An archaeology of homosexuality? Perspectives from the Classical world]

by Keith Matthews

This paper will examine the evidence for a past male homosexual behaviour and explore a
method of identifying that behaviour by archaeological means. Using Classical literature,
particularly Roman, as a case study, it will show that a recognisable gay subculture existed
beyond mainstream society which ought to have had its own distinct types of material culture. It
will present a theoretical model of male homosexuality as a distinct and oppressed subculture,
and will finally examine a number of instances where archaeologists might begin to look for
evidence of that behaviour in the material culture of the Roman Empire
In recent years archaeologists have begun to debate feminist, indigenous and other
alternative interpretations of archaeology (Hodder 199 I: 156). In particular, so-called postprocessual archaeology has sought to distance itself from normative trends, in which societies
are presented as homogeneous entities driven by quasi-scientific and deterministic laws
(Shanks & Tilley 1987 45)
This is an entirely healthy trend, since human experiences as individuals within society
suggest that they are not driven by forces beyond their control, that personal behaviour choices
do exist and that, most importantly, people do not belong to monolithic social groups. AJI
people belong to a mUltiplicity of what have been termed archaeologists, for
instance, belong to an archaeological subculture with its own distinct rituals and behaviour
patterns. As a white middle-class English house-owning male the author belongs to the
dominant subculture of British society – as do most archaeologists – but at the same time, as
a gay man, he belongs to an oppressed minority.
This variety of personal experience in which different subcultures vie for dominance within
the individual may well be a driving force in society. Every minute of the day people are
forced to make choices which derive from conflicts of interest between the subcultures to which
they belong. It is evident that every historic society has had its subcultures and these ought to be
identifiable in the archaeological record.
Culture and subculture
As a means of analysing societies, subcultures have been little studied. They are often seen as a
modern phenomenon, with emphases on such diverse groups such as teenagers, ethnic
minorities or New Age travellers. However, it is immediately clear that these three throwaway
examples all use material culture available to all members of society in subtly different ways. In
this case they will be archaeologically recognisable. This should encourage archaeologists to
examine the possibility of identifying past subcultures through their material the
assemblage from every archaeological site, every pit on a site or any structure on a site is
distinct from every other. In the past archaeologists have sought to establish similarities and An Archaeology of Homosexuality’? Perspectives from the Classical world 119
patterns: this paper claims that the time has now come to look for deviation from patterns
which are now very well understood indeed.
Subcultures are an important but little-recognised element in every society, except perhaps
the simplest. As soon as human communities exceed the nuclear family group, tensions may
arise between separate power-groups; any groups which are not dominant will form embryonic
subcultures. Such groups can focus around any feature which gives them self-identification or
they can focus around an identity imposed from outside; it is even probable that
institutionalised oppression can reinforce subcultural identity. This is how the modern
homosexual male defines himself (Freer 1987: 57; Giddens 1993: 198): his sexuality is what
enables him to identify with other members of his subculture, and gives that subculture a
common ‘purpose’ or historical trajectory. There IS evidence for a distinct homosexual
subculture in London as early as the 1720s (Weeks 1991: 202).
The post-processuaJ interest in subcultures and minorities has been criticised as
encouraging the proliferation of ‘unconstrained multiple readings of the past’ (Kohl 1993: 15).
Classic sociological interpretations view subcultures as a form of ‘deviant’ behaviour (Hebidge
1979, 90): however, this seriously undervalues the variety of expression found even within
normative, mainstream culture. In any but the simplest societies there are social groups which
fall outside the mainstream elite culture, and an interest in these groups will not attempt to
rewrite archaeology and history from their viewpoint but will seek to integrate the variety of
experience of marginalised subgroups into our understanding of how societies functioned as a
whole.
Literary sources from many periods of European history make it clear that distinct male
homosexual subcultures formed a well-known component of society, even if they were not
always officially tolerated. The same cannot be said for lesbian subcultures: this may be because
for most of the historic period literature was produced both by and for men and lesbian
subcultures were either invisible to them or of no interest or it may be because lesbians have not
networked in the same way as gay men and have therefore not created distinct subcultures. This
is clearly a question which deserves further examination, but which cannot be discussed here
for reasons of space.
