The myth of forbidden lust

This is how Medusa's remarkable story can change the world (inside and out)

You can listen to this piece on YouTube.

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What happens to you when the feeling of lust descends? Are you able to override it, if you want to? Has it ever led you into regrettable experiences? Does lust, for you, feel… freeing, exciting, dangerous, dirty?

Of all the transgressions listed as the "seven deadly sins", lust – on the surface, anyway – is the one we tend to find the least issue with. We can easily see the point of lust: it leads to love (sometimes), and without it, our species would be extinct. But if we only scratch a little harder (everything in this piece is going to sound like a euphemism, by the way; apologies in advance), then this quote-unquote sin is possibly one of the richest and most complex for us to explore.

The myth of Medusa

The myth of Medusa was the obvious choice for this article's accompanying story. As a character with many different faces, reincarnations and tellings of her story, this most fearsome figure was someone we just had to take a look at (pun most definitely intended).

Here's how the story goes:

Medusa was a mortal woman born to the primordial sea gods Keto and Phorkys and, in some versions of the story, she was a priestess to Athena, the goddess of war. Medusa was incredibly beautiful, with flowing locks of glorious hair, but although she had many admirers, she remained devout and virginal until, one day, she lay with Poseidon, the god of the sea, in Athena's temple.

In some versions of the story, this coupling was consensual. In others, such as the version told in Ovid's Metamorphoses, it's said that Poseidon forced himself on Medusa. In either case, though, it was Medusa that received the punishment.

Enraged by the desecration of her temple, Athena cursed Medusa, transforming her into a gorgon: her hair became a writhing mass of snakes; her skin glossed over with golden scales; and, according to some, she grew wings. Now, anyone who looked directly at this once beautiful creature would be petrified – instantly turned to stone.

Perseus takes the Hero's Journey

Years later, Medusa’s fate intertwined with that of the demigod Perseus, a young hero and son of Zeus. Perseus was sent on a seemingly impossible mission to bring back the head of Medusa by King Polydectes (who didn't really want the head so much as Perseus' death).

Courtesy of Hades, Hermes, some nymphs, and the still-angry Athena, Perseus set out on this quest with several key magical items:

1. Winged sandals

2. The Harpe Sickle, a type of curved sword that he'd need in order to behead the monster, Medusa.

3. Hades' Cap of Darkness, which would make Perseus invisible and therefore able to escape undetected after completing his mission.

4. A magical knapsack (the Kibisis), which could hold anything in the world, so that he could safely contain the slain Medusa's head.

5. A mirrored shield, which would allow him to behold Medusa indirectly and therefore avoid being turned to stone.

So, Perseus travelled to Medusa’s lair, where she lived isolated from the world. Using Athena’s shield to see her reflection, he approached the sleeping gorgon and struck with the sword, severing her head and rendering her dead.

Then, from Medusa’s neck sprang two beings: the white winged horse, Pegasus, and Chrysaor (cry-say-or), a warrior giant wielding a golden sword.

Mission accomplished, Perseus placed Medusa’s head in his magical bag and carried it back to Polydectes, using its petrifying power to protect himself along the way, and ultimately turning Polydectes and his followers to stone.

Finally, Medusa's head was returned to Athena, who emblazoned its effigy on the breastplate of her armour (or, some say, her shield) as a protective symbol.

What can we learn about the "sin" of lust from Medusa' story?

Taken at face value, Medusa's story appears to warn us of the consequences of unchecked lust and its ability to corrupt and dehumanise, both for those who experience it and those who become its object. But of course there's more to this myth than it might seem.

Before we get to that, though, let's come back to lust as one of the seven deadlies. The burning question is this: when lust is so obviously healthy, necessary (and, at times, enjoyable), why would we consider it a sin?

Speaking on BBC Sounds' Seven Deadly Psychologies, historian Dr. Kate Lister suggests that basal desires such as lust tend to be viewed as weaknesses of sorts – that we should, as strong, rational human beings, be able to rise above them – and that if we give into them, we're being somehow bestial or primitive.

And there is some truth to that notion. Unlike attraction in other animals, human lust is accompanied by activity in the neocortex. This means that it's possible to override lust if we really want to. That's not to say, however, that it would be easy.

