Reclaiming the Ancient

World
Towards a Decolonized Classics

Krishnan Ram-Prasad
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Jul 4, 2019 · 

Nezami Ganjavi, “Separated by a Green Curtain, a Chinese and Roman Artist

Compete with Each Other”  (c. 1481 CE)

It is, for some of us, a plain truth that our curricula require

decolonizing. Others in our community still cling to the notion
that everyone whose works appear on syllabi earned their place,
and that anyone who isn’t included, therefore, is undeserving.
There are also those who oppose decolonization, characterizing
any attempt at inclusion as “eradicating” or “replacing” white men
in the curriculum — academia’s own version of the tiki torch
march.

Nevertheless, we are fortunate enough that some of the people

with some of the power in our institutions are ready to take their
first steps toward redressing
the injustices perpetuated against minorities in academia. To a
certain extent, the first stage of the argument is won. I won’t
rehearse this argument here, but refer to the words of Mathura
Umachandran, who makes a strong case for decolonization in
Classics, arguing that:

Classics can only really start to think of itself as a global project

once it has reckoned with how it has been invested all over the
world in histories and ongoing realities of colonialism and
racialized extractive capitalism of many kinds…

[We must aim] to stop producing the idea of a white antiquity,

but to underscore the idea that the ancient world was much
larger than Greece and Rome.

In this article, I’m going to explore how such a policy of

decolonization could be implemented, and what it might mean for
Classics as a field.

The humanities in general lend themselves to decolonization — or

rather, they do not lend themselves well to neo-colonialism.
Literature? There are thousands of phenomenal postcolonial
writers of every age, ethnicity, and gender to be studied; get
reading. Philosophy? Tear yourself away from the European canon
and dip a toe into the veritable ocean that is “Eastern” philosophy.
Music? Funnily enough, most of the world’s audio art does not
miraculously emanate from seventeenth century German fugue
and counterpoint; just listen.

I could go on. But try applying this approach to Classics, and you
will find no such one-line solutions. We are well aware of
how Classics has been used as an instrument of colonialism, but
this isn’t the extent of Classics’ problem with race. Classics is, by
its very definition, a white supremacist subject. For classicists, the
ancient “world” is literally just Italy, Greece, and their colonies.
There’s a smattering of Persia, Egypt, and the Levant if you’re
lucky — which is to say, a handful of civilizations that came into
direct contact with the OG Western Europeans. So when the
question is raised of how we can decolonize our curriculum, we get
a little stuck:

“Hmm, maybe we should teach [something going on elsewhere in

the world c. 100 BCE] in our course?”

“Yeah, that would be nice but … it’s just not Classics, is it.”

There are some exceptions, of course, but they often fail to break
the mold in any meaningful way. My own research is an apt
example: I wrote my Master’s thesis, in Classics, entirely on
Sanskrit. Decolonization in action! But Sanskrit finds its place in
Classics only because of its prehistoric linguistic connection with
Latin and Greek, and nothing more. Had I chosen a non-Indo-
European language from the subcontinent — say, Tamil — I would
have been banished to some form of area studies: “Asian and
Middle Eastern Studies,” “South Asian Languages and
Civilizations,” or even, most egregiously, the “Oriental Institute”
(yes, Oxford still calls it that).

This is not meant as a criticism of area studies in general. But why

does the ancient world — and I really mean the world this time —
end up in area studies, unless we discuss it with reference to
ancient Rome and Greece, when it is “elevated” to the status of
Classics?

Historically, the answer is perhaps straightforward. Those who

built the academy in the West centered their own experiences: that
of aristocratic white men. They followed the white man back as far
as they could, and found him in the ancient Mediterranean. For
the earliest classicists, Classics wasn’t simply the areal study of
ancient Rome and Greece: it was the history of civilization itself.
This was then compounded by the notion from the European
“Enlightenment” of history as a catalog of human progress.
Western Europe, of course, is supposed to instantiate the furthest
level of advancement.
I’d like to say we’ve moved on from this, but I’m probably wrong.
Nevertheless, those of us who have any interest in decolonization
at all are likely to reject the cultural hegemony of the West, and
seek to reform our syllabi accordingly. In Classics, however, we
still have a pathological, inherent focus on region that other
subjects do not. Classics just is European, in a way that History,
Philosophy, Art, Music, Literature, and Politics aren’t.

