Meta Description: Join Dr. Jeff Winkle and Dr. David Noe in Ad Navseam Episode 120 as they conclude Vergil’s Aeneid, explore decades of scholarly interpretation, and share resources to master the Latin language.
Introduction: Soup Cans and the Archie Bunker
Welcome back, classical gourmands, to Episode 120 of the Ad Navseam Podcast! Broadcasting directly from Vomitorium South, your hosts, Dr. David Noe and Dr. Jeff Winkle, return to the microphones for a monumental discussion of Greco-Roman civilization.
The episode opens with the hosts marveling at their hermetically sealed recording studio. Dave jokes that they have lined the walls of the bunker with cans of Campbell’s soup and instant water, preparing for a literary fallout. Jeff compares their setup to Superman’s icy Fortress of Solitude, complete with a 1978 video screen where a holographic Jor-El can deliver advice from beyond the grave. Dave quickly points out that an ice fortress is a terrible real estate investment due to the constant melting. Realizing the absurdity of the conversation, Dave brilliantly quips that their studio might just be the “Archie Bunker,” prompting groans and laughter.
This episode marks a massive milestone: the thirtieth episode dedicated entirely to Vergil’s Aeneid. Jeff notes that these episodes now comprise a full quarter of their entire podcast catalog. Despite finally reaching the epic’s conclusion, Dave remains highly skeptical that this will be their final foray into the text, noting there is simply too much interpretive ink left to spill.
The Iliad, The Aeneid, and Abrupt Endings
The primary academic focus of Episode 120 tackles the explosive, deeply controversial finale of Aeneid Book 12. To frame the discussion, Jeff reads from Carl Springer’s 1987 Classical Journal article, The Last Line of the Aeneid.
Springer argues that readers frequently exaggerate the uniqueness of the Aeneid‘s notoriously abrupt, dark conclusion. Springer points out that Homer’s Iliad—Vergil’s primary literary model—also ends incredibly abruptly. Despite being an epic entirely about the wrath of Achilles, Homer completely ignores his protagonist in the final lines, concluding the poem with the burial of Hector and leaving the audience wondering what Achilles will do next.
Dave strongly agrees with Springer’s assessment, arguing that avoiding tidy, happily-ever-after epilogues elevates the narrative to high art. He humorously contrasts this with the early 2000s cinematic adaptation of The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King, which notoriously featured six or seven distinct epilogues just to ensure every single character’s storyline was perfectly resolved. To prove the superiority of Vergil’s abrupt ending, Dave reads from Livy and Ovid, who attempted to fill in the blanks of Aeneas’s later life. These later traditions claim Aeneas founded Lavinium, dealt with the suicide of Dido’s visiting sister, and was eventually scrubbed of his mortality by a river god to become the minor deity Jupiter Indiges. The hosts agree this post-epic lore is pedestrian and adds absolutely nothing of value to Vergil’s masterpiece.
Pickup Basketball and the Rage of Aeneas
Returning to the Latin text, the hosts dissect the terrifying tonal shift in Aeneas’s character. Early in Book 12, Aeneas operates as a civilized, law-abiding leader. He tenderly kisses his son, Ascanius, through his helmet—a beautiful callback to Hector and Astyanax at the Scaean Gates in Iliad 6.
However, this civilized demeanor is violently shattered when the Rutulian warrior Messapus treacherously hurls a spear, shearing the crest clean off Aeneas’s helmet. Jeff compares this cheap shot to receiving a nasty, intentional elbow to the ribs during a game of pickup basketball. Just as a dirty foul can instantly transform a calm player into a raging menace, this broken treaty completely unhinges Aeneas. Vergil notes that Aeneas throws off all the reins of his anger (effundit omnes habenas), plunging into the combat to indiscriminately slaughter his foes.
Aeneas pushes his assault directly to the Latin capital. Dave notes that Aeneas’s threat to level the city and lay its smoking roofs to the ground likely contains a chilling historical allusion. During the Roman civil wars, Octavian (the future Augustus) mercilessly leveled the rebel city of Perugia before rebuilding it in his own name, a brutal historical parallel to Aeneas’s rage.
Watching the city burn and falsely assuming Turnus is dead, Queen Amata fashions a noose and hangs herself. Dave admits he struggles to find Amata sympathetic, comparing her sudden, underdeveloped demise to Eurydice’s suicide in Sophocles’s Antigone. He acknowledges this might simply be a failure of his own literary imagination, recalling how his eighth-grade self completely failed to grasp the emotional depth of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.
The Final Duel and the Baldric of Pallas
The epic finally culminates in the ultimate showdown between Aeneas and Turnus. Wounded in the thigh, Turnus sinks to the ground and begs for his life. In a deeply cinematic, silent moment, Aeneas pauses, his hand resting heavily on his sword hilt. Turnus’s humble words are actually winning the Trojan hero over.
Suddenly, Aeneas’s eyes lock onto the glinting metal baldric (belt) strapped to Turnus’s shoulder. It is the stolen armor of Pallas, the young prince Turnus arrogantly slaughtered in Book 10. Aeneas remembers the profound instruction his father, Anchises, gave him in the underworld: “Spare the downtrodden and crush the proud” (debellare superbos). Aeneas must instantly decide if the bleeding man before him is a downtrodden victim to be spared, or a haughty, arrogant killer to be crushed.
