Love and Soul: The classical myth of Psyche and Eros

 

“I have always thought of a myth as something that never was but is always happening.”– Jean Houston, The Possible Human

 

Eros and Psyche, or Cupid and Psyche to the Romans, a marvelous old myth about love, soul, and what’s required to unite the two.

Apuleius included this story in The Golden Ass (also called The Metamorphoses) from the late 2nd century AD, drawing on ancient Greek sources.

I’ve worked with this story many times. I often feel that I am living some part Psyche’s journey, or turning to a moment in the tale that presents the perfect metaphor for the task at hand.

Sorting seeds. Sending up a prayer in the form of tears. Lighting a lamp to dispel an inner darkness.

Lately, I’m hungry for the active relaxation in the space of story and the insights that arise without effort. Perhaps you are too.

Hope you find something wonderful and mysterious in this story. I’ll  unpack some of the themes and reflect on this myth in the next episode. Thanks for listening.

 

Transcript of Love and Soul: The classical myth of Psyche and Eros

Hello, and welcome to Myth Matters, storytelling and conversation about mythology and what myth can offer us today. I’m your host and personal mythologist Dr. Catherine Svehla. Wherever you may be in this wide, beautiful, crazy world of ours, you are part of this story circle. 

I have a rich story for you today, “Eros and Psyche,” or “Cupid and Psyche” to the Romans, a marvelous old myth about love, soul, and what’s required to unite the two. Apuleius included this story in The Golden Ass (also called The Metamorphoses) from the late 2nd century AD, drawing on even older Greek sources.

Cupid and Psyche is one of the inset stories in The Golden Ass. It’s told by an old woman the protagonist encounters along the way. Eros and Psyche is literally an “old wives tale” in the wisdom tradition.

I have worked with this story many times. It’s the center of my workshop on the heroine’s journey, Psyche’s Quest, for example, and I’m amazed at how much can be found here. I often feel that I’m living some part Psyche’s journey, or turning to a moment in the tale that presents the perfect metaphor for the task at hand. 

Sorting seeds. Sending up a prayer in the form of tears. Lighting a lamp to dispel an inner darkness.

Lately, I’m hungry for the active relaxation in the space of a story and the insights that arise without effort. Perhaps you are too. So today, I’m simply going to tell you the story. We can sink into the current of it together. In the next episode, I’ll share some reflections and unpack some of the dynamics of the story.       

The two weeks between this telling and our next meeting here at Myth Matters can be a time of rich inner activity, if you invite that in. Take a breath, listen to the story, and let it seed your imagination, your soul. Notice the details or moment in the story that feels significant to you. This could be something you like or dislike, something that resonates in your heart or puzzles you. Whatever it is, attend to it when it appears, and let it accompany you through the next two weeks. 

Notice it. We receive so much from psyche and so much is communicated to us through signals like this, the language of soul, that is enlivening and helpful if we heed it. Whatever is going on in your outer circumstances right now, what emerges for you in the space of this story can lend clarity, insight, peace of heart. Whatever is truly necessary.

Now, here is the myth of Psyche and Eros.

A certain king and queen had three daughters. The elder two were quite charming but the youngest was wonderfully fair, so fresh and lovely that she seemed to have been born of a drop of heaven’s dew. News of her beauty spread and strangers from neighboring countries came in crowds to look on her with amazement. “It is as if,” they said, “the Goddess Aphrodite herself has come down to earth and taken mortal form.”

People were so captivated by Psyche that they neglected the temples and shrines of the magnificent goddess of Love. Aphrodite noticed the lack of offerings and traced the problem back to the unseemly worship of this mortal girl. “I am the first parent of all created things” Aphrodite fumed to herself. “People should not sing praises to a mortal girl. It’s not right. I will make sure that she doesn’t live to enjoy it.”

Aphrodite summoned her son Eros, a headstrong boy with little respect for law and order. “You must avenge me,” she told him, “Punish the girl. She will learn who is the goddess. Go to this Psyche and cast your spells. Make sure that she falls in love with the vilest of men, someone who will bring only bad fortune.” This Eros agreed to do.

In the meantime, the lovely Psyche was alone and lonely. Her two elder sisters had already been married to two royal princes, but Psyche had no suitors. Not one. Her apparent perfection induced awe but no one had the courage to propose to such a beauty, and Psyche felt herself cursed, not blessed.

Psyche’s parents were also distressed and afraid that they had unwittingly incurred the anger of the gods. They decided to consult the oracle of Apollo, who knew such things and could prescribe a remedy. This consultation was a serious business. Once you got your answer, you were sworn to act accordingly. 

