After having dealt with a mysteriously vanished island—Atlantis, if it ever existed—I now turn to the mystery of mysteries: death itself, as seen through the eyes of mythology. The term inferi refers primarily to the gods of the underworld, those who stand in opposition to the superi, the Olympian gods. The word also denotes the dead as a whole and all the inhabitants of the subterranean world—gods such as Hades (Pluto), Proserpina, the Furies, Cerberus, Charon, and so on.
The image of what awaits man at the end of earthly life was shaped, in archaic Greece, by poetry and myth. Exactly what we are here to explore. The Homeric world describes the realm of the dead as a bleak, gloomy, and hopeless place. In the Odyssey, Achilles declares that he would rather live as a humble mortal on earth than be a prince among the dead. In Book XI of the Odyssey, the coordinates of the underworld are laid out: once it leaves the body, the soul becomes an eidolon, a kind of image devoid of vital force. The dead may appear to mortals in dreams and communicate with them. Odysseus could speak with the shades only after they had drunk the blood of dark animals—black goats—sacrificed by him. Hardly an Eden!
The underworld remained an ethereal place where the soul wandered without consciousness. There was neither love nor hatred there, nor the possibility of retaining one’s earthly character. In later comedies, this same atmosphere of gloom, oppression, and sorrow would persist—material that likely inspired our Supreme Poet. No clear connection can be seen, in the early myths, between a person’s deeds in life and any reward or punishment after death. Only those who had offended the gods—such as the Titans, Sisyphus, or Tantalus—were consigned to Tartarus, far below Hades, filled with many other “delights.”
It was only later, with the rise of the mystery cults (Orphic, Eleusinian, Pythagorean, etc.), that a link began to emerge between one’s conduct in life—whether in harmony with the mysteries or not—and the corresponding treatment in the afterlife. Both Aristophanes, in The Frogs, and Pindar speak of the need for a righteous life to gain privileged positions beyond death. Souls, it was said, could return to life three times, and after the third trial they might enter the Elysian Fields (Olympian Ode II). The groundwork for Christianity was already being laid! Hesiod writes that bliss was reserved for the heroes who fell at Troy; Plutarch adds still more variations.
I have realized that this is Chapter 17—a number notoriously considered unlucky—so I will end my discussion of underworld interpretations here. Yet I cannot refrain from speaking of two creatures who dwell and reign there, and for whom I have a certain fondness despite everything: Cerberus and Charon.
Cerberus, the offspring of Typhon and Echidna, was the monstrous dog set to guard the entrance of Hades. In ancient times, he was depicted with fifty or even a hundred heads; later, he was described as a creature with the body of a dog, three heads, a serpent’s tail, and snakes coiled around his neck. He was the brother of the Hydra of Lerna, which, as we have seen, formed the subject of Heracles’ second labor. Cerberus dwelt near the farthest reaches of the infernal river Styx, which the dead had to cross in Charon’s boat, and he became the object of Heracles’ twelfth and final labor. The hero descended into Hades, captured him bare-handed, and brought him to Eurystheus—only to return him soon after. Cerberus was unyielding toward the dead, though he would wag his tail as he gathered them together. When Aeneas descended into the underworld, he had to lull Cerberus to sleep with a “drugged” cake in order to pass.
Charon, son of Erebus, was the ferryman who transported the souls of the dead across the infernal rivers. He was the brother of Styx, the goddess of the infernal river itself. His boat was ancient, built from pieces of tree bark sewn together. For passage, the souls paid him an obol—a coin the Greeks customarily placed in the mouth of the deceased before burial. Another custom was to cover the dead person’s eyes with two coins, preferably gold (the “obol of Charon”). The ferryman was depicted with a filthy, thick beard. Though portrayed as an old man, he possessed Herculean strength. In some versions, it was not he who rowed, but the dead themselves. When Aeneas descended to the underworld, he appeased Charon with a golden bough meant for Proserpina. Nonetheless, for having ferried Aeneas while still alive, Charon was condemned to remain in chains for a year.
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