As long as humans exist, they have surely contemplated the future—not just humanity’s future, but the shape our species might take. Utopias and dystopias, hopes for what lies ahead and fears about what might come, concrete plans and strange forecasts—these realms often blur into one another. Some of these penned thoughts entertain, some provoke reflection, some evoke fear; some seem remarkably prescient, others appear bizarrely odd. Yet they all share a common thread: they imagine a future that will be decidedly different from today.
The collection of future-oriented documents I’ve gathered is quite varied. Beyond traditional predictions, I’ve included year-by-year plans, appeals to homosexual communities, and fictional representations. In a previous installment I even looked at films about the future. Sometimes the texts forecast hazy possibilities for the next 130 years; other times they present fairly concrete plans for the near term. Even if their future insights don’t always map onto our present, they remain compelling time capsules. The pieces here about LGBTQ life in the future come from the last 180 years, spanning from Charles Fourier’s 1820 notions of free love to the dramatic turn of the millennium. Regarding the headings, I’ve added the author’s name or the magazine title in parentheses next to the year only when it helps with identification, as is common with prominent writers. I have arranged most contributions chronologically. I am deeply grateful to the Centrum Schwule Geschichte in Cologne for assistance with research for this article.
The Utopia of Free Love, Including Gay and Lesbian Life (Charles Fourier, 1820)
Circa 1820, the French social theorist and utopian thinker Charles Fourier (1772–1837) penned Le nouveau monde amoureux, a work that imagines a social and sexual revolution. Unfortunately, there is no complete German edition of the text. An excerpted translation appears in an edition titled From the New World of Love (1977), which carries a foreword by the French writer Daniel Guérin (1904–1988). Although the book itself does not provide Fourier’s full treatments of homosexuality, Guérin’s foreword (pp. 7–36; here pp. 22–28) features a substantial discussion of Fourier’s views on same-sex affection. Guérin notes that Fourier estimated roughly 26,000 men who shared an attraction to women who would be lesbians, and he also notes women who were attracted to homosexual men. For Fourier, all sexual inclinations were valuable as long as they did not harm or wound others. Guérin points to Fourier’s contradictory statements about homosexuality in ancient times, where some depictions condemned it while others celebrated it. In Fourier’s utopia, there would be no taboo around homosexuality: “the quadrilles of the ambivalent” would find space for male same-sex activity—explicitly including “lesbian love” to have its rightful place. According to Fourier, noble orgies would not be debased by mere sensuality but would rather reinforce mutual affinities. Homosexuality, Fourier argued, would help erase class divisions.
In a text from a project on the history of life reform, published on the website of the Hamburg University of Fine Arts, Fourier’s own public acknowledgment of his homosexual inclinations is noted. The text adds that Fourier aimed to overcome rigid one-sex behavioral norms—exclusive heterosexual or homosexual behavior. For further scholarly discussion of Fourier’s (homo)sexual theories, see Saskia Poldervaart’s essay “Theories About Sex and Sexuality in Utopian Socialism” in the volume Gay Men and the Sexual History of the Political Left (1995). Some have suggested Fourier’s views were suppressed since the 1960s for their radical nature, though it’s also the case that his language and ideas are difficult to parse and sometimes contradictory, especially with regard to antiquity.
If You Read This, I’ll Already Be Invisible (Walt Whitman, 1859)
Walt Whitman (1819–1892) is widely regarded as one of the most influential American poets of the 19th century. His major work, Leaves of Grass, he continually revised and expanded from 1855 until shortly before his death in 1892. In Leaves of Grass he repeatedly turns to the future, as seen in poems such as “Poet of the Future,” “Song of Myself,” and “Whoever You Are, Holding Me Now.” In the latter, he directly addresses the readers and speaks to them in a strikingly personal voice. One famous passage imagines the speaker sending his poems to a reader living centuries hence, inviting them to recognize him when they encounter the living words: “Forty years old, … I send these poems to someone who lives a century or many centuries hence; I send you these poems, and I seek you out. If you read them, I who was visible has become invisible; you are now the one, graspable, visible, who makes my poems alive and who seeks me. And who imagines how happy I would be to be there with you, to be your comrade; so be as if I am with you now! Do not be too sure that I am not with you already.” (Quoted from Walt Whitman’s Works in Two Volumes, Vol. II, 1922, p. 121. In Hans Reisiger’s translation.)
