“Be Warned and Study Justice”:
The Shifting Definition of Justice in Virgil’s Aeneid
Kelly J.T. Tiller
English 650
October 28, 2002
A twenty-first century reading of the Iliad and the Odyssey will highlight a
seeming lack of justice: hundreds of men die because of an adulteress, the most
honorable characters are killed, the cowards survive, and everyone eventually goes to
hell. Due to the difference in the time period, culture, prominent religions and values, the
modern idea of justice is much different than that of Greece around 750 B.C. The idea of
justice in Virgil’s the Aeneid is easier for us to recognize. As in our own culture,
“justice” in the epic is based on a system of punishment for wrongs and rewards for
honorable acts. Time and time again, Virgil provides his readers with examples of justice
in the lives of his characters. Interestingly, the meaning of justice in the Aeneid
transforms when applied to Fate and the actions of the gods. Unlike our modern
(American) idea of blind, immutable Justice, the meanings and effects of justice shift,
depending on whether its subject is mortal or immortal.
Before discussing justice in the epic, it is important to establish the meaning of
the term. For our present purpose, justice will specifically apply to the social system of
moral checks and balances. Acts that are valued in society are rewarded materially or
emotionally. Acts that are devalued lead to punishment. Also, recipients of unmerited
punishment receive compensation for their injuries.
Often, a person is seen as the embodiment of the value of their action, thus a
person can be seen as “good” or “bad,” and the consequences of justice that affect them
are based on the general value of their general actions. The value given to actions is
based on a society’s moral code, which is often influenced by the religion(s) or
philosophy of that society. Unlike the Greek Epics, this Roman Epic contains many of
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the effects of justice that modern audiences can identify with, particularly the
reward/punishment system of the afterlife. Instances that may confuse today’s audience
are directly linked to the interference of the Roman gods’ will in our contemporary idea
of justice.
Woven throughout the Aeneid are many examples of the punishment/reward
system of justice. The story of King Mezentius is a lesson in the types of characteristics
and actions that can be justly punished. The King ruled his land “barbarously by force,”
was a man of arrogance, and a tyrant (Virgil 246, lines 647-8, 650). He had no qualms
about unnecessarily torturing his subjects in disgusting and cruel ways. Though
Mezentius eventually allows himself to be killed in battle, the death of his innocent son,
Lausus, is the king’s true punishment for his actions. Mezentius himself acknowledges
this:
My son, I stained your name with wickedness –
Driven out as I was, under a cloud,
From throne and scepter of my ancestors.
Long since I owned my land, my hating folk,
Punishment for my sins. I should have given
My guilty life up, suffering every death,”
(325, lines 1191-6)
While the death of blameless Lausus is unfortunate, Virgil shows the type of
retribution exacted for terrible treatment of others. Regardless of power or throne, Virgil
shows that a king is not at liberty to do whatever he wants. The prince’s death is
Mezentius’ just reward for his evils, as justice does not ignore the wrongs of the
aristocracy. For the king, justice is truly blind.
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Readers get another glimpse of the Aeneid’s definition of justice in the story of
Arcadian Hercules. Hercules goes to phenomenal – essentially supernatural – lengths in
order to punish giant Cacus for robbery. In this case, the death of the giant is justified,
and even welcome, due to the monster’s tendency to “leave no crookedness untried, no
crime unventured” (236, lines 276-7). Here, we see that monster can’t keep on killing
and stealing, to be feared and avoided yet never destroyed. On the contrary, the monster
has gotten what the Arcadian storytellers, Virgil and the readers think he deserves: a
slow, painful, complicated death. Justice, again, has been served, and at the hands of the
god-like Hercules.
We receive the most obvious examples of justice during Aeneas’s trip to the
underworld. Notwithstanding the unburied paupers having to wait – through no fault of
their own – 100 years to cross to its shore, the underworld shows us instances both of just
reward and punishment after death.
After the paupers, the first group that we see in the underworld is the shades that
have been unfairly executed during their stay on earth (175, lines 579-585). King Minos
spends eternity hearing the cases of these wronged souls, who may finally, in the face of
timelessness, plead their cases. The existence of this underworld court highlights the
lasting social value of justice: a momentary wink at what is fair and right on earth does
not erase justice’s existence, nor does death kill it. Justice lasts and, in the end, will
reward or punish fairly, in spite of human efforts to the contrary.
Brutus’ presence in the Elysium Fields supports not only the idea of justice’s
permanence, but also of its superiority over all other social constructs, even the family.
