Hi, I’m Sophie, and I’m sorry.
When it comes to ancient transgender history, it’s fun to hear about religious cults or mythological figures.
But I think it can be difficult to see ourselves in those topics sometimes.
It’s fascinating, to be sure, but I think to some it’s a little too academic, a little too detached. Don’t think I’m through making videos on those topics, but I can’t let myself get too lost in tangents, no matter how much I may want to.
I’ve doted too much on the others lately, and I’ve neglected you, my rugged individuals. Don’t worry though, mommy’s here for you.
Today, we’re talking about Christianity – and I promise, this time we’re not getting into castration.
Mostly.
We’ve already talked about early Christianity and some of the gender happening there.
But transgender history in the Christian tradition extends further than cutting off your – damn it I said we weren’t getting into that!
RELATED: Gender Transgression in Early Christianity
RELATED: Eunuchs in the Roman World
No, today we’re talking about Saint Pelagia.
No, not Saint Pelagia of Tarsus, We’re talking about Saint Pelagia of Antioch. No, not Saint Pelagia of Antioch, we’re talking about Saint Pelagia of Antioch! (Herbermann, 601-602)
Anyone having Mithradates flashbacks?
RELATED: Hypsikrates, the Transgender Spouse of Mithradates
Saint Pelagia the Harlot of Antioch transcended the boundaries of gender in his society, and lived as a man for the later years of his life.
From here on out, I’ll be referring to him generally as Pelagius, the name he took for himself. But there are already a lot of early Christian figures named Pelagius. In fact, there are seven Saints Pelagius aside from our boy, including two popes (Catholic.org).
But there are fewer Saints Pelagia, and that’s how the church recognizes him, so that’s why I used Pelagia in the title here – to make things easier.
It’s SEO, right?
My apologies, Pelagius. I hope you can forgive me.
Anyway, today we’re going to spend some time with Pelagius. We’ll start with some background knowledge about the spiritual tradition of which he was a part – the Desert Fathers.
From there, we’ll dig into the beats of his life, as best we understand it. Then, we’ll analyze the story, address some questions that come up, and take a look at what it can mean to us, as modern readers.
As we explore this topic, I’ll do my best to maintain respect for the subject matter. My intention is not to denigrate anybody’s faith, or lack thereof. Leftist YouTube has plenty of smug condescension, and I don’t think it’s terribly helpful, in any capacity.
But historically, theologians haven’t paid much interest in the study of saints. That’s changed in more recent years, but the lives of many saints haven’t been explored as much as they could be (New Catholic Encyclopedia, 343). So there’s not a whole lot of writing out there on Pelagius, which made this video a bit more of a challenge than usual. But what we have is pretty interesting, I think – I hope you’ll agree.
Now, in the ancient world, prayer bestowed favour upon its subjects. Prayer is still a powerful tool in the modern world as well, but we have another tool today to appease one of the closest things to a god humanity has ever created – the algorithm.
Bestow your likes, your comments, your subscribes below. If you believe, as I do, that trans people deserve to understand our history, those simple acts go a long way toward making that happen.
You can also support the channel on Patreon, where you’ll get early access to videos, your name in the credits, access to our private Discord server, a free ebook copy of my novel, The Bottom Line, and more.
In fact, you can get into heaven sooner if you do that. It’s true! And the more you tithe to Patreon, the more fasterer you’ll get into heaven. Yeah, it’s a great way to–
*bang, bang, bang*
Oh lord, Martin Luther, is that you again?
Chapter I: The Desert Fathers
Historical tales are wonderful in their own right, of course, but nobody lives in a vacuum.
Except maybe the guy who lives here.
This video is sponsored by A Vacuum!
Even hermits, which we’ll be exploring in this section, are a product of the society in which they lived, and from which left.
So, to properly understand Pelagius, we need to understand the cultural context in which he lived, and the cultural tradition of which he was a part. That means we need to understand the Desert Fathers.
What we call the Desert Fathers was a loose group of fiercely devoted Christians who left their societies to live lives of extreme poverty and self denial.
The original Desert Father is considered to be Paul of Thebes (St. Jerome, 29-30) – the Egyptian Thebes, not the Greek Thebes, it’s confusing I know. Thebes was originally called Wo’se by the native Egyptians, but it became Thebes when it fell under the rule of the Ptolemies, one of Alexander the Great’s generals.
I guess it’s kind of like Mumbai being called Bombay, huh? The colonizers didn’t like the way it was originally pronounced, so they changed it to match their own sensibilities.
Anyway, Paul of Wo’se’s story starts during the reign of the emperors Decius, who ruled from 249 to 251 CE, and Valerian, from 253 to 260 (St. Jerome, 30). For reference, Elagabalus ruled from 218 to 222 CE, so shortly after that. Persecution of Christians was particularly intense during Valerian’s and Decius’ reigns. In fact, Decius was the first emperor to persecute Christians at an organized, consistent, state wide level (Britannica).
Now, many early Christians saw it as a great honour to die by the sword in the name of Christ. But persecution of Christians wasn’t just a matter of killing. St. Jerome tells us there was also widespread torture of Christians. It wasn’t enough to kill them – the Roman authorities wanted to break the souls of their victims first. Of course, plenty of them would end up dying in the process, including the pope himself, Pope Fabian (Britannica, St. Jerome, 31).