These criticisms may seem obvious, but the solutions certainly

aren’t.

We can keep tweaking at the edges, as we are doing now. These

approaches to decolonization often go hand in hand with
curriculum-independent anti-racism: bring more people from
underrepresented communities into the field; promote the
scholarship of those from outside rich Western institutions; teach
students to think critically about social issues when reading
classical texts. It goes without saying that these are all causes we
should be fighting for wholeheartedly.

But diversifying our staff and reforming our courses to address

issues of race and gender, while keeping the locus of our cultural
reference the same, is not enough. Those from historically
marginalized communities will continue to be marginalized. White
Western scholars will still be the “inheritors” of the great tradition,
while people of color will remain outsiders, graciously afforded a
look-in. Our ancestors barely exist in this ancient “world,” and
when they do appear in the text, it is always in some notoriously
warped way.

There is an extent to which this marginalization is just the nature

of the texts, and that’s a hard truth. But another hard truth is that
it is not an accident that these are valorized as The Classics, while
texts with legitimate representation for people of color don’t make
the cut. Today, this selective recognition constitutes a systematic
and deliberate exclusion that is not present elsewhere in the
humanities.

As strange as it feels to put this in writing — as a Classics PhD

student — I arrive at the following conclusion: if the subject itself
has been built up over centuries in such a way that it is impossible
to separate it from an oppressive, colonial mindset, maybe it
needs to die.

Not the subject matter: of course we should study the literature,

history, philosophy, art, and archaeology of ancient Rome and
Greece. I didn’t choose to stay in Classics to be perverse; I share in
the same love of the material that motivates us all.

But, perhaps, the subject has had its time. We absolutely cannot
give Classics a free pass when it comes to decolonization. As the
rest of the humanities progress, Classics is going to look
increasingly ugly: a subject that resolutely refuses to challenge its
white supremacist foundations, while its proponents earnestly
suggest that “if it’s not Rome or Greece, it’s just not our job.”

As I see it, there are two possible outcomes of a major overhaul.

One is that we turn Classics into another branch of area studies.
Perhaps we’d call it “Ancient Mediterranean Studies” or “Southern
European Studies.” I’m not sure anyone likes the sound of these
names, as they don’t really capture what Classics is. That said, they
are no more inaccurate than names like “Native American Studies”
or “African Studies.” I guess equality really does feel jarring when
you’re accustomed to privilege.

Names are important, and arguably, renaming our departments is

the least we can do. It would require a minimum level of effort to
locate ourselves within the global humanities, and would send a
very public message about decolonization.

I would argue, however, that renaming constitutes a hollow

gesture if it is not backed up by action. Classics faculties and
departments rechristened could continue doing exactly what they
do now, albeit with an overt admission that their focus is localized.
It would be a cleansing act, acknowledging that the rest of the
world exists, but the supremacist praxis that Classics has
embodied since its conception would remain unchallenged.

On the other hand, we could try something that digs a little deeper
into this issue than renaming alone. Something that recognizes
ancient Rome and Greece for the cultural monuments they are,
without also establishing them as the cultural default, othering the
rest of humanity.

We might call it, as a start, “Decolonized Ancient World Studies”

(DAWS).

DAWS might be thought of as a superfield, which encompasses

Classics as we know it but stretches far beyond the shores of the
wine-dark sea. DAWS would enforce no borders, ethnic or
linguistic, and would pursue the study of ancient civilizations
wherever they may be. In short, DAWS would be the study of the
ancient world.

Granted, it’s not at all an original idea to suggest that Classics

should engage somewhat with the study of other ancient
civilizations. Many of the colonial-era academics who went on to
lay the foundations of modern area studies in the West were
themselves classically educated, and anyone who has worked in
these fields is painfully aware of the forced parallels they employed
in a bid to fit other cultures into their worldview. I’m not looking
to promote that kind of problematic, sleight-of-hand universalism.

