To be sure wisdom is among the most beautiful of things and Eros is love of beauty; and so Eros must be a lover of wisdom, and being a lover of wisdom he lies between wisdom and ignorance. The nature of his birth is the reason for this. He springs from a wise and resourceful father and a mother who is not wise and without resources. This then, my dear Socrates, is the nature of this spirit. The conception you had of Eros is not surprising. You believed, to infer from what you said, that Love was the beloved (the one who is loved) and not the lover (the one who loves). For this reason, I think, Love appeared to you to be all beautiful. For that which is loved is that which actually is beautiful and delicate, perfect and most happy, but that which loves has another character, of the kind that I have described." Diotima goes on to explain the function, purpose, and power of Eros in the life of man. Love and the lover desire what they do not possess, namely, the beautiful and the good, and the ultimate goal of their pursuit is happiness. Love finds particular expression in the procreation of what is beautiful both physically and spiritually, and all men in their quest to bring forth in beauty are thereby touched by a divine harmony with the immortal. Procreation is the closest means by which the human race can attain to perpetuity and immortality; love, then, is a love of immortality as well as of the beautiful and the good. Animals as well as men seek to perpetuate themselves and thereby become immortal. But for man there are various stages in the hierarchy of love. The lowest is that of the animal inspired by the desire for children of the body, but as one ascends there is the realization of the possibility of producing children of the mind. Who would not prefer the poetic offspring of a Homer or a Hesiod and the more lasting glory and immortality that they have achieved? Just as on the rungs of a ladder so we proceed from one step to another, initiates into the mysteries of love from the lower to the higher. Love begins with the physical and sensual desire for the beautiful person or the beautiful thing. From the specific object one moves to the generic conception of beauty, which is wondrous, and pure, and universal. It is the love of this eternal beauty (and with it the goodness and wisdom it entails) that inspires the pursuit of philosophy in the philosopher.

Diotima sums up by describing the final stages of initiation and revelation sustaining the vocabulary of the mysteries (28 [21OA-C]): It is necessary for the one proceeding in the right way toward his goal to begin, when he is young, with physical beauty, and first of all, if his guide directs him properly, to love one person and in his company to beget beautiful ideas and then to observe that the beauty in one person is related to the beauty in another. If he must pursue physical beauty, he would be very foolish not to realize that the beauty in all persons is one and the same. When he has come to this conclusion, he will become the lover of all beautiful bodies and will relax the intensity of his love for one and think the less of it as something of little account. Next he will realize that beauty in the soul is more precious than that in the body, so that if he meets with a person who is beautiful in his soul, even if he has little of the physical bloom of beauty, this will be enough and he will love and cherish him and beget beautiful ideas that make young men better, so that he will in turn be forced to see the beauty in morals and laws and that the beauty in them all is related. This then is the Platonic Eros, a love that inspires the philosopher to deny himself in the cause of his fellow man and in the pursuit of true wisdom. Whatever the physical roots, the spiritual import is universal, kindred to the passionate love of God that pervades all serious religious devotion. Aristotle too thinks in Platonic terms when he describes his god as the unmoved mover, the final cause in the universe, who moves as a beloved moves the lover. How far we have come from the traditional depiction of Eros as the handsome young athlete who attends Aphrodite! Even more remote is the image that evolved of Eros as Cupid, a chubby mischievous little darling with wings and a bow and arrow.