Since their publication, Whitman’s poetry has been read as a depiction of “homosexual relationships or bisexual expression” and was subject to censorship by early LGBTQ movements who saw him as “their poet” (see Eduard Bertz, Walt Whitman: A Portrait). To this day, Whitman remains a central figure in queer memory culture.
Legal Immunity for Homosexuals Will Arrive (Ulrichs and Kertbeny, 1864/1870)
Karl Heinrich Ulrichs (1825–1895), a jurist and early advocate for legal equality for homosexuals, explored same-sex love and introduced new terminology, calling those attracted to other men “Urnings.” He became the first public figure to openly identify as an Urning. In his twelve-part tract Der Urning (Researches on the Mystery of Male-Male Love), he was optimistic that criminal prosecutions of gay men would soon end. In Vindex (1864, p. 15), the first issue of the series, he wrote: “Our century, indeed perhaps our decade, will be the one that abolishes the persecution of male-male love.” Six years later, in Araxes (1870, p. 40), he concluded with somewhat less optimism that the current century would achieve victory and liberate Urnings by law.
Another early LGBTQ activist was Karl Maria Kertbeny (1824–1882), who knew Ulrichs. There is a draft letter from May 6, 1868 from Kertbeny to Ulrichs that historian Manfred Herzer calls perhaps “the only surviving, detailed document of the relationship between the two men.” At the end of this draft, Kertbeny writes to Ulrichs: “Above all, observe the time, for perhaps in one century the legislative commissions will meet, and everyone in the professional field will tell me that the question of legalizing homosexuality is so ripe before common sense and legal considerations that only a nudge is needed to carry it through. If this moment is missed now, then the century will pass without any redemption!” (Manfred Herzer, “A letter from Kertbeny in Hannover to Ulrichs in Würzburg,” Capri, 1987, no. 1, pp. 25–35, PDF pp. 45–55).
Marriage Equality for Homosexuals by 2000 (Ulrichs and Alois Geigel, 1869/1870)
Among Ulrichs’s various proposals, the demand for marriage equality for homosexuals provoked the strongest reaction in his contemporaries. Ulrichs writes: “Why should Urning love not have the right to stand at the altars of the God who created them? … Why should the Urning not taste the joy of standing there with his beloved youth, just as you stand with your myrtle-crowned brides?” He argues that the church should “create a form” and that the church’s historic reluctance should be overcome. He imagines a form of marriage that is dissolvable, with a salutary effect on public opinion and on the state, which would recognize such unions. If the Catholic Church did this, Ulrichs believed, it would no longer be backward-looking but would be capable of looking toward the future with a youthful mindset. (X. Letter, Prometheus, 1870, pp. 33–41).
In the anonymous diatribe “The Paradox of Venus Urania” (1869, attributed to the physician Alois Geigel), the author mockingly suggests Ulrichs should have been “born in the year 2000” when it might be possible to “enact urnine marriages.” When this was written, Ulrichs’ public statements described a more cautious approach—for instance, in 1865 he quoted a homosexual as saying: “It must come to pass that we can formally marry each other.”
Ulrichs’s call for a Homo-Ehe (gay marriage) and for normal press coverage of it has, by 2025, come to pass in many places—but the Catholic Church remains, in many eyes, backward-looking despite some reforms.
Lectureships for Homosexuality (Die Presse, 1870)
The majority of newspapers that did mention Ulrichs tended to oppose his push to reform criminal law and to legalize same-sex marriage. This holds true for Austria’s Die Presse, where a contributor (July 14, 1870, pp. 9–10) explicitly argued: “And they (the homosexuals) will not stop there in their demand for immunity.” “Perhaps they will demand from the free state the creation of chairs for the scientific study of Urningthum” (the term then used for homosexuality).