This is the environment in which Paul, a good Christian boy, was raised.
But these two emperors got what they deserved in the end. The writer Aurelius Victor tells us Decius was betrayed and killed while on campaign near the Danube after ruling for just a couple of years (Aur. Vict. Caes. 29), and Valerian was actually captured after a disastrous battle with the Persians (Aur. Vict. Caes. 32). He died after six years in captivity, during which time the Persian king used him as a footstool. Brutal.
Paul’s parents died when he was still quite young, so he lived with his sister and her husband. But his parents were rich, so he inherited quite a bit of money. His brother in law coveted Paul’s wealth, so he decided to turn Paul over to the Roman authorities. His sister begged her husband not to, but to no avail. Paul figured out what was going on, so he fled the city – which, by the way, is now the modern Egyptian city of Luxor – into the mountains to escape (St. Jerome, 30-31).
There, he found an old mine and a counterfeiting operation, both abandoned, from the time of Antony and Cleopatra. And there he stayed, for the rest of his life, in pious solitude. He lived a long time out there as well, to the ripe old age of a hundred and thirteen. Talk about commitment to a bit (St. Jerome, 31-32).
So, Paul is considered the OG Sand Papa, but the most well known was another guy, Saint Anthony. Saint Jerome talks about him a bit, but our main source for his life comes from another saint, Athanasius.
Anthony’s life has some similarities to Paul’s – he was also from Egypt, and from a wealthy family. His parents, being Christians, brought him up in the church, and he spent a lot of time in quiet meditation from a young age. When his parents died, at age 18 or 20, he was left to care for his younger sister.
One day, while at church, Anthony heard the gospel being read. In particular, he heard a passage from the Book of Matthew, chapter 19, which says, quote:
Jesus said to him, ‘If you wish to be perfect, go, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.’
– The Holy Bible, Book of Matthew 19:21, NRSV
All Biblical passages will be from the 2021 New Revised Standard Version, by the way.
Saint Athanasius only mentions that passage, but right after it is even more of a banger which you might be familiar with, quote:
When the young man heard this word, he went away grieving, for he had many possessions. Then Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Truly I tell you, it will be hard for a rich person to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the kingdom of God.’
– The Holy Bible, Book of Matthew 19:21-24, NRSV
Matthew 19 is full of fantastic lines. In fact, that’s where the bit about transcending your gender being something that brings you closer to heaven comes from, if you saw the last video we looked at on gender in early Christianity. It’s my favourite part of the Bible. Top shelf stuff.
So, it’s nearly impossible for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God. And yet, certain rich people these days cloak themselves in the garb of religion to further their own lust for power and control. It makes me wonder if a certain one of these wealthy individuals isn’t actually the Antichrist…
But I digress.
After hearing this passage, Anthony was so moved that he sold all his possessions he could, and gave them to the needy in his town. He set up a trust for his sister, and sent her to a convent of nuns to be cared for. Then, he sought out various hermetic monks, learning their ways, and became a hermit himself, though he did return here and there to teach others about Christianity (Athanasius, 2-6).
Paul and Anthony lived around the same time, and at 90 years old Anthony had a dream that told him Paul was a better hermit than he was, so he should go find him. He wandered off in search of Paul, and faced all sorts of supernatural temptations along the way (St. Jerome, 32-35). There’s some fantastic art about his journey, which is a lot of fun.
Anyway, Anthony and Paul are the two most well known of the Parched Patriarchs, but there were plenty more of them, and not all of them were men either. It also wasn’t really an official group – there were no monthly meetings or membership dues. That’s kind of the point – they were hermits who lived alone in the desert.
Why?
Sure, Paul fled into the desert to escape persecution by the state. So, it’s easy to assume that’s what this was – an exercise in desperation and necessity.
But here’s the thing – the empire Paul left was pagan, but it became Christianized during his life. And he did know about it, because the emperor Constantine, who officially declared the empire to be tolerant of Christianity through the Edict of Milan in 313 CE, wrote to him asking for prayers. So, he could easily have returned, and probably would have been given great honours by the emperor if he did. But he didn’t.
Some of the other Sandy Sires became hermits long after Christianity became the official state religion as well. So, Christianity’s legal status doesn’t seem to matter for many of them.
So, it’s not just the persecution.
It’s also not because the Desiccated Dads were, like, antisocial weirdos or something. It’s tempting to think of them that way too, and perhaps some of them were, but that wasn’t the primary guiding force behind their devotion. In fact, the Hot Pa’s shared wisdom with each other quite a bit (Merton, 5).
One common thread I find particularly interesting is how skeptical many of them seemed of the idea of a Christian state in the first place (Merton, 4). Separation of church and state has become an ideal in the modern world we strive, and often fail, to live up to. But it’s more than just a philosophy to create a more just society. It’s a necessity. To be a good Christian, according to the Dune Daddies, is to live a life of poverty and humility. And it’s not possible to be that while also being powerful. So in a way, we might look at the Sahara Señors as almost proto-anarchists – they seemed to have a deep mistrust of the state. Which, mood.
Instead, the path to get closer to God, to spiritual enlightenment, was asceticism. This is the idea of abstaining entirely from worldly pleasures. When the Solitary Sires deprived themselves physically, they could develop a greater inner, spiritual life.