He still attends Aphrodite and although the wounds he inflicts can inspire a passion that is serious and even deadly, too often he becomes little more than the cute and frivolous deus ex machina of romantic love. Finally the story of Cupid and Psyche remains to be told. It is given its classic form by Apuleius, a Roman author of the second century A.D., in his novel Metamorphoses, or The Golden Ass (4.28-6. 24). One's first impressions about a tale uniting Cupid (or Eros) with Psyche (Soul) should inevitably be Platonic; but whatever philosophical profundities, Platonic or otherwise, have been detected in Apuleius' allegory, popular and universal motifs common to mythology in general and folk tale, fairy tale, and romance in particular, emerge with striking clarity. For example, the mysterious bridegroom, the taboo of identification, the hostile mother figure, the jealous sisters, the heroine's forgetfulness, the imposition of impossible labors accomplished with divine assistance, among them descent into the very realm of Hades, and the triumph of romantic love. In this tale Cupid appears as a handsome young god with wings. We give a summary of Apuleius' tale: Once upon a time, a certain king and queen had three daughters, of whom Psyche, the youngest, was by far the most fair. In fact many believed that she was Venus reincarnated and paid her such adulation that the goddess became outraged. And so Venus ordered her son Cupid to make Psyche fall in love with the most base and vile of mankind; instead, Cupid himself fell in love with Psyche. Psyche's sisters had easily found husbands, but Psyche, although by far their superior, remained unmarried since she was admired by all with the awe that is inspired by divinity. Her father was upset and suspected that a god's wrath was responsible. He consulted Apollo, who delivered a terrifying oracle: Psyche was to be decked out like a corpse and placed on a mountaintop to be wed by a serpent so terrible as to be feared by all the gods, even Jupiter himself.

Despite the grief of all concerned, the oracle had to be obeyed. Psyche, amid the rites of a funeral for a living bride, was left on a mountaintop to meet a fate that she accepted with resignation once she realized that Venus was responsible for her impending death. Psyche fell into a deep sleep, and the gentle breezes of Zephyrus wafted her down to a green and flowery valley. When she awoke she discerned a magnificent palace. Upon entering it, she was told by voices that her every wish would be taken care of, and such proved to be the case. Food, wine, a bath, and celestial music were provided. And when Psyche went to bed an anonymous bridegroom visited her, only to depart quickly before sunrise. Thus Psyche spent her days-and her nights-in the palace. Meanwhile, her sisters set out in search of Psyche, but her mysterious husband continually warned her not to respond to them when they approached. Psyche, alone in her prison all day, besought her husband each night to allow her to see her sisters and give them gold and jewels. He finally consented on the condition that she must not, despite her sisters' urgings, try to learn his identity. When the sisters arrived and interrogated her, Psyche kept her secret-although she did say that her husband was a very handsome young man. The sisters returned home with the riches that Psyche had given them, but in their hearts they nursed an allconsuming jealousy. They decided, moreover, to keep secret the fact that Psyche was alive and well and to maintain the fiction of her disappearance. The mysterious bridegroom warned Psyche of her sisters' treachery: their purpose was to persuade her to look upon his face; if she did so, she would never see him again. He also told her that she was pregnant, and if she kept their secret, their child would be divine; if she did not, it would be mortal. Nevertheless, he granted Psyche's appeal to see her sisters once again. In answer to their questions Psyche revealed that she was pregnant, but this time she told a different story about her husband-he was now a wealthy middle-aged merchant. The sisters once again returned home laden with gifts and more jealous than ever; they now suspected that Psyche's lover must be a god and her expected child divine. The evil sisters visited Psyche a third time; this time they told her that her husband really was the monstrous serpent of the oracle and that she would be devoured when the time of her pregnancy was completed. Psyche was horrified, and believing that she was sleeping with the monster, forgot the warnings of her husband. Anxious to escape her fate, she took her sisters' advice. She was to hide a sharp knife and a burning lamp; when the monster was asleep, she was to slash it in the neck. Her sisters promised to remain nearby, to help her escape; but they quickly abandoned her.

