Pondering dissertation ideas recently has given me a newfound passion for Latin teaching. Latin GCSE would come in so handy with all those early sixteenth-century manuscripts! This hyperspecific, obnoxiously first-world plight, however, is not why I was saddened to see the revocation of funding for GCSE Latin in state schools in England. In fact, it isn’t even Latin specifically that matters.

I attended a comprehensive state school in Glasgow where, as in countless state schools across the country, owing to the socio-economic circumstances of many of the pupils, there is an emphasis on pursuing ‘practical’ subjects which lead directly to secure, lucrative careers. Obviously, the training of more doctors, lawyers, and engineers is a great thing. But what state school pupils risk missing out on, and what Latin embodies, is learning for learning’s sake, and the ability to pursue one’s passions and interests without consideration of their practical applicability. The arts and humanities must not repel state school pupils anxious about their lack of cultural education, nor remain the preserve of the privileged.

“For those schooled in how to deploy it, cultural knowledge is a tool to dazzle”

It follows that in English, for example, my school typically opted to teach the most basic texts. Given its circumstances, this was completely pragmatic, but it was also a representation of the avoidance of the arts that Latin teaching juxtaposes. I got the highest grade in Scotland in Advanced Higher English, which I completed a year early, but ruled out studying the subject at university almost by default, because I felt I hadn’t read enough. Sure, I read widely in my free time, but no level of self-motivation can substitute classroom teaching. We can’t expect state-educated students drawn to classics, for example, to teach themselves Latin and Ancient Greek. While the four-year Classics tripos is a welcome remedy to this, I can imagine that for a lot of my schoolmates, an extra year of fees for a degree already deemed impractical would be a non-starter. Going above and beyond cannot be the benchmark.

Perhaps my writing of this article is hypocritical. After all, not studying Latin and attending a state school with an emphasis on ‘practical’ subjects didn’t stop me from getting into Cambridge to study a humanities degree. But, as with all questions of university access, it is imperative to remember that the disparities don’t disappear when a student is accepted by a good university. I grew up in a middle-class family where books were always readily available and my intellectual curiosity was nurtured by my parents’ willingness to devote time and money to enabling me to pursue my interests. But even so, upon reaching Cambridge I felt hopelessly out of my depth, not so much academically as culturally.

“It represented learning simply for the joy of it, which should be a right rather than a luxury”

Despite my long-standing love of creative writing, literary societies in which I felt certain that everyone else would be able to recite Shakespeare’s First Folio remained spaces I avoided for far too long. Conversations about books quickly turned from sources of enthusiasm to ones of insecurity when I realised that I had been correct about the relative sparseness of my school’s English curriculum. And I had always thought of myself as well read! Among some of my peers, flippant cultural references to paintings viewed in European art galleries or French existentialism came to take on a patronising, instructive tone owing to the assumption of their superior enlightenment.

Reeling from assertions that my woes would be resolved if I could only understand Sartrian radical freedom, I realised that for those schooled in how to deploy it, cultural knowledge is a tool to dazzle, to deflect from areas of weakness, and even to assert academic and social dominance.

I wish it wasn’t this way, but owing to the embeddedness of this utilisation of culture within Cambridge, and given the fact that many people here will one day ascend to some of the highest offices within British society, I fear that it won’t be changing any time soon. What we can do, though, is help to put state school pupils on an equal footing through initiatives such as Latin teaching.

Studying Latin at school wouldn’t have solved everything for me, but it could have strengthened my belief in my own intelligence, helping to provide the confidence and breadth of knowledge that I believe are the most essential features setting privately educated students apart.

One of the most beneficial things I did at school was a debating club. We may not have competed in national competitions like some of my peers at university, but speaking boldly on a range of issues beyond the curriculum was enormously beneficial in preparing me for Cambridge. It represented learning simply for the joy of it, which should be a right rather than a luxury. After all, scientia potentia est.

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