Hi friends!

Happy Mardi Gras! It’s been a rough Pride season this year, and I know even watching the annual parade make its way down Oxford Street is going to stir up some mixed feelings. However you celebrate, I hope everyone stays safe and has a lovely weekend — whether that means marching, dancing, or just sitting back with a sandworm popcorn bucket to enjoy Dune.

Meanwhile I’ve gone on an obsessive deep-dive about Alexander the Great (yes, this is not the first time) to see if I can answer the eternal question: was he gay?

Keep reading if you dare.

Was it really Alexander the Gay?

Two weeks ago Greece (finally!) passed its marriage equality law, making it the 36th country in the world to legislate same-sex marriage. That’s worth celebrating, but predictably the debate around it spiralled into a toxic swill of right-wing propaganda and fear-mongering. To an outsider, one of the most confusing notions, pushed by organisations like the Greek Orthodox Church, is that homosexuality is a modern idea imported from decadent, “woke” western Europe.

Which sounds… odd coming from Greece. This is the country of Sappho, the poet whose island of Lesbos literally gave us the word “lesbian”. This is the ancestral home of Socrates, the Spartans, and the Sacred Band of Thebes. Didn’t the Ancient Greeks practically invent homosexuality?

A telling example of this strange disconnect between conservatives and the queers is the recent flare-up around the sexuality of Alexander the Great (i.e. King Alexander III of Macedon, Conqueror of the Persian Empire, Famous Man who did a lot of Bad Things). The spark was a new Netflix doco-drama, Alexander: The Making of a God, which explicitly showed Alexander in a long-term sexual relationship with his general Hephaestion, a decision supported by a bevy of talking heads. Cue controversy. From The Guardian:

Leaving aside the quality of the series itself — because no one has made a decent film or TV show about Alexander yet — I think the debate itself is fascinating, because the two perspectives seems so incompatible. Everyone is working off the same, centuries-old sources, and yet we come to such different conclusions. Is this a case of conservative denialism, or of queer wishful thinking and academic overreach? What’s the truth dammit?

A Little Bit of Context

Alexander was born the prince of the upstart Greek nation of Macedon in 356 BCE. He was tutored by the philosopher Aristotle, and won his first battle at 16. At 20, he became King. By the time he was 25, he had led a seasoned army into Asia and conquered all of Greece, Egypt and the mighty Persian Empire. He continued battling as far as India, at which point his troops refused to go any further. He returned to Persia to govern his new empire — the largest the world had ever seen — only to die of a mysterious illness at the age of 32. He’s one of those figures that loom large over history, a perennial source of fascination, revulsion and hero-worship.

First up, a caveat about terminology. Terms like “gay” and “lesbian” are modern inventions, dating back to the 19th Century. Moreover, the idea that being “gay” was an identity — rather than an action — would have confused the hell out of an ancient Greek or Roman. So I’m using “queer” as an umbrella term to talk about Alexander & co, rather than trying to pin down his specific place on the modern LGBTQI+ spectrum.

Secondly, it’s worth noting that queer behaviour was openly acknowledged in the Ancient Mediterranean world. We have no shortage of same-sex love poems, rude graffiti, philosophical discussions, and erotic art that demonstrate that sex between men & men, and women & women, was commonplace across all levels of society. Anyone who denies this is being willfully blind to the literal mountains of physical evidence, and presumably walks around Pompeii with their eyes closed.

However, that doesn’t mean that queer relationships in the ancient world map comfortably to our own. For instance, the Athenians had fixed ideas that the ideal form of gay love was between an older man as his younger, teenaged “beloved”. In Rome, the gender of a person’s sexual partner was far less important than their class and status; it was dishonourable for a Roman man to be the “passive” partner. These relationships took place within rigid patriarchal systems; men were expected to have a wife and child, but this did not prevent them from enjoying same-sex affairs, taking lovers or abusing their slaves. Women rarely enjoyed these privileges. Which is not to say that equal relationships were impossible (the famous Sacred Band of Thebes, made up of pairs of male lovers, seems predicated on some level of equality between partners), but they were hardly the social norm.

Third, how exactly are we supposed to determine if events that happened 2,350 years ago are “true” or not? LGBTQI+ people are used to making meal out of tiny crumbs of historical evidence. There’s a good reason for that; for centuries, evidence of queerness was deliberately and systemically erased from the historical record, particularly in Christian nations. So we’re often a bit eager to break out the pride flags. Cultural conservatives would say that impulse is reckless; they generally treat queerness as an allegation that needs to be proved by the criminal standard of “beyond a reasonable doubt”. Then again, why are people still presumed to be straight, until we “prove” otherwise? Is that assumption any more historically defensible? Historians usually sit somewhere in the middle — reluctant to make clear statements of fact, but weighing up the balance of probabilities. That’s the standard I’ll use today.

