King and Consuls

         The passage in Book 6 of the Aeneid where Anchises presents the souls of future Roman kings and consuls (6.809-19) is a reprise and expansion of the initial lines of the Aeneid (1.1-12), thereby connecting Aeneas' foundation with the latter one. The character of Aeneas is distributed among his descendants.

        The base level of comparison is repetition of words used in the opening of the poem, although differing in case and number. Romulus, the first king of Rome (pace Titus Tatius), is excluded from this list because he is mentioned at the end of the Alban line, rather than at the beginning of the Roman. This omission also releases a spot for Brutus, the first consul. The first king, therefore, who is mentioned, is Numa Pompilius. Anchises introduces Numa as the Roman king "primam qui legibus urbem / fundabit," "he who will provide the early city with laws" or "he who will first provide the city with laws." The first two words occur after the caesura, similar to the "qui primus" of the first line of the poem (1.1), but in inverse order. The clause in Book 1 refers to Numa, an immigrant like Aeneas, establishing the rites of the new city. Numa, similar to Aeneas, exists in the dawn of urban history and therefore is "missus in imperium magnum" "sent toward great empire" (6.813) rather than as a witness to that imperial glory. Numa's successor, Tullus Hostilius, provides the martial valor which the aged ("incana menta",grey beard hairs", 6.809) Numa lacks. This absence is reflected in the word "in arma viros" "men to arms" (6.814), which remind the audience of the first words of the poem "arma virumque" "arms and a man" (1.1).  The next king mentioned, Ancus Martius, is "jactantior" "boastful," a comparative - and active - form related to the passive "jactatus" "tossed" of the opening (1.3). This also serves as the moral descent of the kings, since Ancus takes too great a pleasure in "popularibus auris" (?.?), "the ears of the people>" 

        The Tarquins pere et fils are connected to the initial verses by "vis ... superbam" (6.817), which echoes "vi superum" (1.4) in the fourth line. Both words are not directly connected but "vis" is from "volo," the verb of wishing and wanting, while "superbam" is from an adjective meaning "proud" or "arrogant" depending on context. "Vi" is from the word for "force," while "superum" is a word for the gods above. Tarquinius Superbus, were he real, no doubt used the positive meaning of his epithet; he certainly believed his word was law. What one wants and what is just are the same thing! Tarquinius Superbus' downfall came when he violated the laws of the gods by assaulting his cousin's wife as a form of force, and by "vi superum," "the force of the divine," he lost his kingdom. The "animam superbam," "proud spirit" (6.817) belongs to Brutus rather than Superbus, but the audience does not know this until the enjambment, and the negative interpretation suits Superbus. The "animam superbam" of Brutus is that of positive aspect, but Brutus adopts the authority and the emblems thereof of the deposed kings and therefore warrants inclusion on the list of leaders. Brutus, as the first consul, receives his own "primus" (6.819) to echos the first line; his passage also includes a description of the fasces as "saevas securis" "savage axes" (6.819), which serves to connect him with the "saevam iram" of Juno rather than Aeneas, perhaps an odd choice for one who overthrew the previous ruler for daring to trespass the boundary of divine law. The rebellion ("nova bella," 6.820) of Brutus' sons reminds the attentive of "bello passus," "suffering in war" (1.5), but Brutus displays loyalty to gods and country by executing his own blood. The summary of this list of kings and consuls states that "vincet amor patriae laudumque immensa cupido," "love of fatherland and the great desire for praise will conquer" (6.823). Although neither "amor" nor "cupido" are words in the opening lines, they are both names for Venus' godly son, in a context where Venus is not mentioned because only Romulus, here excluded, is of her line.

        It may be going too far to suggest the Aeneas' personality is a conglomeration of the equally mythical kings of Rome, but there are striking parallels. Aeneas, like Numa, brings the gods who bring prosperity to a city which lacks them. Aeneas, like Tullus, will lead his weary travelers into battle. Aeneas, like Ancus, must beware the sway of popular opinion despite his constant doubt and deliberation. Aeneas, like the Tarquins, must resist the temptation to think himself above the gods. Aeneas, like Brutus, must place state above family and familiar affection.

        The passage of Book 6 in which the Roman leaders are presented is a callback to the very first lines of the epic in exact words, related words, and in theme. The first lines of an epic are its thesis statement; the use of same or similar words in reference to other individuals universalizes the principles, The use of same or similar themes shows that these principles are displayed under diverse circumstances, no matter which mythical era, is inspirational to the real Romans and the real ruler of the Imperium.

The Gilded Lily and the Golden As

[Note: Yes, I am using man meaning male; yes, it is a deliberate choice given the assumed audience.]

