Meta Description: Join Dr. Jeff Winkle and Dr. David Noe in Ad Navseam Episode 97 as they descend into the Underworld of Virgil’s Aeneid Book VI. Discover the eerie parallels between Hades and “Hotel California”, the prophetic Cave of the Sibyl, and the dark meaning behind the Golden Bough. Plus, resources for the Latin language, Tarantino-style Roman poetry, and gastronomic sirens.
Introduction: The Warm Smell of Colitas and the Underworld
Welcome back, classical gourmands, to Episode 97 of the Ad Navseam Podcast! Broadcasting directly from Vomitorium South (conveniently located in the basement of a generous publisher), your hosts, Dr. Jeff Winkle and Dr. David Noe, are ready to guide you through one of the most famous literary descents in Western history.
The episode kicks off with an eerie, ethereal musical intro that Jeff quickly identifies as the opening strains of the Eagles’ classic rock anthem, “Hotel California”. Jeff stumbles through the lyrics, attempting to recall the iconic lines about stabbing the beast with steely knives and the mysterious “warm smell of colitas” rising up through the air—a phrase that, to this day, neither the hosts nor likely Don Henley himself fully understands.
Why play 1970s pop-rock on a classical literature podcast? Because “Hotel California” serves as the perfect modern metaphor for the Roman underworld. Aeneas’ journey down into Hades (or Dis, as the Romans called it) operates on the exact same horrifying principle as the song: the door is open day and night, so you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.
The Second Half: Brooks Otis and the Philosophy of War
Before Aeneas physically descends into the underworld, the hosts take a crucial thematic detour to analyze the broader structure of the epic. Dave reads a fine excerpt from the legendary scholar Brooks Otis and his landmark 1960s study, Vergil, A Study in Civilized Poetry.
Otis observes that the second half of the Aeneid (Books VII through XII) is strikingly different from the first half. Vergil shifts his literary model from the wandering, psychological struggles of Homer’s Odyssey to the brutal, tangible warfare of the Iliad. Because Aeneas’ internal struggles have been entirely resolved and his pietas firmly established in the first six books, he becomes a rather static, unchanging figure in the latter half of the epic. Otis notes that this frequently causes modern readers to view the war in Latium as an anticlimax; we already know Aeneas is favored by fate, making the pathetic, doomed heroism of his enemies—like Turnus, Lausus, and Camilla—far more compelling.
Furthermore, Otis highlights a profound difference between the ancient poets: Vergil actively despises war. While Homer accepts the battlefield as the steady state of human existence where a hero demonstrates his arete (excellence), Vergil views war with deep aversion.
Jeff and Dave contrast this with a third approach: the poet Ovid. When Ovid writes battle scenes in his Metamorphoses, he instantly lapses into absurd parody, describing gruesome violence—like brains squeezing out of a nose like cottage cheese—with a cartoonish flair. Jeff likens Ovid’s style to the over-the-top, nihilistic violence of a Quentin Tarantino film like Reservoir Dogs, or the classic Looney Tunes gag where Elmer Fudd shoots Daffy Duck and his bill spins rapidly around his head. Vergil, however, demands a moral justification for violence, insisting that the ultimate purpose of his Trojan war is to secure the eternal peace of the Pax Augusta.
Arrival at Cumae: The Birdless Lake
Returning to the narrative of Book VI, the Trojan fleet finally arrives on the shores of Italy at Cumae, located just south of the Bay of Naples.
Jeff recounts his own visit to the archaeological site at Cumae alongside his friend, Young Kim. The geography perfectly matches the mythological entrance to hell. The area features a massive, keyhole-shaped cave system carved deep into the hillside, complete with an inner “holy of holies” chamber where the prophetic Sibyl sat. Nearby lies Lake Avernus, a body of water so bleak and choked with the sulfurous stink of volcanic vents that it earned the Greek etymological title a-ornos (the birdless lake), because no bird could fly over it without dropping dead.
Before consulting the Sibyl, Aeneas pauses to admire the massive doors of the local temple of Apollo. Vergil provides an elaborate ekphrasis describing the carvings on the doors, which tell the tragic story of the master craftsman Daedalus and his son Icarus. Why does Vergil insert this specific myth here? Dr. Noe seeks to find the connection. The myth of Daedalus is a dark mirror to Aeneas’ own journey. In the Greek myth, the son (Icarus) disobeys his father, attempts to fly like the gods, and dies a tragic death, leaving the father to grieve. In the Roman epic, the father (Anchises) dies, but the son (Aeneas) lives on specifically because he is strictly obedient to his father’s commands and embodies the ultimate Roman virtue of filial piety.
