Sphinx

Suddenly the idea that political power should be allocated on the basis of legitimate descent from generations of ruthless thugs, or even on the whim of a strange woman in a lake handing out swords, doesn’t seem so bad, because apparently the alternative – the unanswerable reason why Labour politicians are unfit for government – is the ability to recite a large chunk of material in a foreign language, learnt by heart back at school.

Not just any material, of course. If Corbyn had quoted passages from Die achtzehnten Brumaire in the original, this would have been clinching proof that he was strange, humourless and unpatriotic (who knows German, for goodness’ sake?). If Swinson had recited Shakespeare: girly swot, clearly out of touch with Real People and at the same time boring and run of the mill because everyone does a bit of Shakespeare. Homer is different.

Johnson is also different, in his artfully constructed persona of self-mocking artlessness, and in the willingness of people – especially other media people – to be entertained and give him an easy ride. But the classical is not incidental to this; rather, it’s a symbiotic relationship. No Labour politician could get away with quoting classical texts today without ridicule (which is why there’s no point in looking up suitable rejoinders from Thucydides or Demosthenes), but equally Homer and the like work better for Johnson than other authors would; knowledge of dead languages as a marker of privilege and tradition where command of living ones would indicate dangerous cosmopolitan sympathies, adherence to old-fashioned ‘Western Civilisation’ rather than anything too modern or un-British, and above all the way that it feeds into his self-presentation as authentic and unmediated, because surely this sort of elitist pretentiousness would be the first thing to go if someone was not just being themselves..?

Of course the classics are not the exclusive preserve of Johnson and his class; indeed, part of the effect of such performances is the way he appears naively to assume that they’re for everyone, and that everyone will naturally share in his enthusiasm. To give credit where it’s due, this may even be genuine. But what it does convey – or, rather, reinforce – is a sense that the classics are the natural preserve of such people; a mark of their superiority, their freedom to indulge in such useless intellectual pursuits, that then confirms why they’re so fitted to rule.

In a culture of pervasive mistrust of politicians, we’ve ended up being dominated by a perversion of Douglas Adams’ maxim that that power should be given only to someone who doesn’t want it; we give power to people who can persuasively appear not to want it for any serious reason. Don’t trust do-gooders and people with plans to change the world, as they’re either naive or in it for themselves or will start preventing you from doing exactly what you want to; stick with those who go into politics in an off-hand manner because it’s just what one does.

Similarly, studying Classics is a sign of someone just doing something for the sake of it, and who can afford to do that, where another discipline like economics or science, let alone law, might seem like a means to an end and hence suggest that they have a Plan. Classics offers a means of demonstrating vast (exaggerated) intellectual powers without any worrying hint of seriousness of purpose.

It is the age-old belief that fitness to rule is determined not by demonstrable competence, integrity or values, but in a more mystical manner. The ability to pull a sword out of a stone is a sign of genetic entitlement, represented as nobility and virtue. The ability to recite a chunk of Homer is likewise a sign of entitlement, interpreted, in the spirit of the age, as authenticity and humour…