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RELATED: The Myths of Hermaphroditus
Now, we’re exploring Teiresias.
Without further ado…
Chapter I: But I Thought This Was a Transgender History Channel! Why Are You Talking About Mythology So Much on a History Channel??? HYPOCRISY MUCH??? TRANS HISTORY DEBUNKED
Before I answer this question, I have a confession to make.
I’m not actually a historian.
I know, I’ve been out here for the past few years making videos on transgender history, but history isn’t actually my background.
I’m a classicist.
When I did my undergrad, I did minor in history. But my main area of focus was in classical studies.
And no, that has nothing to do with music. It’s the study of classical antiquity – roughly the 8th century BCE to the 5th century CE. Sometimes, classicists will delve into areas prior to the 8th century BCE, like the bronze age, or pre-Hellenistic Egypt, but that’s not the primary focus.
BUT THAT’S HISTORY YOU’RE STUDYING HISTORY
History is a big part of it, of course. But that’s not all there is to it.
For example, remember when we explored the Enaree grave from Bactria? That was an archaeology video.
Or when we looked at Lucian’s Dialogues of the Courtesans? That was language and literary analysis.
I’ve also drawn extensively on my admittedly limited knowledge of Latin while researching these videos.
None of this is history, strictly speaking. You thought you’ve been learning about history this whole time, hah! It was all a ruse. Just like when you were a little baby and your parents tricked you into eating broccoli by putting it in something else. Haha, you’ve been getting a more well-rounded transsexual education. Eat your anthropology, damn it, it’s good for you.
So, the field of classical studies is about so much more than just history. It’s language, literature, archaeology, mythography, art history, philosophy, anthropology, sociology, political science, geography, and so much more. This isn’t just me being weird about it either – it’s why classicists are called classicists and not just historians.
But maybe history is your primary area of interest, and you think it’s boring to explore mythology. That’s fair. But have you seen the video on Hermaphroditus? We viewed it through the lens of euhemerism – an approach that assumes myths have a grain of truth to them, and become more outlandish the more they get passed around. We looked at how the myth of Hermaphroditus could possibly have reflected reality, and we actually did find some evidence of the existence of intersex people in classical antiquity.
Because of course, mythological stories don’t exist in a vacuum. They’re products of the societies in which they were created. So when we explore these stories, we end up gaining a better understanding of the people who wrote them. Their values, their biases, their ideas. This can help us better understand how they might have seen things like gender, gender roles, and how it might have looked to transgress them.
But there’s more to it than that.
Today, we consider mythology and history to be two different fields. But the ancients didn’t necessarily see it that way.
The Roman historian Titus Livius, or just Livy, wrote during the age of Augustus. His work, called Ab Urbe Condita, from the founding of the city, chronicles the rise of the Roman state, from a meaningless Podunk town to an empire spanning the Mediterranean. He wrote 142 volumes of it, and today only 35 of them survive – books 1 to 10, and 21 to 45, as well as some fragments of others.
Livy begins book 1 by talking about how overwhelmed he feels by the enormous task before him. Then, he drops this banger, quote:
Events before Rome was born or thought of have come to us in old tales with more of the charm of poetry than of a sound historical record, and such traditions I propose neither to affirm nor refute. There is no reason, I feel, to object when antiquity draws no hard line between the human and the supernatural: it adds dignity to the past, and, if any nation deserves the privilege of claiming a divine ancestry, that nation is our own; and so great is the glory won by the Roman people in their wars that, when they declare that Mars himself was their first parent and father of the man who founded their city, all the nations of the world might well allow the claim as readily as they accept Rome’s imperial dominion.
– Titus Livius, Ab Urbe Condita I.I
The man who founded their city, mythologically speaking, is Romulus. But before he talks about that, Livy gets into the wanderings of the Trojan hero Aeneas, the son of Venus, after the destruction of Troy.
Vergil’s Aeneid provides a much more detailed account of it, but the tl;dr is that the Greeks destroyed Troy during the Trojan War, but the hero Aeneas escaped with a bunch of survivors, built a fleet of ships, sailed around the Mediterranean looking for a place to call home, and ended up in Latium. There, they fought some battles, united with the local Latins, and established the city of Lavinium. Aeneas’ son Ascanius left, and founded Alba Longa.
I want to stress that NONE of this is historical fact. It’s pure mythology. But it is written in a history book – the very first line of this text says, quote:
The task of writing a history of our nation from Rome’s earliest days fills me, I confess, with some misgiving
– Titus Livius, Ab Urbe Condita, I.I
The very first sentence of this text refers to itself as a history of Rome.
Anyway, he continues, telling us about a long line of begetting, very biblical, very mindful, before getting to Rhea Silvia. She’s the daughter of Numitor, who is one of the descendants of Aeneas and the rightful king of Alba Longa, who was overthrown. All of Rhea Silvia’s brothers were killed, and she was forced to become a Vestal Virgin, sort of like a nun, so she’d never have any children herself to challenge the usurper (Livy 1.3-5).