Alas, here is what the oracle told them: “Hope for no mortal bridegroom. Your lovely daughter will be wed to one fierce and wild who burns with fire as hot as a dragon’s breath. Her future husband awaits her on the top of the mountain. Take her there and leave her, dressed for both marriage and funeral.”

This dreadful decree of the oracle filled all the people with dismay and Psyche’s parents abandoned themselves to grief. But Psyche said, “Why, my dear parents, do you lament now? You should have grieved when the people showered upon me undeserved honors and likened me to the great goddess Aphrodite. I understand now that she is the one aggrieved. Lead me without delay to that rock to meet my husband and my unhappy fate.”

The procession was prepared. Psyche wore a wedding dress but it was a sad and solemn march up the mountain. On the summit her stricken parents bid her good bye and with sorrowful hearts returned home. Psyche was alone among the rocks, panting with fear, eyes full of tears. Who or what would come to that desolate crag to claim her?

Eros was there on the mountaintop, invisible of course. He watched Psyche make her slow progress to the top. She was truly beautiful. Mesmerized, the young god pricked himself on one of his arrows and fell deeply in love on the spot. He would be her husband, he thought. Eros called to Zephyr, the west wind, and ordered him to carry the lovely Psyche, gently, so gently, down to the valley below.

Psyche felt the soft breeze envelope and lift her up. She drifted down into a beautiful green valley. What a strange, strange turn of events. It was so pleasant there that her fear abated. She found a soft spot in the shade and fell asleep.

When Psyche awoke she looked round and saw a pleasant grove of tall and stately trees. She entered the grove and discovered a fine stonewall around a glorious garden with a fountain sending forth clear crystal water. Beyond the fountain was a magnificent palace, built with great skill and artistry. She saw no one as she approached and went inside.

The palace was filled with gems and treasures piled high in room after magnificent room. Everything filled Psyche with pleasure and amazement. Such wondrous wealth and more wondrous still, there was no lock or chain or bar upon a single door or window. This must be the palace of a god, Psyche thought.

While she was thinking and wondering, a voice addressed her. She saw no one. She was quite alone. But the voice said, “Sovereign lady, all that you see is yours. We whose voices you hear are your servants and will meet your every need and desire. In the chamber beyond a warm bath has been drawn and you will find a comfortable bed. Relax and refresh yourself and when you are ready to eat simply clap your hands and food will appear.”

Psyche bathed and napped and when she awoke hungry and clapped her hands, the invisible servants served her a delightful meal. Invisible musicians played while she ate and drank delectable wines. The evening passed in this manner until it was time for sleep. But Psyche had yet to see her destined husband.

He came in the hours of darkness and got into her bed with soft murmurs and tender kisses. Psyche could hear him, smell him, feel him, but she could not see him. In the morning she woke up alone. The following night was the same. Although it was unusual and strange, her husband was kind and loving. Psyche found her passion for him and grew accustomed to the strange arrangement. 

In the beginning she did ask him to stay so that she could behold him, but he always said no, that it was impossible and she should not insist unless she wanted to lose all they shared together. “Why should you wish to behold me?” he said. “Do you have any doubt of my love?

 Psyche was happy was for a time. Very happy. The palace was beautiful and her every need was met. But she knew that her poor parents believed that she was dead and that her sisters were also grieving. And although she was now wed, she was sometimes lonely during the long days. 

When Psyche discovered that she was pregnant, her desire to comfort her family and share her joy filled her heart. She desperately longed to have contact with her family. When her husband came to her that night, she told him their happy news. She also asked him to send the west wind for her sisters, to bring them to her at the palace so they could rest easy that she was well, enjoy her good fortune, and comfort her parents.

Eros said no. “Of course, you love your family my dearest Psyche,” he said, “but no good will come from such a visit. Trust me. Your sisters will bring harm to you and disrupt our happiness. You are happy, are you not?” Psyche wanted to please her husband but after all, she didn’t ask much, did she? She showered him with kisses and renewed her entreaties until at last, Eros gave his unwilling consent to the visit. Psyche would see her sisters.

As it so happened, Psyche’s sisters were both visiting her parents and had learned of the oracle’s decree and of her abandonment on the mountaintop. In their despair they went to the place, and this is where the west wind found them. He gently lifted them up and carried them, full of fear and amazement, to the beautiful garden.

When their feet touched the ground they saw Psyche and their hearts overflowed with joy. “My sisters,” Psyche said, “I am so delighted to see you at last. Come, let me offer you some refreshment. All that I have is yours.”

The sisters were amazed by the palace and enjoyed the attention of the servant voices. Their youngest sister had landed in a wondrous place indeed, and they began to ask themselves what she had done to deserve such good fortune, and having no good answer, their joy was replaced with envy. It hardly seemed fair.

