Veni, Vidi, Vici: Who Hasn’t Heard It?

Veni Vidi Vici

 Veni, vidi, vici – “I came, I saw, I conquered.” Who hasn’t heard this quote? And in fact, many people know the actual author of the quote, none other than Julius Caesar. That’s not always the way with famous quotes. Fewer people know when, or why Caesar said this. Or, perhaps more accurately, why he wrote it. Veni, vidi, vici is well worth a longer look. We can learn a lot more about Caesar, both as a man and an author. It also highlights some ways in which the political life of ancient Rome intersects with modern politics. On top of that, take note both learners and teachers. It’s a great tool for explaining and illustrating some important features of Roman (and modern) oratory.

Let’s take a look at the historical context first. After a tumultuous rise through the Roman political jungle, Caesar served as consul, one of the two heads of state, in 59 BC. At the end of his term, he immediately took up office as proconsul (governor) of the provinces of Gaul and Illyria. During his nine years in that office he increased the size of his provinces several times over through military conquest. He also remained deeply enmeshed in political machinations in Rome.

Casting the Die 

By the end of 50 BC, however, Caesar was forced to surrender his command and come home. In addition to all his political and military achievements, Caesar had acquired quite a few enemies. At this point he had two choices. One, he could return to Rome as a private citizen, as the Senate was demanding. He would face certain prosecution by his political enemies and risk the loss of everything in the case of conviction. Or, he could bring his army with him. This second choice meant civil war, but if he won he would be master of the entire Roman World.

According to his own account, he did stop to weigh his options. We can discuss his deliberations in more details at a later date when we discuss another quote, alea iacta est, “The die is cast.” In any case, Caesar opted for civil war. The ensuing conflict ranged across the entire Roman Empire and beyond. Caesar’s main opponent was his rival and one-time ally and son-in-law, Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus, or Pompey the Great. While Pompey was collecting his main force in Greece, Caesar first moved west to Spain to defeat Pompey’s supporters there. He then headed back East to Greece, where he defeated Pompey at Pharsalus.

 That Was Quick! 

He pursued the fleeing Pompey beyond Rome’s formal boundaries to Egypt. There, Caesar found that the young Egyptian king Ptolemy had murdered Pompey. Caesar, however, joined forces with Ptolemy’s sister Cleopatra to defeat the king in an Egyptian civil war, Cleopatra won the throne of Egypt, and Caesar gained a new girlfriend.

The war in Egypt was a diversion from the actual civil war. Caesar still had Roman enemies in the west. Before he could turn his attention to them, however, he needed to respond to an external threat. Pharnaces, King of Pontus, was taking advantage of the civil war and Caesar’s entanglement in Egypt to invade Roman possessions in Asia Minor. Caesar raced to the scene and quickly defeated the Pontic king. With no further delay he sailed west and subdued his remaining enemies.

Caesar’s lightning-quick defeat of Pharnaces provides the occasion for today’s quote. It was customary for a successful general to send a brief report to the Senate after a battle. In this case, Caesar took the idea of brevity to an extreme. His dispatch consisted of only three words: veni, vidi, vici. That is, “I came, I saw, I conquered.” Caesar ostensibly sent this severely abbreviated message to dramatize the swift and decisive nature of his victory. But it was more than that. He raised what was traditionally a simple message into something bigger.

Spare Elegance 

Caesar does something similar with Commentaries on the War in Gaul and On the Civil War. Military commentaries were around before Caesar’s time. The idea was that a general would provide a bare outline of his campaigns for future historians to expand upon. Caesar wrote his commentaries with such spare elegance that even as discerning (and by no means friendly) a critic as Cicero could proclaim them finished literary works.

Valde quidem, inquam, probandos; nudi enim sunt, recti et venusti, omni ornatu orationis tamquam veste detracta. sed dum voluit alios habere parata, unde sumerent qui vellent scribere historiam, ineptis gratum fortasse fecit, qui volent illa calamistris inurere: sanos quidem homines a scribendo deterruit; (Cicero, Brutus 262)

“… and such,” said I, “as merit the highest approbation: for they are plain, correct, and graceful, and divested of all the ornaments of language, so as to appear (if I may be allowed the expression) in a kind of undress. But while he pretended only to furnish the loose materials, for such as might be inclined to compose a regular history, he may, perhaps, have gratified the vanity of a few literary embroiderers; but he has certainly prevented all sensible men from attempting any improvement on his plan.

But Caesar wasn’t aiming only, or even primarily, to create a literary genre. During the Gallic War Caesar sent his Commentaries back to Rome in regular installments. They kept his name in circulation during a long stretch when he was not there himself. And not only that. The vivid accounts of his conquests were highly effective pro-Caesar propaganda. After all, who doesn’t admire a winner? And of course, Caesar was winning vast new territories and glory for Rome. In short, he converted the humble military commentary into a potent political weapon.

