Eros Unveiled: Plato and the God of Love
If the saying “Variety is the spice of life” reflects a truth about the nature of the world, then Catherine Osborne’s recent book Eros Unveiled: Plato and the God of Love provides an excellent example of how tantalizing a diverse array of ideas can be to the life of the mind. As Osborne observes in the Preface, one advantage of a philosophical approach to the subject of love is the interdisciplinary freedom it gives to cull meaning from a variety of sources, many of which lie beyond the pale of philosophy. Yet, at the same time, Osborne contends that there is a sense in which her analysis only pretends to constitute a philosophical appraisal of love. In reality, it is much more eclectic in nature, resorting to historical, literary, and theological perspectives on love to complement its philosophical outlook.
To this smorgasbord of perspectives Osborne adds a smorgasbord of insights, or chapters that seemingly function as independent studies on various aspects of love. Osborne claims that there is a unity to these chapters, but furnishes the reader with little more sense of what that unity might entail than that the chapters focus on the theme of love. If there is a flaw in this book, it consists in Osborne’s inability, neglect, or unwillingness to tie together the diverse ideas expressed in these chapters into a cohesive whole in her conclusion. The reader is therefore left with the impression that this book is perhaps best characterized as a collection of papers on diverse subjects loosely united by the theme of love.
Yet this does not appear to be Osborne’s main objective in writing the book. As her title suggests, and as the first four chapters indicate, her goal is twofold: first, to defend the “inexplicability model” of eros as a causative factor in human relations; and second, to sort out the confusion that exists between love and the desire for fine qualities in the beloved that prompts the lover to seek the beloved. On Osborne’s thesis, love ought not to be construed as a response motivated by desirable qualities in the beloved, but rather as an attitude that changes the lover’s outlook on life, thereby making it possible for her to perceive the beloved as lovable.
In the first four chapters of the book, Osborne defends this thesis with great finesse, casting her argument against the background of Anders Nygren’s book [End Page 571] Agape and Eros (1930). The brunt of her critique of Nygren consists in a rejection of his claim that a radical discontinuity exists between the Christian notion of agape (caritas) and the Greek conception of eros (amor). By placing more emphasis both on the continuity between the Gospel writings and the cultural milieu in which they arose and on the phenomenon of redeploying ideas in a tradition, Osborne is able to pinpoint models of eros in pagan and patristic writers that undermine Nygren’s claim that eros must be conceived as an acquisitive form of love. For example, a reassessment of relevant passages in Origen’s Commentary on the Song of Songs coupled with a fresh reading of Plato’s Symposium convinces Osborne that eros can be conceived either as an acquisitive love or as a generous love. Origen’s acceptance of the latter sense of eros enables him to identify eros and agape and thereby to shed light on the proper relation between God and humanity. The precedent for Origen’s reworking of the meaning of eros, however, lies in the Symposium. Here Osborne’s creative rereading of the text against the background of Plato’s Lysis reveals the important role that the non-acquisitive sense of eros plays in determining the character of Socratic philosophy.
As a consequence, Osborne’s reflections on Origen and Plato compel her to recast the answer to the question, “Who loves whom, and for what?” from the perspective of Eros’ arrows. Instead of answering the question “For what?” by appealing to some feature within the lover or beloved, such as desirability or lovability, Eros’ arrows provide the sole reason as to “Why A loves B.” Central to the traditional understanding of Eros is the principle of inexplicability. Eros launches his arrows in an unpredictable manner, heedless of the inner qualities of those whom his arrows wound. But this wound, once received, accounts for the lover’s perceptions of the beloved. In effect, then, Eros is the inexplicable cause of love. Osborne’s subsequent adaptation of this model to the relation between God and humanity implies that God causes humanity’s love of him by wounding the human heart with the inspiration of his arrows. If there is a motive for humanity’s love of God, it can only be non-acquisitive love.
The first four chapters of Osborne’s book, therefore, function as a cohesive unit admirably suited to carrying out the twofold objective indicated in her conclusion. What remains unclear is how the remaining five chapters relate to this schema.
