Why Study the Classics?

Greek and Roman ideas have shaped leaders, nations and the pursuit of power for centuries

World Map (Gerard van Schargen via wikimedia commons)

From the birth of nations to the rise of dictators, when countries reach pivotal moments in their history their leaders often turn to Classics — the study of the ancient Greek and Roman civilisations. So many times, powerful men have retreated into the walled garden of antiquity, harvested its ideas and concepts and cultivated them into a method of stamping down their authority, taking advantage of the subject’s exclusivity to do so. From Napoleon to Hitler and from the Founding Fathers of the USA to Charlie Kirk, Classics have consistently been used and abused for good or for worse. From this alone, it is clear how constructive Classics can be, but also how dangerous it is in the wrong hands. This is the reason to study it: so we can reap its benefits but at the same time be informed enough to separate useful ideas from cynical manipulations. In this sense, it is not just important that some of us study Classics, but as many as possible.

The Founding Fathers

The Founding Fathers are a perfect example of people using Classics for good. In 1787, a group of 55 delegates gathered in Pennsylvania for the Constitutional Convention. Originally tasked with revising the Articles of Confederation, the conversation soon moved to the establishment of a new form of government. Two distinct groups emerged: the Federalists, who advocated for a unification of the states under a central authority, and the anti-Federalists who favoured strong state governments and feared federal power would infringe on individual liberties. In a race to win the favours of the American people, both sides released a series of papers championing their cause. These became known as the Federalist and Anti-Federalist Papers, and this is where classical influence came into play.

The Federalist Papers, now thought to be authored by Alexander Hamilton, John Jay and James Madison, published under the pseudonym “Publius”, an allusion to the Roman aristocrat Publius Valerius Poplicola who, in 509 BC, helped lead the revolution that overthrew the monarchy and established Rome as a republic. The Anti-Federalists, consisting of Thomas Jefferson, George Mason, James Monroe and many more, used the same strategy, publishing under the names Cato and Brutus both of whom were known for their fierce opposition to Caesar’s dictatorial leadership.

By adopting these classical personas, each side aligned themselves with the ideals of republican liberty that the American people so desperately wanted after decades of British oppression, strengthening the appeal and moral authority of their arguments. Furthermore, it depersonalised and democratised the debate, making it about the issues at play rather than the persons involved. Anonymising the papers ensured that personal biases or preconceptions about the authors could not influence how the arguments were received. As a result, the ideas presented by lesser-known contributors carried the same weight and credibility as those of more prominent figures.

French Revolutionaries

Whilst the Founding Fathers used their knowledge of Classics to intellectually communicate with their audience, the French used it to fight. Adopted in 1792, Marianne was the allegorical personification of Liberty used to champion the revolutionary cause, appearing on state seals, art and medallions, and what is particularly interesting is that her image is deeply rooted in classical influence.

Her most recognisable feature, her bright red Phrygian cap, is a direct reference to the pileus, a felt cap given to recently freed slaves in ancient Rome to signify their freedom. Adopted by revolutionaries as the “bonnet rouge”, it became a powerful emblem of anti-monarchist sentiment, symbolising the transition from subjugation to liberty. In this way, it served to remind revolutionaries what they were fighting for and united them in their cause. Her frequent depiction with the Roman fasces — a bundle of wooden rods with an axe attached — reinforced this message. Representing power and authority, it emphasised the collective strength of the people, driving them to keep fighting.

Liberty Leading the People by Eugene Delacroix, featuring Marianne (via wikimedia commons)

But Marianne was not the only classical figure used during the revolution. Looking for a more masculine, militant symbol after the radical peak of 1793, revolutionary leaders and artist-deputy Jacques-Louis David decided that Hercules was the right choice.

The first major public use of his image during the revolution came on August 10 1793 during the Festival of Unity and Indivisibility organised by David. During the festival, a morality play was acted out with one of the scenes depicting Hercules using a club to smash the Hydra of federalism. From that moment onwards, depictions of him became constant. Later that year, a propaganda image “Le Peuple Mangeur de Rois” was circulated, depicting a giant Hercules wearing the “bonnet rouge”, holding a club in one hand and an unnamed European king in the other, about to devour him. The preconceived status of Hercules as a legendary hero as well as the sheer size of him in these depictions again reiterates the power of the people united, driving the revolution forward.

Napoleon

With Napoleon, the boundary between noble and ignoble usage of Classics starts to blur. Although his initial goal was to stabilise France after the revolution, he also sought the creation of a vast French empire under his sole rule. In doing so, he sacrificed many lives and turned France into a police state, leading many to view him as a dictator who betrayed the revolution.

