Amor Belli: Love and Strife in Lucan’s Bellum Civile

Giulio Celotto, Amor Belli: Love and Strife in Lucan’s Bellum Civile (Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press, 2022). 9780472132874.

Reviewed by Kathleen Cruz, University of California, Davis, kancruz@ucdavis.edu.

In Amor Belli: Love and Strife in Lucan’s Bellum Civile, Giulio Celotto argues that Lucan’s poem can be profitably understood as a unified work through its guiding pursuit of the dialectic between Love and Strife as systematized in Empedoclean philosophy. Over an introduction, five chapters, and a brief conclusion, Celotto explores how Lucan inherits and then reconfigures the relationship between these two forces in the doomed world of his epic. While readers may not agree with every aspect of this reading, Celotto’s accessible monograph—revised from his 2017 dissertation—presents intriguing and productive avenues through which to examine continued points of debate for readers of Lucan’s poem. 

The introduction begins by situating the present study among previous approaches. Celotto first addresses the much-debated question of whether the Bellum Civile follows Aristotle’s definition of epicand is thus “characterized by unity, coherence, and linearity” (p. 4) or is instead a work of fragmentation and contradiction, subsequently allying himself with the former view. In considering this question, Celotto proceeds to build upon and ultimately diverge from the categorizations of ancient epic and the distinctions between the Bellum Civile and the Aeneid (its most marked predecessor) offered by Hainsworth and Quint,¹ suggesting that Lucan takes the same poetic form used by Vergil to an entirely different conclusion. While theAeneid “is ascending…toward a positive end” (p. 6), the Bellum Civile applies Aristotle’s tragic narrative trajectory to epic: “the poem is built around Rome, a city better than the ordinary, and stages its change from good fortune (the Republic) to bad fortune (the Principate) due to a mistake (the civil war)” (p. 7). Lucan organizes this “tragic plot” (p. 7) through the cosmological forces of Love and Strife following Empedoclean philosophy. While the two are often considered as a binary, with Love positive and Strife negative, each can be split into constructive and destructive versions. Whereas Vergil’s poem features the full, four-part spectrum of these forces, with the constructive version of each winning out, no constructive Love or Strife survives in the Bellum Civile; there, only the destructive versions triumph.

Chapter One surveys the dialectic between Love and Strife as established in both prior philosophical and didactic poetry and epic. Celotto traces how the two feature as guiding forces in Hesiodic poetry before being picked up more fully by Empedocles in his cycle of cosmic development: (1) Love is the dominant force, guiding peace; (2) Strife battles and eventually defeats Love; (3) Strife is the dominant force, inspiring disastrous conditions for life; and (4) Love battles and eventually defeats Strife, returning the cosmos to (1). After exploring how this view goes on to influence Epicurean philosophy, the chapter considers briefly how Love and Strife appear in the epics of Homer and Apollonius before turning to fragmentary Latin epic and Vergil. In each case prior to the Aeneid, discussion is relatively brief, and Celotto primarily demonstrates the consistency with which conflicts are understood through the interaction of these two forces. For example, in the Iliad, Hector embodies both forces and at times contrasts them, such as when he must shed his armor—symbolizing Strife in his role as a warrior—before holding his son—evoking Love in his role as a father—at 6.466–73 (p. 19). In respect to the Aeneid, Celotto argues that the epic builds to a portrayal of the fourth stage of Empedocles’s cosmic negotiation between Love and Strife; by the Aeneid’s end, constructive Love reasserts itself following Aeneas’s successful avoidance of destructive Love (e.g., Dido is rejected in favor of Lavinia) and pursuit of constructive Strife (e.g., Aeneas successfully battles Turnus and his men to establish a future for his people).

Chapter Two turns to Lucan and begins by establishing the poet’s knowledge of this Empedoclean system alongside his well-noted interest in Stoic philosophy, dwelling first on book 1’s controversial encomium to Nero. Through a series of intertextual close readings between Lucan, Ovid, and Seneca as framed through Empedocles, Celotto suggests that Lucan begins his poem with an articulation of a distorted Empedoclean worldview wherein “by removing every chance of regeneration, Lucan makes chaos a permanent state” following Caesar’s victory (p. 53). The remainder of the chapter tracks where the Bellum Civile reiterates this terrible vision, including the complete identification of Caesar with Mars/Strife (erasing the gens Iulia’s own historical attempt to tie itself to Venus/Love), the victory of Strife over Love at Ilerda in book 4 through the intervention of Petreius and Afranius, and the powerful influence of the witch Erichtho in book 6, who mirrors Lucan and “[deals] with the destructive force of Strife only, and [neglects] the constructive force of Love” (p. 66).