Now, there is an elephant in the room of lust that we must address before going further, and that elephant is gender.

Lust and gender

Lust seems to be considered sinful to different degrees depending on whether we're male or female.

Lister claims that the carnal desires of women have been the topic of much heated debate for millenia. Back in the times of ancient Greece, big thinkers such as Socrates, Plato and Aristotle believed that women were more lustful than men and weaker in terms of self-control. They therefore concluded that men, as stoic and self-commanding, should be the ones to control women.

Fast forward a few thousand years and, in the 19th century, when doctors got involved in this conversation, this consensus did a U-turn. Suddenly, women were considered far less motivated than men in this way.

So, who had it right? Are we women uncontrollable harlets or frigid, tiresome prudes?

Let's look at some stats.

Also speaking on Seven Deadly Psychologies, Dr. Anand Patel cites a study in which students – male and female – filled out a questionnaire covering, among other things, their attitude towards sexuality. They were then given a clicker to log the moments they had lusty, desirous thoughts over the course of one day, along with thoughts about the desire to sleep and eat.

The results were surprising. While they found that the male students clicked, on average, twice as often as female students for lustful inclinations, they also found this to be the case for thoughts about sleep and food.

"If you had to know one thing about a person to best predict how often they would be thinking about sex, you'd be better off knowing their emotional orientation toward sexuality, as opposed to knowing whether they were male or female. (...) Frequency of thinking about sex is related to variables beyond one's biological sex."

– Terri Fisher, professor of psychology at Ohio State University's Mansfield campus

After analysing the click data alongside the questionnaire answers, the researchers concluded that someone's attitude toward sexuality is more likely to determine the number of urges they reported (and possibly even acknowledged to themselves) than their gender.

So, perhaps the male students simply felt more allowed to have such thoughts? If I think back to my late teens and early 20s, I'm pretty sure I was having naughty thoughts just as often as my male friends. But I definitely didn't feel as safe to act on them.

Medusa as the shadow

Maybe this is the Medusa effect. Regardless of whether her coupling with Poseidon was consensual or not, it was she who was punished. Or was she?

When viewed through the lens of Jungian psychology, characters from myths such as this are considered to represent different aspects of the psyche, as opposed to individual entities.

In this case, Perseus doesn't slay a real-life monster. Instead, by confronting, overcoming and then incorporating Medusa’s head into his arsenal, he metaphorically assimilates her power, integrating the darker elements of his anima (that is, the repressed feminine aspects of his psyche) and emerging stronger as a result.

And we see something similar with Athena, which is pertinent to this discussion of lust as a sin. Athena is a pure, virgin goddess, associated with the psychologically masculine domains of thought and mind as well as war. She links to Perseus in this myth, and together they stand for egoic awareness, consciousness of self, craft of war, and the beginning of the age of reason. Athena is, in Jungian terms, the ultimate father's daughter, and as such, she doesn't tangle with the sticky, smelly earthiness of mating with anyone. Athena was literally born from Zeus' head, so she didn't even get involved with anyone's nether regions during her birth.

The coupling between Poseidon and Medusa is the flip-side of the Athena-Perseus coin. Poseidon, as god of the oceans, is associated with the turbulent and unpredictable depths of the unconscious mind. Medusa harkens back to old fertility goddesses, concerned with human instinct and the blood-real domains of birth, death, the body and sensuality, as well as the moon, femininity, emotion and intuition.

As discussed by Jungian analysts Marchiano, Stewart and Lee in the Medusa-focused episode of This Jungian Life, this conflict is still alive in our culture and also in each of us. There is a constant battle playing out between ego and instinct – or reason and emotion, the mind and the body – both within and without.

The deeper reality of femininity lives in the cultural shadow. We collectively and individually reject it. So, Athena, as prized virgin daughter of the sky god Zeus, represents the impossible standard girls and women are expected to aspire to. From her isolated, surely spotless temple, she wants her patriarchal values to dominate – to somehow continue living in an untouched, law-bound, precise, clean, intellectual world, without the need for the desires or acts of the primitive body.