“Tell us about your husband Psyche,” said the eldest sister, “What is he like?” “Oh,” Psyche replied, “He is a beautiful young man and quite wealthy. He spends a great deal of time hunting in the mountains and that’s why he isn’t here.” “I’m glad to hear it,” said the middle sister, “Because back at home they still speak of the oracle and imagine that your husband must be some kind of monster.”  “Yes,” said the eldest, “are you sure that there is nothing amiss, nothing strange? The oracle of Apollo has never been wrong before.”

Her sisters’ words fed Psyche’s own submerged doubt. She admitted to them then that she had never actually seen her husband. “But he is so kind and loving,” she said, “I really don’t see how he could be a monster…” “You must find out what kind of creature he is,” her sisters insisted, “for your own safety and that of your child’s. You cannot keep your head in the sand. The inhabitants of this valley say that your husband is a terrible and monstrous serpent, who nourishes you for a while with dainties that he may by and by devour you. Take our advice. Take a lamp and a sharp knife. Hid them. When your husband is fast asleep, take a look at him. And if he is a monster, cut off his head.”

It was time for her sisters to return home and the wind gathered them up and swept them away. Psyche was greatly troubled. She was afraid and she was curious. At length she made the preparations that her sisters had suggested and waited for nightfall and her husband.

When he had fallen into his first sleep, she silently rose and uncovered her lamp. There was no monster, but the most beautiful and charming of the gods. His golden ringlets washed in nectar smelled so sweet, his body was smooth and perfectly formed, with two dewy wings on his shoulders, whiter than snow. There was no question that this was Eros, the young god of Love.

When Psyche saw Eros she was filled with a new passion and yearned to truly know him. She picked up one of his arrows and running a soft finger over the point, pricked herself and fell in love with Love. She leaned over to have a better view of his face when a drop of burning oil fell on the shoulder of the god. 

Startled, he opened his eyes and saw the lamp, the light. “Oh, foolish Psyche,” he said, “is this how you repay my love? Did you think I could be a monster? Love cannot dwell with suspicion.”  The Eros leapt up from the bed, spread his white wings, and flew out of the window. Psyche desperately grabbed onto his ankles but she was too weak to hold on. She fell to the ground and began to weep.  

When she woke up the next morning she was alone in the countryside. The valley, the walled garden, the gorgeous palace– all of it was gone.

“What have I done,” she said, “without Eros there is no reason to go on living.” Psyche went to the banks of a nearby river and threw herself in. 

But the river knew who she was and laid her gently on the bank. As it happened, Pan the goat-footed nature god was also at the riverside, and he called Psyche, bruised and exhausted, to him. “Fair maiden,” he said, “I am a rather rough fellow but I have a long life of experience and I can see that your suffering is the result of love. Don’t try to kill yourself. Pray to Eros, the mighty god of love, for assistance.” 

Psyche thanked Pan for his concern and walked away. “That advice will do me no good,” she thought. But she did walk away from the river.

Psyche wandered day and night, night and day, in search of her husband. She was tired and hungry and dirty. One day she looked up and saw a magnificent temple at the top of a mountain. “Perhaps my love, my lord, lives there,” she thought and made her way to the door. She entered and found heaps of corn and sheaves of wheat and barley carelessly scattered about. Psyche understood that this was a temple to Demeter. The confusion offended her piety. She organized the offerings and put each thing in its place. 

While she was sweeping the floor the goddess herself appeared. “I know who you are dear Psyche and I’m sorry for what has befallen you” Demeter said. “But Aphrodite is my kinswoman so I cannot help you. This matter is between you and that fair goddess. You must go.” 

Psyche beseeched the goddess but to no avail. Demeter was kind but firm.

Even more distraught and alone, Psyche walked on. Then she saw an exquisite temple set in a grove of trees in a long valley. Hope for divine help rose in her heart and she went to the temple. When she got near, she saw precious gifts and golden letters tied to the branches. A sure sign that this was a temple for Hera, sister and bride of Zeus.

Psyche entered and sank to her knees before the altar.  She had barely begun her prayers extolling the attributes of the great goddess and explaining her plight when Hera appeared. “Right gladly I would answer your prayers,” she said, “and my heart goes out to you. But I cannot go against the wishes of my sister Aphrodite and lend you aid. You must go immediately.”

Psyche knew now that she was completely without refuge. I face a certain death, she thought, and doubt that I will ever find my husband. I will go offer myself up to Aphrodite, the great goddess whom I have offended and beg her forgiveness. Let her do what she will.