Brutus had his sons killed and would normally have been eternally punished for his
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actions. However, since the leader handed down the death sentences because of their
traitorous plots against the government, he is allowed to enter the fields (189, lines 11008). It is important to note that while Brutus is “unhappy” because of the death of his
sons, his “love of the fatherland” overrides love for his children, and he is rewarded for
this. Virgil implies here that justice is tied to whatever is the ruling power in society:
Brutus is rewarded for doing the “right thing” for his government, not his family. Just as
justice is eternal and higher than baser human emotions and tendencies, Brutus’ reward
for allegiance to the authority implies that it, too, supercedes simpler human constructs,
such as the family. This coincides directly with the moral aspect of justice. When one is
forced to make a just decision that is morally difficult and perhaps emotionally trying
(such as allegiance to the state or the family), Virgil shows the importance of siding with
the powers that the gods have placed in control. As citizens adhere to moral codes and
support their society’s idea of justice, they are rewarded by the Ultimate Authorities of
the universe in the afterlife.
On the Elysian Fields walk those who receive eternal happiness for having lived
good lives – the happier side of justice. When Virgil lists the types of people in the
Fields, he is essentially listing the qualities worthy of rewards. Bravery in battle (183,
lines 883-4), religiousness (lines 885-6), eagerness to learn (lines 887-8) and generosity
(line 889) are the standards for being rewarded. People possessing the aforementioned
qualities deserve a good life, the gods’ favor, and, eventually, heaven. Though life is not
always perfect for those who deserve it to be, it is important that, in contrast to those in
the Iliad and the Odyssey, the dead of the Aeneid are actually rewarded in death for
having lived well. While punishment for the wrongdoer is a conventional idea, Virgil
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acknowledges that rewards are just as important. Justice is not only punishment, but
incentive as well.
Evil is of course, punished in the underworld. We see that the Elysium-bound
shades have to pay for their shortcomings before entering paradise: “Therefore they
undergo / The discipline of punishments and pay / In penance for old sins…” (186, lines
994-6). Even the good soul must “expatiate its mala and is after death treated in
accordance with its record…” (Solmsen 213). More severe, however, are the
punishments of those for who evil was a way of life. Virgil writes that these unfortunates
“put off atonements in the world / With foolish satisfaction, thieves of time, / Until too
late, until the hour of death,” (Virgil 179, lines 763-7). These foolish people also abused
the elderly (181, line 814), mistreated their dependents (line 815), were selfish (line 8167), were adulterers (line 818), betrayed their superiors (line 819) and warred against the
righteous (line 818). Through those being tortured in Tartarus, readers receive one more
example of the importance and permanence of justice in the Aeneid. Here we are
reminded that the actions in one’s life will eventually need to be accounted for: “What
matters… in Tartarus and Elysim, is not life lived and experienced by the individuals but
as judged by a higher power. Crime is punished and merit rewarded,” (Solmsen 214).
Though they are not punished like those aforementioned, those who take their
own lives, ignoring the will of the Fates and the gods, must also be punished (Virgil 175,
lines 586-91). The shades that committed suicide are “neither acting nor suffering; in the
absence of new experiences, they dwell on what happened to them while they were
alive,” ( Solmsen 209).
Though these shades were the unfortunate victims of sadness
and pain, an “iron law” binds them to that region of the underworld, where they will
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eternally mourn and regret their choosing to die prematurely (Virgil 175, line 590). As
emotionally moving as suicide victims may be, the law – birthed from the standards of
justice – demands that they be punished for taking their own lives. We have already seen
that justice in the Aeneid is a concept that is everlasting and more important than other
social constructs. The suicide shades show that justice also insists on the fair retribution
for crimes with little consideration for the offender, whose crime may have been one of
passion, or a crime against his/herself. Again, as seen earlier in the case of Mezentius,
justice is no respecter of person.
Along with other sinners and wrongdoers, Phlegya resides in the underworld.
After realizing that Apollo had sex with his daughter, the former king set fire to the god’s
temple (437). Though any father may empathize with the king, it is important to see that
this act placed him in the same world of punishment as Tityos, Salmoneus, the twins of
Aloeus, Ixion and Pirithoüs. All of these individuals, the only ones Virgil lists in the
abyss of Tartaurus, committed crimes against the gods themselves. Though it was
perhaps acceptable in Roman society for a father to punish a young man for the loss of
his unmarried daughter’s virginity, it is not acceptable for a man to try to punish a god.
In the case of Phlegya, we see that the gods can operate outside of social laws and
become executors of justice themselves. Though Phlegya’s reaction is understandable,
human laws, human ways of thinking, do not apply to the gods. So, while Apollo in no
way needs to be punished for his indiscretion (not even considered indiscretion by the
gods!), Phlegyas is punished and will be forever.
