The Aeneid was written in a time that would feel familiar to all of us: political strife, civil unrest and decades long military campaigns that never quite seem to end. Towards the end of the 1st century BCE, after at least 50 years of continuous conflict within and beyond the Roman borders, Augustus, Julius Caesar’s heir, emerged victorious from the Battle of Actium, defeating Mark Antony and marking a turning point in history. Augustus declares himself the princeps civitatis of Rome, a term that literally means “first citizen” but actually means “emperor”, and so falls the Roman Republic to the dawn of the Roman Empire.

However, it is not such an easy thing to move on from centuries of civil war and unrest, assassinations, and a long-held belief that peace is not the absence of war, but the absence of an enemy still willing to fight. How then does Augustus maintain his foothold? Propaganda, naturally.

This period is hailed as the Pax Romana, a term that literally means “Roman Peace” but actually means, “you’re welcome”. Truthfully, the topic is more nuanced than that, but propaganda-wise, it’s a simple and familiar concept to many of us: by promoting the idea that the current leader is the reason for your fortune, you now have faith in that leader. Seneca the Younger first uses the term to note that without the emperor, chaos would ensue. Pliny the Elder even went so far as to say that peace and fortune were maintained by the grace of the Romans, which in turn benefits the entire world. Such was the power of the Roman propaganda.

Painting by Federico Barocci.  Aeneas flees a burning Troy with his Father, wife, son, and household gods.

A testament to that power is the work of Vergil, written at the instruction of Augustus to motivate the Roman people into trusting and respecting the empire/himself: the Aeneid. The Aeneid begins where the Iliad ended, with Trojan Aeneas fleeing a burning Troy with his father, his son, and his household gods—everything a good Roman needs. His wife follows behind, but she gets lost in the chaos and is never heard from again. So begins the epic quest of Aeneas to found Rome, muddled with a myriad of misfortune and mischief at the hands of gods, monsters, foe and even a lover. The epic is meant to inspire Roman pride with a hero’s journey through strife and out the other side to victory, a sense of hope and Roman destiny. Needless to say, it was meant to be a very relatable story, and it likely succeeded. How inspiring it was to the general public, its intended audience, is hard to say, given its ominous ending, but perhaps that was never Vergil’s intention.

20thcentury scholars have speculated that, despite the initial commission of propaganda, the Aeneid is not so much a pro-Augustan piece as it is a reflection of the dark side of politics and imperialism and their cost on human life. Relatable, isn’t it? Particularly to the scholars of the Vietnam War era, the emotional turmoil expressed by the characters seems to suggest that Vergil may have had his doubts about the cost of establishing an empire, and perhaps the ominous undertones were his way of expressing that. It makes sense that, in the Vietnam War era, these are the interpretations that gathered the most support, and in modern times, I wouldn’t be surprised if many of us fall under the same sentiment as these scholars or maybe even Vergil himself.

Still, it is important not to lose the forest for the trees here. The debate of whether or not the Aeneid is propaganda for or rebellion against the Augustan political program is on-going, and some of the anti-Augustus interpretations can reduce the Aeneid’s influence in ideology. After all, there are scenes that reinforce Augustus’ destiny as emperor and lineage from the founders of Rome. His lead character is referred to “pious Aeneas” after all, although that may take an ironic tone over the course of the story.

Piety in Roman times does not have the heavily religious connotation it does today. Here, piety, from the Latin pietas, can mean loyalty, duty or devotion. Vergil’s choice of defining characteristic for his hero is unlikely to be without some duality. Aeneas spends his journey dutifully following the trail set out before him by the gods, even when it is actually immoral to do so. I think of Dido especially, the queen of Carthage that ends up throwing herself onto Aeneas’ sword out of despair. Dido begins the story as a strong leader that Aeneas himself admires, but she ends it manipulated by the gods into a tragic love story, one in which Aeneas could never play a part because his own story continued elsewhere in the founding of Rome. Dido’s tragic death in the Aeneid is a notable divergence from the honor of Aeneas’ character, and it highlights some pessimism towards the lengths to which his pietas can go. The Aeneid ends with pious Aeneas striking his surrendered enemy down in fury, and this is the final scene we have of our noble hero.

“At the end of the Aeneid, Rome is sure; but we do not know that Dido would have liked the new Aeneas as much as the old.” (Jackson Knight, Roman Vergil, p. 142.)

The Aeneid was written at a time of political turmoil and civil unrest, meant to inspire Roman pride and faith in the empire. It succeeded, as most propaganda does when it’s crafted by someone like Vergil, but not without reality. Within the pro-Roman narrative of destiny, there is an undertone of pessimism and caution directed towards such unwavering loyalty—pietas, even——to the empire that I don’t think Vergil was able to fully keep from his writing or from his thoughts, something to which I think many of us can relate. Small acts of independent thought and morality, even if they are only speculation in the Aeneid’s case, can be something of a lifeline in times like these.

 

 

Further Reading:

Knight, W. F. Jackson. (1945). Roman Vergil. London: Faber and Faber limited.

Parchami, A. (2009). Hegemonic peace and empire: The Pax Romana, Britannica and Americana. 10.4324/9780203879290.

Martindale, C. (1992). Redeeming the Text: Latin Poetry and the Hermeneutics of Reception, Cambridge University Press.

Momigliano, A. (1942). The Peace of the Ara Pacis. Journal of the Warburg and Courtauld Institutes, 5, 228-231. doi:10.2307/750454