But, of course, this isn't a realistic goal for anyone. In the end, the body's needs will come to consciousness, just as Poseidon broke into Athena's temple. And when this happens we have no choice but to acknowledge them – to look at them, tussle with them – and ultimately (hopefully) accept and integrate them.

The action that follows Poseidon's intrusion in the myth of Medusa can basically be seen as a dramatisation of Athena's battle with trying to work out how to handle this loss of innocence. First off, of course, she despises the shadow of Medusa and brands her as a monster that no one must dare to look at.

This is Athena's attempt to make her feminine shadow self and everything that comes with it invisible. So, could it be that – just like Athena, with her pure and rigid devotion to the patriarchal values that denigrate feminine sexuality – the female students in the study mentioned earlier were similarly unwilling or unable to even acknowledge their lustful thoughts?

Are we all still trying to banish our inner Medusas? And, if so, what would we get if we invited this aspect of self out of the shadow and back into conscious awareness?

Medusa's resurrection

When Medusa is beheaded by Perseus, it may seem like that's the end for her, but death rarely means death in stories viewed as archetypal. For example, in the fairytale Bluebeard, the murderous Animus character of Bluebeard is killed at the end, but his corpse is then eaten by carrion birds, who thus spread his broken-down being throughout the realm, fertilising the land and making way for new life.

Similarly, what the slaying motif in Medusa's story symbolises is not death as an ending, but integration as a new, stronger, more resourceful beginning. For Medusa, the rebirth is much more epic than that of Bluebeard.

Carl Jung is reported to have said that "90% of the shadow is gold". Here, the process of integration and assimilation is portrayed in the birth of two powerful, magical creatures.

First, the winged horse Pegasus, who shows us that darkness and tragedy can be transformed into forces of beauty and inspiration. In Jungian terms, Pegasus represents spiritual ascent — the soul’s drive to transcend earthly concerns and connect with higher, more expansive realms of consciousness. His ability to fly serves as an image of liberation from limitations, suggesting the soul's movement from a place of repression and denial towards transcendence.

Pegasus, by the way, later becomes associated with the Muses, the goddesses of art and inspiration, reminding us that, without introspection, self-knowledge and the creative power of the anima, art just… wouldn't be art.

The second creature to emerge from Medusa's neck is Chrysaor, a lesser-known but still significant figure whose name means “Golden Sword.” He's often depicted as a warrior or giant wielding his golden weapon, and linked with the themes of strength, valour, and untapped potential.

What we can see in this transformation is the importance of integrating unconscious strength and rage. While still in her monstrous form – i.e. still in the shadow – Medusa's power was unharnessed and volatile. She found herself isolated from others because by simply being seen, she'd petrify anyone who tried to get close. Chrysaor, though no less powerful, is not restricted in this way. Shining with the golden light of the sun, this warrior can fight his battles in a conscious, intentional manner. This is the part of the personality that we all need in order to protect ourselves, assert our needs and desires, and to set and maintain our boundaries. Unless we dare to face and integrate our own Medusas, we run the risk of leaving our own Chrysaors locked up in the blood of the shadow.

Medusa's call for integration

This myth ends with Medusa's head being returned to Athena, who emblazons it on the breastplate of her armour as if she can now wear Medusa's spirit with pride and use her power with conscious intention. Even for Athena, Medusa is ultimately accepted as a positive and powerful force.

And so if we bring all this back to the "sin" of lust, what does it mean for us? I see this myth as a call to action: a story-rich reminder of the power that we've locked away, culturally, for millennia. As individuals, we're all – yes, men, women and non-binary people alike – taught to repress our own feminine power, creativity and sexuality from a time earlier than we can remember.

So, what if we start to invite her back out? What if we choose to challenge our learned assumptions and the shame we're taught to feel around sexuality, especially that of women? What if we decide, now, to start talking about these things more often, and more openly? Could we, too, transform our inner monsters into soaring spirit and grounded strength?

I think so.

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Thank you for reading!

We’re Hazel (ex boxer, therapist and author) and Ellie (ex psychology science writer). We left our jobs to build an interactive narrative app for self-awareness and emotion regulation (Betwixt), which you can try on Android here and on iOS here.

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