The history a/historical research into homosexuality
Early historical research into homosexuality may be said to have begun during the nineteenth
century with a tentative examination of Greek ‘homosexuality’ (Symonds 1883). This
pioneering work was effectively suppressed by its author through a limited printing of only ten
copies. Early in the twentieth century similar work was carried out by psychologists of sexual
‘abnormalities’ , but their work was ofte’n ignored. Indeed, it was not until the rise of the Gay
Liberation movement in San Francisco and other American cities in the late 1960s that anyone
looked in depth at the history of homoseXUality.
Kenneth Dover’s Greek Homosexuality, published in 1978, was a milestone in historical
research: for the first time a scholar outside radical gay politics examined the evidence for
homosexual behaviour within a past society in which its existence could not be questioned.
Perhaps spurred on by this pioneering work, serious research during the 1980s – often by
heterosexual historians – began to examine the evidence for past homosexual behaviour, and
indeed of sexuality in generaL the work of Michel Foucault (1987; 1990) stands out in this
respect. Much of the debate during the 1980s and 1990s has focused on the existence of
homosexuality as a universally-shared human experience against its role as a culturally-defined 120 Keith Matthews
behaviour pattern. Both extremes acknowledge the reality of homosexual behaviour. The
former position regards the behaviour as one which might be genetically or psychologically
defined and which has found expression in a variety of forms, depending on the constraints of
the society in which it was practised. The second sees the term ‘ homosexual’ as referring to a
distinct lifestyle choice, available only after the definition of the term in 1865 and its
introduction to the English language by 1892 (Halperin 1989: 38) For the sake of convenience,
and in order not to enter into the debate between those who see homosexuality as a geneticallyor psychologically-determined sexuality and those who regard it as culturally-defined, the
position taken here is that the universality of certain traits of homosexual subcultures throUgl1
time and across the world is more indicative of a non-cultural and biological explanation for
the behaviour. In other words, althougl1 individual subcultures are historically situated,
homosexual behaviour is essentially ahistorical and universal, a biologically-derived
phenomenon (or given).
There is little doubt that most – if not all – societies have witnessed expressions of samesex behaviour (Giddens 1993: 196). Classical Greece is the best-known, indeed notorious,
example of such behaviour (‘the unspeakable vice of the Greeks’: Forster 1972: 50) although
the meaning of this behaviour can be debated, as will be seen. The attitudes of individual
societies and subcultures \vithin them towards such behaviours varied enormously (e.g.
Mishima 1972 7L Le Roy Ladurie 1980 Miles 1989 58), as indeed it still does within
modern Western society.
Classical homosexuality
Greek sources celebrate the erotic appeal of male youths to older men. A vast body of poetry
celebrates this love, mllch of it collected by Strato in the second century AD as the Movcra
PatblKll and incorporated into the tenth-century anthology of Greek epigrams collected by
Kephalas (Jay 1981: 20). Poets moved easily between pederastic and heterosexual subjects (as,
for instance, AskJepiades of Samos, born c 320 BC) and a poem by Alkaios of Messene (ft 200
BC) makes it clear that a boy was no longer desirable once he had reached maturity (Greek
Anthology 12.30 in Jay 1981: 121)
Poetry, rather than the prescriptive texts employed by Foucault (1987: 38), demonstrates
the ease with which the subject could be discussed. However, it must be remembered that this
poetry was the product of an elite. and that the behaviour it describes may have been confined
to that elite. Other sources make it clear that the phenomenon cannot be regarded as true
homosexuality, but was rather culturally-sanctioned paedophilia. The youth was expected to
remain una roused by the advances of the older man, and to pity him (Dover 1978: 88); the
older man was expected to be fired with passion for the youth’s beauty and vigour, to shower
him with gifts and to oversee his induction into adult society (Fig 13.1) Seen in these terms,
the experience was a rite de passage rather than a wholly sexual behaviour pattern (Keuls 1985:
276) Plutarch even went so far as to declare that the only true love was that between a man and
a youth (quoted in Miles 1989: 68). True adult homosexuality did exist, though, and was not
regarded at all favourably (Keuls 1985: 291). Passivity in penetrative sexual acts was especially
disliked (Foucault 1987: (94), and those found guilty of it could be deprived of their citizen