Psyche in anguish made her preparations; in the night her husband made love to her and then fell asleep. As she raised the lamp, knife in hand, she saw the sweet, gentle, and beautiful Cupid. Overcome by the sight, her first impulse was to take her own life, but this she was unable to do. Spellbound by Cupid's beauty, she gazed at his lovely wings and fondled the bow and quiver that lay at the foot of their bed; she pricked her thumb on one of the arrows and drew blood. Overcome by desire, she kissed her husband passionately. Alas, the lamp dropped oil on the god's right shoulder. Cupid leaped out of bed and attempted to fly away at once; Psyche caught hold of his right leg and soared aloft with him, but her strength gave way and she fell to earth. Before flying away, Cupid admonished her from a nearby cypress: he had ignored Venus' command, he said, and had taken her as his love; he had warned her; his flight was penalty enough; and her sisters would pay for what they had done. Psyche attempted to commit suicide by throwing herself in a nearby river; but the gentle stream brought her safely to its bank. Whereupon Pan, who was nearby, advised her to forget her grief and win back Cupid's love. Psyche in her wanderings came to the very city where one of her sisters lived. Psyche told her sister what had happened but added that Cupid would marry her if she hastened to his side. The sister called on Zephyrus to carry her from a mountaintop to Cupid's palace, but as she leaped into the air she fell and was destroyed on the rocks below. Psyche then found her way to her other sister, who was killed in the same manner. Psyche wandered in search of Cupid; he lay in his mother's bedroom, moaning because of his burn. A sea gull informed Venus of what had happened. She rushed to her son's side, berating him for his behavior and vowing revenge. Upon leaving in a rage, Venus encountered Ceres and Juno, who tried to console her and defend Cupid's action (through fear of his arrows) as typical of a young god's desire. Psyche too, still wandering, met Ceres and Juno; both had pity upon her misery but were afraid to befriend her in opposition to Venus. Venus by this time had abandoned her search for Psyche on earth. She approached Jupiter, who agreed to send Mercury to make a public proclamation for the capture of Psyche. And when Psyche was brought before Venus, the goddess denounced her and abused her physically. In addition Venus imposed upon the poor girl a series of impossible tasks. First, Psyche was ordered to sort out before nightfall a vast heap of mixed grains (wheat, barley, and the like). In this endeavor an ant came to her rescue and summoned his army to isolate each different grain. Venus was convinced that Cupid was somehow responsible for helping Psyche in the task.

The next day Venus ordered Psyche to go to a river bank where dangerous sheep with thick golden fleeces grazed and to bring back some of their wool. This time, a reed murmured instructions to help Psyche. She was to wait until the sheep had stopped their frenzied wandering under the blazing sun; and when they had lain down to rest, she was to shake from the trees under which they passed the woolly gold clinging richly to the branches. And so she accomplished the deed. Venus, still not satisfied, ordered Psyche to go to the top of a high mountain, from which dark water flowed-water that ultimately fed the Underworld stream of Cocytus. Psyche was to bring back a jar filled with this chill water; among the terrors to be faced was a dragon, fierce guardian of the place. The eagle of Jupiter swooped down and filled the jar for Psyche; through Cupid's agency this eagle had stolen Ganymede away for Zeus, and now the debt was repaid. Venus, angrier now than ever, imposed the ultimate taskdescent into the realm of Hades. Psyche was ordered to take a box to Persephone and ask her to send back in it a piece of her own beauty. Psyche in despair decided to throw herself off a high tower. But the tower spoke to her and gave her specific directions to the Underworld and instructions about what she was and was not to do. Among the stipulations was that she provide herself with sops to mollify Cerberus and money to pay the ferryman Charon. Most important, the tower warned Psyche not to look into the box. Psyche did everything that she had been told, but she could not resist looking into the box. Inside the box was not beauty but the sleep of the dark night of the Underworld; by this deathlike sleep Psyche was enveloped. Cupid, by now cured of his burn, flew to Psyche's rescue. He put sleep back into the box and reminded Psyche that her curiosity once again had gotten the better of her. She was to go and complete her task. Cupid then appealed to Jupiter, who agreed to ratify his marriage with Psyche. Venus was appeased; after all, marriage would force Cupid to settle down and remain faithful. Mercury was dispatched to bring Psyche to heaven, where, upon partaking of ambrosia, she became immortal. A glorious feast marked the happy mamage of Cupid and Psyche. In due time a daughter was born to them, and her name was Voluptas (Pleasure).

