Sulpicia
Roman fresco (c. 53-79 CE), National Archaeological Museum of Naples. Possibly not Sulpicia herself, but still an ancient woman holding a writing tool.
Most usually the only women I write about on this site are those born in the minds of men. Whether it be Medusa, Pandora, or Penelope, the frequently occurring women of Being Anti-Sexist are those of ancient mythology. Yet today I’m eager to write about a very real and very factual one: Sulpicia. Sulpicia was a female poet writing during the Augustan age whose six short poems survive in the modern era. Her work was published within Albius Tibullus’ poetry collection, which lent great legitimacy to both her writing and name at large. Sulpicia is said to have been born around 40BCE into a well-respected family with close connections to the Roman emperor Augustus, himself. But Sulpicia’s story and its surrounding controversy represent something much larger than any biographical details could reflect. Her life, literature, and legacy have challenged contemporary academics to find the right balance of scrutiny and acceptance, while provoking them to define the implications of each. As such, it’s evident that Sulpicia, although physically long gone, lives on in her intellectual spirit to this day.
Sulpicia has become the center of much discourse as her authorship is often contended. Many scholars believe that, given the claimed era of Sulpicia’s writing, it’s highly unlikely that any woman would have been as well-versed in ancient literature as was necessary to be able to craft in the elegiac themselves. Seeing as most ancient women were uneducated and prohibited from the intellectual sphere, this notion has empirical evidence. Adding credibility to this viewpoint comes the theory that Tibullus was the true author of Sulpicia’s alleged work. This concept renders Sulpicia as a phantom writer, and instead, regards Tibullus as a poet exploring a female perspective through her name.
Conversely, scholars have found evidence supporting Sulpicia’s literary career. Many are quick to point out Sulpicia’s upbringing to contest the former point of uneducated ancient women. As we know that Sulpicia came from an affluent and connected family, she morphs into the exception rather than the rule. Despite the unfortunate truth of gender-based educational disparities in the ancient world, learned women of the upper class weren’t always a rare find. With the resources that money unlocked, educating an aristocratic daughter wasn’t bizarre nor infeasible. To the latter point of Tibullus’ possible penning, a less evidentiary but nonetheless strong rebuttal exists. As German scholar Christian Gottlob Heyne first proposed in the eighteenth century, Sulpicia writes with an identity that cannot be faked. As she addresses elegies to her lover, Cerinthus, she not only deploys nuanced allusions and literary devices in nearly every line, but also details the deeply personal and emotional turmoil she experiences as an enamored woman. To that end, crediting Sulpicia’s work to a male author can be seen as not just oppressive, but blatantly wrong.
Admittedly, we aren’t able to know the truth about Sulpicia and her work. But we are able to conduct a sort of meta-examination of the way we critique her legacy. As we look introspectively, we must ask ourselves whether, through such scrutiny, we closer approach the accuracy of Sulpicia’s story or disguise efforts to obliterate ancient female authorship. Regardless, it’s essential we move the conversation away from its centuries-long resting place of subjective disparaging (what with scholars once calling the writing “amatuer”) and think more broadly about what it means to possess the female perspective of the ancient world in our modern era. Sulpicia’s voice is one that will not rest. Though it may read as only forty lines in length, her work holds undeniable power that inspires discourse to this day, and as such, cannot be ignored.