status under Athenian law (Coote 1983: 31)
The Roman world also acknowledged homosexual behaviour, again celebrating the love of
older men for youths (e.g. Catullus 1966: poem Tibullus 1972: poem l.iv: Petronius An Archaeology of Homosexuality? Per.<,pectivesfrom the Classical world 121
Fig /3. J. Sexually aroused man with affectionate but unamused child From an Attic Red
Figure Cup of the/11th century Be. now in Oxford (ARV 378, 137) 122 Keith Matthews
1977, Satyricon 85-6; Foucault 1990: 196). Catullus is often cited as an example of the
tolerance shown towards bisexual behaviour, but his Poem 16 contains an elegant disclaimer
against his poems being read autobiographically: he states that while a poet’s behaviour ought
to be decent, what he writes about need not (Quinn 1970: 144). With the Empire, though,
toleration of these activities declined; the Spintrian perverts Tiberius is said to have collected
around him in Capri and the other youths he is alleged to have seduced (Suetonius 1979:
Tiberius 43-4) are given by Suetonius as instances of sexual perversion Whatever the
historical truth of these pieces of salacious gossip, Suetonius clearly relates them for their shock
value because they were not regarded as proper behaviour in his day. Similarly, the relationship
between Hadrian – Suetonius’s employer – and Antinous was regarded by the Roman
aristocracy with considerable distaste (Historia Augusta 1976, Hadrian 14). Foucault (1990:
228) has linked this growing intolerance of homosexual behaviour with the ‘invention’ of
heterosexuality in the Roman world, itself perhaps connected with a growth of ideas about male
pre-marital virginity and chastity.
However, there are sources which are explicit about an entirely different form of san1e-sex
behaviour, between two adult men, and most sources express disgust (e.g. Juvenal 1974, Satire
9; Suetonius 1979, Gaius 36; Suetonius 1979, Galba 21; Petronius 1977, Satyricon 23). Nero
underwent a gay marriage ceremony first with the youth Sporus, whom he castrated, evidently
to make him the ‘female’ partner, and later with the freedman Doryphorus, with the emperor
this time assuming the passive role (Suetonius 1979, Nero 28-9); Elagabalus also married a
man, named Zoticus, the emperor taking the ‘female’ role (Historia Augusta 1976,
He/iogabalus 10). Galba was described as pathicus, the passive partner in a homosexual
relationship (Suetonius 1979, Galba 21). The role of the supposed passive partner was thought
particularly subversive and horrible (luvenal 1974, Satire 2). Horace’s second Satire describes
an incident of the gay gang-rape of an adulterer (Horatius & Persius 1973: 33). It was not until
533 that the emperor Justinian sought to outlaw homosexual behaviour, though, and his
motives appear to have been more political than moral: the law was one of a group aimed at
eliminating political rivals and trouble-makers ‘to whom no crime could be imputed’ (Gibbon’s
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, quoted in Coote 1983: 20), and was a source of
considerable protest at the time, not least from the church.
Ascetic forms of the Christian religion inherited the growing Roman disgust (together with
a general disgust for all matters sexual promulgated by Paul), which was reinforced by its
background in Jewish homophobia (Leviticus XIX. 22; although, for a dissenting view, see
Boswell 1980: 105). The pseudepigraphical Epistle of Barnabas (chapter X) makes the curious
claim that eating hare induces paedophilia, whilst eating hyaena is a cause of homosexuality
and gender inversion (Staniforth 1968: 207). This sort of irrational prejudice has continued to
be a dominant source of popular attitudes towards homosexuality in the West. It is noteworthy,
though, that sodomy, sodomitia, was not considered a greater sin than ‘natural fornication’,
/ornicatio naturalis, in the Penitential of Gildas, a sixth-century British monk (Gildas 1978:
146) Islam shares similar roots with Christianity, and has continued the tradition of
intolerance to adult homosexuality, although it has also inherited the eastern tradition of
paedophilia.
The difficulty with Classical historical sources is that they are the productions of an elite.
The audience of Strato, for instance, was composed of the liberal aristocratic Iitterati of the
cosmopolitan society of Imperial Rome. They may well have enjoyed the wit and elegance of
his collection without taking them seriously as autobiographical statements of sexuality. Poems An Archaeology ojHomosexualily? Perspectives/rom the Classical world 123
12.17 and 12.245 of the Greek Anthology (translated as Heterosexual Poem and Vive La
Difference by Teddy Hogge in Jay 1981: 272 and 276) suggest a humour and irony in Strato’s
treatment not immediately apparent in the remainder of his work.