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The story of Phlegyas leads us to an interesting question: How does justice apply
to the gods of the Aeneid? Must the gods adhere to the same moral code as their
creations?
The answer to these questions unfolds when we take a close look at Dido’s
reaction to Aeneas’ rejection. From the moment they meet, Dido is under the influence
of “the poison of love,” thanks to Venus (Williams 43). Her love, her obsession for
Aeneas erupts from the intentions of immortals. Likewise, the goddesses arrange her
union with the Trojan lord. If we accept that the gods could be actual entities or persons,
rather than just extensions or excuses for mortal actions, we see that Dido’s emotions are
not under her control, but are used for the pleasure of the gods. It is not her will to fall in
love with Aeneas, but the will of his mother. Because of this effect on her life, Dido
suffers socially and politically:
Because of you [Aeneas], Libyans and nomad kings
Detest me, my own Tyrians are hostile;
Because of you, I lost my integrity
And that admired name by which alone
I made my way once toward the stars.
(107, lines 438-42)
We see here that because of her much-publicized love for Aeneas, Dido loses her
standing with all people (local and foreign) that believed the “vow that [she] took on the
ashes of Sycheas,” (116, line 767). Leaders from other countries, who Dido had refused
in the past because of her devotion to Sychaeus, are infuriated (102, lines 269, 280-296).
Her reputation has greatly suffered for her lover’s sake.
Dido’s city also suffers because of her love:
Towers, half-built, rose
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No farther; men no longer trained in arms
Or toiled to make harbors and battlements
Impregnable. Projects were broken off,
Laid over and the menacing huge walls
With cranes unmoving stood against the sky.
(98, lines 121-6)
Not only does Dido become enraptured with Aeneas, but all of her city’s
construction stops because of her new focus. In the same way that Dido’s devotion to
dead Sycheas has been shattered and her good name trampled, the queen’s city is coming
apart at the seams. Much like Dido, the city has become vulnerable, thanks to the
immortals.
When Aeneas is reminded of his mission and finally discusses his plans to leave
with Dido, her reaction is understandable. She is hurt, shocked and regrets the sacrifices
she has made for him. Dido has a right to be angry; she, after all, gave up much more
than he in the name of love. If we were to adhere to our aforementioned qualities of
justice, then, Dido would at least be able to win Aeneas back with her tears. At the most,
the queen’s malevolent desires should be fulfilled:
If divine justice counts for anything,
I hope and pray that on some grinding reed
Midway at sear you’ll drink your punishment
And call and call on Dido’s name!
(109, lines 529-32)
Dido also seeks everlasting revenge on the Trojan:
From far away I shall come after you
With my black fires, and when cold death has parted
Body from soul I shall be everywhere
A shade to haunt you! You will pay for this,
Unconscionable!
(109, lines 533-537)
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But these things never happen. Aeneas does not drown halfway through his
journey; he reaches Latium safely. And though he encounters the shade of Dido, he is
not haunted by her memory long enough to be deterred from his mission (after his
sorrowful encounter with her (176, lines 611-39), he makes himself move on (line 640-1).
What does this mean? Is there no justice? Is it fair that Dido is the tool of the goddesses,
then receives only heartache and death for her trouble?
While Dido’s plight is not a fair one, it is an example of the gods’ form of justice.
In the instance of Dido’s and Aeneas’ love, the priority of the gods – particularly of Juno
and Venus – is always the life of Aeneas and his journey to Latium. Though Juno loves
Carthage (see 99, lines 149-51), her focus is on whether or not she can stop the
establishment of the city that will eventually destroy Carthage, and wipe out the race of
Paris. Because of this preoccupation with the Trojans, Dido’s problems are not
important. Even Dido recognizes this: “The time is past when either supreme Juno / or
that Saturnian father viewed these things / With justice,” (109, lines 512-4).
In the face of the establishment of what the Romans would see as the master race,
Dido’s desires and woes are unimportant. While steadfast, consistent and lofty justice –
a system of reward and punishment – applies in matters of offending gods and
interhuman relations, it does not apply to the gods. Unlike mortals, the gods are not
bound by the system of moral codes that underscore our understanding of justice. While
humans know that killing is morally wrong, and thus demand justice for a murder, or
know that generosity is morally right, and believe that a giver’s good fortune is his/her
just reward, the gods do not see it this way. They don’t have to. Thus, Apollo cannot be
punished for sleeping with Phlegya’s daughter, Juno cannot be sent to hell for killing and
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inciting war, and the gods are not required to acknowledge Dido’s sacrifice and justified
anger if that recognition would interfere with Fate.* As unfairly as she has been treated,
and though she may deserve the fulfillment of her hopes, Dido’s desires for Aeneas
(whether good or bad) will not be granted to her because they would interrupt the Fates’
plans for Aeneas and the Trojans. So, though Dido “prayed… to whatever power may
care / In comprehending justice for the grief / Of lovers bound unequally by love,” the
prayers cannot avail much (114, lines 720-3). Though it would only seem fair that Dido
receives some sort of retribution for being so used by the gods for Aeneas’ benefit, she
cannot receive a just reward because it would not benefit the gods’ and Fates’ will.