But discussions surrounding decolonization often lack a push for a

drastic recentering of Classics. A recentering such that
comparative research outside Rome and Greece is not seen as
some peculiar endeavor, but rather an integral part of what
Classics is.

So where does DAWS end as a field? It can’t be “Everything

Studies.” Boundaries should be drawn as we define it into
existence. I’m not even going to attempt to do that here, but in
pondering the question, we are forced to be forensic in our
introspection, and ask some fundamental questions about Classics
as a concept. What is it about ancient Rome and Greece that
makes them worth studying, that is also to be found elsewhere in
the world? How can we learn from the comparative study of
civilizations that were not in direct contact with each other? What
even makes a civilization a “classical” one?

If we really want to decolonize Classics, these are the questions we

need to be asking, and we should be asking them at every level. We
should be asking them in our research, in our teaching, at our
conferences, in our committee meetings. If we can even begin to
start having these discussions, we might be on track to truly
decolonize our field.
Right now, maybe a DAWS Faculty — where one could go
seamlessly from perusing the Alpamysh alongside the Iliad to
comparing the cosmogenies of Genesis I and the Rig Veda — is a
utopia.

But in some corners, the changes are already in motion. Earlier

this year, Jeremy LaBuff wrote an article in Eidolon that makes
a strong case for decentering the West with regard to ancient
sexuality, in turn citing several other topics in Classics where
scholars are “pushing the envelope” on widening the definition of
“our past.” In the same vein, L.K.M Maisel made a cogent
argument for a sea change in the way we read Greek texts by
incorporating perspectives from non-European scholarship, both
ancient and modern. Comparative studies are increasingly
accepted as a gold mine for original and provocative research, and
there is seemingly endless scope for new ideas.

In light of these advances, the greater task is to tie together the

different strands of comparative research into a unifying
movement that dislodges the Eurocentrism of Classics wholesale.

Of course, simply requiring that we should “know more” as

classicists is not a particularly helpful or progressive stance.
Classicists in general, and Classics students in particular, do not
have unlimited time or brainspace, and requiring us to know even
more on top of what we are already cramming is likely only to
entrench pre-existing privilege. Space needs to be made for
decolonization to be possible — and herein lies the rub.

To change the field of Classics, we have to rethink the experience

of what it is to be a classicist. Perhaps more than in other
humanities disciplines, classicists tend to fetishise their own
“expertise,” and some argue that we cannot possibly be expected to
acquire any more expertise than we already have; this has to be
someone else’s job. The very notion of “expertise” here needs a lot
of unpacking, and this article isn’t the place. My intuition,
however, is that a lot of what we call “expertise” boils down to
linguistic aptitude in Latin and Greek, and a meticulous
knowledge of vast amounts of text. Past educators such as Roberts
and Mortimer have actually stated this explicitly (1967:101,
emphasis theirs):

[I]f Classics has a particular educational value, not shared by

Modern History, say, or Eng. Lit., it will not lie in people, politics,
or pots, but in the study of … the Greek and Latin languages, their
development, morphology and syntax, and, more to the point …
in the exercise of translation … [A]ny study of the subject
matter and background of Classics Literature, and of the
Classical World in general, contributes nothing except a sugar on
the intellectual pill …

Such a curriculum is really a hangover from a pre-twentieth

century education system, whereby those who had any access to a
classical education at all would be sent to a private tutor or prep
school at the tender age of seven or eight, and might continue on
to a public school (British meaning!), before arriving at university
with up to ten years experience of Latin and something similar in
Greek. Under such a model, demanding a rehearsed knowledge of
tens of thousands of lines of text, and a fluency in prose and verse
composition, might have seemed a logical requirement for a
university course.