The following two chapters turn to a focused discussion of each cosmic force in turn. Chapter Three examines four case studies of Love in the epic: first the more complex dynamics between Pompey, Julia, and Cornelia, then the two couples of Caesar and Cleopatra and Cato and Marcia, and finally the question of Alexander the Great’s succession. Celotto argues that each demonstrates how constructive Love exists only prior to the events of Lucan’s poem, making destructive Love all that remains in his literary world. For example, while in the historiographical tradition Pompey’s and Julia’s relationship is depicted as positive, Lucan’s Julia becomes an anti-Creusa—a destructive ghost that successfully categorizes Pompey’s subsequent relationship with Cornelia as a Dido-like, unproductive affair. Along similar lines, by binding Alexander the Great and Caesar together and asserting somewhat ahistorically that Alexander’s lack of children inspired negative Strife, Lucan “[alludes] to Caesar’s and Nero’s childlessness” and “shows, once again, that the gens Iulia does not have a restorative role, as Vergil argued, but rather a destructive one” (p. 106).

Chapter Four argues that just as the world of the Bellum Civile can only accommodate destructive Love, so can it only support destructive Strife. Celotto demonstrates how Lucan “perverts” (p. 108) four domains of constructive Strife offered by the Aeneid: there, constructive Strife can “sanction the victory of cosmos against chaos” and allow great warriors an opportunity to achieve glory on the battlefield as well as in non-martial games, while “the destructive effects of Strife can be mitigated by clemency” (p. 108). Here, Lucan reverses the greater trajectory of the Aeneid: as both the Pompeians and the Caesarians become associated with forces of destruction and chaos and Cato, despite triumphing constructively in Libya, cannot halt Caesar’s ascent, “mens bona succumbs to furor, and cosmos to chaos. Thus, the tragedy of Rome comes to its bitter end” (p. 122). Within this wider frame, displays of virtus and physical prowess are corrupted as nefas (e.g., the aristeiai—or greatest performances of martial valor and subsequent deaths—of Vulteius and Scaeva), fleeting (e.g., Cato’s successful but unsustainable representation of constructive Strife in the Libyan desert), or “relegated to the mythical past” (p.144), as best represented by the account of Hercules’ defeat of Antaeus in book 4. The chapter closes by observing how for Lucan clemency, which is typically depicted as ending destructive Strife following its integration into imperial discourse, instead encourages it; Caesar’s attempts to grant clemency in books 2 and 4 become punishments rather than gifts, which sets Cato’s refusal to receive such clemency and suicide as a proper end for the poem (p. 149).

Chapter Five then considers how destructive Love and Strife work together. The chapter is organized around the reversal of the permeable divide between Love and Strife as explored in love elegy: “Instead of fighting for love, as the elegiac characters do, the epic characters of the Bellum civile love fighting” (p. 153; see also p. 9). The chapter begins by collecting the poem’s many assertions that its players find great pleasure in war. While this has negative connotations for Caesar and Pompey, Cato understands his involvement as an opportunity for Rome’s freedom and so represents the only constructive example. Celotto goes on to consider how Rome is figured by both Pompey and Caesar as the target of their “destructive love affairs” (p. 161), with Caesar portrayed as the more effective as well as “active and energetic” (p. 164, 166–67) (but ultimately harmful) suitor compared to the “old and passive Pompey” (p. 165). Dwelling further on how Caesarian relationships of affection become distorted through a love of strife, the chapter explores both how Caesar is in turn figured as the love object of his men and how the violent actions of the Caesarians are described through the language of sexual assault.

A brief Afterword reiterates the book’s central claims and suggests that a further study will investigate how Love, Strife, and the relationship between the two—understood in drastically different terms by Vergil and Lucan—remain an important feature of later Latin epic. 

Celotto’s monograph is a valuable entry among recent scholarship on Lucan’s Bellum Civile. The prose is clear and purposeful throughout with few typographical errors, and, despite the fact that each chapter includes multiple subsections, Celotto’s argument is always easy to follow. This makes the book both fruitful reading for graduate students and scholars of Lucan’s poem as well as an accessible resource for advanced undergraduates. Regarding the latter, however, while lengthier citations are accompanied by translations, in-text citations of Greek and Latin are generally only paraphrased, sometimes more fully and at other times more loosely and only to draw out especially relevant details (as is understandable). A reader with more limited knowledge of ancient languages might encounter some moments of mild frustration, although this need not hinder their overall engagement.