Chapters 5 and 6 set off on an entirely different tack than the four previous chapters, in part because Osborne draws the inspiration for her reflections on love from issues arising out of the texts of Aristotle and Aquinas. The question raised for consideration in chapter 5 concerns whether or not the heavenly bodies are alive and conscious. Meticulous analysis of appropriate texts regarding the relation between the Prime Mover and the world yields insight not only into why it is plausible to say that the heavenly bodies are animate but also into the power that the beloved exercises over the lover.
Chapter 6, alternatively, concentrates on the compatibility between Aristotle’s account of philia in the Nicomachean Ethics as a form of cooperative alliance and Aquinas’ use of this notion of philia as a model for Christian charity. Osborne concludes that Aquinas’ effort to reconcile the two fails to do justice to [End Page 572] both sides. Recognition of the common features between the two, however, has the positive effect of providing greater insight into the Christian conception of love.
Chapters 7, 8, and 9 revolve around a cluster of issues drawn from texts as diverse as Origen, Plotinus, Augustine, Dionysius, Aquinas, and Moltmann. Of the three chapters, chapter 6 comes closest to addressing an issue directly related to the concerns of the first four chapters. At this point, Osborne returns to a consideration of Origen, inquiring as to whether or not he responds to the question concerning God’s love for humanity. Crucial to Osborne’s argumentation is the difference between Origen’s and Plotinus’ use of philanthropia. Given this distinction, Osborne contends that Origen does indeed account for God’s love for humanity since his discussion of philanthropia in texts other than the Commentary on the Song of Songs accords with his use of eros in the commentary.
Chapter 8 explores further the implications of Neoplatonism for Christian thought by juxtaposing texts of Moltmann and Dionysius. Moltmann’s reconstruction of the meaning of “God is Love” along the lines of a kenotic God who identifies with the suffering of the victims of twentieth century atrocities becomes the focal point for an inquiry into the relevance of kenosis for Dionysius’ account of divine love. Contesting the views of those who Christianize Dionysius’ account of God’s ecstatic love, Osborne argues instead that Dionysius’ chief source of inspiration in this regard is Neoplatonism. Hence, Dionysius’ account of God’s ecstatic love for humanity has nothing in common with Moltmann’s conception of a self-emptying God.
Finally, chapter 9 wrestles with Aquinas’ misinterpretation of passages in Augustine and Dionysius concerning whether or not the Holy Spirit is the bond of love between the Father and the Son. Osborne concludes here that Aquinas’ analysis is deficient because he ignores the ambiguity of the term “bond.” Not only can this term refer to an actual bond between the Father and the Son, as Aquinas supposes, but it can also refer to the cause or tendency that leads to the formation of an actual bond. By ignoring this latter meaning, Aquinas fails to appreciate the full complexity of God’s love for humanity and the Father’s love for the Son.
Osborne’s natural talent for logical analysis and distinction makes her reflections on the subject of love particularly rich and rewarding reading for those who wish to probe texts for deposits of meaning that traditional historical analysis often overlooks in its quest for chronological accuracy in the transmission of ideas. Nevertheless, as a complement to this logical skill, Osborne’s adeptness at careful contextual analysis of texts enables her to challenge accepted notions in persuasive fashion and in so doing to suggest new areas for future inquiry. Perhaps one of the most glaring omissions along these lines—and Osborne recognizes this limitation in her Preface—is the absence of any serious inquiry into Augustine’s texts. To this reader at least, Osborne’s critique of Nygren suggests some interesting possibilities as far as making sense out of Augustine’s later writings on grace and human freedom is concerned, particularly since the randomness of Eros’ arrows seem to be as inexplicable as the effects of [End Page 573] divine election and predestination. Arguably, then, in the last analysis, Osborne has provided a philosophical account of love, though not so much the unified, systematic type that some might wish to have. Instead, she opts for the tantalizing, unsettling kind that a great erotic philosopher such as Socrates might give.
Buffalo, New York