A tongue-in-cheek reference to chairs in academia was not meant seriously. In fact, German universities had not yet created a professorship dedicated to studying homosexuality, though there have long been positions where researchers could study sexuality within broader disciplines. Rüdiger Lautmann held a chair in sociology at the University of Bremen (1971–2010). Siegen housed the research focus “Homosexuality and Literature” (1985–1998), founded by Prof. Dr. Wolfgang Popp, who also edited the Journal of Homosexuality and Literature (1987–2007). Bernd Ulrich Hergemöller held a medieval studies chair at the University of Hamburg (1996–2012). All three leveraged their positions to push forward research on homosexuality. Today it is possible to build an academic career around LGBTQ topics, as shown by professors Martin Lücke and Benno Gammerl.
Medical Inquiry as a Vehicle for the Future (1890)
The psychiatrist and forensic expert Richard von Krafft-Ebing (1840–1902) played a pivotal role in the scientific assessment of homosexuality. In his landmark work Psychopathia Sexualis (1886), he defined homosexuality as a medical condition and argued for legal decriminalization. The book became a best-seller in sexology and was expanded in later editions. It is notable for presenting specific case studies and allowing some of the people affected to speak in their own words. Among them is a 34-year-old, unnamed businessman who explains why he volunteered for Krafft-Ebing’s research: by sharing his life story, he hopes to illuminate what he calls “the cruel error of nature” for future generations. He believes that science will eventually look upon homosexuals not with contempt but with pity and understanding. (Psychopathia Sexualis, 7th ed., 1892, p. 189). Yet this perspective still treats homosexuality as a pathology—a view that many would later reject—showing how even well-meaning scientific work can perpetuate stigma rather than dismantle it.
He too would not have deserved contempt but deserved empathy. Sadly, in an era when “progress” was measured by the expansion of scientific explanations for human variation, many people still viewed homosexuality through a punitive lens rather than as a natural variation that deserved dignity.
Marriage as a Hope, Not a Future Reality (Otto de Joux, 1893)
Even before the LGBTQ movement took shape in May 1897, Austrian author and activist Otto de Joux published two emancipatory works on homosexuality in the 1890s. I discussed his life and work in depth for TheColu.mn on December 30, 2025, marking the 125th anniversary of his death. In his first book, The Outcasts of Love’s Happiness (1893), de Joux writes: “The unfortunate Urnings—our gay brothers—can still hope. They have no present, but perhaps they do have a future” (p. 74). On the old, longstanding dispute over whether same-sex marriage should be permissible, de Joux remains skeptical: “Their stormy ardor for the same will most likely never reach fruition” (p. 129).
Decades Will Pass Before a Fair and Gentle Ruling (1895)
In German history, same-sex acts between men—and in some cases between women—were criminalized under various laws. Since the founding of the German Empire in 1871, § 175 of the Reichstrafgesetzbuch (RStGB) governed criminal penalties. The critique of § 175 predates the gay rights movement. A Dr. med. van Erkelens, about whom little else is known, argued in his emancipatory pamphlet Strafgesetz und widernatürliche Unzucht (1895, p. 20) that even if § 175 were repealed, it would take “decades” for public opinion to render a just and lenient judgment about the matter. This underscores a key point: changing the law is not just about repealing unjust statutes; it also requires broad public consent to that repeal. Public opinion can drive legal reform, but reform can also shape public sentiment in turn.
Counting Sexual Orientation in Censuses (Otto de Joux, 1897)
In his second book on homosexuality, The Hygeia of Classical Love in the Present (1897, pp. 214–216), de Joux explores his visions for a future in which prevailing moral norms would be deemed untenable. He predicted that psychologists, jurists, and the press would play a crucial role in informing the public. He imagined a time when a truly ethical state would require census forms to include a third gender category—“Heterosexual, Homosexual or Bisexual”—so that the data would be treated as a routine part of civic life rather than something shocking. He even contemplates punishment for anyone who would lie about their orientation after laws had changed, albeit in a manner that reflects the era’s punitive mood. He also projected Earth’s population growth into the year 2000 and beyond, a concern that, in hindsight, would seem melodramatic given modern demographics.
Was de Joux serious about the “executioner” reference for those who persistently lied about their sexuality? His utopia of nondiscrimination is difficult to square with such stark warnings, but the broader point remains: if discrimination were eliminated, many of the fears surrounding disclosure and census tracking might seem less pressing. Still, his musings—like much of the era’s—are a mixture of progressive thinking and alarmist rhetoric.
