Descending into the Underworld

I read a lot with my daughter. About two years ago, I bought her, as a tryout, a book from the Mythology for Kids series about Icarus’s flight. She loved it, so I kept buying everything I could find. Soon enough, we were reading the entire Odyssey and large sections of the Iliad. For good measure, there were even some bits and pieces from the Aeneid.

This exercise prompted me to purchase the complete texts as well and read them for myself. I had read some adaptations in my youth, but I was curious to see the “original” versions, written in hexameters, and to familiarise myself with the entire text, story, and themes. One of them I found peculiarly puzzling: the descent, or near-descent, of the main hero, whether Odysseus or Aeneas, into the underworld and the quest for answers, coupled with revelations from the dead.

The descent of Odysseus is impressive and quite terrifying. Strictly speaking, he does not travel through the underworld as Aeneas later does. He travels to its threshold, to the edge of the world, and summons the dead. Facing the wrath of Poseidon, he needs answers about his chances of returning home to Ithaca. Circe tells him to seek the advice of Tiresias, a dead, blind prophet, who can be summoned among the shades. This he does, and the prophet tells him, among other things, to avoid eating the cattle of the sun god, Helios, a valuable piece of information which, later on, he shares with the crew (but is the only one to obey). Several other encounters happen that stick with the reader. Odysseus meets his mother, Anticleia, who has died from sorrow and longing during his absence, and who tells him of the situation in Ithaca. He meets Elpenor, a young crewmate who died absurdly on Circe’s island after falling from a roof, and who requests a proper burial. Finally, he meets some of his former comrades from the Trojan War, among whom are Achilles and Agamemnon.

Aeneas’s trip to the underworld is different. He descends in order to meet his father, Anchises, who will reveal to him the vision of Rome’s future. Aeneas also has a troubling encounter with Dido, the queen of Carthage, who killed herself after his abandonment. He also sees Tartarus and Elysium, which the Christian imagination might be tempted to call Hell and Heaven, although the ancient categories are, of course, different.

I could, naturally, go and read academic commentaries. I could ask ChatGPT or Wikipedia for explanations and interpretations. Most likely, I will. But in this age of spoon-fed, regurgitated information, I decided to sit a bit with myself, think of the puzzling part out loud, and check the conventional wisdom later.

I had several questions. Why must they go to the underworld, the land of the dead? How can they go there when they are not dead; doesn’t that involve a death of sorts? And why should one die, or talk with the dead, to get answers? What is the meaning of it all? Why is this a recurring theme?

I start with the obvious. Death is symbolic. None of the characters truly dies, and both Odysseus and Aeneas return to continue their journeys. However, some part of them - maybe doubt, maybe ignorance, maybe both - is left behind. Through the revelations they receive, they are changed beings. By crossing the threshold of the dead, their old self can be said to have died, and their new self re-emerges in the land of the living. Odysseus wants to know whether he will make it home and what dangers await him. Aeneas wants to know whether the sacrifices he made and his struggles will bear fruit. In a way, they both return reassured. Not guaranteed. Reassured. But that reassurance gives them renewed strength and determination. It gives them meaning.

Their symbolic death is also a sort of separation and a form of peace-making with the past, or at least with past relationships. The dead force the heroes to deal with unfinished obligations. In the case of Odysseus, this can be inferred from Elpenor’s request for a proper burial. Odysseus and his crew spent a long time on Circe’s island. Their departure, albeit announced, requires closure, and the burial ritual suggests that some mourning of what is being left behind is needed before moving forward. Death is an abrupt ending, but mourning is making sense of it before continuing.

In Aeneas’s case, this is even more transparent. Aeneas abandoned Dido and betrayed their love in order to pursue his duty, breaking her trust, her heart, and, ultimately, pushing her to commit suicide. In the land of the dead, he sees Dido and tries to speak to her. But she refuses him. She turns away and returns to the shade of Sychaeus, her former husband. His regret is clear. His attempt at repentance as well. But Dido does not grant him absolution. Perhaps that is the point. Some wounds cannot be repaired by the person who caused them. What remains possible is not closure in the sentimental sense, but recognition and acceptance of consequences: to see the cost of one’s duty, and to carry it without pretending that everyone must understand and forgive it.