On the other hand, there are hints of men living what would today be recognised as a gay
lifestyle. Juvenal’s second Satire includes descriptions of men who would be at home in the
clubs and bars of any late twentieth-century European or American city. These are the men who
enjoy the company not of pubescent boys but of other men, who occasionally cross-dress, who
are sometimes ‘canlp’. They are not the producers or the audience of poetry like Strato’s nor,
indeed, its subjects. Juvenal’s account is not a sympathetic one, and he concludes with an
appeal to ancient virtues to end this decadence, the last recourse of the moral bigots of every
age.
The clues provided by Roman authors suggest that the homosexual males of Classical
Rome were part of a well-known subculture. Some of them practised cross-dressing,
presumably in private. The scandals of Nero’s and Elagabalus’s cross-dressing (Suetonius
1979, Nero 21: Historia Augusta 1976, Heliogabalus 26) are well-known because they were
public figures who did not restrict their sexual behaviours to their private lives. Public figures
in the twentieth century have been no more immune to revelations of this kind: the similarity
between Nero or Elagabalus and J Edgar Hoover springs instantly to mind. The public’s
appetite for lurid details about the sex lives of the famous is well-known, as the controversy
surrounding the death of the English MP Steven Milligan in February 1994 demonstrates.
A model of homosexual behaviour
A theoretical model of homosexual bellaviour in a society which does not sanction it may be
constructed using the experiences of gay men in the first three quarters of the twentieth century.
This period is useful because, for most of the world, male homosexuality was then a crime and
because there have been a number of recent studies by historians of the period which frequently
employ oral evidence and can thus be regarded as much as anthropological case-studies as
historical (Heger 1980; Chauncey 199]: Haeberle 199]: Weeks 1991: Shilts 1993).
The main recurring feature of such studies is the essentially furtive nature of most
homosexual behaviour (Weinberg & Williams 1974: 83). In only a few instances is it open, and
even then it is the subject of scorn, fear or downright hatred by outsiders (Haeberle 1991:
Steakley 1991: 255) Because of official condemnation, gay men have needed to disguise their
behaviour, and also generally their orientation (Weinberg & Williams 1974: 198). The secret
nature of homosexual liaisons has led to the linking of the subculture with the criminal
underworld; this has been celebrated most forcefully by Jean Genet (1 976; 1977). There have
also been a few societies where love between two men has been praised, but this is generally
contrasted with the disgusting sexual behaviour.
Gay men have resorted to a number of devices to make themselves mutually recognisable
whilst remaining hidden from the rest of the world. This can take the form of dress codes
involving clothing, jewellery, hairstyles, make-up and tattoos, although such codes may need to
be relatively fluid, subtle or ambiguous, otherwise they become readable by in
some cases, where the gay man wishes to identify himself as such publicly, his dress code can
be upfront and over-the-top, as with the comedian Julian Clary. These codes usually need to be
relatively complex and sophisticated, thougll: coloured handkerchiefs, the position of the belt
loop from which keys are hung, and the number and positions of earrings have all been used to
indicate the precise sexual preferences of gay men. 124 Keith Matthews
Many gay men have adopted highly feminised behaviour patterns in private, and
occasionally also in public (Sanderson 1986: 13). This is most commonly found among the
submissive partners (the ‘passive’ partners in penetrative sex), but can extend to the ‘active’
partner. For instance, it has been common for gay men to adopt female names, refer to each
other as ‘she’ (Genet 1976: Lahr 1986: Ill) and, on occasion, dress as women (Chauncey
1991: 297). Where this occurs it is not true transvestism or transsexuality (Sanderson 1986:
14): the gay man does not seek to make himself female, or even to appear female, but rather
adopts and exaggerates the female role to distinguish himself as different from the heterosexual
male. Sometimes the gay man adopts an exaggeratedly male form of dress and behaviour
(Genet 1977: Greig 1987: a recent expression of this has been the ‘clone’, who has
cropped hair, a truck moustache, wears a lumberjack shirt. tight jeans and sometimes – when
visiting a bar or club – a hard hat. Both these behaviour types are probably a response to the
lack of independent and positive homosexual role models (Weinberg & Williams 1974: 83).
These behaviour-types can find expression in the material culture of the homosexual. There
is often a propensity for wearing jewellery, especially that not worn by heterosexual males, such
as earrings or bracelets. Many gay men are more fastidious about their appearance than
heterosexual men, and consequently may dress more stylishly (Rechy 1971: this is easier if
they have never married and do not have a family to support, and thus have more disposable
income for expensive and fashionable clothes than heterosexuals.