Gay Men Will Wear Their Own Clothes (Otto de Joux, 1897)
De Joux also took up the notion that fashion could signal sexual identity. He drew on earlier ideas that clothing shapes gender roles and identity, suggesting that future gay men would adopt attire that marked them explicitly as members of a new social group. He imagined a world where a male-presenting person wearing “feminine” clothing would be a deliberate, visible sign of belonging to the third sex—the homosexual community. If this distant future arrived, gendered fashion would blur as the lines between masculine and feminine attire dissolved. The notion of a gay-lesbian dress code, while provocative, foreshadows how fashion today—especially within LGBTQ spaces—uses clothing to signal belonging and identity. It’s striking how this idea resonates with today’s branding in queer culture, from brand-name labels to Pride paraphernalia that signals community affiliation.
Calls to Form a Union, Launch a Magazine, and Submit a Petition (1897)
In the appendix of his book The Hygeian Love in the Present, de Joux printed a “Call to all educated and noble people,” dated November 1896. It announced plans to establish a homosexual advocacy organization and to publish a gay magazine. It also sought financial support so emancipatory pamphlets could be distributed to lawyers and physicians at no cost. A few pages earlier, de Joux had urged gay men to become more active—calling for the formation of a “Chastity League” and public demonstrations (pp. 269–272). A second call—dated early 1897 in the appendix to a second edition of The Outcasts of the Happiness of Love (pp. 249–253)—again urged funding for a homosexual journal. It also indicates that Dr. Ramien (Magnus Hirschfeld’s pseudonym) had prepared a statement for signature by the intellectual elite of the people. This latter note likely refers to the December 1897 petition to repeal § 175 RStGB, which was signed by many prominent figures, including August Bebel (see Jahrbuch für sexuelle Zwischenstufen, 1899, pp. 239–280). The notices suggest that the various initiatives could be launched and realized within months of each other, given the right organizational push.
Scientists and Artists Will Team Up (Der Eigene, 1899)
Two pivotal figures shaped the early gay movement in Berlin: Magnus Hirschfeld and Adolf Brand. Brand published the art magazine Der Eigene (founded 1896), which from 1898 onward became the world’s first regularly published LGBTQ magazine. In the August 1899 issue of Der Eigene (pp. 99–105), Hermann Esswein contributed “From the Future of Our Development.” Esswein’s confidence that science would one day deliver a steerable airship and even a connection to Mars is tempered by skepticism about progress in other areas. He hopes that artists and scientists will join forces in future times; the “researcher of the future” would cross the boundaries between science and art, pursuing knowledge as the supreme goal. Esswein envisions a new era of enlightenment: “Manna will rain down! Perhaps then the sun will rise!”
Although the article is not primarily about homosexuality, it is often read as a reconciliatory, bridging contribution within the movement, especially given the sometimes tense relationship between Hirschfeld and Brand. Notably, Esswein’s reference to a steerable airship appears to be a nod to the Zeppelin airship patents issued in August 1898; the first flight would occur in 1900—roughly a year after Esswein’s piece appeared.
Free Love as a Kind of “Future Marriage” (1897, 1900, 1907)
The concept of “free love”—living love and sex without the constraints of conventional social norms and religious morality—was widely discussed around the turn of the century, especially within life reform circles and during sexual reform debates. In Spohr-Verlag, a publisher connected to the gay movement, two books appeared that lay out utopian visions of this idea.
Emma Trosse’s Ist freie Liebe Sittenlosigkeit? (Is Free Love Immoral?) (1897) is often read with anticipation, particularly its opening chapter, “The Stance of the Urning” (pp. 5–8). Yet Trousse frames the discussion around sexuality from a general perspective, acknowledging heterosexual and homosexual life but not fully integrating same-sex relationships into her analysis. The book is compelling for its explicit embrace of “contrary sexuality,” but it does not foreground gays and lesbians in the same way modern audiences would expect. We can read it as recognizing that homosexuals, barred from marriage, were naturally practicing “free love.”
Charles Albert’s Die freie Liebe (1900) treats free love as a deeper and more complete concept than most readers imagine. For him, the transformation of sexual love is among the motives for a broader revolution toward a communist order. He remains critical of lesbians and gay men in some passages—evident in his dismissive remarks about ancient Athens and his characteristic labeling of a certain “type of tomboyish woman” (pp. 45, 170–171). Still, the impulse to broaden who may marry—and under what terms—can be read as a move toward greater social flexibility.