The lives and wisdom of the Perspiring Progenitors – look, I know we’re getting diminishing returns on these here – are passed to us through a number of different collections. We’ll be drawing from many of them, but the main one we’re looking at today is called the Vitae Patrum, or, Lives of the Fathers. It includes a number of different writers, including Jacob The Deacon, who’s also sometimes called James. A deacon is an ordained member of the church, a rank below priest. It comes from the Greek word διάκονος (diákonos) which means servant, or messenger. They were sort of assistants to the priest, a role they still serve today.
Jacob the Deacon’s writings are how we know the story of Saint Pelagius. He originally wrote it in Greek, but the version we have is a Latin translation, by someone named Eustochius. We don’t know anything about either of them, unfortunately, other than what we can draw from the text itself (Waddell, 174).
But Nonnus, a character in the story we’ll explore momentarily, is mentioned in a few ecclesiastical documents. Based on that, we believe Jacob the Deacon’s story takes place in the 5th century CE – the mid 400’s (Waddell, 174-175). For those following along at home, the Roman Empire permanently split in half in the year 395 CE. After that point, there were two Empires Roman, who existed as independent states. Around the time this story was written, the Western Empire didn’t have much life left in it – it would fall by the year 476 or 480 CE, depending on who you ask.
After that point, it’s considered to be the end of antiquity, and the beginning of the medieval era, so this story just barely squeaks through as a topic that interests me enough to cover.
The story of Pelagius is going to be fairly quote heavy as well, since Jacob gives us a bunch of words he attributes to Pelagius. I doubt they’re anywhere near his actual words, but in case they are I think they’re worth preserving and presenting here.
I’ll also be preserving the gender of Pelagius as described at the time within the quotes we’re looking at. Apologies in advance to my trans masc viewers, but the life of Pelagius is actually pretty well laid out in Jacob’s writing, and the story doesn’t really make sense if I change pronouns. Outside of the quotes, I’ll be using mostly they/them. I know this is far from ideal, and it’s not my intention to disrespect anybody’s identity, but the story doesn’t really make sense or have the same readability otherwise. I hope this will become clear as we get further into it.
Without further ado…
Chapter II: The Legend Of Pelagius
Jacob the Deacon’s story begins when the Bishop of Antioch calls all the other bishops in the area to confer with him. There’s very little left of Antioch today, but it was in modern day southern Turkey, pretty close to its border with Syria.
Jacob is from Edessa, also in modern day southern Turkey, about 300 kilometres northeast of Antioch. Today it’s called Sanliurfa, and it’s close to the site of Göbekli Tepe, one of the oldest known megaliths built by humans. In fact, it’s about 6000 years older than Stonehenge. Very cool, worth checking out, not the point of this video (Curry).
Jacob accompanies his bishop, Nonnus, to the conference. And friends, Jacob is absolutely a Nonnus fanboy. He describes his bishop as “that saintly man of god, my own bishop, Nonnus, a man marvellous great and a mighty monk of the monastery” (177). This guy loves his bishop. Good for him, I’m glad he got to spend so much time with someone he admired. We should all be so lucky.
Together, they stayed in the basilica of the Blessed Julian the Martyr, but I imagine they didn’t just, like, sleep on the church pews or something. I guess they had some lodgings as well.
As they all conferred, they saw a group of actors and dancers pass by on the street of Antioch.
And leading the pack was Pelagius.
Jacob describes the scene, quote:
First of the dancers was she, and riding on an ass: and with all fantastic graces did she ride, so decked that naught could be seen upon her but gold and pearls and precious stones: the very nakedness of her feet was hidden under gold and pearls: and with her was a splendid train of young men and maidens clad in robes of price, with torques of gold about their necks. Some went before, and some came after her: but of the beauty and the loveliness of her there could be no wearying for a world of men. Passing through our midst, she filled the air with the fragrance of musk and of all scents that are sweetest. (178)
After they all saw this, the various attendees turned away in disgust, despite the fact that based on the description a moment ago, Jacob was clearly into it. I picture them doing that “good Victorian lady” thing, all fainting dramatically.
All of them, that is, except for Nonnus. He asked the rest of them if the sight of such great beauty delighted them, because he definitely enjoyed it. And I mean, he really enjoyed it. He spends a long paragraph going into detail about their beauty, their bathing habits, what happens when they take lovers, on and on and on.
But he also admonishes himself, and the rest of the bishops, for not being as devoted to making their souls beautiful for God as this prostitute was in making their body beautiful for clients.
Then he goes to bed, cursing himself for being so horny.
The next day, Nonnus gave a sermon at the church. Apparently it was a pretty good one, too, since Jacob says, quote:
So stirred were all the people by the words with the Holy Ghost spake through him that the pavement of the church was wet with their tears. (181)
Pelagius happened to be there as well, who was equally moved. Jacob describes their revelation in an equally moving way, quote:
For a marvel, she to whom never had come a thought of her sins and who never had been inside a church door was suddenly stricken with the fear of God, as the good Nonnus reasoned with the people: and despairing of herself she fell to sorrowing, her tears falling in streams, and she in no way able to check her weeping. (181).