Last, a word about the actual sources. Our primary ancient sources for Alexander’s life come from five biographies, written by Arrian, Plutarch, Curtius, Diodorus and Justin. Unfortunately none are eyewitness accounts — while many of Alexander’s contemporaries (such as his General Ptolmey and architect Aristobulus) wrote memoirs that these ancient biographers consulted and quote from, the originals have been lost. These biographies agree on most of the big, public events, but they have their differences and biases: Arrian — generally the most reliable and academic writer of the bunch — focuses primarily on the campaigns, and not Alexander’s personal life (dammit), whereas Plutarch is heavily concerned with drawing moral lessons, and Curtius has a knack for sensationalism.

The Evidence

So here’s a run-down of what our sources have to say about Alexander’s personal life and relationships:

Wives & Mistresses: Alexander had three wives in his short lifetime (simultaneously). First was Roxana, a Persian noblewoman he married during the campaign who was reputed to be “the most beautiful woman in Asia”. She had his only confirmed child, although the boy was born after Alexander’s early death. His second and third wives were daughters of King Darius III, the Persian King Alexander had defeated and deposed. These were clearly political marriages, as Alexander was attempting to unite the Macedonian and Persian people and create a sense of dynastic continuity.

Aside from legendary tale or two (Alexander meets the Amazons!), his only alleged mistress was Barsine, mentioned by Plutarch. However, Barsine’s claim is extremely suspicious, given she only came out of the woodwork a decade after his death, trumpeting that her teenage son was Alexander’s bastard, and hence heir to his throne. Most historians, ancient and modern, doubt the story.

Alexander’s (lack of a) sex life: That’s a short list of mistresses for a conquerer — compare it to Alexander’s philandering father King Phillip II (who had dozens of wives, mistresses and gay lovers) or the famously prolific Genghis Khan. And everyone comments on it. While no source explicitly names Alexander’s sexual preferences, they consistently remark about the “moderation” of his sex life. When he was young, this was a source of concern — Curtius describes how Alexander’s parents worried that his lack of interest in women would leave him without an heir, and (unsuccessfully) hired a prostitute for him. Later writer Athenaeus remarks that the young Alexander was seen as a “womanish man”.

Hephaestion: Alexander’s childhood friend and lifelong companion is the subject of most of the speculation around Alexander’s sexuality (and can recently be seen making out with his buddy in the Netflix series that stirred this hornet’s nest). However, none of the sources outright state that Alexander and Hephaestion were lovers. Our evidence that they were anything more than friends / roommates is circumstantial.

Alexander and Hephaestion modelled themselves on the mythic Achilles and Patroclus from The Iliad (another pair of fiercely debated alleged boyfriends): visiting the warriors’ joint grave at Troy, Alexander made sacrifices to Achilles, and Hephaestion to Patroclus. The belief that Achilles and Patroclus were lovers was widespread (though contested) in this era; Alexander would have been aware of the implications. Hephaestion remained at Alexander’s side throughout years of war and conquest, continually promoted until he became Alexander’s second-in-command, although it’s never entirely clear why (the laconic Oxford Classical Dictionary: “His importance is measured by Alexander’s affection. Nothing suggest that his abilities were outstanding”. Brutal.) On their return to Persia, Alexander married Hephaestion to another of Darius' III’s daughters, effectively making him family.

And then Hephaestion died — from a unknown illness and potentially too much partying — and Alexander completely fell apart. The sources describe in excruciating detail the wild excesses of Alexander’s grief. He threw himself on the body and wept for days, refused to eat, destroyed nearby cities, held an extraordinarily elaborate funeral, planned monument to rival the Pyramids, and demanded that the Egyptian oracles at Ammon declare Hephaestion a god (they compromised, declaring him a “divine hero” instead). Alexander himself died less than a year later, and it’s suggested he never recovered from losing Hephaestion.

Bagoas: And then there’s Bagoas. He was a young eunuch from the Persian Court, who may have previously been Darius III’s lover. Bagoas is the only person explicitly mentioned in the sources as Alexander’s eronmenos (i.e. sexually desired lover). Curtius gives us the most details, although his account is probably overblown — he alleges that Alexander was so in love with the “remarkably beautiful” eunuch that Bagoas was able to effectively rule Persia. But even setting Curtius aside, multiple sources relay a famous incident at a festival where Alexander watched “his favourite” Bagoas win the singing and dancing prize. Bagoas sat down next to the King, wearing his own victory crown, and to the cheers of the assembled soldiers, “the king put his arms around him and kissed him.”

And that’s pretty much all the evidence we have about the private life of Alexander the Great! It’s not a lot to go on, but I think we can make a judgement or two.

My (Totally Correct) Opinion

What does it all add up to? My not-so-surprising conclusion: I think the evidence suggests that Alexander was a queer man. While it’s impossible to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt, I think you need to indulge in some impressive feats of mental gymnastics to deny it outright. Alexander’s marriages and (limited) relationships with women hardly preclude his queerness, particularly in the context of the time.

