1. Orpheus & Eurydice
“Regrets are illuminations come too late.”
— Joseph Campbell, The Hero with a Thousand Faces
Welcome! This is the Thousand Faces Project, where I share myths from the “Thousand Faces” of the Hero-Myth (Joseph Campbell’s monomyth), drawing on tales and legends from around the world. Some of these myths may fall outside or around Campbell’s work. I’m not too fussed about it.
Each post follows a similar structure:
Myth - the largest section, a simple retelling of the myth.
Discussion - my thoughts on contextualizing the myth for modern times.
Contemplation - a question for contemplation as you go about your day.
I am fussed about accuracy - so if you see an inaccuracy in my sketch of the myth - I beg of you to message me so I can fix it pronto. Alright, with out further ado, here’s today’s myth:
Myth
Orpheus. A virtuoso unlike any other, his music called the stones to dance, the trees listened in rapt stillness, and the spirits of the dead flocked to hear the music of his lyre - to remember the feeling of feet as they danced unseen amongst the living.
And what did such a man desire? Nothing more than his beloved, the fair nymph Eurydice - unfortunately we don’t know much about her other than that she was wife to Orpheus, or at least, I don’t.
The two marry, and for a moment in time their life is simple: a cottage, a lyre, a happy life together.
It doesn’t last. One day, whilst Eurydice danced amongst the woodland nymphs, the god Aristaios – by some named Zeus and by others Apollo, still by others his own god, the lord and keeper of bees and many other rustic arts – came upon that spot of revelry, and seeing Eurydice, was overtaken by Lust. He gave chase and pursued her, and in her flight, Eurydice stepped upon a viper, and with one strike from those fateful fangs, she would dance no more.
Orpheus, upon discovering the death of his beloved, bellowed with grief, his golden tongue and silver finger played such a song of longing for Eurydice that all the world wept until grief turned to action. Orpheus, half mad with grief, takes the road to the dead, the path to Hades.
Protected by the gods, Orpheus passed the river Styx alive, softening the Furies, charming Cerberus, and finally warming the cold hearts of Hades and Persephone. Moved to feeling, the Lord and Lady of the Dead grant Orpheus a single boon never given before nor since: they would allow Eurydice to return with Orpheus, but she must walk behind him and he may never look back until they stand once more amongst the solar-bathed realm of the living.
So the two begin the long ascent back to home. The path is long, and silent for Eurydice cannot speak to Orpheus as the dead cannot directly communicate with the living. A worm of doubt began to eat into Orpheus. He could neither hear her footsteps nor her breath. He starts to wonder: Did Hades trick me? Is she really there? Is this all in my head? They are almost to the surface when Orpheus finally snaps. He turns.
For a heartbeat, Orpheus sees Eurydice as she was – alive and joyous — and then can but watch as she is dragged back into the dark, and this time the door does not reopen no matter how Orpheus sought for the entrance. So golden-tongued Orpheus played, but no longer were his songs of the kind that would delight the living. His silver fingers wrought hymns of Hades, fatal melodies calling for his own death, every note a plea to be reunified with Eurydice. The gods grant his wish: depending on which variant of the story you read, Orpheus is slain, but his head remains, continuing to sing forever.
Discussion
Fundamentally, the tale of Orpheus circles around the consequences of hesitating upon the road to achieving what we truly want: we find ourselves unable to tolerate uncertainty on our chosen path. We turn around, we hesitate, we lose confidence in our choices - most crucially, we go backwards when we must go forwards. For most, the consequences may not be as severe as Orphean despair, but regret or dissatisfaction can easily find their way through the door of even minor regressions, and true Orphean despair awaits those of us who stretch forth to do the impossible only to about face at the inflection point.
Orpheus’s downfall doesn’t come about because he is incapable. He is most capable, in fact, he is on the cusp of achieving the impossible when he looks back toward the same thing that drives him to achieve in the first place: Eurydice, his supreme object of desire. We might call restoring Eurydice to life Orpheus’s goal, his prime driver and motivation, to which he is inextricably attached. It is this attachment that is so potent and so poisonous, a double edged sword of the most subtle kind.
So it is for us. Our attachment to our most fervent desire, the goal or ambition that drives us to achieve, is a snake in waiting. How, then, shall we seek to achieve anything without succumbing to that same drive? We must work to reduce the stranglehold that attachment has on us: to hold lightly, and gently, our most precious desires - and confront the fear of non-achievement by finding value in who we are in and of ourselves.
For it is that fear that binds and cripples us at the end.
What if Orpheus, the most gifted musician in the world, had such a view towards life? Maybe we would all still hear his music.
Contemplation
Think of a project or goal that you dearly want to achieve, then sit with each of the questions below:
Where do you feel the most attachment?
Who would you be if that attachment was a little bit less?
How might you see the world differently?
Til next time,
Nico