As she walked, Psyche pondered what to say and how best to appease the goddess. When she arrived at the temple Aphrodite was there, fuming with anger. The goddess knew about the wound—Eros had flown home to his mother— and she had been looking for Psyche and scheming about ways to make the young woman suffer. “Do you finally remember Aphrodite,” she raged, “the source of all that is fair and beautiful? Or have you come to visit your poor, wounded husband? Don’t think that your condition will move me to pity. You are so ill favored and disagreeable that the only way you can attract lovers must be by dint of industry and servitude. I will test your worth.”

Aphrodite ordered Psyche to be led to the temple storehouse, where a huge mound of various seeds—wheat, barley, millet, vetches, beans, and lentils— food for her pigeons—was heaped together. “Take and separate all these grains,” the goddess ordered, “putting all of the same kind in a pile by themselves, and see that you get it done before evening.” Then she left, closing the door behind her.

Psyche looked at the mound dumbfounded. She silently sat down and stared, without moving a finger to the inextricable heap. Despair filled her heart. She started to weep. A little ant appeared. He felt compassion for Psyche and called to his mates. The whole troop approached the heap and with the utmost diligence, grain by grain, seed by seed, they separated the pile, sorting each kind. When it was all done, they vanished out of sight.

Aphrodite returned at twilight. When she saw that the task was done, she exclaimed, “This is no work of yours. You’ve had help from him whom to your own and his misfortune you have enticed. But I’m not done with you.” She tossed Psyche a crust of dry bread and went away.

The next morning Aphrodite called Psyche to her and said, “I have another task for you, miserable creature. There in that grove which stretches alongside the river is a flock of rams with fleece of shining gold. They have no guardian. Go and fetch me a sample of that precious wool gathered from every one of their fleeces.”

Psyche obediently went to the riverside, prepared to do her best to execute the command. Once again her heart was full of despair and she considered throwing herself into the water. But a humble and friendly reed whistled to her and offered some advice. “ Those are solar-powered rams,” the reed said, “and under the influence of the sun they will tear you to pieces or gore you and trample you under their sharp hooves. Wait until the late afternoon when they rest in the shade. Then you may safely cross over and collect the wool that has caught in the brambles without disturbing them.”

Psyche took the advice of the reed and safely gathered armfuls of the golden wool for Aphrodite. But when the goddess saw that she had completed this second task, she was not happy. “I know that you had help, “she said, “and I am not satisfied yet that you have any capacity to make yourself useful. But no mind, I have another task for you. Take this crystal flask and go to the top of that rocky mountain where the deep, cold waters of the river Styx pour forth from the rocks and bring me back just a little. Mind the sharp stones and the dragons who guard the banks, and don’t spill a drop on your way back.”

This task was even more difficult than the first two. Once again Psyche’s heart was full of despair and tears filled her eyes. She went to the base of the deadly stream, certain that this task would bring her death. Which didn’t seem so bad until she saw the sharp rocks and the flashing eyes of the dragons. Then she was so frightened that she stood like a stone, paralyzed.

As she was standing there an eagle flew overhead. It was the eagle of Zeus, who knew of her plight. The great bird swooped down and took the flask from her hands and with powerful strokes of its mighty wings it flew to the top, past the dragons, and dipped the crystal flask into the water. In moments the deed was done and Psyche returned to the angry Aphrodite with the water she had requested.

“Hmm, maybe you are a sorceress,” said the goddess, “and I know that you are receiving help. But I have another task for you. Here, take this box and find your way to Hades, to the land of mists and shades and death. Give this box to Persephone and say, ‘My mistress Aphrodite desires you to send her a little of your beauty, for in tending her sick son she has lost some of her own.’ Be quick with this errand, for I must paint myself with this beauty to appear at the circle of the gods and goddesses this evening.”

Now Psyche knew that she was doomed. All was lost. She climbed to the top of a nearby tower determined to throw herself off and thus to descend to Hades the shortest way possible. But as she stood trembling on the ledge, a voice from the tower said to her, “If you do this you will certainly end up in Hades, but without a way to return. Listen to me. I know a better way.” 

Then the voice told her about a certain cave where she could find the long road down. It told her about Charon the ferryman and Cerberus the three-headed dog that guards the banks of the river Styx. “Take two coins and two barley cakes, “said the voice,” and you can pay each of these on the way in– and on the way out again.” But the voice added, “You will see pitiful creatures and great mysteries in the Underworld and you must not stop to listen or give aid. Harden your heart. When you reach the throne of Persephone she will offer you a banquet meal and a soft couch upon which to rest. Accept nothing but a crust of bread and sit on the ground. When you have the box you must come back straight away and do not open it.”