I’ve spoken to people who’ve had deeply spiritual, religious experiences before, and they described it with a similar level of profundity, though not necessarily with the despair and sorrow. Personally, the closest I’ve ever come to a religious experience is while listening to some of my favourite records.
Judas Priest’s Unleashed in the East, Booker T & the MG’s’ Melting Pot, Frank Ocean’s Channel Orange, Darkthrone’s The Underground Resistance, and a few choice others. So I do get it, in a bit of a different way – the idea that what you’re experiencing will fundamentally change you.
Anyway, this was clearly a big deal for Pelagius. They told two of their slaves to wait outside the church, find out where Nonnus was staying, and then report back.
Once they did, Pelagius sent Nonnus a letter, which said, quote:
To Christ’s holy disciple, the devil’s disciple, and woman that is a sinner. I have heard of thy God, that He bowed the heavens, and came down to Earth, not for the good men’s sake, but that He might save sinners, and that He was so humble that He drew near to publicans, and He on whom the Cherubim dare not look kept company with sinners. And thou my lord, who art a great saint, although thou hast not looked with the eyes of the flesh on the Lord Christ Himself, who showed himself that Samaritan woman, and her a harlot, at the well, yet art thou a worshipper of Him, for I have heard the talk of the Christians. If indeed thou art a true disciple of this Christ, spurn me not, desiring through thee to see the Saviour, that through thee I may come at the sight of His holy face. (181-182)
I’m not sure how accurately Pelagius’ letter is reproduced here, even if we take into account the fact that it’s a translation of a translation. But if Pelagius was, as they say, a prostitute and an actor, they probably weren’t this eloquent with their words. They wouldn’t have needed to be.
Nonnus wrote back, essentially saying Pelagius was far too beautiful and tempting for the two to meet alone, so they could come talk to him with all the other bishops present as well. And yes, I’m serious, it’s a little silly.
Anyway, Pelagius showed up, fell to Nonnus’ feet, and begged to be baptized. Nonnus was reluctant to, though. After all, Pelagius was a prostitute, and what guarantee did he have that they wouldn’t just return to their old ways?
That’s when Pelagius shows us they really were deserving of baptism by delivering one of the most devastating displays of Catholic guilt I’ve ever seen, quote:
Thou shalt answer to God for my soul and on thee shall I charge all the evil of my deeds, if thou dost delay to baptise me in my foul sin. No portion mayst thou find in God’s house among the saints, if thou makest me not a stranger to my sin. Mayst thou deny God and worship idols, if thou dost not this day have me born again, bride to Christ, and offer me to God. (183)
Damn. I’m feeling guilty by proxy here.
Anyway, they decided Pelagius deserved to be baptized, so they fetched a deaconess to take care of it. The deaconess asked Pelagius to confess their sins, and they responded with:
If I were to search my whole heart I could find in myself no good thing. I know my sins, that they are heavier than the sands of the sea: the waters of it are too scant for the mass of my sin. But I trust in thy God that He will loosen the load of my wrongdoing, and will look upon me. (183)
Pelagius really just said “all of the above”, huh?
After, Nonnus asked their name, since I guess the bishops forgot to ask. Pelagius responds, quote:
My own name was Pelagia, that my father and mother gave me: but the townsfolk of Antioch call me Margarita, because of the pearls wherewith they did jewel my sins. For I was the devil’s jewel and his armoury. (183)
So why do I keep calling them Pelagius? Stay with me here, we’ll get to it.
So, they baptized Pelagius, and partook in holy communion together.
But apparently, Satan wasn’t happy about this. He showed up, shouting at them for stealing his favourite, and yes I’m still serious.
I’m going to include this quote in here as well even though it’s not from Pelagius, because it’s kind of amazing.
But as we were at our meal, there came suddenly the sound of shouting as of a man to whom violence is done. It was the devil, crying out” ‘Woe is me, for the things I suffer from this decrepit old man! Might not the thirty thousand Saracens have been enough for thee, that thou didst wrest from me and baptise, and offer to thy God? Might not Heliopolis have been enough for thee, that was mine and all the people in it worshipping me, and thou didst wrest it from me, and offer it to thy God? And now thou hast stolen my greatest hope, and no longer can I endure thy machinations. O the evil this accursed wretch hath wrought upon me! Cursed be the day in which thou wast born! Rivers of tears are flooding my poor house, for all hope is lost!’ (184)
I had no idea Satan was such a melodramatic drama queen, geez.
Anyway, Satan goes on, addressing Pelagius in particular, trying to tempt them back to his side. He even calls Pelagius “my own Judas”. Satan is clearly a Catholic too, because man, look at that guilt trip. Top shelf.
After all that, though, Pelagius does the sign of the cross, and *poof*, there goes Satan.
Two days later, Satan comes back, waking Pelagius up in the middle of the night, bringing some more guilt trips, and Pelagius tells him:
My God, who snatched me from thy jaws and brought me to his heavenly couch, Himself shall fight thee for me. (185)
Poof, there goes Satan.
