Can Modern Love Survive the Light?
On myth, psychology and the fragile moment when fantasy meets reality
Romantic love often begins with a strange sense of destiny. What might appear ordinary in another context, suddenly holds symbolic meaning. We experience synchronicity, as Carl Jung called it. We interpret signals as deeply meaningful messages, or whispers of “this is the one”. But could it be that the encounter resonates with an inner expectation that existed long before the meeting itself? And if so, do we fall in love with our own projections, not the actual person?
Projection in love occurs when we attribute our own feelings, desires and unresolved issues onto another person. This is the alchemy of falling in love; a person has to trigger our deepest wounds, but also give hope of resolution through fulfillment of our deepest longing for belonging. These unconscious perceptions are shaped by our own inner world, rather than by reality, because we haven’t taken our time to actually get to know the other person yet. The idealized someone can immediately make us feel complete. But if we don’t integrate and embody the qualities that made us feel whole when we met this “catalytic someone”, these qualities are only for rental. The subscription expires the moment you lose that significant catalyst.
Eros & Psyche
Long before psychology developed a vocabulary for projection, mythology described the phenomenon with remarkable clarity. One of the most striking examples appears in the ancient story of Eros and Psyche, preserved in the Roman writer Apuleius’s work, The Golden Ass. The story is often remembered as a simple love tale, yet its symbolic structure reveals something far more psychologically sophisticated. In the narrative, Psyche is taken to a mysterious palace where she is visited nightly by an unseen lover. He speaks to her, embraces her, and loves her, but she is forbidden to look at him. Their relationship unfolds entirely in darkness. Psyche knows the presence of her lover but not his identity. This strange arrangement captures the psychology of early romantic love with uncanny accuracy. In the beginning of a relationship, much remains unseen. We know fragments of the other person, perhaps their humor, their interests, their charm, but large portions of their inner life remain hidden. Their contradictions, fears, habits and complexities have not yet emerged. In the absence of knowledge, imagination fills the gaps. This is also known as limerance. Fantasy flourishes where information is incomplete. The beloved becomes illuminated not by reality, but by projection. Their silences feel mysterious rather than distant. Their differences seem intriguing rather than difficult. Their attention appears meaningful rather than ordinary. The psyche constructs an idealized figure from scattered impressions and private longing. This phase of love possesses enormous creative power. Our crush becomes our muse; yes, the same psychological capacity that produces projection is also responsible for art, poetry and myth. Human beings are meaning-making creatures, and when we encounter another person who appears to resonate with our inner world, imagination immediately begins to organize experience into a narrative.
Falling in love resembles the beginning of a story.
Two people enter each other’s symbolic world. They become characters in a narrative that feels both personal and mythic. Destiny, coincidence and emotional intensity blend into a powerful subjective experience. But projection requires a degree of distance from reality. The beloved must remain partially unknown for fantasy to continue operating without interruption. In the myth of Eros and Psyche, this tension eventually reaches a turning point. Psyche’s sisters begin to question her mysterious relationship. They suggest that her unseen lover might be a monster. Doubt enters the palace and curiosity begins to grow. One night Psyche lights a small oil lamp while her lover sleeps beside her. For the first time she sees his face clearly. The mysterious visitor is revealed to be Eros himself, the god of love. Yet the moment of illumination breaks the spell. A drop of hot oil falls from the lamp and awakens him, he realizes that his secret has been discovered, and he immediately disappears.
This scene can be read as a powerful metaphor for a psychological event familiar to many relationships; the moment when projection begins to dissolve. The lamp represents consciousness, and once the light appears, the beloved is no longer sustained by imagination alone. They become visible as a complex human being. Modern relationships encounter this moment in countless ways. When partners begin living together differences in values or temperament become more visible. Habits once unnoticed are now bothering us. What once appeared mysterious now appears understandable. They’re no longer divine, but human. This doesn’t have to be a tragedy, but that depends on your expectations, and the level of your maturity. For many couples this transition can feel unsettling, and conclude that the relationship has somehow lost its magic, its spark. The intensity of the beginning is impossible to sustain. If you crave new relationship energy (NRE), you might as well interpret this transition as “we weren’t meant to be”, then go on to another encounter. But beware, you might misconstrue intensity for depth.
Do you dare go from falling in love, to actually love someone beyond the projections?
The disappearance of projection does not signal the end of love, it marks the beginning of it. The psychologist Erich Neumann, a student of Carl Jung, interpreted the myth of Eros and Psyche as a symbolic narrative of psychological development. In his analysis, the story does not truly begin with the romantic union of the lovers, but their separation. After Eros disappears, Psyche must undergo a series of nearly impossible tasks imposed by the goddess Aphrodite. She must sort enormous piles of seeds, gather dangerous golden wool, retrieve water from impossible heights, and even descend into the underworld. Neumann interpreted these tasks as symbolic representations of the psychological labor required for the development of differentiation and consciousness, the prerequisite for a mature relationship. Love, in this view, cannot remain forever in the dreamlike state of projection. It must pass through trials that demand patience, discrimination, humility and endurance. Real relationships require similar work. Two people must gradually learn to coexist with each other’s differences. They must negotiate expectations, navigate disappointment, and tolerate moments of misunderstanding. This stage rarely appears in romantic movies or the classic fairy tales.
Constructing the Sexual Crucible
Couples who don’t argue have always worried me. We don’t always want the same thing, and why should it be such a threat if we don’t? An argument can enhance intimacy. Through conflict we get to know each other as separate beings, and this, paradoxically, creates a deeper connection. It becomes part of our story, it also sparks the erotic - because in order to long for you, I need to create some distance, a gap, that I will then want to fill. If there is no gap to fill, if we are enmeshed, there is no space left.
In Constructing the Sexual Crucible, David Schnarch stresses that differentiation and capacity to self soothe is necessary to avoid fusion. Fusion is when two people become one, this romantic ideal that our culture seems to cling to as a testament of true love. This is actually a threat to the couple. If we are enmeshed, we might feel swallowed, controlled or trapped. If I don’t know who’s me and who’s you, or don’t know how to ask for some space, have other opinions or hobbies - I might even have an affair as a quick fix to get some air.
Once the lights are turned on - do we still choose each other?
If early romance resembles poetry, mature love resembles literature. The conscious relationship happens after the lights are turned on. It means choosing the real person rather than the imagined one. When we see their vulnerabilities alongside their strengths, these contradictions become part of the relationship rather than obstacles to it. They are no longer symbolic figures carrying our projections.
I’m afraid modern relationships don’t have the stomach for this process. We can shift our attention towards someone else as soon as the light shows us something we didn’t like or order. Because in a culture shaped by dating apps, curated identities and carefully managed first impressions, our projections are more powerful than ever. The myth of Psyche is not a story about breakup when illusions fade, but with transformation after completing trials. She is reunited with Eros and granted immortality. Symbolically this represents a form of love that has passed through difficulty and can now hold the ambivalence of both loving and hating our partner, because we see them as whole beings, not just tools for our own projections.