Expression of Mastery 

Veni, Vidi, Vici does much the same thing with the traditional message to the Senate. It didn’t remain an ordinary note among others in the senatorial archives. Caesar’s supporters in Rome spread it widely, and repeatedly among the people, who were always Caesar’s real audience. The historian Suetonius gives us a good indication of how successful a political slogan the quote became in just a few years. When Caesar celebrated his four -fold Triumph in 46 BC

Pontico triumpho inter pompae fercula trium verborum praetulit titulum VENI : VIDI : VICI non acta belli significantem sicut ceteris, sed celeriter confecti notam. 

In his Pontic triumph he displayed among the show-pieces of the procession an inscription of but three words, “I came, I saw, I conquered,” not indicating the events of the war, as the others did, but the speed with which it was finished.

With all due respect to Suetonius, it did indeed recount the acta belli, the “events of the war.” And not just the Pontic war. The statement’s compression and brutal directness embodied Caesar’s entire rise to the pinnacle of power. It was itself an actum. Veni, Vidi, Vici had become an incredibly potent expression of Caesar’s overall mastery.

Added Bonus 

There’s an added bonus for teachers and learner’s of the Latin language. For one thing, Caesar packs an astounding number of oratorical flourishes into one little three word statement. Latin teachers take note. The most obvious, of course, is the alliteration of the letter v. Alliteration make anything more memorable. But we also have a few other techniques beloved of orators.

First, asyndeton. Asyndeton means “lack of conjunctions.” The term combines the Greek conjunction syn (σύν), “with” and the privative alpha. That is, the prefix a– (α) meaning “without, lacking.” The opposite of asyndeton is polysyndeton, extra conjunctions. In Latin as in English, we generally write a list of three with “and” between the second and third items, with just a pause between the first items. In modern text we indicate the pause with a comma. If, however, we put “and” between all the elements:

I came and I saw and I conquered

It creates a sort of breathless piling up of terms. They all run together. That’s polysyndeton. When we have no conjunctions:

I came, I saw, I conquered

we emphasize each term individually. At the same time, the effect is much more direct, with all the excess verbiage taken out. It feels like the speaker (or writer) is hammering out each point. That’s the effect of asyndeton.

Tricolon Crescens, Anyone? 

Asyndeton can be particularly effective when we combine it with tricolon crescens. This rhetorical device is a series of three terms that grow in magnitude. That is, in size, intensity, or importance. The idea, as the present participle crescens (“growing”) suggests, is a quick rise to a crescendo. Tricolon crescens packs a powerful dramatic punch. While we associate it primarily with rhetoric, it appears in all sorts of literary contexts.

Abraham Lincoln gives us a good example of tricolon crescens in his Gettysburg Address:

“But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot consecrate, we cannot hallow this ground.” 

Each verb carries a deeper meaning. Dedicate means merely to designate something for a particular purpose. Consecrate means to designate something for a holy purpose.To hallow something goes even further. It means removing something altogether from the realm of the ordinary, i.e. the profane, making it wholly sacred. Lincoln adds to the effect by putting the direct object of all three verbs, “this ground,” with the third term, making it literally larger as well.

Caesar does something similar here. He doesn’t add words to his third term, because that would undermine his purpose and spoil the effect. But he does put his verbs in ascending order of intensity.

Veni –  he sums up the immense undertaking of assembling an army, transporting it across the Mediterranean Sea, and marching it across Asia Minor in one little verb. “I came.” There’s no suggestion of the enemy as of yet.

Vidi – “I saw” implies an object; he now has an enemy in view. The brevity suggests an immediate sizing-up of the situation.

Vici – “I conquered.” The complete lack of detail implies not just swiftness, but a sense of effortless mastery. Caesar’s victory is not worth wasting more than that single word.

Sounds Like . . . ? 

Oh, and Caesar’s quotable quote gives us one more teachable moment, as well. We can use it to illustrate a couple of the most notable differences between the two most common methods of Latin pronunciation, the Restored Classical and the Ecclesiastical. The first difference is the pronunciation of the consonant V. It sounds like our “W” in the Restored Classical, a modern “V” in the Liturgical pronunciation. The other difference is that C and G are always hard in Restored Classical, whereas they are aspirated (softened with an “h” sound) in front of some vowels in Liturgical Latin.

Outside of the Latin classroom, you’re more likely to hear Veni, Vidi, Vici in the Ecclesiastical mode:

Vaynee, Veedee, Veechee

In academia, however, Restored Classical pronunciation is more common. There you more commonly hear:

Waynee, Weedee, Weekee

However you pronounce it, people will know what you’re talking about. It’s quite impressive, when you think about it. Veni, Vidi, Vici just might be the most effective political catch phrase ever devised. It still resonates more than two thousand years later. Not only that, it’s a good pedagogical tool for the Latin classroom. Caesar, it seems, just keeps on conquering.

Featured image top of page: Caesar Contemplating the Head of Pompey, by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, 1779