Aries III: Some Kind of Wonderful

The Four of Wands: The Lord of Perfected Work

After the initial battle and climb of Aries I and II, we move into the last decan of Aries -- Aries III, which is like every 80s movie high school house party. A glorious celebratory moment where the fire of Aries is seemingly under control -- but there’s always a cost.

Corresponding to the Four of Wands in the tarot, it looks festive and happy on the outside, but there’s inevitably some teenage girl crying in the bathroom. In this case that’s typically Venus, who’s struggling under the eye of fiery Mars. Austin Coppock referred to this decan as the “Burning Rose,” and we can see why. But is the burning figure Venus or someone else?

I think the imagery of the Rider Waite Smith card hints towards a dual meaning, involving not just the pairing of Mars and Venus. I think that it may also point to Eros (also known as Cupid) and his bride. This is not your Hallmark cherub. Eros is the son of the decan’s planetary rulers Venus (Aphrodite in the Greek myths; also the Empress in tarot) and Mars (Ares in the Greek myths; also the Emperor).

There’s an interesting story about Eros that involves the Greek princess Psyche (the word for soul) that’s part myth, part Gnostic scripture. I think it gives nuance to this decan, and the Four of Wands with it.

Eros and Psyche. You probably know this as a love story, and it is. The story is long and twisted (Madeline Miller has a good recap) but here’s the short of it: Eros is charged by his mother, Aphrodite, to seek vengeance against Psyche because she’s jealous of her beauty. She concocts a plan for Eros to make Psyche fall in love with him while he’s in the form of a hideous snake creature. But—plot twist—Eros instead falls in love with her and the two abscond and get married. Not trusting his mother’s machinations, or perhaps questioning Psyche’s ability to love him for his mind (the origins of f*ckboy insecurity) he visits Psyche every night in secret, forbidding her to look at him. When she finally does—lamp in hand, unable to help herself -- he leaves. What follows is Psyche’s underworld journey: a series of impossible tasks set by a furious Aphrodite, each one survived through wit, guile, and the willingness to ask for help. The last task sends her to the underworld itself, to retrieve a box of Persephone’s beauty. She’s told explicitly not to open it. She survives the hardest task, the descent, which was meant to kill her…and then opens the box anyway. Only inside isn’t beauty. It’s an infernal sleep. The thing that drove her through every ordeal is the thing that drops her at the finish line. Desire, doing what desire does.

In the Gnostic text On the Origin of the World, the story ends like this:

“And the first soul [Psyche] loved Eros, who was with her, and poured her blood upon him and upon the earth. And out of that blood the rose first sprouted up, out of the earth, out of the thorn bush, to be a source of joy for the light that was to appear in the bush. Moreover, after this the beautiful, good-smelling flowers sprouted up from the earth.”

The Burning Rose isn’t a metaphor. It has an origin story -- and it begins with a wound.

Which brings us back to the Four of Wands itself, and in particular the Pamela Colman Smith imagery. Again, this looks like a classic celebration. It’s all garlands, flowers, figures with arms raised. But look closer. What appears to be the male figure is wearing a blue sash and holding two bunches of flowers aloft with both arms raised; the woman wears a red sash with only one arm raised. The power is not evenly distributed. That tracks with Venus in detriment in this decan: struggling, celebratory but constrained, one arm rather than two. T. Susan Chang describes the Four of Wands as "Rivendell on the road to Mordor." It’s a temporary refuge that’s real but not permanent.

The blue sash is interesting. Blue is typically Neptunian -- not obviously Martial, could be the water element that’s Venusian. But here’s where it gets layered: the asteroid Psyche was discovered on March 17, 1852, when the Sun was in Pisces, a sign ruled by Neptune. That Neptunian signature has followed the asteroid ever since. So when Pamela painted a figure in blue holding Venusian flowers opposite a red-sashed woman—it’s possible she was illustrating both pairings simultaneously. Venus and Mars. Eros and Psyche. The image holds both.

This also ties to the ancient image for this decan from the Picatrix: a figure who wants to do good but cannot. Most readings assume this is about Venus in detriment, desire thwarted by the wrong house. But I think we’ve been looking at the wrong figure. This is Psyche. She’s strategic, resourceful, willing to descend into the underworld and back. Doing everything right. And still opening the box.

The Golden Dawn calls this card “the Lord of Perfected Work,” which is particularly apt for both mythological associations. Eros eventually petitions Zeus to wake Psyche and make her an immortal; her willingness to endure repeated trials for love is perfected work, indeed.

So the Four of Wands is not a card of easy victory. It’s a card of hard-won arrival. The fire has burned, the rose has bled, the princess has walked through the dark and survived and here—briefly, beautifully—is the celebration that desire made possible. Even at cost. Especially at cost.