The Roman empire was built on military might and sound infrastructure, but monetary policy was not an area in which the Romans excelled (they probably farmed it out to the Greeks).. The Emperors had no budget - even if your idea of acquiring money is to take it at sword point from peasants, it is useful to know how much you can extract this year without having your sources dry up the next. The Empire did not understand this. When the Emperors needed more money, they made more money. The result was what one would expect from a basic knowledge of economic theory: inflation. When the Emperors discovered that make more money had not made them richer, and after they had failed to learn this lesson multiple times, they debased the currency: they used their dwindling supplies of the metals from which the coins had been wholly made in earlier eras and substituted a cheaper metal for the interior while coating the outside with the more precious metal. These later coins, although they looked the same, were not the same: gilded is not the same as golden, brazen not the same as bronze.

We use the word currency not only in reference to money, but to the qualities of men as well. An unearned award is like the gilding over the lead inside; rather than reflecting the accomplishments of the man who wears it, it deceives the world and misleads the public to believe that there is something of value where there is mostly dross. But coins and individuals do not exist in isolation. Once there are gilded coins mixed in with the golden ones, shrewd individuals will soon suspect that even the golden ones might be gilded. Once that suspicion has found fertile soil in the minds of men, the value of all the coins are reduced in the markets. It is likewise with virtue or character: it is hard won, but easily lost. The corruption of the individual, though it may often be invisible from the outside or to the unpracticed eye, once known, raises suspicions that other individuals who are in fact golden may be in truth gilded. And while in some cases this may be true, it is a human weakness to generalize from the worst to the entire group.

Thus a group which openly proclaims that its awards reflect moral values and are testaments of character must be vigilant against the debasement of its highest awards. It is far easier for the value of a coin or a medallion to be tarnished than for it to recover its former value. The latter may not be possible; then something which was bright and glorious has become sordid and stained, and the sublime reduced to the profane.

Gender Matters

All too often, English-speaking students of European languages detest the "gender" (really noun class) systems of the language, and in seeking to dismiss that which they neither understand nor love, declare the system irrelevant. A system of noun classes, whether composed of three or fifteen sections, may be confusing to second-language learners, but the distinct features of a language are never irrelevant to its native speakers. Pope Benedict XVI's recent announcement about the use of condoms illustrates this point. The original book was written in German, the native tongue of the Pontiff, but translated into Italian. In the German, the word used to indicate rentboys and their ilk is "der Prostituierte", a masculine noun, but in Italian, "la prostituta", a femina noun. The use of the masculine noun in German led some to assume the Pope was referring solely to the members of the Theban Legion, while the Italian use suggests it applies to women alone (since Italian, true to its sensual nature has specific words for male companions). Although a quick glance at LEO reveals that the German masculine noun may encompass both genders, much to the dismay of the feminists and Riistoj, this error in understanding shows the distinctions which noun classes provide to their tongues.

(For those of you who must know, the Pope said his comments applied equally to the sexes, and condom use is merely a lesser evil than sentencing a fellow human being to a slow death through your own carelessness).

Easter Adjustment: Perhaps This Is the 2012 Big Change

This year and next, the Western and the Eastern Churches celebrate Easter on the same weekend rather than one or two weeks apart. Although one of the advantages from my (admittedly selfishly aesthetic) perspective of the Easter schedule differential is the ability to fulfill my obligations and also attend an Orthodox service (even an ordinary Orthodox service is worth experiencing once), this calendrical concordance presents an opportunity to harmonize the Easter dates. Such an action has precedent; there were far more than two dates for Easter in the ancient Christian world, just as there were multiple dates for Passover within the Roman Imperium. The discordant dates (thankfully now reduced to two) appeared again when Pope Gregory consulted his astronomers and found that the Western Calendar had slipped 11 days; so he decided that the year would lack 11 days (calendrical and orthographical reform are two of the few benefits of autocracy). The change was not adopted all at once; the Catholic countries adopted it, but the Protestants were not about to change their calendars at the word of someone whom they deemed the Anti-Christ. The Protestant businessmen, who had Catholic contacts, eventually prevailed upon their respective governments to adopt the Gregorian reform. The difference in calendars had become entrenched by the time the Russian government decided to change, but by the end of the twentieth century, the only area in which the Easter date remained different was the Orthodox calendar.

It would be a great show of Christian unity if the Easter calendar could be made to harmonize. It is not dependent on a point of theology (then, neither, is the celibacy of Catholic priests), so the many disputes are moot. The past half-century has seen much smoothing over of previously prickly arguments. Next year is also a "shared" year, so the time is short for harmonization.

