Welcome to a brand new deep dive for those of
you out there who are always looking for that
next great aha moment. Yeah, that spark of insight.
But, you know, without the massive information
overload. Exactly. And today we have a really
fascinating source material. We're looking at
an excerpt from a Wikipedia list of Latin phrases,
specifically the ones beginning with the letter
V. Right. The V list. And OK, let's unpack this
because my mission today is to prove to you that
Latin isn't just some like dusty dead language
reserved for old textbooks. It really isn't.
I mean, it's so foundational. It is. And we want
to uncover how these ancient V phrases act as
this timeless mirror reflecting human psychology,
the arrogance of rulers, our obsession with truth,
and honestly, even our everyday office vocabulary.
It's a great lens to use because, well, while
ancient Greek rhetoric started centuries before
Latin, these specific Latin phrases have uniquely
embedded themselves into our modern institutional
DNA. Oh, totally. But instead of starting with,
you know, boring grammar lessons, let's dive
right into the most dramatic individuals who
actually spoke the language. The rulers and emperors.
Yes. Because looking at them shows how their
words reveal both immense ego and some really
surprising humor. Oh, definitely. Like, let's
look at the ultimate flex of Julius Caesar. It's
47 BC. He just fought this major battle against
King Farnus's II. Right, near Zela. Yeah, and
he sends this message back to the Roman Senate.
And it's supposedly just three words. Vinni vidi
vici. I came, I saw, I conquered. I mean, it
is the ancient equivalent of a devastating three
-word mic drop tweet. It's just... So impossibly
arrogant. It's pure confidence, yeah. Yeah. But
the brilliance of veni, vidi, vici is actually
in the mechanics of classical Latin. OK, wait,
how so? Well, because it's a highly inflicted
language, Caesar didn't even need to use pronouns.
Oh, right, because the subject is baked in. Exactly.
The I is implied by the I suffix at the end of
each word. Plus, these are all in the perfect
active indicative tense. So it's very symmetrical.
Highly symmetrical. Veni, vidi, vici. It's this
percussive, almost marching rhythm. Wow, so he's
not just saying what happened, he's... He's structurally
mimicking a military march. He's telling the
Senate, you know, that coming, seeing, and conquering
all took the exact same amount of effortless
energy. That is so intimidating. But then, you
know, you contrast that with Augustus, who had
a completely different vibe. Very different.
Augustus had to master the art of looking like
an ordinary citizen while holding absolute power.
Right, because looking like a dictator got Caesar
assassinated. Exactly. So, Suetonius records
this phrase ascribed to Augustus when he wanted
to to describe something being done very quickly,
he used the phrase, uh, velocius quam asparagi
cuquantur. Huh. Which means faster than asparagus
can be cooked. Right. Or as quick as boiled asparagus.
OK. I have to ask, why asparagus? I mean, out
of all the fierce, militaristic things the Roman
emperor could use to describe speed, why a mundane
vegetable? Well, what's fascinating here is how
it highlights the relatable domestic reality
of ancient life. Like, it brings him down to
earth. Precisely. It strips away the marble statue
facade of these rulers. I mean, asparagus cooks
incredibly fast. If you leave it in boiling water
for an extra minute, it turns to mush. Oh, true.
So Augustus is basically using a kitchen timer
as his metaphor. That is brilliant PR. It's the
ancient equivalent of a politician eating a hot
dog at the state fair. Exactly. It humanizes
him completely. And speaking of humanizing, we
have to talk about Vespasian's dark comedy. because
his last words are just incredible. Oh, they
are famously cynical. He's literally dying and
his last words are, vai puto Deus Fio. I think
I'm becoming a god. I mean the self -aware humor
there. He's realizing his own mortal failing
body while simultaneously poking sun at the Roman
tradition of defying dead emperors. It's a brilliant
juxtaposition. He's mocking the bureaucratic
machinery that's about to turn his very human
corpse into an immortal deity. Right. And that
actually transitions us perfectly. Right. Because
building on this Beijing's realization of ultimate
reality and mortality, let's talk about the ultimate
reality humans have chased for millennia. Truth.
Yes, truth. Because veritas is arguably the most
repeated word in the V list when it comes to
mottos. It's ubiquitous. And you see different
institutions adopt it to establish immediate
authority. Look, Harvard, right? Yeah, Harvard's
original motto was Veritas Christo et Ecclesiae.
Truth for Christ and Church. Exactly. But over
the centuries, they shortened it to just veritas.
They removed the religious meaning to make it
a universal claim to ultimate reality. And it's
not just schools. The CIA's clandestine service
uses it, too. Right, their motto is veritanum
cognacere. To know truth. Okay, let me play devil's
advocate here for a second, though. Go for it.
Does slapping veritas on a cresc actually mean
anything? Or is it just the ancient version of
hollow corporate synergy jargon? Like, did these
institutions actually care about truth or just
the branding of it? That is the core question,
isn't it? Because claiming truth is really about
claiming permanence. Permanence, how so? Well,
we can synthesize this by looking at the philosopher
Seneca the Younger. He gives us two great quotes
here. Veritas odit morass, which means truth
hates delay. OK. And Veritas numquam parrot.