Iwan Bloch, the physician and sex researcher, offered a measured survey of the positions on free love in his Das Sexualleben unserer Zeit in seinen Beziehungen zur modernen Kultur (1907; 1908 ed.). He labels the “future marriage” a persistent theme (pp. 260–311) and discusses Ellen Key, the Swedish reform educator and writer, who argued for greater erotic freedom but would have excluded relatives, the ill, and the homosexual from marriage in any new statute (e.g., Ellen Key, Über Liebe und Ehe, 1904). Bloch’s most detailed engagement is with Key’s view on an improved marriage regime where some connected groups could be excluded, revealing the tensions in early utopian discussions about the family and sexuality. The idea that marriage should be dissolvable—while radical for its time—emerged less from deconstruction than from a push for a more flexible social contract that protected personal autonomy. The broader point is that free love, in its historical use, was a call to reimagine intimate life beyond coercive institutions. It wasn’t simply about sex; it was about reconceiving the social order so that love and partnership could be freely chosen and renewed.
The push for the reform of marriage, in some senses, anticipated what today would be described as serial monogamy or a plural approach to intimate relationships. The era’s debates about free love thus foreshadowed how Western societies would eventually normalize a range of non-traditional relationships, although the Catholic Church’s doctrine and the law often slowed such change. It remains a telling reminder that the evolution of the modern family and sexual life has deep historical roots beyond contemporary activism.
The Renaissance of Ancient Pederasty Will Return (Der Eigene, 1903)
One author who called himself Gotamo in an article titled In die Zukunft (Der Eigene, 1903) described his utopian vision of a revival of ancient Greece’s practices. He wrote from a moment of social upheaval in which the Catholic Church’s influence was waning and the social order was in flux. He argued that as medicine and science advanced (through the work of Krafft-Ebing, Moll, and Hirschfeld), law would become less relevant, and soon a medieval framework would be replaced. He predicted that § 175 would eventually fall. Once achieved, he wrote, ancient Greece would be reborn in culture and manners, and public affection for homosexual relationships would be openly celebrated. Fathers would be pleased when their sons sought the favor of accomplished men; the reform of male dress would reveal the beauty of masculine bodies; public sports and physical education would play a role akin to the role of Athens’ gymnasia. He acknowledges the utopian quality of these visions, but insists that something new must emerge and that we should imagine the chaos giving way to new cultural forms.
This essay, shaped by the life reform movement and typical of early sexual reform discourse, shows how some gay men of the era used classical Greece as both a justification and a counter-argument to the prevailing moral climate. Magnus Hirschfeld’s first publication on the topic, Sappho and Socrates, is often cited as an early attempt to anchor modern homosexual identity in classical antiquity. Scholar Marita Keilson-Lauritz describes Gotamo’s article as part of a recurring thread in the “Der Eigene” that treats educational eros and the pedagogy of desire as the foundation for a socially transformative project.
The Notion of a State Brothel for Homosexuals (1904)
Hans Hermann attended an unnamed congress at which the proposal was advanced to legalize and regulate prostitution in a state setting. In his 1904 book Das Sanatorium der freien Liebe. Pläne und Hoffnungen für die Zukunft (The Sanatorium of Free Love. Plans and Hopes for the Future), he endeavors to complete this thought but does so through a Christian, antisemitic, and homophobic lens. The central portion of the text imagines a future “state brothel,” a euphemistic conceit he sometimes calls a “sanatorium.” In these state brothels, even sexual acts with animals would be possible, and he argues that § 175 should be repealed entirely so men can use their own sex for pleasure. Women, he contends, should enjoy the same rights and also be entitled to engage in depravity with their own sex or with animals. Moreover, should girls be abused, the text implies boys as young as fourteen would be treated with equal latitude. This provocative piece was likely a satirical or hyperbolic critique rather than a serious policy proposal, yet it was printed as part of a broader conversation about regulation, morality, and the boundaries of sexual behavior. The Women’s and Scientific-Humanitarian Committees would later interpret Hermann’s text as a provocative misstep—kicking off a possible misreading that the movement favored licentiousness—but the piece remains an example of how the era’s sensational rhetoric could intersect with calls for greater sexual freedom.
