Given the wildly popular new movie version of The Odyssey, directed by Christopher Nolan—there were several previous versions of which I am aware, the original from 1954 starring Kirk Douglas as Odysseus, the 1968 Italian mini-series L’Odissea, a 1997 made-for-television movie directed by Andrei Konchalovsky, and, more recently, a full-length film titled The Return (2024) starring Ralph Fiennes and Juliette Binoche—it seems apparent that there is, perhaps more than ever, a deep public craving, hunger, thirst, or as Rollo May (1991) put it, a profound collective “cry for myth” in these extremely troubled times.
In The Cry for Myth (1991), his final major work, May writes, “I find that contemporary therapy is almost entirely concerned… with the… individual’s search for myths…. A myth is a way of making sense in a senseless world. Myths are narrative patterns that give significance to our existence…. Indeed, the very birth and proliferation of psychotherapy in our contemporary age were called forth by the disintegration of our myths…. In ancient Greece, for example, when the myths were vital and strong, individuals in the society were able to meet the problems of existence without overwhelming anxiety or guilt feelings.” Sadly, not so for us today in our technology-laden 21st century with its anger, rage, violence, and epidemic mental health crisis.
In this post, we will consider the mythic tale of another timeless Greek hero who preceded Odysseus (Ulysses), Hercules (also called Heracles), his heroic cleansing of the long-neglected Augean stables, and its metaphorical relevance to what happens (or needs to happen) in the psychotherapy process.
The Fifth Labor of Hercules
For his fifth and likely filthiest labor, Hercules was required at the behest of Hera, the jealous goddess who had tried and failed to kill him during infancy, and under a direct command from King Eurystheus, her sadistic taskmaster, to clean out three or four decades of dung from an immense complex of stables owned by King Augeas. This task was deliberately designed to psychologically defeat, humiliate, and destroy Hercules, whom both Hera and King Eurystheus hated. His prior four (of 12 total) labors up to that point had been heroic, glorious, ultimately victorious battles against the vicious Nemean lion, the venomous Lernaean Hydra (see my prior post), and others. Having incredulously seen Hercules complete these first four death-defying and seemingly impossible labors successfully, King Eurystheus, Hera’s henchman, takes a different tack here, ordering Hercules to completely clean out the stinking, acrid, befouled Augean stables in but a single day.
What made this labor so incredibly daunting was a combination of the enormous size of the stables, the exceedingly large number of gigantic cattle it contained, and the fact that it hadn’t been tended to for several decades, coupled with the sheer prodigious amount of manure produced daily by these supernatural oxen. The stench alone would have been horrific. Hercules, who was performing penance via these labors for having violently murdered his wife and children in a fit of unrestrained rage, had already demonstrated his capacity to overcome and redirect at least some of his own dangerous aggression into productive deeds during the first two labors. But, like real life for most of us, each consecutive task he faced, it seems, presented a new and different circumstance to further test his mettle, strength, and resilience. Now Hercules faced a very different kind of challenge: One that demanded not just brawn, since no amount of brute physical strength could suffice to achieve this distasteful task in only one day, but brains, ingenuity, resourcefulness, creativity, and, most of all, humility—a deflating acknowledgment, despite his being a demi-god (Hercules was the son of Zeus but born to a human mother), of his own human limitations. It is highly likely that Hercules at first felt overwhelmed and discouraged by the mucky, messy, monumental task he faced. But, after some contemplation, he finally figures out (for Hercules was both extraordinarily strong and clever) a way to get it done by using his extraordinary strength to divert the courses of two raging rivers to run right through the defecation-caked stables, flushing them out in short order. A perfect example of working smarter, not harder.
Myths, Midlife, and Psychotherapy
Hercules is said to have been close to 30 years old at the time he was first told by the Oracle at Delphi to submit to this serial punishment and do the cruel bidding of both Hera and King Eurystheus, and it is said that completing these extremely arduous and dangerous tasks took 12 years. So, it seems reasonable to speculate that Hercules was entering midlife, perhaps around age 35, by the time he was ordered to scour the accumulated dung in the Augean stables.
There are some noteworthy parallels here to the psychotherapy process. People seek therapy at any age, but many find themselves in treatment around midlife, grappling with existential concerns such as meaninglessness, finitude, destiny, and mortality. Psychotherapy can, and frequently does, entail confronting a lifetime (or, in the case of a midlife crisis, the first half of a lifetime) accumulation of neglected, ignored, dissociated, and denied “sh*t.” The kind of “crap” or “bullsh*t” that inevitably occurs to everyone in life. During midlife, not only must we confront our complexes, traumas, failures, losses, frustrations, regrets, resentments, etc., but we are tasked to confront the dark, dirty, disgusting, disowned, animalistic, or creaturely primitive and repressed parts of ourselves (what Jung called the shadow), others, and the human condition in general. It can be an unnerving and potentially perilous encounter with what May (1969) calls the daimonic (see my prior posts) and requires tremendous courage, perseverance, and creativity—and, sometimes, psychotherapeutic support—to successfully survive and heroically conquer it. (It should be noted that, though undoubtedly a great hero, Hercules, too, at times needed help and received assistance, both from mortal humans and the gods, to accomplish his heroic deeds.)
In actuality, modern psychotherapy patients of all ages frequently experience the daunting archetypal task of delving into their past and dealing with their metaphorical emotional demons in much the same way Hercules must have as he faced his disgusting, demeaning, and ego-deflating fifth labor during midlife. (For instance, one of Hercules’ own monstrous inner demons had to do with his crime of having brutally murdered his wife and children when in his 20s, some say in a fit of madness inflicted upon him by the hateful Hera.) Such a seemingly unattainable, tedious, menial task is certainly tough on the ego and can be experienced as a devastating blow to one’s narcissism. For some today, especially men, even taking the decision to seek psychotherapy is perceived or experienced as a humiliating failure, defeat, or indication of weakness and dependency.
But the process of psychotherapy can in this way be likened to the courageous and heroic Herculean cleansing, unpacking, or sorting out of that which has been cluttering, impeding, mucking up, and toxifying the psyche and personality, manifesting in the form of signs, symptoms, and repetitive self-defeating patterns of behavior. (See my prior post.) In that sense, we could say that the long-neglected Augean stables psychologically symbolize the repressed and neglected unconscious calling out for much-needed attention and tending. Sometimes it takes an unexpected or unwanted turn in life to teach us some healthy humility, deflate our egotistical grandiosity and defenses, and force us to face and come to terms with our demons. Perhaps these trying labors of Hercules can be compared with the various existential crises, predicaments, or challenges potentially leading us, depending upon how we choose to deal with them, toward individuation and heroically finding and fulfilling our own destiny.
