The recent release of Christopher Nolan’s latest epic, The Odyssey, has sparked debate in many quarters for its depiction of Odysseus’ efforts to get back home after the tribulations of the Trojan War. In this latest post, Dr Robin Eagles considers how Homer’s epic has featured in British political discourse.

Possibly the most famous moment in the mythical story of the fall of Troy is the tale of the wooden horse, devised by the wily Greek commander, Odysseus. After ten long years of conflict, the horse was left behind, apparently as a tribute to the goddess Athena, to ensure their safe return to their homes across the sea. It was all a ruse, of course, within the horse was hidden a strike team, who were poised to open the gates, once the unsuspecting Trojans dragged the horse inside the city.

The wooden horse has been depicted in many different guises and the phrase ‘Trojan Horse’ has, unsurprisingly, been employed on numerous occasions in Parliament to warn of unwanted consequences. The most recent use of the term was just a few days ago on 23 July 2026 in a debate in the House of Lords, with Baroness Fox of Buckley speaking in a debate on reducing the harm caused by gambling on the young, asking for reassurance:

that the Government will avoid policies that purport to protect the young but, in reality, are a puritan Trojan horse for a prohibition that unfairly demonises gambling per se? [Lords Hansard, 23 July 2026]

In March 1849 William Gladstone used the term (twice) during a debate on the bill for repealing the navigation acts, in answer to concerns voiced by the marquess of Granby to any changes being made to Britain’s navigation laws. Turning Granby’s warning on its head, Gladstone insisted that:

more than one moiety of the Trojan horse has already got within the citadel… and yet what has proceeded from its bowels has only tended to augment the rate of increase in the progress of your shipping… [Commons Hansard, 18 Mar. 1849]

Given the popularity of the Trojan Horse as a metaphor, it is perhaps surprising that wily Odysseus, its creator, has not become quite such a parliamentary fixture, though he does sneak into debate on occasion. His most recent appearance has been as recent as 22 April 2026, in a debate on the pensions schemes bill, referenced in a speech by the Liberal Democrat MP, Steve Darling, which also mentioned Odysseus’ most famous creation: the Trojan Horse. [Commons Hansard, 22 Apr. 2026] A debate on the fishing industry in November 2024 also found Odysseus referred to, this time by Labour MP Barry Gardiner, hoping that the minister would turn an ‘Odysseus-like ear to the siren voices urging him to allow greater quota’. [Commons Hansard, 28 Nov. 2024] But, overall, Odysseus seems not to have entered parliamentary canon quite in the way his wooden horse has done.

This seems to be true, too, of an earlier period of politics, when classical allusion was a stock element of any debate. A rare use of the wooden horse in popular caricature appears to have been John Doyle’s 1832 print, ‘The Great Stalking Horse’, showing Lord Grey’s Whig allies dragging the Trojan Horse of reform within the walls of the city, ignoring the warnings of the duke of Wellington, cast on this occasion as Laocoon, the ill-fated Trojan priest, whose prophesying about the folly of accepting the Greeks’ ‘gift’ was overlooked by the celebrating Trojans.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, this seems to be a fairly unique depiction of Wellington, victor of Waterloo, on the losing Trojan side. Far more often, he was associated with the triumphant Greeks, though it was not the mastermind Odysseus, but the hot-tempered Achilles, who was to be his alternative persona both in popular caricature and in public art. Indeed, in 1839 Doyle struck against Wellington again, this time sketching him as Achilles on the point of being felled by Paris (in the guise of Lord John Russell).

Most famously, in 1822 Sir Richard Westmacott erected a new statue in Hyde Park honouring Wellington’s military victories, made out of bronze sourced from captured French cannon. The design was based on a portion of a celebrated group in Rome, known as the Horse Tamers, but originally believed to have been sculpted in antiquity by the famous Greek artist, Phidias. For his tribute to Wellington, Westmacott disposed of the horse and limited himself to a central, heroic figure. The monument thus comprised a solitary naked warrior, armed with sword (lacking at the time the piece was unveiled) and shield. To fund the project, the sculpture was paid for by public subscription headed by society figures, like Countess Spencer. [Busco, 920]

As a statue to Wellington, it was somewhat puzzling. No one could be quite sure what it was supposed to depict, though it came in time to be redubbed Achilles, another of the heroes of the Trojan War, though, unlike Odysseus, one of those doomed never to return home. The nudity also caused a scandal, though in deference to the times, Westmacott added a fig leaf to cover the figure’s private parts.

Westmacott’s statue prompted unsurprising hilarity in the print caricatures of the times, with some showing society ladies both intrigued and appalled by the giant, nude figure, while another showed William Wilberforce, modestly covering up Achilles’ genitalia with his hat. Not everyone mocked it, and in serious art journals Westmacott’s achievement was praised, with one fellow artist, Benjamin Robert Haydon, coming to his colleague’s defence. [Busco, 921-3]

This was not to be Wellington’s sole identification with the hero of the Iliad (who of course also has a walk-on part in the Odyssey, missing from the recent film). In 1827, when he refused to join George Canning’s government, Wellington was satirized in print, sulking in his chamber, echoing Achilles’ refusal to join the battle against the Trojans, which was to result in the death of his companion, Patroclus. Elsewhere, Wellington was represented as Paddy O’Killus, reflecting on his Irish heritage.

Odysseus’ strange retreat from popularity within Westminster is also reflected in the paucity of parliamentarians bearing his name. Only one of note covered thus far exists, and that is using the Roman rather than Greek form of the name: Sir Ulysses Bagenal Burgh, MP for County Carlow and Queenborough. That said, there are none named Achilles, who is on this occasion defeated by Hector, of which there are two: Hector Philipps and Sir Hector Munro.

RDEE

Further Reading

Marie F. Busco ‘The ‘Achilles’ in Hyde Park’, The Burlington Magazine cxxx (1988)