Eros In Venus

"Sexual desire without Eros wants the thing in itself." -- The Four Loves,  C.S. Lewis

Venus, the goddess of love in Greek mythology and Eros, god of the same are often bandied about; today science and technology have made us too smart, too slick for something so imprecise as a myth. And yet author C. S. Lewis, most famously wrote about this. Lewis, who is the author of many 20th century works, is best known for Narnia.

About Eros and Venus he writes, Eros without Venus is for lack. Owing to the ancient devotion of the Romans, erotic principle well observed Eros on its own was something altogether different than when enfolded in Venus. As Lewis explains, the 'carnal element within Eros I intend to call Venus.'

"Sexuality,' he adds, ' operates without Eros, or as part of Eros."

It is not necessary to feel anything more than attraction or desire to activate that part of the equation which functions wholly by instinct. And Lewis hastens to add that he writes without moral or other notions, some such as the thought that sex 'with love' is pure while without love it is something else; nor does Lewis seek to describe the activities of Eros 'under a soaring and iridescence which reduces the role of the sense to a minor consideration.'

Eros in Venus is Lewis'; contribution to a description of what the ancients saw as estimable, worthy of a spiritual cause, a religion of degree. This experience he describes as the 'in loveness of the Beloved.' When one first beholds another, it as if he is captured, so captivated may one be by the gazing upon who has inspired this. In a simple, general delight, pre-occupied with all that the one may be, a thirst develops to simply know the creature of ones' gaze, to behold in totality. While in this state one really hasn't the leisure to thing about carnal matters; rather the thought of the person takes precedence. While filled with desire, he may be satisfied to continue in reverie and contemplate this creature whom one may call beloved.

In contemplation, the arrival of Eros, erotic love arrives as if a 'tidal wave, an invader taking over and reorganizing his sensuality. Sexual desire without Eros, wants it, the thing in itself; Eros while in Venus wants the Beloved. While one may want a woman not for herself but for the things she may provide, in Eros one wants a particular person--that person for the person them self. This is the Beloved created through some mysterious activity of Eros; in Eros at its most intense, the beloved is needed, craved even for their very self, distinct and unique from all others, admirable in itself. And it's importance is far beyond the lover's need.

While certainly hard to explain, its metaphysical aspects may be explained thus, 'I am in you, you are in me. Your heart is my heart, and my heart is part of your heart alone.' So without Eros, sexual desires, like every other desire is simply about our self. Eros makes it uniquely other focused. Now it's about the Beloved one. The distinction between giving and receiving blurs, indeed it's obliterated when Eros is in Venus.

Nothing Special: Promises Not Kept

"He who does not expect, has all things"

Charlotte Joko Beck writes, "Our human trouble arises from desire. Not all desires generate problems, however. There are two kinds of desires: demands, I have to have it, and preferences. Preferences are harmless, "they are what we would want to like to have,' Beck writes.

"Desire that demands to be satisfied is the problem. It's as if we feel that we're constantly thirsty, and to quench our thirst we try to attach a hose to a faucet in the wall of life. We keep thinking that from this or that faucet we will get the water we demand... We demand countless things of ourselves and the world; almost anything can be seen as desirable, a socket we can attach ourselves to, so that we can finally get the drink we believe we need... self-assured [or not], underneath it all we feel that there is something lacking.

We feel we have to fix our life, quench our thirst. We've got to get that connection, to hook up our hose to that faucet... The problem is that nothing actually works. 
We begin to discover that the promise we hold out to ourselves... is never kept... If we've been trying for years... to attach our hose... there comes a moment of profound discouragement... and it dawns on us that nothing can really fulfill our demands... 
That moment of despair is in fact a blessing, the real beginning... A strange thing [then] begins to happen when we let go of our expectations... 
Practice has to be a process of endless disappointment... [In] good sitting we must notice the promise that we wish to extract from other people and abandon the dream that they can quench our thirst."

Christianity refers to this experience as the dark night of the soul, the moment when one enters into union with that which is greater, and infinite love, though the gate may be narrow, the joys are great:

"Do to others whatever you would have them do to you. This is the law and the prophets.