Turning to the argument, Celotto presents a persuasive case for the ubiquity of a dialectic between Love and Strife both throughout ancient epic and in Lucan as well as the benefits of thinking through this lens. Although he is often concerned with well-known questions regarding Lucan’s poem, such as its degree of cohesiveness (unified vs. chaotic) and its relationship with the Aeneid, Celotto’s nuanced examination of both the constructive and destructive nature of Love and Strife regularly culminates in a rich, multi-layered analysis that allows him to build profitably on previous work. This comes into greatest focus over Chapters Three, Four, and Five as the book’s holistic argument begins to slot together. I would especially highlight Chapter Four’s discussion of Hercules and Cato, particularly the engaging close reading of the Hercules Oetaeus against Bellum Civile 9 which expands on Marcucci,² as well as Chapter Five’s multifaceted examination of both Pompey and Caesar as very different suitors of Rome and Caesar’s own encompassing role as both lover and beloved. The latter raises very interesting questions of what it means to love successfully in Lucan’s poem.

In studies that cover such wide terrain, it is inevitable that some points nevertheless rehearse well-trodden ground, while others remain more speculative. The former category could include Chapter Four’s consideration of Caesar’s clemency, which fits well within the scope of the discussion but does not differ greatly in its conclusions from the readings of Ahl and Leigh cited at the section’s close (p. 150).³ To offer an example of the latter, Celotto links his exploration of Love and Strife to an argument for reading the Bellum Civile as a fully unified work. Since, however, he primarily argues for the latter positively by demonstrating the former, one may be persuaded by Celotto’s approach but remain doubtful regarding its greater implications.

In this vein, certain readings appear overly rigid at times, with further complexities remaining to be teased out. For example, Celotto embraces what we might consider an optimistic reading of Cato as a wholly and uniquely constructive figure in current affairs. Thus, after Marcia returns to him in book 2, Celotto notes that “Cato does not intend to have intercourse with her…because it would be a manifestation of lust (i.e., destructive Love), and selfish pleasure does not become him” (pp. 99–100). This marks Cato as “the only character in the poem who does not yield to destructive Love” (p. 100). Yet, as Celotto acknowledges, “the two spouses are on the same page” (p. 99), with Marcia also uninterested in reviving a sexual relationship. Why, then, should only Cato receive this label? Relatedly, Celotto also defends Cato’s earlier encouraging of Brutus to participate in civil war as “constructive…because it represents the fight of cosmos against chaos” (pp. 157–58) and argues throughout for a positive reading of his performance in book 9. In both cases, dissenting scholarly perspectives are sometimes underemphasized and relegated to the footnotes without discussion.⁴ This arguable overstatement of Cato as completely sui generis and reluctance to explore potential ambiguities make one wonder whether Cato’s place within this schema of Love and Strife is more complex than currently acknowledged. However, while one might wish for fuller discussion in certain cases, the fact that Celotto’s investigation inspires such rich opportunities for further thought is also a testament to its value.

In sum, this is a well-conceived, enlightening, and accessible study of the Bellum Civile which will be of great interest to readers and scholars of Lucan, literary engagement with Empedocles, and the interaction between literature and philosophy on the whole.

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments (vii)
Introduction (1–9)
Chapter One: Love and Strife in Greek and Roman Literature (10–42)
Chapter Two: The Dialectic of Love and Strife in Lucan (43–70)
Chapter Three: Love in Lucan (71–106)
Chapter Four: Strife in Lucan (107–51)
Chapter Five: The Interaction of Love and Strife in Lucan (152–87)
Afterword (188–90)
Bibliography (191–220)
Index Locorum (221–29)
Index Verborum (231–34)

Notes

1.  J. B. Hainsworth, The Idea of Epic (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991); David Quint, Epic and Empire: Politics and Generic Form from Virgil to Milton (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993).

2. Silvia Marcucci, Analisi e interpretazione dell’Hercules Oetaeus (Pisa: Istituti editoriali e poligrafici internazionali, 1997).

3. Frederick Ahl, Lucan: An Introduction (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1976); Matthew Leigh, Lucan: Spectacle and Engagement (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997).

4. Regarding Cato and Brutus in book 2, for example, Celotto only cites the contrary view offered by Debra Hershkowitz, The Madness of Epic: Reading Insanity from Homer to Statius (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1998), 236–37, in respect to her reading of 2.325 at p. 158, n. 16; her larger argument from 231–46 is not mentioned. For an example in the case of book 9, while Celotto does briefly refer to Martha Malamud, “Pompey’s Head and Cato’s Snakes,” Classical Philology 98, no. 1 (2003): 31–44 in his discussion of Pompey on p. 112, n. 12, he does not address her reading of Cato’s complicated status in Libya.

Discussion

1. In the afterword of your book, you preview briefly how you see the dialectic of Love and Strife working across Flavian epic following the models set by Vergil and Lucan and share that this will be the focus of your next project. Since you identify this dialectic as shaping Latin epic so strongly on the whole, what drew you to investigate this area with a focused study on Lucan in particular?

