She is all there.
She was melted carefully down for you
and cast up from your childhood,
cast up from your one hundred favorite aggies.
She is so naked and singular.
She is the sum of yourself and your dream.
Climb her like a monument, step after step.
She is solid.
As for me, I am a watercolor.
I wash off.
Anne Sexton,
âFor My Lover, Returning to His Wifeâ
âCourtly Loveâ
Over the years numerous literary critics have serenely declaredâsometimes as if doing so straightaway clarified all obscuritiesâthat Venus and Cupid symbolize courtly love.2 This fashion, still current, skirts the fact that âcourtly loveâ can itself mean almost anything. The term has at various times in its history identified behavior that is infantile, sophisticated, narcissistic, chivalrous, playful, genuine, fictional, carnal, spiritual, Ovidian, Arabist, Catharist, âFontevraultian,â3 blasphemous, natural, unnatural, adulterous, and chaste. That âcourtly loveâ opens a semiotic abyss has been well documented and frequently remarked upon.4 When literary critics do not offer a stipulative definition (a routine oversight) to clarify which meaning is intended, they tend to recall Humpty Dumpty with his capricious linguistic habits: âWhen I use a word ... it means just what I choose it to meanâneither more nor less.â5 Humpty Dumpty by and by tells Alice what he means. Given that critics usually avoid the complete emulation that would supply such a gloss, their designating Venus and Cupid symbols of courtly love adds little to our understanding of the deities or of medieval sexual love. Indeed, we end with an enlargement of the confusion brought about in the first place by the perplexingly varied Venuses and Cupids of medieval literature.
At present, âcourtly loveâ serves as a critical shorthand to designate an amorphous set of social attitudes, literary conventions, and behaviors; as long as it remains a shorthand sign of an undefined and undefinable code, the term and the interpretive model will open few if any new insights on sexual love in medieval culture. That the Venuses and Cupids in Guillaume de Lorrisâs Romance of the Rose, Juan Ruizâs Book of Good Love (Libro de Buen Amor), and Chaucerâs Parliament of Fowls may all be designated symbols of courtly love finally tells us nothing about the representations themselves, or about why they differ so radically from one another. In other words, applying the universalizing label âcourtly loveâ erases the marked conceptual and representational differences among these figures. An apparent homogeneity replaces particular differences, perhaps the most remarkable of which are the diversities in attitudes toward sexual love among national literatures. Treatments of love by French, English, and German writers evidence marked disparities.6 Viewing Venus and Cupid as ambassadors of courtly love, therefore, at worst obfuscates literary meaning and elides cultural differences, and at best yields critical clichĂ©s. In order better to understand the love deities, we need something other than a repetition of what we think we already know.
Two Loves: The Modern Origins
Much recent literary criticism on Venus and Cupid steers around the well-posted courtly-love quagmire, only to slip into the rut of two loves. This interpretive model derives from the hypothesis that in the Middle Ages love was widely understood in terms of a dichotomyâgood/evil, spiritual/carnal. According to this model, Venus or Cupid in any literary appearance incarnates a good or an evil love. (Actually, duality may characterize any ancient deity, just as it may be absent from treatments of the love deities.)7 Thus far the idea of two loves, if unsubtle and unexciting, sets up no insuperable obstacles. Certainly, we can all generate examples of antithetical loves. Augustine of Hippo wrote of love being directed in two ways, toward God or toward the world.8 Walter Shandy distinguishes two loves according to the body part affected, brain or liver. Anne Sexton divides women into permanent monumental wives and ephemeral watercolor lovers, and so on. Bipolar opposition is demonstrably commonplace, in ideas about love as in all other human phenomena .9
The modern scholarship that concentrates on sketching out how medieval Venuses and Cupids embody two loves confirms that dichotomy is a widespread conceptual norm, in recent years as in the far distant past. Erwin Panofsky, D. W Robertson, Jr., George D. Economou, and Robert Hollander give us the seminal analyses. Although modern critical notice of two loves (usually as a rhetorical topos) predates this scholarship, these scholars give form and substance to the idea, as well as research support for later literary criticism. Most of their attention centers on Venus; Cupid attracts little sustained inquiry and is typically mentioned only in passing, often as interchangeable with Venus. Thus models of two loves tend to suppress gender difference in favor of polarized feminine stereotypesâEve and Mary.
Basing his analysis on poetry, mythography, and visual arts, Panofsky explicates celestial and natural Neoplatonic Venuses; the exception among the founders of two-love paradigms, he also distinguishes two Cupids, one (a mythographic figure) signifying an illicit love and the other (a poetic figure) a divine love. Panofsky organizes images into these general prototypes and then examines how artists appropriate and modify them. One sixteenth-century Neoplatonist pictures a battle between love and reason; since Venus appears only in her lesser, âearthlyâ guise, the division between a putative two Venuses seems absolute. Titian, on the other hand, depicts two very like Venuses, stressing the similarity between eternal and transitory pleasures.10 Panofsky discovers considerable variation even within his targeted circle of Italian Neoplatonists, who may choose to highlight the discrepancy or the similitude between the two loves (and who may, when two figures seem inadequately nuanced, add a third).