Remembering Us Will Outlive Our Lives (WhK Activists, 1905)
Beyond Berlin, the early LGBTQ movement also included regional subcommittees. The Munich subcommittee, for instance, noted at the end of 1905 that it fought not only for living people but “for a future generation.” It spoke of a grand, heroic arc of a movement for a better tomorrow: “All the thousands for whom we strive and toil are unknown to us, but we tirelessly clear a path for them so that their lives may be easier and brighter than our own. We plant trees whose fruits will be reaped by future centuries.” In the Monatsberichte des WhK (December 1, 1905, pp. 24–25) the subcommittee expressed hope that their memory would be blessed in the long run and that gratitude for what they had done would endure beyond their own brief lifetimes. The question remains: did this early LGBTQ activism receive gratitude from later generations in the 1920s or beyond? It’s difficult to answer with certainty, given that many of the same activists continued into the 1920s and many later generations of activists reinterpreted the movement’s early achievements. Still, certain pioneers such as Hirschfeld and Ulrichs continue to be honored. Yet one can wonder how activists of the 1950s and 1960s—who had to work discreetly—look back at their 1890s predecessors, and how much continuity there was across the decades. These tensions raise a provocative question: do later movements build on earlier eras, or does momentum shift so that later generations become oriented toward their own priorities? Would today’s gay life be different if the 1897–1933 movement had never existed?
The Doctors Will Be the Judges of the Future (Magnus Hirschfeld, 1906/1922)
In his essay Vom Wesen der Liebe (From the Nature of Love), published in Jahrbuch für sexuelle Zwischenstufen (1906, pp. 1–284), Hirschfeld defends homosexuality and champions the then-nascent science of sexology. He argues that in “later, better educated times” sexuality will be understood with greater clarity (p. 1). In the realm of criminology, he writes, one can foresee that “the doctors will be the judges of the future” (p. 284). In Hirschfeld’s later works (1922/23), he reflects that it has hardly been a generation since the public finally recognized that sex is not a theological question but a biological one. “Only the next generation will learn the truth and teach it to the generation after,” he writes (Magnus Hirschfeld, Von einst bis jetzt, 1986, p. 162).
The shift from legalistic or theological framing of homosexuality to a medicalized approach was a long historical process that stretched through the late 19th and into the 20th century. Hirschfeld did much to push this transformation, championing humane aims. Yet his faith in science to deliver justice remains open to critique—even as it helped reframe the conversation in terms of understanding rather than punishment. The hope that medicine would become the guiding authority over moral judgment is a striking facet of the era’s optimism about progress, even as it obscured ongoing social stigmas.
The Eulenburg Scandal Becomes a Catalyst for Legal Change (WhK, 1907)
During the Wilhelmine era, high-profile scandals involving homosexuality—such as Oscar Wilde’s conviction (1895) and the Eulenburg affair (1907–1909) near the German emperor’s circle—shook public life. For many prominent people involved in scandal, the consequences were often ruinous and sometimes deadly. The scandals also contributed to the de-stigmatization of homosexuality by exposing that public figures could be gay, and in some cases inspiring those involved to advocate for policy change. In mid-1907 the WhK informed its members about the Harden-Eulenburg affair and the possibility that the scandal might push toward the legalization of male homosexuality. The association suggested the scandal could be a price worth paying if it opened the door to broader acceptance. They argued that the implicated men would be vindicated by history, and that reform could eventually protect countless others in the future (Monatsberichte des WhK, 1 July 1907, pp. 130). In hindsight, the WhK’s optimism about the politics of scandal proved overly sanguine—the Eulenburg affair precipitated a major crisis for the early movement, from which it would not quickly recover, at least not until the Weimar era.
