward resolution or like an admonition to the world at large.

What we need is a phrase that comforts us in adversity, emboldens us in the face of fear; that frames our changing circumstances and various pursuits in the eternal, sovereign purposes of God; that is an antidote to both our pride and our self-pity, our materialistic and our monastic tendencies. Ultimately, our motto must admonish us to magnify our Savior by putting our confidence in his goodness and sufficiency and not in our corruption and bankruptcy. A tall order for a phrase of seven words or less.

Sufficit gratia sua—“his grace is sufficient” (2Co 12:9, altered). I like it.

Unfortunately, it sounds a little like the Bond family motto …