As an example of how the Greek divinities still worked on the imagination of an author writing in Latin in the second century A.D., here is Apuleius' description of the final scene of Psyche's story (Metamorphoses 6. 23-24): Jupiter ordered Mercury to summon the gods immediately to an assembly . . . and when the heavenly theater was full he took his place upon a lofty throne and made the following speech: "Members of the senate of the Gods, as enrolled by the Muses, you certainly know the young god whom I have brought up with my own hands. I thought that the impetuous desires of his early youth should be restrained: it is quite enough that he has earned a notorious reputation through his adulteries and immoral behavior. I must take away every opportunity for such behavior from him and shackle his youthful self-indulgence with the chains of marriage. He has chosen a girl and has taken her virginity: let him take her to have and to hold, and let him' always enjoy the embraces of his own Psyche.'' Then he turned to Venus and said: "And you, my daughter, should not be disappointed and be afraid that marriage to a mortal will be beneath your son's high family rank. I shall make it a marriage of equals, legitimate and in accordance with civil law"-and there and then he ordered Mercury to take Psyche and bring her to heaven. Jupiter offered her a cup of ambrosia, saying: "Psyche, be immortal, and may Cupid never leave your embrace. May your marriage never be broken." Immediately a wedding feast appeared. The bridegroom took the highest place, embracing Psyche. So Jupiter with his own Juno took his place and then, in order, the other gods. Then Jupiter's cupbearer, the shepherd boy Ganymede, brought him a cup of nectar, the wine of the gods, and Bacchus gave nectar to the others. Vulcan cooked the feast; the Hours decorated everything with roses and other flowers. The Graces sprinkled the scent of balsam, and the Muses played and sang. Apollo sang to the cithara and Venus danced in all her beauty to the music; the tableau was so fitting for her that the Muses accompanied her with choral ides or played upon the tibia; a satyr and Pan played the pipes. So, with all due ceremony, Psyche was married to Cupid and, in due time, a daughter was born to them, whom we call Pleasure (Voluptas). It is impossible to survey the mythological concepts of love without including the poetic vision of Sappho of Lesbos, the poetess of love in antiquity. Only a little of her work has survived, but the critical acclaim of her artistry glows undiminished. We know practically nothing with certainty about her life and career. She was devoted to Aphrodite and to the girls with whom she was associated. But we cannot even confidently speak about a cult of the goddess, and her relations with her loved ones can only legitimately be imagined from the meager remains of her poetry. Her circle has been interpreted as everything from a finishing school for girls in the Victorian manner to a hotbed of sensuality. Sappho's invocation to Aphrodite has real meaning for us in this context because it illustrates beautifully the passionate intensity that infuses so much of Greek art within the disciplined control of artistic form. It reminds us too of the sincerity of the conception of the goddess that was possible in the seventh and sixth centuries. Too often our sensibilities are numbed by the later artificial and conventional stereotypes to which the gods are reduced, once all genuine belief is gone. There can be no question about the intense reality of Aphrodite in the following lines-which even a prose

translation cannot obliterate completely. Exquisitely enthroned, immortal Aphrodite, weaver of charms, child of Zeus, I beg you, reverend lady, do not crush my heart with sickness and distress. But come to me here, if ever once before you heard my cry from afar and listened and, leaving your father's house, yoked your chariot of gold. Beautiful birds drew you swiftly from heaven over the black earth through the air between the rapid flutter of their downy wings. Swiftly they came and you, 0 blessed goddess, smiling in your immortal beauty asked what I wished to happen most of all in my frenzied heart. "Who is it this time you desire that Persuasion entice to your love? Who, 0 Sappho, has wronged you? For if she runs away now, soon she will follow; if she rejects your gifts, she will bring gifts herself; if she does not now, soon she will love, even though she does not wish it." Come to me now too and free me from my harsh anxieties; all that my heart longs for, accomplish. You, your very self, stand with me in my conflict.