Enter through the narrow gate; for the gate which is wide and the road broad, lead to destruction, and those who enter through it are many.

'How narrow the gate and constricted the road that leads to life. And those who find it are few."
--The Bible, Matthew chapter 7, verses 12-14

Logic at the Edges

"Words do have edges. So do you." Eros the Bittersweet by Anne Carson

Continuing her thoughts into Sappho's poem, fragment 31, author Anne Carson writes, "When I desire you, a part of me is gone. Your lack is my lack..." In this classical view, then, Eros is expropriation. Robbed of vital senses, limbs even, the lovers are left with essentially less. This attitude is grounded in the oldest of western mythology, it lies well within the classical Greek world; lovers are losers, or so they reckon. "But this reckoning proves a quick and artful shift. " Reaching, striving for someone, something that is outside the immediate self provokes a lover to observe that they have limits, they have "edges." From this vantage point, one might call it "consciousness," he sees in himself a hole. His desire then is for something that previously he "never knew he lacked; it is defined by a distance, a shift towards a necessary part of himself..." It is not a new acquisition, but something that "was always, always, properly his."

But the apparent geometry of the relationship "is a trick," Carson writes. And his next move is likely to collapse the trigonomic dimensions into a circle; all desire is longing for that which properly belongs to the one who desires, but has been taken away or lost..." Socrates writes, "so if you two are loving friends of one another, then you quite naturally belong to one another." Carson protests this reckoning, "it is profoundly unjust... to recognize a kindred soul and to claim possession as if the blurring in love with distinction between self and other is acceptable."

Yet desire, it seems, does indeed change the lover. It brings a newness, an expanded sense of possibility; a view of a newly formed self, enlarged. As with the Greek poets, the new self, the 'sweet-bitter' of eros brings the experiences of both utility and painfulness. Why? The ancients would say that pain arises at the edges which have been adulterated; bitter verging suddenly on the sweet. "Eros' ambivalence unfolds directly from this power to mix up the self. A lover helplessly admits that it feels both good and bad to be mixed up. And once mixed, asks the question, 'who am I?' Change gives him a glimpse of himself that he never knew before. This gives rise to a powerful insight into the importance of what Carson calls, Eros the Bitter-sweet, or love that alters the edges, and therefore the sense of the previously known self.

Eros Is a Verb

"It was Sappho who first called eros "bittersweet."  --Eros Bittersweet by Anne Carson

While hard to translate when applied to ancient gods, for the woman poet, Sappho who wrote the surviving poem Sweetbitter, the Greek word glukupikron translated into English might be thought of as bittersweet. Meaning a sort of sweetness when applied to eros and then a disappointment, or "first sweet and then bitterness in sequence," writes Carson. She says, "Many a lover's experience would validate such a chronology, especially in poetry..." In Sappho's poem, she does not seem to be recording the history of a love affair as much as she seems to be speaking of its geometry.

Desire is from without; it "creeps up upon its object irresistibly."  Recording in her poem, not the love but the instant of desire, Sappho sees the desire as "neither inhabitant nor ally of the desirer." And often poets write of the resulting crazed feeling of the one who most ardently pursues the beauty of another. "Foreign to her will, it [desire] forces itself... Eros is an enemy. Its bitterness must be the taste of  enmity. That would be hate." The convergence of both love and hate in the same pole constitutes a paradox. It is somewhat cliche to say that hate begins where love leaves off. And yet hate is not the opposite of love.

"There is something pure and indubitable about the notion that eros is lack." In Sappho's fragment 31 she writes of this. Here the poetess creates a stage, mise en scene where the writer herself seems to step mysteriously into the situation, between the lover and the beloved, forming what is a triangle. An obvious answer is that this poem is really about jealousy. Many have thought this about it, while others have thought not. The word 'jealousy' comes from the Greek zelos, meaning zeal or fervent pursuit. "It [jealousy] is a hot and corrosive spiritual emotion, arising in fear, fed upon resentment." The jealous lover fears that another is preferred over them, and that their primary place in the beloved heart is under threat by another. "This," writes Carson is "an emotion of placement and displacement."  Thus the jealous lover covets a placement in the beloved affections, and is filled with anxiety that another will take it instead.