The next day, they asked one of the attendants to go to their house and make a list of anything valuable they found. Once the attendant did so, Pelagius went to Nonnus and said, quote:
These, my lord, are the riches wherewith Satan endowed me: I give them to thee to do with as thou wilt, and what seems good to thee, that do: for it is the riches of the Lord Christ that I am fain of now. (185)
Then, Nonnus called the church treasurer, and Pelagius gave all their stuff to him, saying, quote:
I adjure thee, by the indivisible Trinity; that naught of this shall go to the episcopal treasury or to the church, but rather be allotted to the widows and orphans and the poor, so that what was gotten together by ill may be dispersed to good, and the wealth of a sinner become the treasury of righteousness. But if, in contempt of thine oath, aught of this be stolen, let a curse enter either by thee or by some other, whosoever he be, into his house, and let his portion be with those who said ‘Crucify him, crucify him!’ (185-186)
Oh man, I couldn’t possibly steal from such a treasure after hearing that, could you? It would tear me apart for the rest of my life. All the riches in the world couldn’t buy me enough therapy to deal with that.
When I was a lot younger, I was taking drum lessons, and stiffed the guy $20 after my last lesson. So recently, I dropped $50 in his mailbox with a letter explaining it. I don’t even know if he works there anymore, but stuff like that eats me alive if I don’t take care of it, y’know?
Am I treating this episode like a confessional booth?
Lord have mercy…
Anyway, Pelagius also freed their slaves, which was a pretty cool thing to do. Then, Nonnus gave Pelagius his cloak and tunic, and they took off. The rest of the bishops and deacons and holy cats, and everyone else in Antioch for that matter, had no idea what happened to them, but Nonnus reassured them Pelagius had chosen a holy path. So, naturally, they moved on with their lives.
But a few years later, Jacob the Deacon visited Jerusalem, wanting to see the site of the resurrection of Christ. Before he went, Nonnus said to him, quote:
I tell thee, brother deacon, when thou dost reach Jerusalem, inquire there for a certain brother Pelagius, a monk and a eunuch, who has lived these many years shut up and in solitude, if so be thou mightst visit him: for thou mightst well profit by him. (186)
So, he did. He found Pelagius living in a tiny cell they’d created on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem, praying. Pelagius recognized James, but he didn’t recognize Pelagius.
After all, Pelagius was living as a man.
Jacob describes how different Pelagius looked when the two reunited, saying he was “wasted and haggard with fasting” (187). This jives with the life of extreme asceticism Pelagius lived in his final years.
The two prayed together, and James went on his way.
From there, Pelagius became famous among the holy crowd, for his piety and devotion. Everyone in Antioch seemed to know about him, so James decided to travel to Jerusalem again, to visit him.
He knocked on Pelagius’ cell several times, but there was no answer. So they peeked in through the window, and found he had died.
A group of various monks visited Pelagius’ cell, opened it, carried out his body, and began anointing it with myrrh. Then, they discovered Pelagius’ gender assigned at birth.
From there, they carried Pelagius to his grave, and buried him as a woman.
Chapter III: How Accurate Is This Story?
So, this story is presented in a historical, straightforward way. We know Bishop Nonnus was a real guy, as mentioned earlier, and it’s reasonable to assume Jacob the Deacon was also a real guy. It’s all quite grounded and believable.
But then Satan himself shows up, and not to contradict The Louvin Brothers or anything, but I think that begs the question of how historically accurate this story actually is.
Well, it depends on who you ask.
The Catholic Church does recognize Pelagius, as Saint Pelagia the Harlot. He even has an official feast day, October 8th. Maybe that should be an official holiday for trans mascs. Trans girls, cook your trans guy pals a nice meal on October 8th. Let’s treat our bros, they deserve it.
But does the church believe every recognized saint was a real person? This question leads us into the reason why the Catholic Church decides who is and isn’t a saint in the first place.
These days, it’s a pretty complicated process, which is probably not surprising. When an organization has been around for 2000 years, there’s bound to be some red tape.
Starting in the sixth century CE, if you wanted someone to become a saint, you’d write a biography of them and submit it to your local bishop. He’d review it, and if he thought their life was holy enough, he’d canonize that person. Ta-da, you’ve got a saint.
In the tenth century CE, the Pope started to get involved, and since then you need the holy approval of the guy in the hat to canonize a saint.
But Pelagius lived in the fifth century, so none of that applies to him. How was he canonized?
In his time, the process was based on popular acclaim. If the people wanted you to be a saint, you were a saint. Vox populi, vox Dei (Sarno).
Essentially, he was a saint because the people wanted him to be a saint.
As a result, the older a saint is, the wackier their story is likely to be. There are fewer checks and balances in place to confirm anything.
Some sources claim this story to be a pious fiction, which is a phrase that was new to me while researching this video. It does seem to be self explanatory, but I actually had a hard time finding a definition of it. There’s a Wikipedia definition, and then a whole bunch of other websites that clearly copied the same definition. I searched Google, JSTOR, Merriam-Webster, Oxford, Cambridge, Brittanica, Dictionary.com, and the Catholic Encyclopedia – nothing. So, the Wikipedia definition is what we have to work with, but it doesn’t even provide any useful citations to support it. That really sucks but whaddayagonnado? I don’t have anything more useful. Anyway, Wiktionary defines pious fiction as, quote:
(sometimes derogatory) A fictional, often religious narrative, presented as true by its author to accomplish some altruistic motive.
So I guess it means more than just, like, a Catholic who writes a novel that has Catholic themes in it.
