The very etymology of ‘‘classics’’ attests to a relationship with classism and perhaps even with class struggle. Early Romans were reportedly subsumed into five classes by their sixth king, Servius Tullius (conventionally dated 578-35 bc). A citizen of the highest class qualified as classicus, while any of the four lower ones fell infra classem (approximately the same as our ‘‘below the grade’’). In literary-critical terminology the adjective was also attached to authors whose style characterized them as being truly authoritative: Aulus Gellius (second century ad) sets off the classicus adsiduus-que aliquis scriptor (any classical or authoritative writer) against any proletarius writer (Attic Nights 19.8.15, quoting Cornelius Fronto, also second century). Finally, in scholastic parlance the noun classis had been used to denote a class of pupils at the latest since Quintilian (first century ad). By transference classicus was employed a few centuries later by Magnus Felix Ennodius (sixth century ad ) to describe a pupil who belonged to a class in school (Dictio 9.16). Thus the ancient Romans had already laid the groundwork for the blurring between the classic as ‘‘top class’’ literature and the classic as a standard text in school classes that still holds true nowadays. All these usages fell into disuse during the Middle Ages, when nothing more was needed to bring home the gravitas (majesty) of a major writer than to describe him with the word auctor. in intellectual contexts, authority derived from being (or citing and quoting) an author (Ascoli 2000; Minnis and Scott 1991). ‘‘Classic’’ was not revived until the early sixteenth century, when it became an epithet for ancient authors that referred particularly to their high quality.
Over the past half millennium the connection with education has often been paramount, since as applied to literary texts, classics have often earned and retained their status from having been assigned in classes. At the same time, it would be mistaken to regard the classics as inherently or solely scholastic. Many of the texts secured their places in the schools after having demonstrated qualities that had made them appealing
To other reaches of society. Those other strata have comprehended not only the upper crust that had been classicus from the outset but also lower social ranks.
Whereas the concept of the classic has an ancient pedigree, ‘‘the classical tradition’’ is a modern notion (Bolgar 1954; Highet 1949). It may be linked to conservativism, not so much of an overtly political as of a cultural brand, since tradition is what is handed down from one generation to the next. Those who work with (and within) the classical tradition have had a vested interest in its continuation or reinstatement. Initially the impetus for the study of the classical tradition was to appreciate how antiquity, especially ancient texts, shaped later times, in this case the Middle Ages. Over the last quarter century the fairly rigid and constrictive dynamic of ‘‘source and influence’’ has been enriched and complicated as the notion of reception has achieved favor (Holub 1984). Whatever bondage was latent in the metaphor of a ‘‘chain of influence’’ has been sundered, and now reception studies aim not merely to track how the classics outlasted the Middle Ages so as to be renewed in the Renaissance, but rather to appreciate how medieval people responded to them and adapted them. Medieval perspectives on classical texts and their contents are increasingly respected, by medievalists and classicists alike, rather than being dismissed for having at best interfered with and at worst corrupted a grand legacy.
Today, when the word ‘‘classics’’ pertains to texts written in Greek and Latin, it designates with deceptive straightforwardness ‘‘the literature of ancient Greece and Rome.’’ Understood most ecumenically, ‘‘classical literature’’ would bridge two languages and extend over at least a dozen centuries, from the Iliad and Odyssey ascribed to Homer, a hazy but oft-invoked figure of the eighth century bc, through the famous writings associated with fifth-century Athenians such as Plato and Thucydides, to the masterpieces of late Republican and Augustan Rome by Vergil, Horace, and others in the first century bc, and down even to Augustine and other Latin-speakers and - writers in the Empire of the fourth and fifth centuries ad. (The preceding is, of course, only a very partial roll call, making no effort to comprehend much of Greek literature and naming only a handful of authors.) A narrower definition would exclude the total of seven centuries at the early and late ends of the spectrum and would be restricted to the stretch from fifth-century Athens to late Republican and Augustan Rome.
If classical antiquity covers a long expanse, so, too, do late antiquity and the Middle Ages. According to the perspective that the Renaissance promoted, the Middle Ages commenced when antiquity faded, and they drew to a close when antiquity was reborn in the Renaissance. This perspective has the obvious effect of making the Middle Ages at least implicitly anticlassical, and it sidesteps the question of chronology. What should be done about dating? Rather than seeking dates relating to decisive military, political, economic, or religious vicissitudes that mark beginning and ending points, we may consider the combined late-antique and medieval period as diverging from the strictly classical on the one hand and the early modern and beyond on the other in its principal means for recording writing (Ullman 1963). Whereas antiquity favored the papyrus roll or scroll and modernity the printed book, the millennium from roughly four hundred to fourteen hundred ad was bound up (and the verb is meant both literally and figuratively here) with the manuscript codex, an object that bears a superficial resemblance to the printed book but that is made by hand (hence the word form ‘‘manuscript’’).
In the Middle Ages codexes generally consisted of parchment rather than paper or papyrus leaves. Parchment is the hide of an animal such as a calf or sheep that has been treated to render it suitable as a writing surface (Reed 1975). The durability of parchment accounts in no small part for the survival of most classical Latin texts, which would not have come down to us had they not been copied in this form first in late antiquity and then recopied in the ninth century and later in monastic scriptoria. Had transmission depended largely on papyrus, the prolonged social and cultural disruptions in the middle centuries of the first Christian millennium would have conspired with the northward thrust of the Latin Church to jeopardize the continued existence of many texts. There would not have been enough writing material, and what could be found would not have lasted long in damp climates, as opposed to the drier weather of lands surrounding the Mediterranean. Finally, as a medium the roll suffers more wear from frequent consultation than does the codex.
World History