Another means of aiding contact between gay men has been to adopt recognised meetingplaces (known today as ‘cruising-grounds’), such as public parks (Rechy 1971: 114), heathland
and sand dunes, particularly at times when these places are not frequented by others. There can
be bars or cafes where gay men meet (Silverstein & White 1977: 134): occasionally they
provide back-rooms for casual sexual encounters (Hamilton 1994: 20). Public toilets (‘cottages’
in England, ‘tea rooms’ in the USA) (Lahr 1986: L05: Sanderson 1986: White 1988: 143)
and saunas (Rechy 1971: 263) are notorious locations for furtive gay sex. There can be little
doubt that the secretive nature of most sexual encounters would add a thrill of danger,
reinforcing the wish to repeat the experience.
A further feature which recurs in homosexual behaviour is the relative rarity of long-term
relationships (although there have been well-known exceptions, such as Sir Benjamin Britten
and Peter Pears, whose relationship spanned over fifty years). Because such relationships are
forbidden, they need to be hidden from society in general and must be carefully disguised. The
deception involved may make relationships stressful to the point where they are not worth
considering. A recent readership survey of Gay Times revealed that only 28% of its readers was
involved in a live-in relationship, a low figure which surprised the editorial staff (Smith 1994:
24).
This lack of opportunity to undertake successful long-term commitments to a single partner
means that the gay man is perceived as highly promiscuous (Sanderson 1986: 45). This is a
source of further condenmation from mainstream society, where marriage and the rearing of
cruldren are presented as the true meaning of human existence. and the family as the basic unit
of society
There are other aspects of gay behaviour which also might be detectable in material
culture. Decoration in the home, for instance, may include objects and paintings with an overtly
or covertly sexual homoerotic content: the paintings of Caravaggio are an excellent example of
barely covert homoerotic art (see, for instance. his Victorious Love (Gash 1988: 77)). Such An Archaeology of Homosexuality.? Perspectives from the Classical world 125
artefacts need to be sufficiently ambiguous if they are to be inoffensive whilst remaining
‘readable’ by those in the know (e.g. Shilts 1993 50).
The final point to be made is that gay subcultures are an essentially urban phenomenon (Le
Roy Ladurie 1980: 147; Smith 1994: 24). Many gay men have migrated to large towns and
cities from rural communities and small towns in order to meet other gay men (Sanderson
1986: 41). In addition, the relative anonymity of the individual in a large town helps to keep his
sexuality a secret from colleagues and, more importantly, neighbours.
Archaeological evidence for homosexual activity
There is little concrete and indisputable archaeological evidence for homosexual activity. The
earliest potential evidence comes from a scene incised on rock at Addaura (Sicily), which dates
f’ig /3.2. Epipa/aeolithic scene from Addaura, Sicily. It appears Lo show a ritual involving
sodomy and masked dancing figures (after Collins 1976). 126 Keith Matthews
from c. 12,000 bp and appears to depict two male figures surrounded by a group of dancers (Fig
13.2). The men are prone and both have erect the uppermost seems to be sodomising
the lower. Interpretation of this scene from the Upper Palaeolithic has rarely been undertaken.
It has been suggested, for instance, that the two men are bound, perhaps undergoing a
circumcision ritual, and that the penis of the lower is in fact a wooden stake (Collins 1976:
158). Such an interpretation is not necessary. The ritual nature of the scene is clear enough,
and it may be suggested that the two men are engaged in a ritual sex act, regardless of their
own personal sexual identities. Shamanism in modern hunter-gatherer communities is
frequently associated with gender inversion, bisexuality and homosexuality (Sjoo & Mor 1987
67), so its identification in an extinct community ought to occasion no surprise.
Greek vases show clear evidence for homosexual activity but, as already explained, this is
generally not true adult male homosexuality but a ritualised form of socially-sanctioned
paedophilia. The existence of adult male couples is, however, occasionally hinted at on vases
(Fig 133), and is well-attested in literature (Foucault 1987: 194). It is noteworthy that the
couple shown in Fig 13.3, although of roughly the same ages, are beardless young adults. It is
also clear that, despite official condemnation, many pederastic relationships continued well into
the ,maturity of the younger partner because both partners found a great deal of satisfaction –
both emotional and sexual – in their relationship. Similarly, the literary evidence for Roman
homosexuality has already been discussed, and suggests that here we might find archaeological
evidence of its existence.