Anyway, the website Catholic Online claims the story of Pelagius is a pious fiction, but I can’t find any other sources that claim this that aren’t obviously referencing the Catholic Online bit (Catholic Online).
What evidence do we have that Pelagius’ story is a pious fiction? Catholic Online doesn’t provide any, and I’ve not been able to find anything anywhere else. So unless and until I’m furnished with some evidence, I’m going to disregard this idea. Other than the bits about Satan showing up, I don’t see anything about this story that’s difficult to believe.
‘Round these here parts, we need evidence to back up our claims.
But what was it that made him so special? Why did the people want him to be a saint?
I’ve got a thread to tug on here.
First, let’s start with pre-transition Pelagius, the most prolific prostitute in town. This is actually almost a type of Catholic stock character, the harlot, and it serves a couple of different thematic purposes.
One is to serve as a reminder to the holy cats around them. Pambo, one of the Desert Fathers we haven’t mentioned yet, was born around 303 CE in Egypt, and was ordained as a priest in 340 CE. At some point he wandered off into the desert as well. One of the anecdotes ascribed to him has some striking similarities to Nonnus’ reaction to Pelagius, quote:
Athanasius, Archbishop of Alexandria, of holy memory, begged Abba Pambo to come down from the desert to Alexandria. He went down, and seeing an actress he began to weep. Those who were present asked him the reason for his tears, and he said ‘Two things make me weep: one, the loss of this woman; and the other, that I am not so concerned to please God as she is to please wicked men.’ Pambo, Sayings of the Desert Fathers (Ward 1980, 196)
This nameless woman inspired such a deep crisis of faith in Pambo that he seems to have completely fallen apart. But that’s very much the same reaction Nonnus had when seeing Pelagius for the first time. Pelagius was more concerned with staying beautiful, and therefore pleasing to men, than Nonnus was with being faithful to God. In Pambo’s story, the woman is completely robbed of her agency, and even any identity, in service to a man’s piety. You could have a field day with a feminist analysis of this story, I’m sure.
So, Pelagius starts off being entirely focused on physical beauty, to the complete neglect of any spiritual life. But in the end, he neglects his physical appearance entirely, in exchange for a complete dedication to spirituality. Great sin is turned around, and becomes great virtue, through Christ. This is the second thematic purpose served by the harlot.
Going from the sexiest lady prostitute in town to a deeply religious man of renown is quite something. Even without the gender swap, it’s quite a striking shift. If someone like that can achieve salvation, there’s hope for any sinner (Ward, 57).
But this casts physical beauty itself as a sin. Is it wrong to be attractive? Mother Teresa said, quote:
“Seeking the face of God in everything, everyone, all the time, and his hand in every happening; This is what it means to be contemplative in the heart of the world.”
– Saint Teresa, In the Heart of the World: Thoughts, Stories, and Prayers, 30-31
Mother Teresa’s writings are not the Bible, of course. But if we’re to take that idea to heart – that the face of God is in every living person – why are we to shame those who care for their physical beauty? To neglect one’s inner self in favour of physical beauty might lead to a vapid, empty life, but do we need to completely cast aside one in favour of the other?
Can I still contemplate the secrets of the universe if I have a proper skincare routine?
Can I read Plato in a cute, fashionable outfit?
Linguam Latinam intellegere et comae facere possum?
If, as in 1st Corinthians 6:19, our bodies are the temples of God, why is it wrong for that temple to be beautiful? Because of the effect it has on the men around us? That seems to be a problem with men, not women. As it says in Matthew 18:9, “if your eye causes you to sin, gouge it out and throw it away.” Yet, in this story, Pambo is so deeply shaken by a nameless woman’s beauty that he falls to pieces.
Of course, they refer to this woman as an “actress,” and that word is doing a lot of heavy lifting here. In ancient Rome, actress and prostitute were often synonymous. Both were considered to be the dregs of society, shunned from public life and forbidden from holding office. Not that women could hold public office in Rome anyway, but this applied to male prostitutes and actresses as well. Actors and gladiators were assumed to be available to provide, *ahem*, service, to the public (Dillon & Garland, 382-3). This is a cultural context Jacob the Deacon would have understood while he was writing. So it’s not like they were wigging out after seeing the ancient equivalent of like, Jennifer Lawrence or something.
So in this context, when we’re talking about actors, we’re talking about harlots, and vice versa.
In the Bible, the harlot is a metaphor for unfaithfulness. It’s adultery, yes, but more than that, it’s spiritual unfaithfulness. And not just a lack of faithfulness in the individual, but in society as a whole.
Anyway, is it the prostitute to monk path that makes Pelagius so saintly? Is that the core theme of his story? That seems largely to be it, but there’s something else happening here as well.
Because look, one of the core themes of Christianity is salvation. We are all sinners, every one. Nobody, from the Pope to the prostitute, is without sin. There are only those who have achieved salvation through Christ, and those who have not.
So when we look at how the Romans viewed prostitutes – lowly, shunned individuals – and consider the idea of the reformed prostitute – it would have been a powerful symbol of salvation. Even the lowest of the low could be saved.
So, not surprisingly, there are plenty of reformed prostitutes in the Christian tradition. For example, let’s look at St. Mary of Egypt, who’s not to be confused with the two more famous Saint Marys – Mary, Mother of God, and Mary Magdalene, companion to Christ. Different Mary.