There is another, more extensive example of the discrepancy between the gods’
will and justice in the story of Turnus. Turnus has a right to feel rejected and angry. The
woman he was supposed to marry is to marry Aeneas. Even the notion of the scorned
man wanting to take up arms against his competition is logical. But, as in the case of
Dido, the gods’ will (influenced by Fate) denies Turnus his bride: the “heavenly portents,
odd things full of dread / Stood in the way” of a Latin union (197, lines 77-8). And
because Olympus, and not some unforeseen circumstance, refuses him the possibility of
marrying Lavinia, Turnus cannot receive his just reward for courting and perhaps even
loving the princess.
We see a difference between Dido’s and Turnus’ rejections when Turnus decides
to fight back. At first, Turnus is another unfortunate plaything of the gods when Juno
uses a Fury to incite the prince to war, to the detriment of both sides: says Juno, “If I can
*
Though not discussed, the presence of Fate in the epic is undoubtedly an important one. Though the gods
may mold moral codes and justice into whatever they desire, they must operate under the authority of Fate.
While, in Roman mythology, the Fates are specific immortals, they can also be seen as “the divine
machinery… for the process by which the series of events that constitutes history came to take place as
they did,” (Williams 35)
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sway / No heavenly hearts I’ll rouse the world below….To destroy both countries’
people, / That I can do,” (206-7, lines 425-6, 432-3).
Turnus is a complex character because, at this point in the poem, Aeneas’
adversary can be seen only as a rejected, angry lover being used by the gods, forbidden to
marry high rightful fiancée. Readers may like Turnus, as we did the Iliad’s Hector, and
even hope that he defeats the Trojans. Virgil allows this sort of sympathy for Dido, who
is emotional (perhaps because she is a woman) and innocuous (because she only harms
herself while grieving). However, the poet does not permit us to feel sympathetic for
Turnus very long, probably because Turnus actually endeavors to murder Aeneas and the
wipe out the Trojan race, the heroes of the poem.
To shift our sympathy from Turnus, he is transformed from a lord deserving
justice to an arrogant, murderous soldier. We first see this as Turnus and the Latins call
upon Latinius to approve the war. Here, Turnus ignores the king’s ominous warning:
“This wickedness will haunt you, and the grim / Punishment, Turnus, will come home to
you, / But it will be too late to pray to the gods,” (217, lines 819-21). Latinius’ warning
makes visible the fact that the emotional injury of a man does not justify the havoc that a
war will produce. Still, it is possible to blame Turnus’ insistence to fight on the “brute
insanity of war” that the Fury placed in his heart (212, line 635).
Later, the change in Turnus’ inner workings becomes obvious. We first see this
in Turnus’ reaction to the transformation of the Trojan ships in Book Five. Thanks to
Cybelë, the ships transform from wooden structures to living nymphs in order to avoid
Rutulian fires. While all other onlookers were “astounded” and “terrified,” Turnus is
more confident than ever, assuming that the transformation was for his peoples’ benefit:
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“These wonders / Are all aimed at the Trojans! Jove himself / Has robbed them of their
usual ally, / Not waiting for our swords and fires to do it,” (264, lines 177-80). In fact,
the lord expresses his pride over his own supernatural favor:
…[E]nough
And more has now been granted Fate and Venus,
Seeing the Trojans reach Ausonian lands.
I have my fate as well, to combat theirs,
To cut this criminal people down, my bride being stolen,”
(264, lines 187-93)
This is Turnus’ turning point, transforming from a man forced into a war by a
goddess to one obsessed with revenge and pride, sure of his own power, despite omens
that would imply otherwise. Turnus now promises to ignore the immortal Fates (capital
“F”), and substitute them for his own (lowercase, thus inferior) brand. As the war rages
on, Turnus is seen taunting soldiers (280, line 782), is full of rage (285, line 969), and
spurned on by a “mindless lust for slaughter” (287, lines 1054-5). These developments in
the Rutulian’s character change him from a wronged man deserving just rewards to an
unlikable man deserving his just punishment. While being a tool for the gods, to one’s
own detriment, is an unfortunate and helpless matter, arrogantly defying Fate is another
thing altogether. Various warnings and signs should have deterred Turnus from
continuing to fight. His determination to participate in an impossible war is not only
foolish, but an affront to all that has been predestined. So, instead of becoming a
wronged but relenting soul like Dido, Turnus becomes a hard-hearted one who, for not
respecting and accepting Fate, deserves punishment.