I have always been fascinated by the revolutionary nature of Lucan’s Bellum Civile. I was especially interested in the lack of successful romances in the poem, contrary to previous epic tradition. In trying to comprehend the reason for this conspicuous absence, I noticed that the devaluation of (constructive) love was counterbalanced by an amplification of (destructive) strife. I also realized that this peculiar structure might be influenced by Empedocles’ doctrine. From there, I zoomed out to look more generally at the history of Latin epic. This investigation enabled me to appreciate that Lucan is not an isolated case. In fact, the dialectic of Love and Strife represents a common narrative pattern, which different poets employ in different ways to convey different political messages. After focusing in my first monograph on Lucan’s Bellum Civile, especially in relation to Vergil’s Aeneid, in my next book project I am currently exploring how Empedocles’ cosmology is received and elaborated in Flavian epic, particularly in Statius’ Thebaid, the more “Lucanian” of the three poems.

2. It seems to me that this is an exciting time to be thinking about new ways to read Latin epic’s relationship to philosophy, particularly regarding questions of order and disorder; alongside your study, I’m also thinking, for example, of Matthew Gorey’s recent Atomism in the Aeneid: Physics, Politics, and Cosmological Disorder (New York: Oxford University Press, 2021). Are there particular ways you’ve found this approach or topic to be especially of the moment?

Although the examination of the impact of philosophy on Latin epic is not unprecedented (I believe we are all deeply indebted, among others, to Philip Hardie), it is certainly a very popular and productive critical trend at the moment. In addition to Matthew Gorey’s fascinating monograph on Vergil, I would like to mention two recent collections of papers, an edited volume on Ovid (Williams, G. and Volk, K. eds. 2022. Philosophy on Ovid, Ovid as Philosopher. New York: Oxford University Press) and a special issue on Flavian literature (Keith, A. 2018. ed. Philosophical Currents in Flavian Literature. Phoenix 72.3-4), which include several illuminating contributions on Latin epic. By unveiling in each poem a number of possible philosophical influences, they serve as important reminders that epic poets are not philosophers. Thus, we should not expect from them a fully orthodox commitment to a single doctrine. Rather, they tend to combine different views, deriving from each school the elements that can best help them convey their message(s) to the reader.

3. As you observe, there’s a well-established history of reading the Bellum Civile through the Aeneid and as an anti-Aeneid. I was especially interested in your discussion of Pompey, Julia, and Cornelia in Chapter 3, including how you describe Julia as casting Cornelia as a kind of “anti-Lavinia.” Your approach seems to locate certain moments where Lucan’s characters perhaps understand their world through the lines and pre-established roles drawn by the Aeneid. Do you think this serves as corroborating evidence for those who have argued for other characters seeming to possess and utilize ahistorical knowledge of Vergil’s epic (e.g., Caesar when he visits Troy in Book 9) and thus may add to how the Bellum Civile complicates dynamics of authorship?

Some characters in the Bellum Civile can certainly be regarded as “good readers” of previous literature (especially, but not exclusively, Vergil’s Aeneid), and they use this knowledge to clarify their role within the narrative. Cornelia, who rejects the definition as the new Lavinia and compares herself with Dido instead, perfectly exemplifies this literary strategy. Further evidence is provided, among others, by Erictho, who (metapoetically, in my opinion) presents herself as the most powerful witch in Latin literature, and Caesar, who (particularly in Books 1, 5, and 9) portrays himself as an improved version of Aeneas.

4. You mention several times throughout the book (e.g., p. 73, n. 5, p. 138, and p. 149) that the poem was meant to end with Cato’s suicide, since that act would so starkly represent the complete reign of chaos (and both destructive Love and Strife). Since the state of the Bellum Civile as we have it has been the subject of some debate, could you share more about what you take to be at stake following this view? Do you think the Bellum Civile would be saying something significantly different about chaos’ rise and lasting rule if it were intended to conclude where it currently does? Is this simply a question of more balanced aesthetics – i.e., ending with Cato at Utica would be the perfect capstone to the story Lucan is telling, but chaos dominates either way – or rather one of meaning?

Although, based on both the poem’s engagement with the Vergilian model and its internal narrative structure, Cato’s suicide seems to me the most likely ending of the Bellum Civile, in my opinion a different endpoint would not alter the ultimate meaning of the epic. In fact, the domination of chaos would remain unchallenged; it would simply be declined differently: a deliberate abrupt conclusion in book 10 would reproduce on paper the disorder that Lucan describes, whereas an ending that includes the battle of Philippi would highlight the repetitiveness of civil war, and emphasize the destructive role of the Julio-Claudians even after Caesar.

Thank you very much for taking the time to engage with my questions!