Another striking element is the encounter with a parent. Odysseus meets his mother, a terrible moment, since he was not even aware that she was dead. Aeneas meets his father, which is the very purpose of his descent into the underworld. In both cases, however, the parents reveal something the heroes need in order to move on. Anticleia gives Odysseus a perspective he lacks: the suffering of those left behind. While travelling back home, he is unaware of the reality in Ithaca. His mother’s revelations cure him of that ignorance and give him urgency. Tiresias’s prophecies play a related role. Odysseus wants certainty, which is very much the human condition. What he gets instead is knowledge, warnings, and awareness, but also the realisation that there are no guarantees.

Aeneas’s case is somewhat different. His journey is one marked by constant personal loss: his wife, Creusa, lost in Troy; his father, Anchises, buried in Sicily before the Trojans finally reach Italy; and Dido, lost in Carthage. Despite this, Aeneas keeps going to fulfil his duty. His struggle is with doubt: was it all worth it? In his discussion with his dead father, he gets a glimpse of Rome’s future, all the way to Augustus. Within the poem, this is presented as fate. But for me, it functions more like a possibility: a vision of what all Aeneas’s suffering is for. That appears to be more than sufficient for the hero. The vision of what can be reassures him in his efforts.

I also believe it matters that some of this knowledge comes from parents. If Odysseus’s encounter with his mother is more accidental, Aeneas’s encounter with his father is intended. But that does not alter the outcome. Whether sought or simply offered, parental guidance enables both of them to find what they need to continue. Anticleia reconnects Odysseus to the home he left behind. Anchises reconnects Aeneas to the future he cannot yet see.

Guidance is part of entering the land of the dead as well. No one enters that space alone. Odysseus receives clear instructions from Circe, a divine sorceress. Aeneas is guided by the Cumaean Sibyl, a prophetess of Apollo. This seems to indicate that even heroes need help when the journey exceeds ordinary human competence. In times of need, seeking external guidance is not a weakness but a sign of wisdom.

The constant movement between past and future suggests another reason why the heroes need to go to the land of the dead for answers. Death is beyond life, and not-being is an infinite period briefly interrupted by the miracle of being alive. Life is thus limited in time by time. The knowledge that can be accumulated is also limited and driven by the passing of time. Humans can only experience the present. Their limited past is encapsulated in memory. The unknown future is subject to imagination. But beyond life, there is no time in the same sense. Past, present, and future seem to merge. It is no surprise that Tiresias can foretell Odysseus’s future. Even less so that Anchises can reveal the image of Rome in all its glory. Outside the limited realm of the living (and only here), all is visible, and the boundary of time can be broken.

Finally, the descent into the underworld enables the heroes to glimpse the afterlife and meditate on life choices. Their visions, however, seem to address the core of their quests. Odysseus meets Achilles and Agamemnon. Both encounters are tragic in their own way. Unlike Odysseus’s wife, who maintained her faithfulness to him, Agamemnon’s wife betrayed him and orchestrated his assassination. The victor of the Trojan War could not enjoy his victory. That tells Odysseus something about his own struggles, and perhaps also something about his luck once he returns to Ithaca. Even more painful, however, is the sight of Achilles, the greatest Greek fighter, who fell in the Trojan War and enjoyed, among the living, the eternal glory promised to him. Yet rather than being happy about being remembered in such a way, Achilles unsettles the heroic bargain itself. Having pursued a premature but notorious death, Achilles now tells Odysseus he would rather be a nobody, but alive. He asks about his father and son, which may still suggest a concern for legacy and continuity, but which I read as a regret about being absent from their lives. If even the greatest warrior would trade posthumous glory for an obscure life under the sun, then glory begins to look less like immortality and more like compensation paid in the wrong currency. In these encounters, Odysseus, himself a hero and victor of the Trojan War, is forced to question both his deeds and their meaning. He emerges not merely better informed, but less one-sided and wiser.

Aeneas, for his part, gets a view of Tartarus and the Elysian Fields. That vision enables him to understand the value of one’s life and actions. A dignified and honourable life leads toward one kind of eternity. A life marked by cruelty, betrayal, or malfeasance leads toward another. This vision is important to Aeneas’s own becoming, especially in his time of doubt, as it reinforces his decision to pursue duty above all.

I am sure more meanings can be found in such a quest of descending into the realm of the dead. Interestingly, in Christian tradition, Christ also descends to the dead before the Resurrection, marking the passage through death before the return to life, rather than a simple reversal of death by divine power. The experience and knowledge of that kind of beyond seem necessary for transformation. Impossible as it may sound, the idea remains fascinating and intriguing.

Perhaps this is why the story survives: the hero descends not to escape life, but to understand it better. He goes down into darkness, learns from it, and returns to life changed.

That is worth thinking about.

Out loud.