The list of the consequences and sorrows that befall the Greeks is Turnus’ final
warning against continuing to battle against the Trojans. However, the Rutulian’s “fiery
temper” does not allow him to understand that the Greeks “have paid throughout the
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world / Beyond belief in suffering for [their] crimes,” (345, line 511; 340 lines 350-1).
Neither does he relent when Latinius reminds him of the gods’ plan for Latium and the
Trojans: “… it is nor right that I should pledge / My daughter to a suitor of other days: /
God, and prophecies of men, forbade” (368, lines 38-40). In fact, Latinius’ words only
make Turnus angrier, and he insults Aeneas for being a pretty boy (371, lines 140-1) and
calls him a Phygian Eunuch (371, lines 139-40).
When all the various components of Turnus’ life go into decline, the reader
should not be surprised. First, he hears that the queen is dead, his city is destroyed, the
king is crazy with confusion and his people are against him (391-2, lines 887-894). He is
“stunned and confused,” (392, line 901). Soon thereafter, he finds himself without
strength, weapons or supernatural assistance:
He trembled now before the poised spear-shaft
And saw no way to escape; he had no
Force with which to close, or teach his foe, not chariot
And no sign of the charioteer, his sister.
As a dead loss he stood.
(400, lines 1244-8)
At these final and utter losses, we see what the arrogance of Turnus, his defiance
to the will of the gods and Fate has come to. Far different from an unrequited lover,
Turnus has transformed into a man deserving of a different judgment, a painful and
punishing one. While he may have gained our sympathy because of his initial rejection,
the end of the epic sees him as one deserving of loneliness, fear and death, all of which he
receives.
Turnus’ transformation is an interesting one, and it illustrates the different faces
of justice in the epic. While it is the system of rewards for the righteous and retribution
for wrongs, and a concept that the gods can ignore when it benefits them, the gods may
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also reinstate it they see fit. So, though justice was initially denied Turnus because of the
plans of the gods, it is reinstated when it does not interfere, perhaps even benefits, their
plan. When Turnus is finally treated justly, it is according to his actions that threatened
Aeneas and Troy, not to his rights as a fiancé or loyal countryman. In the end, it
becomes obvious that while justice is a powerful motivator and regulator in the lives of
mortals, it is the will of the immortals that truly controls their lives, and their system of
justice: “In a universe ruled by [autocrats], there seems to be little place for free will.
Despite arguments to the contrary, humans seem to be entirely subject to divine will,”
(Braund 211).
Seeing justice through the eyes of an ancient Roman poet is an interesting
experience. While we may easily endeavor to focus on the similarities between our
culture and one very different from our own, it is important to acknowledge and
investigate the differences as well. In the Aeneid, we are not only introduced to the
conventional ideas of sin and retribution, righteousness and reward, but we also
encounter immortals for whom mortal justice is, at the least, a bother, and at the most, a
non-issue. Seeing justice from this perspective, our poles of right and wrong, and
everything in between, are shifted and flipped around. This classical society is one with
moral absolutes, but controlled by immortals that have none. Is that possible? Can we
imagine such a precarious existence?
While probably difficult for us to imagine, the eye-opening search for justice in
the Aeneid is an important one. While we are comforted in seeing some of our practices
and philosophies in a text that is over 2,000 years old, we are confronted with the
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question of moral absolutes, we are forced to wonder when and to whom justice truly
applies. Hopefully, we will look at our world and our ideas of right, wrong and
retribution in different ways, ways that will enlighten and enrich our lives, and the those
of the an audience of readers 2,000 years from now.
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Works Cited
Braund, Susanna Morton. “Virgil and the Cosmos: Religious and Philosophical Ideas.”
The Cambridge Companion to Virgil. Charles Martindale, ed. Cambridge:
Cambridge UP, 1997. 204-221.
Solmsen, Friedrich. “The World of the Dead in Book 6 of the Aeneid.” Oxford Readings
in Vergil’s Aeneid. S. J. Harrison, ed. New York: Oxford UP, 1990. 208-223.
Virgil. The Aeneid. Trans. Robert Fitzgerald. New York: Vintage Books, 1983.
Williams, Gordon. Technique and Ideas in the Aeneid. New Haven, Ct: Yale UP, 1983.
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