The general story of St. Mary of Egypt is this: she lived a life of licentiousness, seducing men and having her fun. One day, she decides to join some pilgrims on their way to Jerusalem. She seduces her companions along the way, and doesn’t slow down once they all reach Jerusalem. One day, she went to the church where the true cross was on display. This is the actual cross where Christ was crucified on Calvary (say that five times fast).
When she tried to enter the church, an invisible force stopped her from entering. This made her realize her sinful life, and she repented and prayed to Mary mother of Christ for help.
The next day, she tried entering the church again, and found the barrier was gone. After she did her thing at the church, she left Jerusalem, traveling across the River Jordan, and lived out in the desert for forty seven years. Eventually, a priest, Zossima, stumbled upon her. The two of them had communion together, Mary died, and Zossima buried her.
You can see a number of parallels here – a life of sin, a moment of realization, and a lifetime finished in solitude and repentance (Ward 1987, 26-28).
But at no point does St. Mary live as a man. She’s not called, like. St. Marius or whatever.
Here’s another one – St. Thais. She, too, practiced her trade in Egypt. Apparently she was so popular that her various lovers got into physical fights over her. One of the Desert Fathers, Paphnutius (gesundheit) heard about her, and visited her in disguise. He warned Thais about her sinful ways, and that she would be held to account for her actions after death. As a result, Thais ditched all her stuff, and lived out in the desert in a cell, praying to God for repentance (Ward 1987, 76-78).
Again, similar story, but St. Thais didn’t trans her gender. She wasn’t St. Thaddeus.
There are other examples as well, but Saints Thais and Mary should illustrate the point well enough. Why did Pelagius’ story involve him transing his gender, when these other stories didn’t?
I’ve seen the argument made that it was for safety. That it wouldn’t have been safe for a woman to travel alone in the desert. And, alright, that’s reasonable. I get it. I don’t really feel safe walking around alone at night myself, and I live in a pretty quiet area in one of the safest cities in the world.
But if that’s the reason, why didn’t Mary or Thais do the same?
In fact, in Thais’ story, she’s sent to a nunnery, where she’s given her desert cell.
With Pelagius, a deaconess, Ramona, plays a big role in his conversion. The way Jacob explains it, it seems like Pelagius was to be sent to a nunnery, like Thais. But instead of doing so, he disappears in the middle of the night and joins a brotherhood of monks. Clearly there were nunneries who would take in women. Why would Pelagius go to a monastery instead?
Why indeed.
Perhaps Pelagius wanted to get so far from his previous life of sin and vice that he changed everything about himself – even his gender. But once again we run into the same barrier – why is this the case for Pelagius, and not for the other examples we’ve looked at?
Pelagius could have joined a convent and lived as a repentant woman. But he didn’t. He joined a monastery, and lived as a repentant man.
That was a choice he made.
There isn’t anything here that would explain why he lived as Pelagius after converting that can’t be safely set aside after viewing the lives of Mary and Thais.
Except, of course, the explanation that Pelagius was a transgender man.
Chapter IV: What Can We Take From This?
So, what do we make of this story?
From what we can tell, Pelagius seemed to have fully embraced femininity and played a woman’s role in society to the best of his ability. He seems to have made quite a beautiful woman, originally. But after converting to Christianity, he spent his final years living as a man.
If you spend enough time hanging around trans people, you’ll inevitably meet people who tried really hard to embrace their gender assigned at birth. Men, women, nonbinaries, it doesn’t matter. If you feel like your gender assigned at birth doesn’t fit, it’s easy to think that maybe it’s because you’re just not trying hard enough.
Is that what happened here? It’s easy to interpret it that way.
I’ve mentioned in the past that I was raised Catholic, and I still feel a fair amount of affinity toward the church. Feel free to point out all the problems with it, and I’ll happily agree with you on most of them, I’m sure. But the world is a complicated and messy place, isn’t it?
Once upon a time, I was deeply religious. When I was a teenager, I prayed to God every night to make me a woman, but those prayers were never answered. So I took matters into my own hands.
From there, I was a hardline atheist. Living with chronic anxiety and depression isn’t a great time, and it felt more comforting to me to know that one day, I just wouldn’t exist anymore, so all those feelings would go away. It felt inconceivable to me that I could exist in a way that didn’t involve constant misery.
But as more and more of the new atheist crowd goes all in on far right reactionary junk, I’m realizing they really are the jackasses they always seemed to be. They’re no closer to providing any real answers than anybody else is. They’re
This might be a half baked idea, but I think a lot about the type of person who defines themselves in opposition to another group, and why they so often end up emulating their opponent’s worst qualities – whether real or perceived.
Anti-Christian New Atheists end up queerphobes just like the Christians they claim to despise.
Dyed in the wool Democrats are just as prone to magical thinking and detaching from reality as the MAGA crowd.
And professional sad sack Graham Linehan, who spends all his time imagining predatory men disguising themselves as trans women to sneak into women’s spaces, disguised himself as a trans woman and snuck into a women’s only space (Kelleher).
Motivational guru Jim Rohn once said, “You are the average of the five people you spend the most time with.” But in the modern world, where so many of us spend most of our time online, it might be more accurate to say “you are the average of the people you think about the most.” If you’re obsessing over your foes, they’re bound to influence you.