But Mars showed up and impregnated her with twin boys, which is obviously not something that should happen to sworn virgins, so when the babies were born the usurper king threw them into the Tiber River and imprisoned Rhea Silvia.
The boys floated along the river, and found a she-wolf who provided them with milk and cared for them until a farmer found them, and raised them as his own.
I’d like to take this opportunity once more to draw your attention to the fact that this is written in a history book. I offer now as the opportunity for you to tell me mythology isn’t history.
From there, they did a bunch of stuff, and eventually founded the city of Rome.
While Romulus was building the city’s walls, Remus pointed out that they were too short. Anybody could just jump over them. So in response, Romulus pulls out his sword and murders his brother, and says that’s what will happen to anybody who tries it. Kind of an overreaction, but hey, who among us hasn’t wanted to murder a family member over something petty?
Haven’t you ever wanted to grab your steak knife and run your racist uncle through at Christmas dinner?
Anyway, that’s why it’s called Rome, and not Reme. Credit for that joke goes to Dr. Martin Beckmann, who taught Roman numismatics during my undergrad. Funny guy.
Anyway, it all seems absurd, doesn’t it? But this is something that happens in the modern world as well.
Think of the founding myths around your own country. Maybe they’re not as extravagant as the ones the Romans had, but then again the legend of King Arthur has some pretty wild stuff in it too.
National mythologies are a big part of nationalism, and social conflict emerges when the contradictions between reality and that national mythology become more obvious. Sometimes those national myths are much more fantastical, like the one with Rome’s founders. But sometimes they’re more subtle.
Here in Canada, one of our national myths is that we’re nice, polite, progressive people. America’s cooler brother, who’ll let you smoke pot with him in the back of his van while you listen to Rush and The Guess Who. We’re the kinder, gentler ones.
And like a lot of national mythologies, there is some truth to it. But if you ask the First Nations peoples of this land, they might disagree.
See, we had a system called the Indian Residential Schools. If you’re familiar with this topic, you probably know where I’m going with this. But if you’re not, warning that we’re about to discuss some nasty stuff.
The Indian Residential Schools were a program of systematic abuse and cultural genocide perpetrated against the First Nations peoples of Canada. First Nations children were taken from their families and forced to attend these schools, where they were systematically abused, stripped of their culture, and forced to assimilate into the dominant settler colonial culture. They were forbidden from speaking their languages – they had to speak either English or French – had to convert to Christianity, had their heads shaved, had no contact with their families of origin, were segregated based on sex, had to endure racist insults and forced labour in the cold, and a whole lot more that’s far more terrible than what we already talked about (Restoule, 4). Many children didn’t survive. This abuse was well known, and so were the deaths, but a lot of these children just never came home, so their families never knew what happened. Just awful.
It’s estimated that around 150,000 Indigenous children were kidnapped and sent to these facilities – I don’t even really want to call them schools, that makes them sound a lot less terrible than they were. The first one opened in 1831 – Canada wasn’t even a country then. And lest you think this is ancient history, so to speak, the last residential school closed in 1996 (Restoule, 2-4, University of Manitoba).
Like, Tom Holland was born that year. The Nintendo 64 came out that year. Scream came out that year. Prodigy released Firestarter that year. There are people younger than I am who would have been taken there. It wasn’t that long ago.
If you’re not Canadian you might not recognize how much of A Thing this is. It’s shaped a significant part of our national conversation throughout the 21st century, and probably earlier too though I’m not old enough to remember that.
So, again if you’re Canadian you’ll already get this, but if you’re not, I want to paint a picture for you. It was early 2021, the height of COVID, so lockdowns were still in effect, and the vaccines for it hadn’t yet been released. I’m sure wherever you’re from, you felt the same fear, uncertainty, and anxiety we did here.
Lots of us worked from home, but those of us who couldn’t, and who weren’t essential workers, were paid by the government to do so, through a program called CERB – the Canadian Emergency Response Benefit. A deeply imperfect solution, to be sure, but I have no doubt it saved many lives. We looked south of the border, and all collectively breathed a sigh of relief that we’re at least better than the Americans. That’s one of the biggest elements of Canadian nationalism, and it’s really the only thing we can all agree on – we’re not Americans, and we’re better off for it.
In the wake of the murder of George Floyd by the police and the massive outpouring of opposition, many of us showed support, but we remained in that smug “at least we’re better than that” attitude. We’re the good guys, and our international reputation proves it.
But almost exactly a year later – May of 2021 – an archaeological team led by the Tk’emlúps te Secwépemc First Nation used ground-penetrating radar and discovered the remains of 215 children buried in unmarked graves, at a Residential School near Kamloops, British Columbia (Dickson & Watson). And again, if you’re not Canadian you might not realize what a deeply troubling moment this was.
This shattered our national narrative. We’re not the True North Strong and Free, like our national myth tells us. We’re a settler colonial project, and we need to reckon with the atrocities we’ve committed, and continue to commit, against the indigenous peoples of this land.
