Melanie McDonagh
Vladimir Putin, the Russian Prime Minister, has let it be known that he would prefer it if streets were not named after him or statues erected to him. The immediate occasion for this expression of modesty was a proposal by the pro-Moscow Chechen leader to rename Grozny's main street in his honour. You might say that when it comes to Chechnya, Mr Putin has a lot to be modest about.
Still, his willingness to nip this particular aspect of his cult in the bud, has, I'd say, a lot to recommend it. Self-effacement has not been the strong suit of communist leaders - a category into which he undoubtedly falls. Tito, the Yugoslav dictator, not only rejoiced in cities, streets and squares in his honour, but schools, buses and trains.
In our own patch, the cult of personality is not focused on living politicians, though in Kosovo, for obvious reasons, there are boulevards named after Tony Blair. Here, we have other ways for people to leave their imprint on institutions and public spaces. It's done through money. Contemporary philanthropists like to leave their name on whatever they fund.
Some private donations, of course, are honourably anonymous or commemorated simply with a plaque or put on the record. But a glance at academic benefactions suggests that most corporations and institutions want some sort of bang for their buck. The James Martin 21st-Century School in the history faculty at Oxford University was established through a lavish bequest from the pseudonymous donor. It would have been better, I'd say, if James Martin had kept himself out of it.
The Judge Business School in Cambridge was made possible through the donations of Sir Paul and Lady Judge. My own college at Cambridge, New Hall, is so anxious to reward a generous donation of £30 million that it is trying to have itself renamed as Murray Edwards College, which sounds like a polytechnic on the make.
In the Middle Ages, streets were usually named after occupations (including disreputable ones) and associations, and institutions after saints. Individuals did not, by and large, seek to aggrandise themselves with their benefactions: if there was a trade-off it was in prayers for donors.
Dick Whittington, Lord Mayor of pantomime fame, used his mercer's fortune to equip an enormous library, endowed Rochester bridge, founded a refuge for unmarried mothers and established public lavatories, fountains and an almhouse. His estate was used up in good works.
He did not ask for any of these things to bear his name; although some did, despite him. If only modern philanthropists could be like him. Or, God help us, like Mr Putin.