Robertson does not, as far as I can discern, refer to Panofskyâs argument in devising another two Venuses, these representing an always identical Augustinian love (caritas) and lust, passion, or desire (cupiditas). Robertson takes Cupid and Venus to be interchangeable.11 For Robertson, what matters in any literary representation is less how an artist employs or adapts the tradition than the single truth hidden by the fictive veil: the unchanging, hierarchical relation of flesh and spirit, and thus of the two loves, carnal and spiritual. Robertson bases his conclusions on several textual traditions, but mythographies seem particularly prominent.12 Although he discusses two Venuses in mythographic and other traditions, he tends to discern just one in poetryâa Venus signifying idolatrous concupiscence, everywhere and always condemned in medieval literature.13 This model has been much criticized, but the extensive original research apparently validating it has had a powerful influence on later studies.14 Indeed, Robertson synthesizes an enormous range of literary traditions, including Latin and vernacular commentaries and poetry, as well as pictorial traditions; and even those who disagree with his general interpretive model tend to take for granted his research on the two Venuses, which now constitutes the unchallenged (in some cases, likely unrecognized) basis of nearly all critical commentary. In this vein, critics have failed to perceive how his theoretical model biases his selection of evidence and shapes his conclusions. As we will find, his research may yield far different conclusions than those he draws from it.
The influence of Robertsonâs research is apparent in the subsequent work of Economou and Hollander, both of whom accept as authoritative the idea of two Venuses, with one illustrating concupiscence. Economou and Hollander, however, modify Robertsonâs model by inserting a licit (third) goddess of âearthlyâ but virtuous love between Robertsonâs extremes. Economou in fact defines two earthly Venuses: âthe one, legitimate, sacramental, natural, and in harmony with cosmic law; the other, illegitimate, perverted, selfish, and sinful.â15 Economou follows Robertson in contending that mythography provides a definitive medieval model for the two Venuses (though Economou shows an unsure command of the texts, which renders his assertion less than persuasive).16 Economouâs point is that these dualistic literary images of Venus encode positive and negative judgments about âcourtly love.â This constitutes nothing if not a significant departure from Robertsonâs Augustinian model.
Hollander concentrates on tracing Boccaccioâs portrayal of two Venuses in his opere minori in volgare: a âcelestialâ Venus of marriage, and an âearthlyâ Venus of lasciviousness. According to Hollander, Boccaccio creates two distinct Venuses by means of iconography and by stating his intention (in a gloss on the Teseida).17 The persuasiveness of Hollanderâs argument rests on our willingness to agree that Boccaccioâs gloss on the Teseida accurately and fully explains his many representations of Venus, and on our ability to read his texts ironically. That is, if Boccaccio seems to praise carnal love, he must be referring us to a rigid system of religious values that reveal this praise to be an error. I have reservations about this reading of Boccaccioâs Venuses, for I do not perceive two distinctly opposed Venuses in the gloss, let alone in the Teseida as a whole (or in all of Boccaccioâs works considered together); I will shortly deal with the gloss in some detail. Also, I fail to detect the irony (as I do with many of Robertsonâs analyses). My failure does not, of course, invalidate this line of interpretation. It does point up the fact that such discoveries of irony depend on readersâ assuming that medieval texts refer us to unchanging moral constants.18 This is, I think, precisely what we cannot assume about a period as long and full of change as the Middle Ages. Instead of debating the ironyâlikely an irresolvable and futile point of contentionâI would have us reconsider our assumptions about medieval moral codes and sexual mores.
This body of scholarship and criticism supports the conclusion that various types of antithetical love persist throughout the Middle Ages and well into the Renaissance.19 This scholarship also argues adamantly against any idea that a single dichotomy of two loves prevailed. Each study advances two or three Venuses or Cupidsâbut not the same two (or three). The two loves are variously referred to Neoplatonism, to Augustineâs caritas and cupiditas, to codes of courtly love, and to Boccaccioâs attempt to separate lasciviousness from marriage. We should further mark that some of these scholarsâ conclusions specify unique historical contexts and do not lend themselves to period generalization: Panofskyâs Italian Renaissance Neoplatonic Venuses are no more universal types than are the two Venuses Boccaccio attempts to distinguish in his gloss on the Teseida. All the modern scholars obviously share the organizing principle of antithesis, but their emphatic disagreements about precisely what this antithesis consists of fully establish that a single, unified medieval tradition of two loves never existed.
In pursuing binary loves, scholars necessarily minimize what does not cohere with the model. Panofsky stresses the model of two Venuses and outlines Pico della Mirandolaâs three Venuses in a note.20 Although such a subordination of alternatives is necessary to logical exposition, a prepossession for dichotomy can also inevitably bias the collection and interpretation of textual evidence. Robertsonâs exposition at times shows this tendency. For example, he refers to John Scotus Eriugena linking the concupiscent Venus with original sin. As given, the citation appears to justify a scheme of two loves:
The expressions âconcupiscence of the fleshâ and âmother of all fornicationâ suggest the Augustinian conception of the malady of original sin, and, indeed, John the Scot had explicitly identified the shameful Venus with that malady. Like her celestial sister, she was frequently associated with music in medieval iconography. Thus there are, in effect, two very different kinds of âmetodyeââone the music of the spirit and the flesh in harmony with created nature, and the other the music of the flesh as it seeks inferior satisfactions as a result of its own concupiscence.21
Robertson slides easily from John on original sin to conclusions about two melodies and the dichotomy of flesh and spirit, all of which ostensibly reinforces his model of two loves. If we turn to the cited passage from Johnâs text, however, we actually find much that argues against ...