Truth never expires. Ah, truth never expires.
Right. So claiming truth is the ultimate power
move because it outlasts any single ruler's reign.
You attach yourself to something eternal. Oh,
I see. Even if your institution is flawed, the
concept you're claiming isn't. Exactly. Even
the occultist Ollister Crowley used it for his
magical motto. He went with, uh, vi very universum
vivus vici. By the power of truth, I, while living,
have conquered the universe. Notice the rhythm
there. Vi very universum vivus vici. Wait, five
V words. That's a direct phonetic escalation
of Caesar's three V words. It absolutely is.
Wow. But, okay, if we revere truth so highly,
why do we constantly fail to live up to it? Well,
if we connect this to the bigger picture, the
V -List actually contains some brutally honest
observations about human fallibility. It really
does. Like the struggle of acrasia. Yes, the
weakness of will. Right. Ovid perfectly captures
this in the phrase, video meliora proboki deteriora
sicor. I see, and approve of the better, but
I follow the worse. I mean, that is just so incredibly
relatable. It's the ultimate summary of setting
your alarm for a 6 a .m. workout, hitting snooze
three times, and then just eating a donut instead.
Yeah, that's a craja in a nutshell. You logically
know the better choice. You approve of it. But
your actions completely follow the worst path.
And it scales up to society, too. It's the illusion
of change. Oh, like the cool from Titus. Right.
The fox changes his fur, not his habits. It's
the sobering reminder from antiquity. Humanity
can change its outward attitude or its branding
without ever changing its core objectives. Which
perfectly loops back to our corporate synergy
conversation. Yeah. You can slap a new logo or
a Latin motto on something, change the fur, but
the underlying habits are exactly the same. Exactly.
And another massive human flaw on the list is
the failure to follow through. Oh, Hannibal.
Yes. The quote directed at Hannibal after the
Battle of Cannae in 216 BC. Vincisius Hannibal
victoria utinesis. You know how to win, Hannibal.
You do not know how to use victory. He pulled
off this tactical masterpiece and circled and
destroyed the Roman army. But then he hesitated.
He didn't march on Rome. No, he didn't. He failed
to follow up. It perfectly encapsulates the failure
to capitalize on an advantage. It's like nailing
a job interview but then being too nervous to
negotiate your salary. Precisely. You win the
battle but you lose the momentum. Man, human
nature really hasn't changed. And, you know,
you don't even need to be Hannibal or an emperor
to use these phrases. Not at all. In fact, if
you're listening right now, you are likely using
V Latin every single week. without realizing
it. It's heavily embedded in our everyday vocabulary.
Take the word veto. I forbid. Right. Its origins
are in ancient Roman voting procedures. Tribunes
would literally step in and say veto to block
a piece of legislation. It's literally an ancient
pause button. And then there's vox populi. Voice
of the people. Which modern media truncates all
the time to just vox pop. Yeah, for those rapid
fire street interviews you see on the news. Invading
me come, meaning go with me. which evolved to
describe a handbook or a manual that you carry
around. Okay, but here's where it gets really
interesting. Think about the phrase vice versa.
Meaning with position turned. Right, but the
pronunciation revelation with this one completely
blew my mind. Because we all walk around saying
vice versa. We do. But if an ancient Roman heard
us, they would have no idea what we were saying.
And none at all. Because in classical Latin pronunciation,
the letter C is always a hard K sound. Always
a K. Yes. And the consonantal V actually represents
a W sound. Wait, so. Put that together. How would
Caesar have pronounced vice versa? He would have
said, we -e -k -we -air -saw. We -k -we -air
-saw. Yeah. That doesn't sound stern or imposing
at all. It sounds joyful. It really does. It
sounds like a spell from a cartoon. We -e -k
-w -e -h -r -saw. It just completely shatters
that illusion of these perfectly serious marble
statues. It makes the ancient world sound much
more alive, much more human. So what does this
all mean? We've journeyed from Caesar's battlefield
flexes to the boiled asparagus of Augustus. Through
the institutional branding of truth. Right, all
the way to the phonetic surprises of We E. Key
W. P. H. R. Psy. And it just goes to show this
language is far from dead. It's a living roadmap
of human nature. And understanding these phrases
really gives you an incredible lens for viewing
modern institutions and even your own human flaws.
Absolutely. It reminds you that your modern struggles
are beautifully, timelessly ancient. Well said.
And on that note, I want to leave you with a
final provocative thought to ponder on your own.
Okay. We've seen how a random metaphor about
boiled asparagus survived for over 2000 years,
simply because an emperor used it in passing.
Right. So if a future civilization uncovers our
digital archives thousands of years from now,
which of our mundane everyday text message abbreviations
are they going to meticulously catalog? Will
they treat our casual texts with the same profound
reference we give to Roman quotes? Like, will
a simple modern idiom or BRB become the new boiled
asparagus? That is a fascinating thought. Something
to mull over. Thanks for joining us on this deep
dive.