



































The future of classics


[Expositions 5.2 (2011) 14-17]  Expositions (online) ISSN: 1747-5376 

Classics in Italy and Great Britain 

BARBARA GRAZIOSI 

Durham University 

 

 

My contribution focuses on classical literature, and offers a brief discussion of its readers in Italy 

and Great Britain. I start, however, with a more general observation about that literature. Homer, 

the central author of the classical canon, has continuously featured in education for over 2,600 

years. Xenophanes observed, in the sixth century BCE, that “from the beginning everyone learnt 

from Homer” (fr. 10 DK): we can now trace the history of Homeric education from Xenophanes 

to the schools of Athens (cf. Aristophanes, fr. 233 K–A), the library of Alexandria in Lower 

Egypt, the first Latin translation by the teacher Livius Andronicus, the scholarly commentaries 

and notes produced in the monasteries of Byzantium, the (largely disastrous) efforts of 

Boccaccio and Petrarch to establish the first chair of Greek in Florence, and the school and 

university programs that have followed since. Homer’s Iliad has been translated into all major 

languages worldwide: Young
1
 offers a catalogue of Homeric translations, from the editio 

princeps to the year 2000. The catalogue, though not quite as complete as he claims, offers a 

precious starting point for considering the geography as well as the history of Homeric readers. 

What emerges, of course, is the extraordinary status of the Iliad and the Odyssey as texts that 

were, and are, relentlessly passed on – not just across generations, but also across linguistic, 

cultural and political barriers of all kinds.  

There are at least two perspectives from which to view the extraordinary status of classical 

literature. From one standpoint, the centrality of the classical canon may seem like a fact of life. 

Harold Bloom, for example, makes the following claim: “Everyone who now reads and writes in 

the West, of whatever racial background, sex or ideological camp, is still a son or daughter of 

Homer.”
2
 Emily Greenwood and I have criticised Bloom’s restriction of Homer’s influence to 

“the West,”
3
 but even leaving that issue aside, it seems that Bloom’s genealogical model of 

literature unhelpfully plays down the active role of readers in the making of the text. We are not 

simply born the sons and daughters of Homer – and then engage in some Oedipal anxiety of 

influence – we actually become readers of Homer, largely through education. And if we take 

seriously the perspective of educators, the centrality of Homer no longer looks like a fact of life, 

but rather depends on one’s own commitment, evaluation, and choices – as well as on those of 

other people (colleagues, parents, publishers, and managers in a position to decide what needs to 

be passed on). This is where a different kind of anxiety sets in – not an anxiety of influence – but 

an anxiety of extinction. For professional classicists that anxiety quite simply comes with the 

job: there is a perennial concern that classical literature may not matter, or that it will not matter 

(and that therefore those who devote their lives to it may not, or will not, matter themselves). 

Generation after generation, specific people invested in classical antiquity and thus perceived the 



15  Graziosi 

 

 

risk that ancient texts, objects, and ideas may no longer be valued. Their lives were sometimes 

quite literally on the line. When faced with that kind of pressure (or even the lesser pressures of 

current educational reforms), the resilience and creativity of individuals and institutions become 

the focus of attention.  

The status of classical literature is then simultaneously a given, and something that is 

continuously given, or passed on, between specific people. This dual perspective helps one to 

approach the specific contexts in which classical authors are read. I offer here some remarks 

about education (and its effects on publishing) in Italy and Great Britain – two national contexts 

with which I am familiar – as a contribution to this more general discussion of the future of 

Classics.  

The principles that inspire Italian education are, fundamentally, those of the French 

Revolution: school is conceived of as public, compulsory, and free of charge. While private 

schools do exist, they are numerically and culturally insignificant: they largely cater to special 

needs and are, in any case, bound by the national curriculum. Employers and higher education 

institutions recognise only state examinations and, therefore, private institutions prepare their 

pupils for those (and often struggle to achieve the set standards). In 1940 the riforma Bottai 

created the scuola media inferiore, a middle school for students aged between 11 and 14, which 

included three years of mandatory Latin instruction. After the abolition of schools for 

professional training in 1962, the middle school became compulsory for all students, and Latin 

requirements were reduced from three years of instruction to two. This means that all those who 

have been educated in Italy between 1962 and 1977 have been exposed to some Latin and can – 

or could, at some point in their lives – translate basic sentences. In 1977, Latin was abolished 

from the middle school curriculum, but classical literature in translation (particularly epic) was, 

and remains, a core subject.  

After middle school, Italian students can choose between several different options. The most 

prestigious secondary schools are the licei: the influential riforma Gentile of 1923 distinguished 

between the liceo classico, with an emphasis on the humanities, and a new liceo scientifico with 

an emphasis on mathematics and experimental sciences. The liceo classico, still arguably 

considered the most prestigious secondary school in Italy, includes five years of compulsory 

instruction in ancient Greek and Latin: the final examination includes unseen translation, seen 

translation of canonical authors and literary interpretation. The liceo scientifico, which gradually 

gained in popularity over the liceo classico, includes five years of compulsory instruction in 

Latin only, at the end of which students are examined in unseen and seen translation from 

canonical authors and on literary interpretation. In 2011, roughly 103,000 students graduated 

from the liceo scientifico and 51,000 from the liceo classico. Several other secondary schools, 

such as the licei delle scienze umane and the licei linguistici, also offer instruction in Latin, 

though not up to the same level as the two traditional licei. Today, about one-third of the 

eighteen-year-old population of Italy has studied some Latin. The average for the population as a 

whole is much higher, largely because of universal training in Latin between 1962 and 1977. 