Who would lead in this adjustment of the calculation of Easter? Ideally, it would be a conference between Protestant leaders, the Pope, and the Eastern Metropolitans, but the recent outbreak of priestly child abuse has the Pope and the arthritic national churches of Europe distracted. If anyone is going to lead this drive, it should be the Metropolitans and the Protestants, but the final decision needs to be agreed upon by all the denominations.

Sic Semper Tyrannis (No, I Don’t Know How To Say It In Korean)

I have been following with the interest the events of the tense succession crisis in North Korea. Kim Jong Il, “the Dear Leader”, has appointed his younger son, Kim Jong Un, as “the Brilliant Comrade”, passing over the elder son, whose name I do not recall seeing. I do know, however, that there is speculation that the elder son was passed over for the dubious honor of leadership of North Korea because he attempted to enter Japanese Disneyland with a fake passport. Such disgraceful behavior is reminiscent of the Athenian suitor for the daughter of the tyrant in Corinth, who drunkenly danced away his chance at her hand and then brazenly claimed he had no regrets. Kim Jong Un’s title as “Comrade”, rather than “Leader”, does not have a precedent in the previous transfer of power; in that case, the government announced the change without any previous suggestion of the ailing health or recent demise of “the Great Leader”. The elevation of “Comrade” to the meaning of “Crown Prince” (the final blow to a title founded in radical egalitarianism) suggests that the Dear Leader is still alive, but incapacitated. How much true power the Brilliant Comrade will wield if and when he becomes the Brilliant Leader is a vexing question, in light of the nuclear tests and the characteristics of the third generations of Kim tyrants. I should pause to explain that my Classical training has taught me to use “tyrant” as a technical political term (rather than a near generic term of political abuse), which indicates a “bad” monarchy, one which has no cultural or historical legitimacy in the country in which it establishes itself. In general, the Greek tyrannies began with an ambitious man who rallied his countrymen under the banner of improving their condition, who overthrew the current government, and who (if fortunate enough to avoid assassination) passed his rule onto his son. Most Greek tyrannies collapsed in the second generation; those which survived did so because they had transformed into pseudo-monarchies. These states remained pseudo-monarchies because they lacked the clear line of succession which (most) monarchies possessed. The third generation was the last for the tyrannical dynasties. Even the Syracusan tyranny, which approached most closely the ideal of monarchy, fell in the third generation, only to be re-established about a century later, and those latter tyrants claimed a descent from the former in imitation of monarchy.


The presence of two brothers in the rising generation is not reassuring. Even in monarchies which had a clear succession, there was often much tension between the Crown Prince and his younger brothers, such as the sons of William the Conqueror, or the Emperor Vespasian; in monarchies which lacked this tradition, such as the Ottoman Empire and the empire of the Mongol Horde, fratricide was a common occurance. A few occurances of happy balance have existed, such as the harmony between Emperor Charles V and his brother, but for the most part history and legend record conflicts such as that of Romulus and Remus, Caracalla and Geta, and the sons of Solomon, allegedly the “wisest” king of all history. Even if the brothers themselves do not seek to quarrel, the internal parties of the state (and they always exist) now have the opportunity to support their own candidate and undermine that of their rival, whereas a lone son can be a puppet in equal measure, but does not provide the same opportunity.


In this age, inimical to the establishment of new pseudo-monarchies and not exactly friendly to the existing established monarchies, I would not expect that the Kim tyranny will survive a third generation. How much the eventual collapse will damage the world, given North Korea’s posturing, remains to be seen.

Great Caesar's Ghost

In honor of Caesar's demise, I have decided to blog on the chthonic spirits of the Roman people. Ghosts and ancestors are universal and particular; no culture lacks tales of the dead and undeed, and yet each culture provides its own perspective. In the Romans' case, the line between ancestors and divinities was ambiguous. The 'lares', of which so many who have studied Rome have heard, were domestic guardian spirits (a word, incidentally, which encapsulates perfectly the aforementioned ambiguity). The 'manes' were the ancestors of the household paterfamilias.

The spirits of which I wish to write, however, are the less benign variety. As is common in Roman religion, these malicious forces were mentioned in the plural. Today most would associate the word 'lemur' with wide-eyed Malagasy mammals, but the (white) naturalist who discovered them named these strange and fascinating animals 'lemurs' after 'lemures', the spirits whom the Romans propitiated during the holy days of the Parentalia (in Latin, 'parentes' means 'relative' rather than 'mother and/or father'). The innate cuteness of the mammal has dissipated much of the dread and deathliness the Roman would attach to the name, but the other designation of the Parentalia threats retains a visceral and mortiferous response for the English-speaker: 'larvae'.

In short, there is no single word for 'ghost' in Latin, and yet referring to 'a ghost' in the singular is contrary to Roman usage. If Caesar wishes to haunt the classicists of today, he will have choose a companion!