In Italy during the Renaissance period a dance became popular called Jealousy in which pairs of dancers separated during parts of the dance to join with others; at several stages in the dance, one of the dancers must stand alone while others move on. They then rejoin the others. "Jealousy is a dance in which everyone moves, for it is the instability of the emotional situation which preys upon a jealous lover's mind." In Sappho's poem, she does not covet the man's place, nor fear for her own. And she directs no resentment at him. She is simply "amazed at his intrepidness." Yet it is the beloved beauty that so deeply affects Sappho as one in the triangle. And while jealousy may be implicit in this poem, it does not explain the geometry of the piece.

Finally jealousy, it becomes evident, is not the point: "the normal world of erotic responses is beside the point." It is, says Carson, "about the lover's mind in the act of constructing desire for itself." No claim beyond that does the poet make. Sappho perceives desire as a three point function, a triangle. She argues that it's a radical, necessary construction of desire. "For where eros is lack, its activation calls upon a three part structure--lover, beloved, and that which comes between them. Desire moves, and eros is a verb.

Sensuality, Sentiment and Love

"Sentimentality must be clearly distinguished from love"  --Karol Wojtyla

So much of our deepest, spiritual longings center around acceptance, both of self and other. We want to freely love and be loved, what some call "unconditional love."

Yet in the everyday world, in the practice life, this can be confusing, contradictory even. We consider the element of free will and its role in love, yet with free will and our natural responses to others, love and sex can become disordered, confused for something that it ultimately may not be. 

Writing in his book, Love and Responsibility, Karol Wojtyla notes that, "however, as we know, a human person cannot be an object for use. Now, the body is an integral part, and so must not be treated as if it were detached from the whole person." 

Doing so threatens to devalue a person. Let me say here, there is no such thing as pure sensuality, such exists in animals and is their proper instinct. What is "completely natural to animals is then, sub-natural to humans." 

This is to say that sensuality by itself, while a natural response to a body of the opposite sex, is not love. Sensuality may be love when it is open to inclusion of the other elements such as desire, friendship, good will, patience, understanding, and so forth.
Alone, sensuality is notoriously fickle, seeing only a body, turning to it simply as a possible object of enjoyment. And it is not only the physical presence of a body which may trigger sensuality, "but also the inner senses such as emotion and imagination (a sense-impression); with their assistance, one can make contact with a body of a person not physically present."

However this does not go to show that "sensuality is morally wrong itself. An exuberant, and readily roused sensual nature is the making for a rich, if not more difficult, personal life." Sensuality can indeed be a factor for making a free will love, an ardent and fully formed love.

Sentimentality as an experience must be and is clearly distinct from sensuality. As previously stated, a sense-impression typically accompanies an emotional response (a "value" response). Direct contact by persons of the opposite sex are always accompanied by a direct impression which may be an emotion. The inclination to respond to sexual values such as masculine or feminine, should be called sentiment. 

Sentimental susceptibility is the the source of affection between persons. In contrast to sensuality where the most immediate sense-impression is perhaps the body, sentimental regard views the person as a whole; it includes the body in its sense-impression, but does not limit itself to that aspect.
Sexual value then continues as the totality, the oneness of the person. Affection is not an urge to consume.

It is appreciative, it therefore goes with the values ascribed to beauty, to a strong feeling and value for a person in their masculine or feminine natures. 

However in affection, in sentimentality, a different desire than simple use or lust is evident; it is the desire for proximity, for nearness, a longing to be together in a physical presence. Sentimental love "keeps two people close together, it binds them, even if they are physically far apart. 

This love causes them to move in a similar orbit. It embraces memory, imagination and also communicates with the will." Tolerance, understanding and tenderness enter into their relationship. Being a love not wholly focused on the body, this love is sometimes called spiritual love. 

However with distance, sentimental love may turn to disillusionment. So it is not always immediately apparent that a particular sentimental love is really able to discern the true, inner values of a person. Thus love cannot be "largely a form of sex-appeal."
For a human love to grow, Wojtyla says, "it must become integrated, a whole to a whole, person to person." 

Without this developing integration, a love is not a durable, human love; thus it simply dies.