Seething with terrible wrath, Aeneas declares that it is Pallas who demands the sacrifice. He buries his sword deep into Turnus’s chest. The epic ends with a single, haunting line: Vitaque cum gemitu fugit indignata sub umbras (“and with a groan, his indignant soul fled down to the shades”). Dave points out that this violent, decidedly un-Christian conclusion forces the audience to grapple with the terrifying cost of empire and the heavy toll of civilizational order.
Decades of Spilled Ink
To demonstrate the vast, shifting landscape of Vergilian scholarship, Dave provides a chronological survey of how modern critics have interpreted this dark finale.
- C.M. Bowra (1945) & C.J. Ellingham (1947): Writing immediately following the devastation of World War II, these scholars viewed the Aeneid with profound optimism. Ellingham boldly claimed the poem’s ultimate message was the deliverance of the world from war.
- R.A. Brooks (1953): Just a few years later, Brooks offered a radically different, pessimistic take, arguing that Aeneas’s personal justification is never found, making “failure” the epic’s central thread.
- C.S. Lewis (1954): In his preface to Milton’s Paradise Lost, Lewis argued that Vergil perfectly symbolized the destiny of man, suggesting that after the Aeneid, the only development left for the epic genre was explicitly religious poetry.
- Adam Parry (1963): Parry famously proposed the “Two Voices” theory, arguing the epic simultaneously projects a public voice of Roman triumph and a private, pervasive voice of tragic regret.
- M.C.J. Putnam (1965): Reflecting the rising environmental and anti-war movements sparked by works like Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring, Putnam argued that Aeneas violently destroys the beautiful pastoral order of Italy, equating the progress of empire strictly with madness and vengeance.
Vergil’s Afterlife and Milton’s Hexameters
The episode concludes by examining Vergil’s monumental Nachtleben (afterlife). Quoting the scholar Gian Biagio Conte, the hosts note that Vergil’s afterlife is essentially Western literature itself.
By 25 BC, a few years before his death, Vergil’s texts were already being utilized in Roman schools. St. Jerome famously memorized the entire epic. During the Middle Ages, the Cumaean Sibyl was elevated to the status of an Old Testament prophet—famously painted by Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel with intimidatingly large biceps—due to the belief that Vergil’s Fourth Eclogue predicted the birth of Christ. There is even a pious legend claiming the Apostle Paul wept at Vergil’s tomb in Naples, heartbroken that he was born too late to convert the brilliant poet.
Dave fondly recalls his own introduction to the epic as an undergraduate, reading from the iconic, purple-colored Clyde Pharr edition of the Aeneid. To highlight Vergil’s unparalleled legacy, the hosts read the opening lines of John Milton’s Paradise Lost. While acknowledging Milton’s massive, single-sentence syntactical brilliance, Dave admits the English Puritan leaves him slightly cold, lacking the vibrant, engaging wit found in classical authors like Ovid.
Sponsors: Fueling the Classical Renaissance
Before sharing the parting shot, the hosts extend their immense gratitude to the generous sponsors keeping the bunker operational.
- Hackett Publishing: For 52 years, Hackett Publishing has provided high-quality, incredibly affordable translations to a mass audience. Build a phenomenal library at hackettpublishing.com and use the code AN2023 to receive a 20% discount and free shipping on your entire order.
- Ratio Coffee: If you are serious about your morning routine, upgrade to the heirloom-quality Ratio 8 or Ratio 6 coffee brewer. Built to last decades, these machines deliver a perfect pour-over every single time. Visit ratiocoffee.com and enter the promo code ANCO3F (the ‘F’ stands for Flavor) for a 15% discount.
- Latin Per Diem & The Moss Method: For listeners inspired to master the Latin language and ancient Greek, Dave offers the perfect educational solution. Visit mossmethod.com to go from neophyte to erudite in Greek, or explore latinperdiem.com to tackle Hans Ørberg’s Lingua Latina Per Se Illustrata, alongside thousands of free instructional YouTube videos.
The Gustatory Parting Shot
To officially close out Episode 120, Jeff delivers a hilarious Gustatory Parting Shot courtesy of the brilliant stand-up comedian, Brian Regan.
Reflecting on the sheer absurdity of modern nutritional guidelines, Regan offers this observation regarding a popular fruit-filled pastry:
“I’m reading the label to make sure everything’s fine… I look at the serving size. Two cookies. Who eats two cookies? I eat Fig Newtons by the sleeve. Two sleeves is a serving size. I open them both and eat them like a tree chipper, the Fig Newton shavings coming off the side.”
A special thanks goes out to Mishka the sound engineer for her consistently flawless editing. Music credits go to Scott Van Zen and Ken Tamplin who provide the additional, heavy-hitting guitar riffs that bookend the academic lectures. Check out the “Lurch with Merch” section on the website, beware of reading food labels, and keep taking in the classics. Valete!