The Exorcist and the IKEA Oracle
Aeneas is quickly ushered out of the “gift shop” by a priestess named Deiphobe, who informs him that the gods demand immediate animal sacrifices—seven untouched bullocks and seven sheep.
Once the rituals are complete, they enter the immense caverns. In a highly cinematic sequence, the Sibyl is violently possessed by the god Apollo. Her face changes color, her hair stands up in a fiery storm, her chest heaves with feral madness, and her voice loses all human qualities. Jeff notes that the terrifying scene reads exactly like the demonic possession of the little girl in the legendary horror film, The Exorcist.
When the Sibyl finally speaks, her prophecies are surprisingly straightforward. Unlike the Delphic Oracle in Greece—which Jeff jokes is as confusing and ambiguous as a wordless IKEA furniture instruction manual—the Roman Sibyl provides clear directives. She warns Aeneas that while his sea wanderings are over, a brutal land war awaits him. The River Tiber will foam with blood, a new Achilles (Turnus) is waiting to fight him, and a foreign bride will once again be the root cause of the destruction. However, she offers a glimmer of hope: salvation will eventually come from a Greek city.
Plucking the Golden Bough
To visit his father’s shade, Aeneas must secure a specific ticket for the underworld’s tollbooth: a glowing, golden bough hidden deep in a dark grove.
The Sibyl explains that the bough is sacred to Proserpina (Persephone), the queen of the underworld. If Aeneas is truly called by fate, the bough will snap off easily in his hand; if he is not fated to take it, no amount of mortal strength or steel will be able to sever it. (This powerful mythological motif later inspired Sir James G. Frazer’s monumental 1890 comparative religion text, The Golden Bough, which heavily influenced modern thinkers like Joseph Campbell and Carl Jung).
Guided by a flock of doves sent by his mother, Venus, Aeneas locates the glittering branch. He reaches out and plucks it. But Vergil includes one highly controversial, deeply analyzed Latin word to describe the moment: cunctantem.
The bough hesitates or delays. Dr. Winkle argues that this slight resistance is a massive thematic key. He suggests it reveals Vergil’s underlying ambivalence toward the Augustan regime; yes, the Roman Empire is fated to rule the world, but the process is stained with reluctance, bloodshed, and moral compromise. Dr. Noe vehemently disagrees, arguing that such a revisionist reading projects modern, post-Enlightenment discomfort with state power onto an ancient poet who was fully on board with the Pax Augusta. They agree to table the debate until the bloody finale of Book XII.
Before Aeneas can descend, he must also locate and bury the unburied body of his lost trumpeter, Misenus. Misenus foolishly blew his conch shell over the ocean, challenging the sea god Triton (whom Jeff dismisses as the useless “Roman Aquaman” and a mere fountain decoration) to a musical duel. Triton immediately drowned the arrogant mortal. After properly executing the funeral rites, Aeneas finally stands before the gaping maw of the underworld, ready to descend.
Sponsors: Fueling the Classical Appetite
Before the hosts escape the vomitorium, they thank the sponsors keeping the podcast alive:
- Hackett Publishing: Celebrating their golden jubilee, Hackett provides the most affordable, high-quality classical translations on the market (and yes, they even supplied the translation of Euripides’ Bacchae that Kurt Cobain kept on his studio shelf!). Visit hackettpublishing.com and use the code AN2022 for 20% off your entire order and free shipping.
- Ratio Coffee: Skip the bad diner coffee and upgrade your kitchen with the Ratio 8 or Ratio 6. With a simple one-touch button, the machine perfectly executes the bloom, brew, and ready stages. Visit ratiocoffee.com and use the code ANCOV4 for 15% off.
- Latin Per Diem: Need help translating the Latin language? Go to latinperdiem.com/llpsi to sign up for Dr. Noe’s online courses and master the ancient tongue.
The Gustatory Parting Shot
To conclude Episode 97, Dave delivers a beautifully poetic Gustatory Parting Shot from Chris Fabry’s novel, The Promise of Jesse Woods.
“The cakes and pies and the casseroles beckoned like gastronomic sirens, and there was no one to lash me to the mast.”
Prepare your golden bough and keep your conch shell quiet. Next week, the boys take a break from the Aeneid to explore classical allusions in pop music. Valete!