Beyond representations in art (Cooper 1986: Iff), though, there is little unequivocal
archaeological evidence for homosexual behaviour. This is clearly not because such behaviour
and associated subcultures did not exist – the literary sources for the Roman world
demonstrate that they certainly did – but because most archaeologists have not looked for
them. The subculture of archaeologists has been dominated by men who, for better or for worse,
have tended to be macho (even if they are not always necessarily heterosexual). Much as we
may laugh at the crass depiction of an archaeologist provided by Indiana Jones as a romantic,
swashbuckJing adventurer, we do not have to look far to see similar, if less exaggerated,
behaviour among our colleagues.
Few archaeologists can have questioned the sexual behaviours of the societies they seek to
reconstruct because they have had no need to question their own. For homosexuals, though, the
teenage years are an even more difficult time than for heterosexuals, when hormones compete
with heterosexual culture for dominance: some follow their biochemical instincts, but others
doom themselves to a life of miserable conformity with normative society.
Gay material culture in the Roman world
The model of repressed gay subcultures presented above has outlined three basic areas where
evidence for their material culture might be sought in the archaeological record: clothing
(including personal adornment), meeting-places and homoerotic artefacts. It is clear that it will
be impossible to demonstrate that the archaeological material is proof of the existence of a gay
subculture, but a demonstration that the evidence can support such an interpretation should
encourage us to look at it in greater depth.
The identification of clothing on archaeological sites is rarely possible, except in
waterlogged conditions; even then, it is difficult to ascertain the precise ownership and function
of the clothes. Only with burials is it easy to link an individual with specific artefacts (and even An Archaeology of Homosexuality.? Perspectives from the Classical world 127
i’ig J 3.3. An affectionate couple. both are young adult and both sexually aroused This is
quite contrary to the rules of Greek paedophilia and demonstrates that the phenomenon was
rather more complex than is usually assumed. From a Symposium Cup (Kylix) ofthefifth
century BC by Peithinos. now in Berlin (ARY 115,2). 128 Keith Matthews
then there is the problem that it is the living who choose the objects to accompany the dead into
the grave). However, such objects might show some evidence, for instance, of ‘female’ gravegoods accompanying a small number of male skeletons, although the definition of what
constitutes ‘female’ objects must be subject to rigorous scrutiny. Local practice must be taken
into consideration, as personal adornment may have been used quite differently in different
parts of the Empire, and we know that different ethnic groups showed considerable variation in
patterns of jewellery use. Syrian and certain north African males, for example, are known to
have used earrings, a practice which Italian Romans found ‘effeminate’. We should be
particularly cautious in projecting characteristics of gay subculture derived from Roman
literature onto areas distant from the core of the core of the Empire, such as Britain.
One clear example from Britain of what does appear to be a Romano-British practice is the
use of bracelets as a feminine jewellery-type. The large sample of burials from the Lankhills
cemetery, Winchester, indicates that, where the skeletons can be sexed, bracelets only ever
accompany female burials (Clarke 1979: 152). In most Romano-British cemeteries where
grave-goods are found, this observation holds true, as at Dunstable (Matthews et al. 1981),
which suggests that variation from this pattern will not be regionally-influenced. However,
there is a case from a cemetery at Cirencester in which a male in his late forties or early fifties
was accompanied by a bracelet, inhumation 179 (McWhirr et al. 1982: 129). The evidence of
Lankhills further suggests that only women would usually wear necklaces made from
however, male burial 203, aged 23-25, from Trentholme Drive, York, was associated with a
necklace composed of five red glass beads (Warwick 1968: 138). Does this mean that those
responsible for burying these individuals perceived them as highly-feminised? This is still a
long way from identifying them as gay, of course. On the other hand, is the identification of the
skeletons as ‘male’ an error? Is this a grey area of palaeopathology in which the sexing of
skeletal material becomes little more than a dubious pastime?
A recent controlled experiment, using skeletons from named coffins from the crypt at
Spitalfields church, London, suggests that the sexing of skeletons using the usual criteria is
generally reliable (Molleson & Cox 1993: 21). So, if burials 179 from Cirencester and 203 from
Trentholme Drive were male, and it is likely that they were, does their apparent possession of
feminine jewellery actually set them apart from other males in their respective cemeteries?
