Aeneas The Hero?

          Aeneas, as the primary actor in the first book of Virgil's Aeneid, does not conform to the modern expectations of a hero, but he might also not conform to the expectations of a hero from earlier Greek poetry either. Virgil, writing at the time of Octavian, modeled The Aeneid after Homer's Iliad and Odyssey.¹ However, at such and advanced time in the history of Rome, it is doubtful that anything of the “original” tale survived, if there ever was, indeed, such a story from the Greek tradition. The Aeneid, instead of being an accurate retelling of some legend from time immemorial, is a motivated work of utter fiction that carried a political intention of an emperor and a poet, and as such, Aeneas is the hero that was hoped to bring the Roman Empire back to religion.² Aeneas is a refugee that brings an idealized view of his culture forward into the Rome Empire.

          In both Greek and modern heroic tales, the thing that marks the hero is that they are the primary agent that does, even though they have things that happen to them first, and along the way. Achilles goes to Troy with 50 ships, fights the Trojans, and calls out Hector in order to kill him; Hercules undertakes the twelve labors; Leonidas defends Thermopylae to his last. Likewise, in modern times we set up people, and, far more often, archetypes or professions as heroes based on their actions, real and fictionalized. Firefighters rush into burning buildings, doctors and EMTs save people, soldiers defend nations; specific people noted for their supererogatory actions serve as token examples of heroes, but always for what they do. In Book 1 Aeneas does next to nothing, but much happens to him.

The Fog Of The Mind

     On the blank canvas of imagination I sat myself down in a comfortable antique wicker chair next to a large metal and wooden trunk, relics of my own family's past. The chair, my great grandmother's, restored time and again; the trunk her mother used to cross the Great Plains, and then left to collect dust, forgotten in an attic for generations. Although the poor condition of the wood leaves it little more than a display piece, carefully opening the lid shows it to be filled with treasures unbounded. It holds memories. Here it is a place where, from time to time, new old books, musty with age, are sorted, arranged, and conscientiously stored for some future time. Here, in a place of quite reflection, a cabin of the mind, a cozy crackling fire, a warm drink, and tomes enough to occupy a lifetime surrounds. Here is a space for all things to live again.

Through the frosty window a low bank of fog made its long procession across the valley, consuming each tree, building, and feature of the landscape. It was the time of year when this kind of weather was not uncommon. The echoes of long-distant actions roll along in the bank making it harder to distinguish just how far off they were. As I watched the last of trees slipping from view, the distance of here now, and there then was pulled behind the icy blanket. The wicker and the wood take their place in history, living in the past only to be shown in the present.

     Turning to family album, I leafed through the pages of dead-eyed portraits, slices of time without the slightest bit of context. Here a sailor, his white-hat cocked to the side, there a babe in the arms of a mother. They have no names, only the slightest hint of lives that were once theirs. The family album, long ago divided in two—one book of sepia photographs, and one of ink and pencil—separated from one another. The fog had reached the door.

Culture: An Evolutionary Tale

          While the development of culture was essential to forming familial-like bonds that lead to the creation of state-level societies, adaptability of the ruling body was the single biggest determinant factor in the continuation of any ancient empire.

          Adaptability of societal structures has driven the progress of cultural evolution. From the harsh Paleolithic planes of Africa to the height of Roman civilization, the ability of a culture to adapt to both external and internal changes played a major role in its survivability. Unlike other social species, the human ruling class directs societies, at least in part. Out of self-interest and special levels of social intelligence found only in great apes, the leading individuals have guided the great cultures into cataclysmic battles for not only their own survival, but also the very culture they shape. Through the horrors of war, human societies found either survival in glorious victory, or they disappeared into the pages of antiquity.

          The duality of culture and warfare seem at odds, although they often walk the same path. Cultural views, like those of some religions, sometimes condemn violence and the dogs of war starve themselves without cultural backing and a leash. Still, the greatest pinnacles of human progress have come at the end of both sword and pen. However, the greatest falls came from either the tip of a hired blade or a sip of venomous wine.

          Before the great ancient states fell, they first caused numerous other, lesser states to fall. The heads of those states failed to see the approaching storm and devise a stratagem to save their own necks. So, it may be tempting to conclude that adaptability in warfare is the paramount factor in the survival of a society, but without careful examination, that conclusion would be premature.