Classics in Italy and Great Britain  16 
 

Latin and Greek do not feature in the national school curriculum in Great Britain. There is 

some political pressure to change this (the mayor of London Boris Johnson, for example, 

prominently lobbies to add the Latin language to the curriculum) but, in any case, the national 

curriculum plays a more limited role in Great Britain than it does in Italy. Private education is 

extremely influential, not just because those who receive it often go on to hold positions of 

influence in society (Johnson himself being an example), but also because it contributes to the 

aspirations and values of the state-educated majority. Latin and Greek are important subjects in 

the most highly regarded “public” (i.e., private) schools of Great Britain, such as Eton College. 

Eton was the first school to call itself “public,” in opposition to private tuition offered at home, 

and the education offered by religious schools open only to members of a particular church. 

Latin and Greek define the education offered in the public schools and thereby have an impact on 

the state sector too. There they generally feature as extra-curricular subjects and activities. The 

work of teachers, volunteers and educational organisations (such as the Joint Association of 

Classical Teachers) is crucial in bringing Latin and sometimes even Greek to state-educated 

students: one frequent scenario is that of the inspired and committed instructor and her/his self-

selected band of pupils meeting at lunchtime or after hours to learn Greek or Latin. Extra-

curricular subjects and activities are important in British education, partly because the 

curriculum is thought of as guarding against deteriorating minimal standards, rather than as 

defining the highest levels of achievement.  

The closest British equivalent to the Italian licei were the grammar schools: these institutions 

had their origins in the Middle Ages and, in the late Victorian period, were organized to provide 

secondary education across the United Kingdom (with the exception of Scotland, which 

developed a different system). From the mid-40s, grammar schools became selective, state-

funded institutions. In the 1960s and 1970s, the state sector moved to a non-selective system of 

comprehensive schools, and the grammar schools either closed down, went comprehensive, or 

became private. Greek and Latin became marginal subjects in the state sector but – thanks to a 

visionary group of teachers and university lecturers – the subject of “classical civilization” 

became an attractive option for students, especially in the last two years of their school 

education. The focus of the final school exam in classical civilization are the cultures of Greece 

and Rome: ancient literature features, in translation, as part of that wider focus. A-level 

qualifications in classical civilization are proving to be an attractive option for students – to the 

point that there is now a shortage of teachers, and an increased interest in studying the languages 

of the Greeks and Romans as a result of learning about their cultures. 

Publishing responds to school education much more directly than to University programs. In 

Italy, Greek and Latin grammars are very profitable, as are dictionaries: Franco Montanari’s new 

ancient Greek lexicon sells over 20,000 copies every year, for example. Pocket editions of 

classical authors, with introductions, facing translations, and commentaries also enjoy a large 

market: readers who know a little Latin or Greek often want to check the occasional phrase or 

sentence in the original, even if they read most of the work in translation. The academic quality 

of the editions, translations and commentaries published by BUR, Mondadori, Einaudi, Carrocci, 



17  Graziosi 

 

 

and several other Italian publishers is usually very high, even though they address the needs of a 

general, educated readership. Daily newspapers sometimes sell editions of classical works as 

weekly supplements. In short: many Italian editions found on the shelves of the most prestigious 

academic libraries around the world, can actually be bought in Italy at street corners, newspaper 

kiosks, and train stations. Trade publishing in Great Britain works differently: grammars, 

editions, commentaries, and dictionaries are not profitable: they rely on the support of academic 

institutions and charities. What does sell – and sells increasingly well – are books on classical 

civilization.  

When discussing the future of Classics, it is useful to view the academic discipline as part of a 

wider engagement with classical antiquity. That engagement is fundamentally shaped by national 

traditions, as Vasunia and Stephens show in Classics and National Cultures.
4
 In Italy, translation 

of ancient works (in school and in publishing) offers an important means of access to the ancient 

world. In Great Britain, people tend to focus more broadly on the civilization of the Greeks and 

Romans (again, in education as in publishing). That difference helps to explain the choices of 

individual academics, as well as broader trends and strategies. For example: my friend and 

contemporary, Lara Nicolini, who works in Italy, has published a Latin grammar and a 

translation and commentary of Apuleius’ Metamorphosis: those are her most significant 

publications in terms of her impact on the general public. For me, working in Great Britain, my 

main trade publication is a (forthcoming) history of the Olympian gods: that book quotes and 

discusses a range of classical authors, but within a broader engagement with ancient culture. 

Predictably, my agent pitched it to publishers as a book on classical civilization. Beyond the 

differences, this short sketch of national contexts suggests, perhaps, one thing: that by reading 

Homer and other ancient authors (whether in the original, translation or quotation) we join a vast 

and diverse community of readers. 

 

 

Notes 

 

1. Philip H. Young, The Printed Homer: A 3,000 Year Publishing and Translation History 

of the Iliad and the Odyssey (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2003). 

2. A Map of Misreading (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1975), 33. 

3. Homer in the Twentieth Century: Between World Literature and the Western Canon, eds. 

Barbara Graziosi and Emily Greenwood, eds. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 

1–3. 

4. Classics and National Cultures, eds. Susan A. Stephens and Phiroze Vasunia (Oxford: 

Oxford University Press, 2010). 