Clearly Hephaestion and Alexander were extremely close; many modern historians, including Robin Lane Fox and Paul Cartledge, have concluded it’s very likely that the relationship was also physically intimate (at least at some point in their lives). Personally I find the Achilles/Patroclus cosplay and Alexander’s extraordinary outpouring of grief hard to account for otherwise. But his relationship with Bagoas is the most straightforward of the lot — it’s well documented and surprising public, even if it’s less appealing to modern sensibilities.

Why does it matter?

How it is that both sides of the political spectrum can have such fiercely held, divergent views about this millennia-old megalomaniac? And why should we give a damn in the first place?

Funnily enough, I think the answer is pride.

People on all sides of the political, sexual and gender spectrums are hungry for heroes, and Alexander the Great has been in the troubled pantheon of “Great Men” for a very long time. He’s a national icon for many Greeks and Macedonians; and for conservatives that can be an immense source of pride — and it’s a pride that they prefer to align with their own standards of morality and masculinity, and will fiercely defend against any allegations to the contrary. Queering Alexander, then, is tantamount to slander.

LGBTQI+ people still have a real need for ancestors — famous queers who let us declare that we have always been here, and we have always mattered. And for better or worse, the ancient world is one of our best sources for queer people who lived without evasion, repression or shame. Which isn’t to say that a man with a body-count like Alexander’s should be a source of pride, or venerated as a hero… but I think there’s just as much value in acknowledging and reckoning with the Bad Gays as the good ones. A gay Alexander reminds us that queer identity is not automatically emancipatory; it can also serve the interests of dictators, of colonisation, and of patriarchal systems of oppression. We might prefer to imagine a dedicated, lifelong partnership with Hephaestion, but can’t shy away from the fact that Alexander’s better documented same-sex pairing is with the young eunuch Bagoas — a relationship that raises much thornier questions around age, class and servitude.

As murky as history can be — particularly as we delve deeper into the past — we cannot allow it to be a choose-your-own-adventure. History isn’t just a sourcebook for our collective myths, or another art form rife for re-interpretation: the truth matters. There are genuine arguments to be had about Alexander, queer history, and the ancient world, and completely valid points of disagreement — but we have to come from a place of truth-seeking, rather than simply the desire to validate our own preconceptions and beliefs. Without that shared conviction, it only becomes harder to sit down and talk to one another.

If you’re interested in further reading on difficult characters in queer history and how our modern ideas don’t always map to the past, I highly recommend Bad Gays: A Homosexual History by Huw Lemmey & Ben Miller. And give me a buzz if you want any more details on the sources for this post - I figured if I started footnoting like a real historian I’d never finish!

Film of the Week: The Conformist (1970)

Written & Directed by Bernardo Bertolucci. Based on novel by Alberto Moravia.

And speaking of Bad Gays… Bertolucci’s rumination on Italian fascism probably isn’t anyone’s first choice for Mardi Gras, but I wanted to write about it today because the new restoration is in cinemas in Sydney and Melbourne for another week, and I’d highly recommend catching it on the big screen while you can! The Conformist is probably most famous for the exquisite cinematography by the great Vittorio Storaro — but it’s also a reminder of what great cinematography is: not simply self-aggrandising, “every frame a painting” visuals, but an act of service to the story and its hidden currents.

And beneath Storaro’s glistening surfaces I see repressed desires and queer longing ebb and flow. Few films better express how trauma and self-denial can warp the soul, creating a space for evil to flourish. Bureaucratic flunky Marcello (Jean-Louis Trintignant) is an empty vessel; a handsome husk of a man who goes along with a fascist plot to assassinate his former professor despite lacking any real ideology or conviction. He’s guided instead by an all-too-recognisable desire to conform to social expectations and “be normal”. But queerness in The Conformist bubbles up at unexpected moments — the audacious dance between Marcello’s wife & his bisexual ex-lover, or through denials of homosexuality that erupt unasked for. This, Bertolucci argues, is how fascism works: by co-opting us at our most insecure and most craven. And we give ourselves away, piece by piece.

4K Restoration Screening @ Europa! Europa Film Festival. Available to rent via AppleTV & Google.

Odds and Ends

• The extraordinary story of the biggest art fraud in history, devised to defraud Indigenous artists in Canada.

• Taylor Swift triumphs, but local live music is struggling in Australia.

• I’ve finally watched Certain Women, and honestly I’m pretty in love with Lily Gladstone at this point. What an actor!

And best of all, do yourself a favour and watch the wonderful new lion dancing documentary To Become a Lion — shot by Jack McAvoy, directed by David Ma and produced by Georgia Noe! It’s just 6 minutes long, but it packs a remarkable amount of history and artistry into that short running time. The film can be watched via the New York Times, or I’ve embedded a paywall-free version below.

And that’s it for this week, thanks for reading! The Oscars are almost upon us, so next time I’ll finally write about my favourite movies of 2023. Probably.