No, there has to be something guiding you beyond “I don’t like them”.
For me, one of those guiding forces is the belief that individuals know what their needs are better than hierarchical organizations do.
For example, I don’t understand trans men. I understand not aligning with the gender you were assigned at birth, obviously, but my entire experience with masculinity involved wanting to get as far away from it as I could.
I also don’t understand people who use neopronouns. I use she/her pronouns exclusively. But I understand that gender can be a complex and confusing thing to navigate. The way I understand it, people who use neopronouns are finding new ways to make sense of their genders, and that’s really cool to me.
But that doesn’t matter. If you’re a trans man, or a neopronoun user, or both, I don’t need to understand the deeper nuance of who you are to understand that you understand who you are better than I do, or the government does.
I have a strong mistrust of authority and hierarchies, and the Catholic Church is about as hierarchical as it gets.
At the same time, when I consider that this life is all we get… that’s a bitter pill to swallow.
So, where does that leave me?
So, what’s more comforting to me? Eternal life in heaven, or ceasing to exist?
As I write this, I haven’t figured it out yet.
Maybe I never will.
But that’s enough about my existential crisis.
What can Pelagius tell us?
We don’t have any writing attributed to him, so in terms of knowing his inner thoughts, that’s not something we can understand. Whether or not he felt what we might consider today to be gender dysphoria, we don’t know. And barring some miraculous discovery of his heretofore unknown writings, we never will.
So, when it comes to interpreting many ancient stories like this, we’ve only got an outsider’s perspective – that of the person who wrote about them.
And based on what we have, Pelagius was someone assigned female at birth, who lived as a woman, before living out his final years as a man.
Susan Stryker’s definition of transgender in a historical sense is, quote:
[P]eople who move away from the gender they were assigned at birth, people who cross over the boundaries constructed by their culture to define and contain their gender.”
– Susan Stryker, Transgender History, pg. 1
Based on that, the story of Pelagius is very clearly a transgender one.
Having been raised in the Catholic tradition, it’s heartbreaking to see the hatred being spewed out into the world in the name of God. But if you look at the gospels, and the words attributed to Christ himself, you get love and not much else.
So where’s the disconnect? Even in the Bible, a common theme I’ve noticed is that of the people misunderstanding and misinterpreting the words of Christ. So maybe that’s what Christianity is, and always will be. Humans are, after all, fallible.
Tori Otten wrote back in 2023 about how the Evangelical church was in a deep crisis of faith, over the fact that so-called “Christians” interpreted the words of Christ as liberal talking points. The idea of loving your enemy, and of turning the other cheek, seems incompatible to the Christian far right who seem hell-bent on the destruction of anyone they find distasteful. And yes, I’m aware that Evangelicals are not Catholics, but the point remains.
If you style yourself as a follower of Christ, but you discard the words of Christ, what are you, really?
Among many other things, the story of Pelagius gives us a saint – someone who, by definition, enjoys eternal life in Heaven – who fits the historical definition of transgender.
Of course, there are thousands of officially recognized saints in the Catholic tradition. So it’s likely that most Catholics aren’t aware of Pelagius.
If you, like me, were raised in the Christian tradition, it might feel equally heartbreaking to see what’s being done in the name of a religion that may once have brought you great comfort in your darkest hours. But if God is real – if the church really does hold the Keys to the Kingdom of God – then we have a place in it like anyone else.
In this life or the next, we have always existed.
And so long as humanity continues to endure, so too shall we.
Ancient Sources Cited:
►St. Athanasius. “The Life Of Saint Anthony”. Translated by H. Ellershaw, 1892.
►“The Holy Bible: New Revised Standard Version, Updated Edition”. Translated by the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America, 2021.
►James The Deacon. “The Life Of Saint Pelagia The Harlot”. Translated by Helen Waddell, University of Michigan Press, 1957
►St. Jerome. “The Life of Saint Paul, The First Hermit”. Translated by Helen Waddell, University of Michigan Press, 1957
Modern Sources Cited:
►“Saint Pelagia”. Catholic Online. 2024. Accessed 17 January, 2025.
►Curry, Andrew. “Gobekli Tepe: The World’s First Temple?” Smithsonian Magazine Blog, 2008.
►Delcourt, Marie. “Herm*******te – Myths and Rites of the Bisexual Figure in Classical Antiquity”. (1961)
►Dillon, Matthew, and Garland, Lynda. “Ancient Rome: From the Early Republic to the Assassination of Julius Caesar”. Taylor & Francis, 2005.
►Merton, Thomas. “The Wisdom Of The Desert: Sayings From The Desert Fathers Of The Fourth Century”. (1970)
►“Pious Fiction”. Wiktionary, Wikimedia Foundation, 27 July 2016.
►Sarno, Robert. “Saints”. United States Conference of Catholic Bishops.
►Stryker, Susan. “Transgender History.” Berkeley, CA, Seal Press, 2008.
►Mother Teresa. “In the Heart of the World: Thoughts, Stories, & Prayers”. New World Library, 1997.
►Ward, Benedicta. “The Desert Christian: Sayings of the Desert Fathers”. New York, Macmillan, 1980.