Revisiting Ancient Women: Lamia
The Kiss of the Enchantress (Isobel Lilian Gloag, c. 1890), inspired by Keats's Lamia, depicts Lamia as half-serpent, half-woman
The myth of Lamia is one that’s been all but forgotten in the 21st century; Once upon a time, however, her name was among the most haunting words known to ancient Greeks.
Lamia’s story begins with her parents. As the result of King Belus of Egypt’s union with Lybie, some claim that Lamia was birthed from an incestuous relationship (citing Lybie as Belus’ own mother). This disturbing yet common familiarity seemed not to affect Lamia physically, as she was largely known to be a heavenly looking woman. Her beauty was so intense that it attracted the god of all gods: Zeus. Zeus quickly became infatuated with Lamia, and his desires soon manifested into an affair between the two. When Hera, Zeus’ wife and queen of the Olympian gods, discovered Zeus’ infidelity, she took it upon herself to punish Lamia.
Hera’s revenge was cruel and coldblooded. She murdered the children that Lamia bore from her relationship with Zeus, as well as any other child Lamia carried. In some cases, it’s said that Hera even thrusted onto Lamia a fleeting madness that prompted the woman to kill her very own offspring. The emotional turmoil that ensued from Hera’s retribution caused Lamia to fall into a deep insanity. Overcome with grief and envy, Lamia began to snatch and devour any and all children she could find, inflicting the same pain onto mothers that she herself once felt. As a consequence for such unparalleled evil, Lamia’s face and startling figure soon melted away into a beastly appearance. Her eyes assumed non-human abilities, as Lamia was able to remove them from their sockets. Sources claim that Zeus was responsible for this: either in a desperate attempt to stop Lamia’s reign of terror, or in a merciful act to free her from the madness plaguing her mind. Other ancient works provide a more direct explanation, asserting that Lamia ripped out her own eyes in an enraged frenzy, as every time she would shut them, she’d see her own dead children.
Lamia’s story inspired so much fear within ancient Greeks that mothers were known to use her name as a disciplinary tool. Threatening children with this bogey-woman proved effective when encouraging kids to behave. And rightfully so. The details of Lamia’s torment and subsequent terrorism are evidently harrowing and gruesome. Yet as we recognize that Lamia’s actions are unjustifiable, it is critical to investigate the modern-day implications of a story like this and re-examine the way in which this angelic woman became a ghastly monster.
In Lamia’s physical transformation alone, we welcome the inherent assertion that women’s value lies in their appearance. As Lamia grows crueler, her physical desirability plummets. In that relationship, the assumption that only ethical and good-natured women are beautiful (and wicked, conniving ones aren’t) runs wild. Secondly, we see the all too common trope of female envy and fallout for men’s actions. Hera punished Lamia, essentially a stranger, for the affair with Zeus, her own husband. Instead of addressing the issue with the male perpetrator, women resort to duke it out on their own — a storytelling arc with more will to survive than a pesky cockroach. Yet as we critique that choice, it’s important to realize the improbability of Hera ever being able to punish Zeus, given the gender dynamics of that relationship. Zeus, as a man, is more powerful and formidable than Hera could ever be, and as such, seeking revenge on Zeus as a woman seems nothing more than a fantasy. Once again, Zeus reaps the rewards of being a man — his sexual appetite remains satiated and his reputation untarnished. He wins, while the women (Hera, Lamia, and mothers with eaten children) lose.
While examining the gender intricacies of this myth proves to be fruitful, so does investigating its own legacy. With our modern world having forgotten Lamia and her story, we’ve exemplified the exact issue Being Anti-Sexist aims to solve. In order to discern and dismantle current sexist institutions, we must look to our predecessors for enlightenment on the omnipresent question: “How did things get so freaking bad?” With Lamia belonging to an ancient arsenal of female demons and mythological villains, this eternal ‘threat of women in power’ becomes naturally indoctrinated. While we’ve forgotten Lamia’s name, ancient Greeks knew it as a household staple. When we cease to analyze and dissect ancient culture, we prevent ourselves from understanding how we’ve inherited our world. Even scarier, we prevent ourselves from the chance to change.