With Christopher Nolan’s cinematic adaptation of The Odyssey dominating global headlines, Homer’s ancient epic has returned to the center of public life.
Ulysses and Argus, painted by Briton Riviere, 1885. Public Domain.
Audiences have been captivated by Tom Holland’s portrayal of Telemachus, and the heartbreaking loyalty of Argos—the faithful hound who waits twenty years for his master to return.
The viral moment when the actor met his namesake, historian Tom Holland, on The Rest is History podcast, has also garnered attention.
This sudden groundswell of public affection for classical literature carries a distinctly Renaissance tone.
Just as sixteenth-century scholars rediscovered ancient texts to ignite a cultural rebirth, today’s revival prompts us to reflect on what it means to pick up ideas from the classical world once again.
At Soulton Hall, where ancient design principles are built directly into the house, this cultural shift feels less like a modern trend and more like a continuation of an ongoing conversation: long before cinema brought these myths to life, thinkers in early modern England turned to texts like The Odyssey for a much more dangerous reason.
To Tudor scholars and the designers of Soulton Hall, classical stories were not merely entertainment; they were a vital political cipher.
In Tudor England, open political debate carried mortal peril.
Direct commentary on monarchical power, corrupt courtiers, or royal succession could result in imprisonment or execution. Intellectuals required a legitimate, coded language to examine real-world issues safely. Classical antiquity provided that shield. By using the framework of classical poetry, scholars could examine dangerous themes under the guise of literary commentary. Analyzing the lawless behaviorin these texts allowed writers to discuss royal overreach without naming living monarchs. Examining the greedy suitors overrunning the hall in Ithaca provided a safe channel to debate factionalism in the royal court.
The return of the rightful king served as an accepted model to discuss political stability and legitimate leadership.
This brings us to the ancient Greek concept of nostos—the long, perilous journey through exile toward homecoming and the restoration of justice—which is the driving engine of The Odyssey.
It is also the central theme of William Shakespeare’s As You Like It.
This connection is no coincidence.
The real-world anchor of As You Like It is buried deep in the Shropshire soil. Built by the Renaissance polymath Sir Rowland Hill as a haven during an age of intense intolerance, Soulton was designed as a place of sanctuary.
Shakespeare directly honored him in the play through the character of “Old Sir Rowland,” the deceased patriarch whose noble legacy guides the exiled heroes.
Just as Odysseus must endure displacement before reclaiming his home, the exiles in As You Like It retreat into the Forest of Arden. The forest becomes a physical embodiment of nostos—a place where people use disguise, poetry, and classical references to survive tyranny and ultimately rebuild a just society.
Alongside nostos, the ancient duty of xenia, or sacred hospitality, shapes both stories.
In The Odyssey, how a host receives a stranger reveals their moral character.
In As You Like It, the exiled Duke Senior offers shelter and food in the forest to the starving Orlando, declaring that true nobility is defined by generosity to those in need.
In sixteenth-century England, hospitality was a core socio-political duty.
Soulton Hall was constructed as a sanctuary for gathering, performance, and open debate, upholding this ancient obligation to offer safe harbor to travelers and challenging ideas alike.
In an age where plain speaking could cost a person their head, classical stories offered a legitimate language to debate the structure of the world.
Picking up these ancient tools once again allows us to look beyond surface entertainment and reconnect with a deep tradition of intellectual courage.
Whether watching Telemachus and Argos on screen, reading Shakespeare’s pastoral comedy, we participate in a continuous movement.
From Homer’s Mediterranean to Tudor England and into our own time, classical ideas continue to offer a sanctuary for thought, survival, and homecoming—one that remains permanently etched into the stones of Soulton Hall.