The fact that (higher) education is more democratized now has

somewhat assuaged the peculiar language requirements of
university courses, but there is still often a feeling of “wouldn’t it
be great if our students could still do that.” Jam-packing our
courses with absurd quantities of set-text is supposed to
compensate for a shortcoming of modern, state-funded education
systems that do not teach Latin or Greek.

But of course those with the most privilege, generally rich and
white, still arrive at university with at least several years of Latin
and Greek; such individuals then excel at a course that rewards
their specific educational history, while state school pupils are
supposed to “catch up” in the first year or two of their degree. And
thus, in a nutshell, a call for “expertise” serves uncritically to
perpetuate age-old classist and racist practices. Some students
may indeed wish to cultivate a detailed linguistic knowledge, and
that is all well and good — as a linguist myself, I’m on board. But
translation and practical criticism of Latin and Greek texts cannot
remain the compulsory centerpiece of Classics, just because that’s
how it’s always been.

So, there is an independent motivation for us to think critically

about how much we prioritize a particular kind of narrow textual-
linguistic knowledge over everything else. If this were the focus of
the article, I would also address the implicit notions of a hierarchy
of disciplines within Classics where textual criticism reigns
supreme, and question the pedagogical value of the grammar-
translation approach to language teaching. I would also highlight
the central role Classical Reception Studies is playing in energizing
the dialogue surrounding race, class, and language requirements,
tying this into a broader discussion of gatekeeping within the field.

But I opened this can of worms today because reducing the

pernicious demands for “expertise” that I have mentioned has a
direct consequence for curriculum decolonization: it makes the
room we need. Just imagine: how much more time could be spent
thinking more broadly and critically about the ancient world if we
could shed the burden of knowing as much Latin and Greek text
inside out as possible?

In other words, it is not a satisfactory argument to say there isn’t

“space” for curriculum decolonization in Classics. If that’s the case
currently, then we need to make the damned space. And in doing
so, perhaps we could challenge some other superannuated
discriminatory practices along the way.
One structural consequence of the consolidation of Classics with
other departments could be a reduction in the number of jobs for
people who only work on Rome or Greece. For example: if Classics
is to exist within DAWS, it can no longer be the case that a
university employs four or five lecturers in, say, Greek philosophy,
and only one person to teach every aspect of, say, Ancient Persia.
If we are committed to dismantling the intellectual privilege of
Western Europe, we must also dismantle its institutional privilege,
in the form of hiring practices.

This change has to come from above. Without the prospect of a

relevant job in academia, there is little incentive for PhDs to
deviate from Eurocentric Classics. If you know you’re only going to
be employable if you can teach courses on fifth-century Athens
and the late Roman Republic, you’re likely — justifiably — to
prioritize that sort of knowledge over non-European comparative
themes. To overcome this, DAWS requires us to rebalance job
opportunities at a faculty level. This is admittedly difficult to
reconcile with the current state of the job market, which is crying
out for structural reform in all subjects. So we have to tie in
decolonisation into a wider push for broader change, and we have
to accept that it may come at the cost of that fifth lectureship in
Greek philosophy.
All this — letting go of age-old notions of what Classics is, de-
expertising ourselves, collaborating outside our field, restructuring
our departments, reclaiming the Ancient World — is a tall order.
It’s not a job for one person, one university, or perhaps even one
generation. But let’s remember that it took centuries for Classics to
become what it is today. We have to bear that length of time in
mind when we set our course for a new destination.

So today, as classicists, we have to start reaching out to people

currently outside our area, and begin to bridge the gaps: in this
case, not framed as an interdisciplinary endeavor, but as a way of
extending the very limits of our discipline. It is not reasonable that
we become experts in every civilization in the world — but it is
reasonable that we collaborate outside our specialties in non-
trivial ways to broaden our horizons. In turn, we should aim to
convert such collaboration into tangible, structural change.

If we can start to actualize such changes, and allay our cultural

myopia, there is literally a whole world for us to look forward to

Krishnan Ram-Prasad is a PhD student in Classics at the

University of Cambridge. If he’s not subjecting uneager colleagues
to fun linguistic facts, he’s probably watching cricket and failing
the Tebbit test with pride.