The Woman Will Choose Her Sexual Partners for Herself (August Bebel, 1879/1910)
August Bebel, a founder of the German Social Democracy and still a central figure, wrote Die Frau und der Sozialismus (The Woman and Socialism), a work that emerged from the much-discussed feminist debates of its era. Debuting in 1879, expanded through subsequent editions, and still reprinted today, the book’s influence was wide. In the chapter “Die Frau in der Zukunft” (The Woman in the Future)—as cited in the 1913 edition, pp. 474–482—Bebel expresses a utopian vision in which women are socially and economically autonomous. Regarding their choice of sexual partners, he imagines women able to enter into private contracts with their partners, dissolvable on their own terms. The satisfaction of sexual desire becomes a personal matter with no public accounting required. The line “The intercourse with the person of the opposite sex is as important as food and drink” signals a radical shift toward recognizing mutual erotic agency. Yet Bebel’s analysis is notably limited when it comes to lesbians and gay men; in other sections, he links ancient decadence, “unnatural desire” among men, and lesbian love, revealing a surprising complexity and contradiction in his thinking. He explicitly notes that in antiquity women’s status was diminished and that contemporary women also carry traces of ancient “unnatural” passions. And though he signs the petition to repeal § 175, Bebel’s liberal stance is tempered by the era’s prevailing norms. He is not fully aligned with all aspects of the modern LGBTQ rights project, a nuance that later queer historians have highlighted. In a footnote he even appends a biblical quotation from Romans 1:26–27, illustrating the era’s tendency to anchor arguments in religious texts.
When Will the Future Name You by Your True Name? (John Henry Mackay, 1913)
John Henry Mackay (1864–1933) became aware of his homosexual-pederastic inclinations through Krafft-Ebing’s Psychopathia Sexualis and later worked as a writer. He debated the ideals of individualist anarchism in several works, including Der Freiheitssucher, and returned to the topic of adult male–youth attraction in his books about “nameless love,” which he published under the pseudonym Sagitta. In the introduction to his Books of Nameless Love (the 1979 edition, volume 1), he writes: “They murder our love—and it lives. They strangle our cry—and the future repeats it! They have murdered my books. But my books will live.” In one of the six volumes, he writes: “Nameless love of the man who lifts his beloved up and claims to be all things to him—friend, father, brother, and lover! Nameless love—when will the future finally name you by your true name?” Mackay’s language is richly poetic and dramatic, and these lines capture the sense that even where books are banned or destroyed, ideas and longings can persist. By 1913, the terminology to describe these feelings had many names, including homosexuality, but the phrase “nameless love” persisted as a potent literary symbol. The idea is that even as social condemnation rose, the future would eventually acknowledge and name these intimate bonds openly.
The queer community needs a strong, independent journalistic voice—especially now. Contribute to support TheColu.mn’s work and ensure its continued coverage.
Will Monogamous Sex Among Men Be Demanded in a Marriage? (1914)
Lawyer Gustav Cohen delves into the legal horizon in the second volume of his book Die gleichgeschlechtliche Liebe in Gegenwart und Zukunft (1914, pp. 37–54). He argues that § 175 will indeed fall—provided the people’s sense of justice evolves and the public consciously recognizes this transformation. Beyond criminal law, Cohen surveys other branches of law. He argues for extending suffrage to women (who, at the time, only men enjoyed the vote) so as to settle questions about whether feminine homosexuals might exercise the franchise. He even proposes the creation of a third gender entry on official forms, accompanied by a genderless or combined given name. Cohen advocates for the possibility of marriage among homosexuals because privatized, consensual unions could bring order to society and should not be left to “wild marriages.” He also acknowledges the knotty questions of what forms of sexual behavior should be counted as the basis for divorce, recognizing that many readers might be unsettled by the prospect of such rights but arguing that it would be impractical to bar them forever. He remains skeptical about the likelihood that any state would implement such proposals in the near future, but he insists that a future legal framework in which same-sex marriages are permitted would eventually be normalized and considered “the normal.”
In the broader discussion of the era, the volume’s arguments reflect a progressive stance toward marriage equality and social reform, even as they acknowledge the era’s deep-rooted patriarchy. The Spohr-Verlag—like other publishers of the time—was the house and court publisher for the early gay rights movement; Cohen’s work sits within that tradition, arguing for a reform that would eventually reshape the legal landscape. It also notes how a new civil code could revise property rights and living arrangements; it would, in effect, render marriage more equitable in a manner consistent with evolving social norms. Yet the text also notes that most readers would never see the realization of a homoerotic marriage in their lifetimes. The view remains a bold, forward-looking, yet tempered call for legal reform within the constraints of the era.