Francois Gerard’s painting “Napoleon I as Emperor” is a clear example of how he used Classics. Created in 1805, Napoleon is depicted standing in his coronation robes. Perhaps the most obvious classical detail in the portrait is the laurel wreath on his head, portraying himself as the modern-day Caesar. Reinforcing this, the pendant hanging down from the middle of the Legion D’honneur around his neck shows Napoleon’s side profile, again associating himself with the Roman emperors who were popularly depicted the exact same way. On closer examination, even more small details emerge. On his cloak is embroidered an array of classical motifs like bees, oak, laurel leaves and palmettes to associate himself with the grandeur of the ancients. Even his shoes are an imitation of Roman lace sandals. And of course, the eagle staff he holds in his hand that connects him to the military power of the Romans is too obvious not to mention.

Napolean I as Emperor by Francois Gerard (via wikimedia commons)

Such depictions are not exclusive to this portrait alone. The 1804 painting “Napoleon as First Consul” by Jean-Auguste-Dominique Ingres shows him standing with a hand in his waistcoat, a pose originating from the Greek orator Aeschines to demonstrate composure. In Jean-Louis David 1805 painting “Napoleon Crossing the Alps” he appears heroically riding on a rearing horse, evoking the powerful Carthaginian general Hannibal whose name even appears inscribed on a rock beneath his feet, making the reference clear.

His usage of Classics was relentless, with him constantly incorporating neoclassical imagery into his propaganda and public image, associating himself with figures like Julius Caesar to create a potent personality cult that legitimised his rule.

The Fascist Movement

In the 20th century, fascism was spreading through Europe with leaders like Hitler, Mussolini and Franco all making use of the Classics to assert their power. Whilst Mussolini and Franco took interest in the Roman empire, Hitler was more influenced by Sparta. For the purposes of this essay I shall focus on Mussolini.

Mussolini was obsessed with incorporating “romanita” — a term embodying the spirit, values, and traditions of ancient Rome — into modern society in order to liken his regime to that of Italy’s glorious past. Architecture was his first step. Similar to Napoleon, Mussolini reshaped the architecture of Rome to liken it to that of its ancient past. He ordered large-scale demolitions of medieval neighborhoods and replaced them with wide, monumental avenues like the Via dei Fori Imperiali, specifically for the purpose of facilitating large military parades and exposing ancient landmarks previously hidden under the buildings. He also commissioned the construction of new structures with neoclassical design, such as the Palazzo della Civilta Italiana and Foro Italiano, both of which draw inspiration from classical architecture and are decorated with Roman-style statues. In doing so, Mussolini sought to present his regime as the natural continuation of the ancient Roman empire, thereby reinforcing his legitimacy and authority.

The Palazzo della Civilta Italiana in Rome (Gunnar Klack via wikimedia commons)

Alongside these transformations, Mussolini also ensured that a wide range of classical-inspired media were circulated throughout Italy to further embed “romanita” into everyday life and reinforce the regime’s connection to ancient Rome. This effort included events such as the Mostra Augustea della Romanità, a major exhibition held in Rome to celebrate 2,000 years since the birth of Augustus. Its huge display of sculptures and artifacts served to glorify the achievements of ancient Rome and serve as a blueprint for Fascist Italy. Mussolini’s regime also funded classical-related propaganda films such as the “Scipione L’africano” which legitimised Italy’s ongoing conquests in Ethiopia, and Latin-language theatre productions and opera in ancient amphitheatres to further reinforce Mussolini’s rule as being a revival of the great empire.

Modern Day

People still use and abuse Classics to this day. For example, the late Charlie Kirk when arguing his anti-abortion stance in a debate once stated that the Latin word “fetus” means “little human” in English, thus justifying calling abortion murder. This point is grammatically suspect, seeing as the word is very much governed by context and has many other meanings including “fruit” and “teeming with”, so he evidently selected a single, convenient translation while ignoring the word’s broader semantic range. Furthermore, he ascribes power to the language that it doesn’t have, given etymology does not constitute biological fact.

However, the most interesting thing about this is that Kirk thought this would be a conclusive point, maybe relying on the language’s perceived exclusivity and authority to bolster his argument and perhaps one-up his opponents who probably didn’t have a classical education. In this scenario, the power of Classics is evident through its potential to be used as a tool for intellectual intimidation.

It is also worth mentioning that former Prime Minister Boris Johnson constantly references Classics throughout his political career. As Guardian journalist Charlotte Higgins perfectly puts it, this is an attempt to “exclude the uninitiated and mark him out as clever”. By constantly reminding people that he went to Oxford to do Classics, he uses a similar intellectual intimidation tactic to Charlie Kirk.

Conclusion

Classics is clearly a powerful tool for both good and bad. It has helped found innovative new countries and torn down oppressive monarchies, but it has also fuelled the rise of extreme dictators and harmful, right-wing ideologies.

But, if more of us understand Classics, we can find a balance between these two extremes. We would be able to reap the many benefits of the subject, but also be able to recognise when its authority is being misused, in doing so taking away the ability for cynical manipulators to use its exclusivity for their own gain. This is precisely why we should study it — to democratise debate and use the rich cultural resource that is Classics for more reputable purposes.