Psyche listened carefully to the voice of the tower. She climbed down, collected her coins and her cakes, and found the cave. Her journey to Hades progressed just as the tower predicted. While on the road down she met a lame man with a lame donkey carrying a load of wood. He begged her to stop and help him pick up the sticks that had fallen but she passed him by in silence. When she was crossing the river Styx a drowning old man begged her for pity but she did not make a move on his behalf.

Then she met a pathetic old man anxiously tying and untying a piece of black and white cord who tried to gain her attention but she averted her eyes and walked on. Three mysterious old women sat weaving near Persephone’s gates but she ignored them too. She refused the offered seat and meal. At last, she had the box full of beauty and began the long journey back to the surface.

Psyche was so relieved and happy when she was once more into the light of day. She has been down to the underworld and back up again! She allowed herself, at last, to recall her fair husband and imagine that she might see him once again. He was a fair and glorious god and she loved him so deeply.

Yes, he was a god. And she was a mere mortal. 

He had fallen in love with her because she was beautiful but after all of her wandering aroundshe was a tired, pregnant woman who hadn’t spared a moment to wash her hair or tend her clothes. How could she possibly attract a god? The box contains the beauty of the goddess, she thought. Psyche carefully opened the box. A mist rose from the emptiness and put her into a deathlike sleep. Psyche fell down motionless in the middle of the road.

Now Eros had recovered from his wound and was looking for his dear Psyche. He flew to the spot where she lay. He saw the box and the sleep that enveloped her, gathered it up and returned it to the box. With a slight prick from one of his arrows she was awake. “Wait here beloved,” he said, “and I will take care of the rest.”

Eros flew to Mount Olympus and called upon Zeus, who decided that the lovers should be allowed to stay together. “It will be a match between equals,” he told Aphrodite, “I will make her immortal so no harm is done to your honor.” The goddess was persuaded and Hermes was sent to retrieve Psyche. There on Mt Olympus, Zeus handed her a cup of ambrosia and said, “Drink this, Psyche, and be immortal. These nuptials shall be perpetual.”

Thus, Psyche became at last united with Eros. In due time their daughter was born. They named her Pleasure.

Psyche united with Eros. Soul united with love. I’ll reflect on this story and some of the possibilities that it holds in the next episode. For now, I’ll leave you with this observation by  C.G. Jung: “Love is the dynamism that most infallibly brings the unconscious to light.”

In that spirit, I remind you of my invitation to reflect on the moment or detail in the story that speaks to you and let it matter. Let it percolate in your consciousness for the next couple of weeks.

The movement of soul and work with soul, with what Jung called “the symbolic life” takes us into strange and liminal spaces, into states where change is possible. I have an online course in story work that is an opportunity to explore liminal space and story and your symbolic life. It’s called Step Into the Fairy Glen and it’s taking place Oct 25th- Nov 8th. Two weeks, beginning with the new moon and ending with the full moon. I offer this course in what is the Fall season here in the northern hemisphere, in order to inhabit and invite the liminal energies expressed in holidays like Halloween and Samhain. It’s a great time to be in a story.

You’ll find the link to details about Step Into the Fairy Glen on the mythic mojo website. It’s a guided two-week process, takes only minutes a day, and you don’t need any special expertise and not much money either. I want as many people as possible to explore the fairy glen, to find what is needed in the story and the symbolic life to evolve as individuals and as a community. 

Patreon patrons and bandcamp supporters out there, you can step into the fairy glen for free! Check your email for the coupon code and information that I’ve sent you, and if you’ve joined me in the fairy glen before, simply email me and let me know that you’d like to participate again.

Before we part ways, I want to give a big welcome to new subscribers: Stan, Steven, Athena, Charmi, and Lisa. Welcome! If you’re new to Myth Matters, I invite you to head over to the Mythic Mojo website, where you can get one the email list, find a transcript of this episode, and also information about my other offerings, like Step Into the Fairy Glen. 

You’ll also find  the link to Myth Matters on Patreon. I am very grateful for the patrons and supporters of this podcast. I want to give a shout out to Amy, Rags, and Fred- thank you! Thank you. There are some benefits to patrons, like free participation in the Fairy Glen course. You’ll find all of those details if you click the link. 

Feel free to email me with your questions and comments about Psyche and Eros. I always love to hear from you.

If we have a better understanding of our need for myth, and all that our old stories offer, we can live more satisfying lives. We can inhabit a better story and create a more beautiful, just and sustainable world.

And that’s it for me, Catherine Svehla and Myth Matters. Thank you so much for listening. Take good care of yourself and until next time, keep the mystery in your life alive.