The surprising origins of the word “lesbian” - Diane J. Rayor
More than 2,500 years ago,
one of ancient Greece’s most celebrated
popstars and erotic poets
enraptured listeners.
In one legend, a prominent Athenian heard
his nephew singing one of their songs
and enjoyed it so much that he asked
the boy to teach it to him—
“So that I may learn it and die,” he said.
So, who was this revered figure?
Her name was Sappho.
She lived on the Greek island
of Lesbos around 600 BCE.
Like other singer-songwriters of the time,
she sang while playing the lyre,
a stringed instrument from which
the term “lyrics” is derived.
But Sappho lyrics offered a uniquely
intimate perspective
on love, passion, and longing.
She’s the first on record to combine the
words “bitter” and “sweet,” for instance,
to describe at once the thrills
and devastations of romance.
Sappho was an aristocrat thought
to have married a man,
though none of her surviving
work mentions him.
It does reference other family
as well as festivals,
colorful clothing, and growing old.
But Sappho is best known for her lyrics
about homoerotic desire for women.
In one song, as her female companion
departs tearfully, Sappho says,
“let me remind you /
... the lovely times we shared.”
She describes flower garlands, perfumes,
“and,” she says,
“on soft beds /
... you quenched your desire.”
In another, she describes
a friend in a distant city,
“Pacing far away, her gentle heart
devoured by powerful desire,
she remembers slender Atthis.”
The word “Lesbian” means
someone from Lesbos,
but, because of Sappho,
it now also describes a woman who’s gay.
In ancient Greece, the norm was
for everyone to marry and have children.
While men were usually permitted to have
homosexual relationships
based on their status,
women weren’t.
But it appears that,
on Lesbos at this time,
aristocratic women generally
had more freedom.
Yet the details of Sappho’s
life remain mysterious,
partially because only fragments
of her poetry survive.
In ancient times, however,
so much of it persisted
that it seemed it would last forever.
Admirers performed Sappho cover songs
and committed her poetry
to papyrus, parchment, and pottery.
Three centuries after Sappho’s death,
a Greek author declared that her words
would endure
“as long as ships sail from the Nile.”
Another century later,
the Library of Alexandria housed
nine scrolls of her work,
numbering over 10,000 lines.
But natural forces eroded the collection.
And monks, tasked with preserving
ancient writing,
likely neglected or destroyed her work.
One 2nd century Christian leader
called Sappho
“a whore who sang about her
own licentiousness.”
Later, a Pope and Archbishop
ordered her poetry burned.
Almost all of it had vanished
by the Middle Ages.
Then, about a century ago,
people began rediscovering
Sappho’s poetry—
in locations like an ancient Egyptian
garbage dump.
Now, we have around 700 lines,
representing less than 10%
of Sappho’s total known work.
We only have one complete poem of hers.
About a dozen others are substantial,
but most are mere fragments.
New pieces of Sappho’s songs
probably will be found.
Some may already be sitting
in museum archives,
to be revealed when technology
allows scholars
to read through scrolls
too fragile to unroll.
What we are currently left
with is an incomplete record—
and many historical rumors.
Ovid insisted that Sappho fell
in love with a ferryman
and, upon being rejected,
leapt from a cliff to her death.
Another tale asserts that she ran
a girls’ school
and those mentioned in her poems
were merely students
for whom she felt platonic affection.
Current consensus is that these stories,
which ridicule Sappho
or deny her work’s homoeroticism,
are probably all untrue artifacts
of misogyny and homophobia.
Despite the distortions
of the intervening millennia,
Sappho’s words reach across time
and resonate today.
More than 2,000 years ago, she wrote:
“I say someone in another time
will remember us”
And, thankfully, we do.
