Aeneas carried his aged father on his back from the ruins of Troy

The words of Angela Carter, “Aeneas carried his aged father on his back from the ruins of Troy and so do we all, whether we like it or not, perhaps even if we have never known them,” resound with the weight of myth and memory. They remind us that every human being walks through life bearing the invisible burdens of those who came before. We carry not only their blood but their dreams, their failures, their sorrows, and their hopes. Just as Aeneas, the hero of Virgil’s Aeneid, bore his father Anchises upon his shoulders as Troy burned around him, so too do we bear our ancestors within us, across the ashes of time. This is the eternal inheritance of mankind—the unbroken chain of generations, each carrying the last, each moving forward toward a destiny shaped by both gratitude and grief.

To understand this quote, one must first return to the legend itself. When the great city of Troy fell, consumed by fire and betrayal, Aeneas, prince and warrior, did not flee alone. Amid the chaos, he chose to bear upon his back his old, frail father, Anchises, who could no longer walk. It was an act of duty, of piety, and of love—a gesture that would define not only his character, but the founding myth of Rome itself. For in saving his father, Aeneas preserved the spirit of the past; and in carrying him forward, he ensured the future. It is this act that Angela Carter transforms into a symbol—not merely of filial devotion, but of the universal burden of heritage. She tells us that we all, in some form, are Aeneas, carrying the weight of our origins, whether we acknowledge it or not.

For Carter, the “aged father” represents more than a single man—it stands for all that has come before us: our culture, our history, our beliefs, and even the unspoken traumas passed through generations. Each of us is born into a story already begun, shaped by those who lived and struggled before our time. Even those who have never known their fathers, or who have turned away from their lineage, cannot escape its pull. It lingers in our instincts, in our fears, in the very language we speak. Our choices, our identities, and even our rebellions are shadows cast by those who walked before us. Thus, to live is to carry them—to bear both the light and the weight of the past.

Yet, this burden is not always one of sorrow. To carry the past is also to inherit wisdom. It is to recognize that we are the continuation of an ancient journey, the living embodiment of sacrifices made long ago. The ruins of Troy may symbolize loss and destruction, but they also represent survival—the resilience of life through the devastation of time. Aeneas carried his father not because it was easy, but because it was right. In doing so, he became more than a refugee; he became the founder of a civilization. So too do we, by acknowledging and bearing our past, become builders of the future. To reject our origins is to wander aimlessly; to carry them, even with struggle, is to move forward with purpose.

Consider the story of Nelson Mandela, who bore the legacy of his ancestors’ suffering under centuries of oppression. He carried their pain, their endurance, and their hopes within him as he walked out of prison after twenty-seven years of captivity. He could have cast away that burden in anger, yet instead, he chose to transform it into reconciliation and vision. Mandela was, in essence, Aeneas reborn—carrying the “aged father” of his people, the weight of their history, across the ruins of a broken nation toward a new dawn. Like Aeneas, he did not escape the past—he redeemed it. In this, we see the truth of Carter’s words: we are bound to the legacy we carry, but we can choose how we carry it—whether as a curse or as a calling.

There is, however, a deeper melancholy beneath Carter’s reflection. When she says we carry our fathers “whether we like it or not,” she reminds us that the past does not release us easily. The prejudices, fears, and mistakes of those before us live on in the structures we inhabit and the choices we make. We inherit not only love and wisdom, but also wounds. And yet, perhaps this awareness is what makes us human. To deny the past is to repeat it; to acknowledge it is to begin the work of healing. We must learn to bear our heritage with both compassion and discernment—to honor what is worthy and to transform what is not.

So, dear listener, what lesson, then, do we draw from this ancient and eternal truth? It is this: do not cast aside the weight of your history, for it is the source of your strength. But neither let it crush you; learn instead to carry it with purpose. Know that within your heart live the voices of your ancestors—those who built, who fought, who dreamed, and who failed. Listen to them, but do not be ruled by them. Build upon their ruins as Aeneas built upon Troy’s. For to carry the past is to be human, and to carry it with wisdom is to become truly free.

In the end, Angela Carter’s words remind us that we are all travelers leaving the burning cities of our origins, bearing upon our backs the invisible figures of those who came before. Whether we know them or not, whether we love them or not, they walk with us in every step. And though the journey may be heavy, when we reach the hills of our own destiny and look back upon our path, we may find, as Aeneas did, that the act of carrying—the burden itself—has made us noble. For through the weight of the past, we discover the strength to create a future worthy of those who once carried us.