Ancient history today is never far from the public’s attention. Television dramas and documentaries succeed one another furiously and are circulated round the world. Epic films from the 60s, such as Spartacus and Ben Hur, are revived with loving regularity, and the genre itself has had a recent revival with some spectacular successes, not least Gladiator and Troy. New novels on the classical world are also regularly published, ranging from serious struggles with the nature of ancient experience to pot-boiling whodunnits; even The Da Vinci Code, that most astonishing of recent publishing success stories, takes its readers into the world of antiquity, among many other times. Meanwhile, an interest in ancient sites and in museums of antiquities is a great driver of tourism in Greece, Italy, Turkey, Egypt, the Holy Land, and many other parts of the Roman empire and beyond. Mediterranean holidays are typically perceived as mixtures of sunshine and self-indulgence with some element at least of cultural self-improvement, mostly through visiting the local antiquities. It is a case of rest and ruins.
Even to the casual observer of these facts, it ought to seem that ancient history as a topic of interest stands at a high level in this first decade of the new century; it might, therefore, seem a reasonable assumption that this popular interest should continue to support a healthy level of activity in the teaching of the subject and in research on it. This optimistic view may well prove to be true, but, as we shall see, there are problems as well as advantages that should be taken seriously by anyone concerned to see the subject thrive in the long term. Ancient historians themselves do not always seem as happy with the public interest as they might be expected to be; and it is true that much of it focuses on particular themes - the moral degeneration of the Roman empire and its emperors, for instance - that they would not themselves have chosen. Their efforts to steer the interest do, admittedly, only have erratic success: they find a role and some profit in offering technical advice to films and television programs, but are frequently unhappy with the extent to which they are taken seriously or their advice followed.
Whatever the misgivings, there can be no doubt that the extent of interest offers an opportunity to ancient historians that should not be wasted. Throughout the second half of the twentieth century the subject has shown considerable vigor and creativity. Student numbers in many countries have increased, in some cases dramatically so. Courses have multiplied and become far more sophisticated. The expectation, widely held in the 1960s, that universities would progressively cut back their provision for all aspects of teaching about the ancient world, has so far only been fulfilled in a limited number of cases, though the situation in Germany has recently become worrying; meanwhile, the rate of publication by scholars working in universities in many parts of Europe and in the USA has risen rather than fallen; and ancient history jobs are vigorously competed for. On the basis of such general indicators, it would not be difficult to argue that the subject is as well placed for long-term survival as any other branch of Arts, Humanities or Social Sciences. It is true that occasionally a prominent politician or industrialist can be heard on air putting forward a degree in Ancient History as the ultimate example of a useless education, as compared to Civil Engineering or Business Administration; but it is clear that potential students are not much impressed by such harangues, and that democratic governments will continue, rightly, to be hesitant about directing young people into “economically useful” courses, as opposed to offering incentives to those economically minded enough to be diverted.
All the same, the twentieth century has to be seen as a period of the major retreat of ancient history from the shared knowledge of educated people. A century ago, Greek myths, the New Testament and the Roman poets formed a stock of information and text to which literature, political speech and even everyday conversation could confidently refer. Such allusions may still be used today, but they need explanation, if not apology; at the same time, any knowledge of Greek and Latin has become a rarity, valued perhaps in some quarters, but in no sense part of the basic education expected by society. So, the student today comes to university without the skills and knowledge that might once have been automatically available to him or her. University courses have of course been adjusting to these new expectations throughout the second half of the twentieth century, and with great success; but where these adjustments will eventually lead the subject is not yet so clear.
World History