Archaeologists are accustomed to identifying structures and other elements of urban
landscapes, so the recognition of meeting-places might be possible. Gymnasia were well-known
places where a man might expect to meet youths; there they were naked, and their bodies could
be admired without shame. Strato’ s poetry includes a number of epigrams on themes which
revolve around the gymnasium. luvenal also makes it clear that private houses and taverns
were places for meeting, pairing and coupling.
The possibilities of identifying such places on purely archaeological grounds are limited.
Without graffiti, frescoes or other ‘documentary’ evidence public places are not susceptible to
this kind of analysis. However, archaeologists ought not to forget the secondary uses to which
public bu ildings can be put. In the twentieth century parts of the walls of the Roman fortress at
Chester have been a well-known cruising area after dark; when the tradition arose cannot be
established, and the possibility that its roots go back to the Roman period on the walls of towns
throughout the Empire should not be overlooked.
However, the private dwelling is much more easily examined in this way_ This paper has
already drawn attention to the possibility of artefacts which may be homoerotically ambiguous: An Archaeology of Homosexuality.? Perspectives from the Classical world 129
objects which are sufficiently innocuous to outsiders but which, nevertheless, offer clues to
those able to read them.
One particular class of object which might strike the modem gay man as possibly
significant is the phallus. Associated with the god Priapus, these objects were relatively
conunon in the Roman world, being found as lintinabula, lamps and simply as decoration on
other objects. They have often been ‘read’ by archaeologists as no more than that, although
Percival Turnbull (1978) has claimed that in Britain some examples demonstrate the existence
of a number of phallic cults without discussing among which social groups these cults might
have been popular. It is possible that their presence – combined with other less tangible clues
– could signify that the owner was part of the gay community. A tufa phallus from Pompeii
(dell’ Orto & Varone 1992: 144) seems to have been placed on the facade of a house, and there
are parallels from the city placed at the entrances to shops. While the traditional explanation of
the phallus as a good luck talisman may be correct, it may have had other potential meanings to
those who used it. A recent discussion on the ‘meaning’ of material culture (Shanks & Tilley
1987: 92) has pointed out that the primary function of an object is not the only potential
function, and that archaeologists should recognise the many different possible ‘readings’ of
their data which can exist.
Cone/us ion
Without the literary evidence for a thriving gay subculture in Rome in the first century AD it
would be hard to characterise it from its archaeological remains, if it were recognisable at all. It
is onJy by extrapolating details from recent gay subcultures to produce a generalised model that
we can begin to search for archaeological evidence of the Roman subculture. This will entail far
more research into poorly-published sites using a literature written in virtually every European
language than can be attempted for a short paper.
However, it has been shown that there are means of looking at the data which raise
questions about the sexual attitudes of past societies. Detailed research into burial practices will
undoubtedly reveal more examples of curious discrepancies between the gender of the body and
the objects associated with it this is without doubt the best means of identifying individuals
who were perceived as belonging to a gender which was not their biological sex, although the
precise meaning of this phenomenon need not always be related to homosexual behaviour in
life. Graffiti may be found which give an insight into the secondary functions of certain public
and semi-public places. Finally, there is the possibility of identifying a distinct material culture
of homoerotic the associations of such objects might then allow us to characterise the
material culture of past homosexual subcultures.
It is unlikely, though, that we will ever achieve such a thing as an ‘archaeology of
homosexuality’ because of the difficulty of recognising the individual actor in history sought by
R.G. Collingwood and more recently by [an Hodder (1991: 6). The personalities and sexual
habits of the dead do not reveal themselves to the trowel. and we are dependent on theoretical
approaches to unravel what we can of such intangibles. The best hopes lie with the recognition
and characterisation of the material cultures of past subcultures. 130
Notes
Keith ivlatthews
I would like to thank Stephen Player for drawing Figures 13.1 and and Steve
Harrison, Catherine Johns, Mike Morris and Stephen Player for their helpful
comments and suggestions on earlier drafts of the paper.
2 I have cited ancient authors as I would modem authors whose works have been
translated from a foreign language. The common practice of citing the editors and
translators is pernicious and merely adds to the distance between the modem reader
and the ancient writer. reinforcing the unnecessary mystique accorded these writers.
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