I look at Canada’s national mythology not as a thing we are, but as a thing we should aspire to be. Kind, polite, and caring people who work to take care of each other and make the world a better place. Sort of like the idea of being an ally – to whatever marginalized group you’re thinking of, the specifics don’t matter. It’s not really something you can proclaim yourself to be. It’s something you can commit to being, sure, but you prove yourself to be an ally through your actions.
I also don’t think you can really understand Canada unless you understand our national mythology, how it’s shaped the evolution of our culture, and how we’ve failed to live up to it.
In a sane world guided by wisdom, Canada would have taken the discovery of the residential school mass graves as a realization we hadn’t always lived up to our ideals, and that many of the original peoples who lived on this land before the rest of us got here suffered, and continue to suffer today, because of that legacy. We’d use it as an opportunity to reflect on who we are, who we want to be, and how we can bridge the gap between those two going forward.
And to be fair, some of us did. Or at least, we’re trying to.
But rather than accept the truth, some of us reject it altogether. They just can’t accept that we’ve been, and in many ways continue to be, the baddies, no matter how much evidence shows up. They just can’t let go of our cultural mythology.
Like this jackass here. This is from the Canadian right wing think tank The Fraser Institute. For my American viewers, to put it in perspective, they’re roughly comparable to The Cato Institute.
Look at that smug prick. I bet he’s got all sorts of terrible ideas in his head.
Anyway, my point is in many ways, history and mythology have always been interconnected. That was true in the ancient world, and it’s true today. The mythology of ancient Greece and Rome is more obviously mythology than what we have today, but it’s mythology nonetheless.
And if we’re going to get a nuanced understanding of civilization in the classical Mediterranean, we really can’t throw mythology away.
So, mythology is a part of the subject matter of this channel, and that’s not gonna change any time soon.
Chapter II: The Lives of Teiresias
From a mythology perspective, so far we’ve looked at Hermaphroditus, who has only a couple of surviving sources, and Siproites, who has only a single line reference in an obscure poem. That made it pretty straightforward, from a research perspective. But Teiresias might be the most prolific figure in all of classical mythology.
They show up in A LOT of different texts. Mythology, poetry, tragedy, comedy, satire, and even history – you’ll find Teiresias in all of them.
Name an ancient writer you know about – Homer, Ovid, Herodotus, Lucian, Sophocles, Euripides, Pindar, Pausanias, Plato, Aristotle – even if you’re not a classicist like me, I’m sure you recognize at least a couple of those names. They’re mentioned in each of these, and plenty more too.
That makes analysis of this myth a lot more complex. But fortunately, I’m not the first person to write about Tiresias.
Scholar Luc Brisson, in his 1976 work Le Mythe de Tiresias, mentions eighteen significant examples of mythological origin stories written around Tiresias – just origin stories. He groups them into three broad, overarching categories.
However, Brisson argues that these three themes don’t stand on their own, but are a harmonized, overarching tale of a complex, liminal character (1).
We’ll be leaning on Brisson’s work quite a bit for the initial myths of Teiresias, partially because it’s one of the most complete sources I’ve found on the topic, and partially because I’m not that good at reading French so it’s taking me a lot of work to get through it, and I don’t want to spend several months on this topic.
Anyway, we’ll explore these three overarching mythological themes, and what they tell us about Tiresias’ origins. From there, we’ll explore some of the later stories of Teiresias, and then we’ll take a look at what Tiresias can help us understand as modern trans people looking back.
AND AWAAAAAYYYYY WE GO!
Chapter III: The First Version of the Teiresias Myth
This first story has the most sources for it, so we’ll start here. But first, let’s take a look at some of the sources we have on the first origin story of Teiresias.
I’ll DO MY BEST TO BE BRIEF BUT YOU KNOW HOW I AM
Number I: Phlegon’s Mirabilia, Book IV
We don’t know a whole lot about this writer. You’re going to get tired of hearing me say that pretty soon, and I’m going to get tired of saying it, so that’s why I recorded it on my yak bak.
He was originally from the city of Tralles, in Anatolia, and was a libertus – a freed slave – who worked for the emperor Hadrian. Hadrian ruled from 117-138 CE, so Phlegon lived around then.
He wrote a bunch of different works, but most of it has only survived in fragments. His Mirabilia is the most complete work we have, but it’s also incomplete. It’s sort of a compilation of oddities, both human and otherwise, that he found throughout ancient literature (Doroszewska, 15-17).
What sorts of oddities, you ask?
Centaurs, giants, the walking dead, g-g-g-ghooosts, and of course, a bunch of stories of mythological transformations, including Teiresias.
Number II: Hyginus’ Fabulae
Gaius Julius Hyginus lived in the 1st century CE in Roman ruled Spain. There are two texts attributed to him – the Astronomica and the Fabulae. It’s the latter we care about today.
Hyginus seems to have been a fairly well regarded scholar, but the works attributed to him are of pretty poor quality. They’re full of errors and the writing style is blunt and lifeless.
For example, take a look at this text, on the story of Themisto.
THEMISTO: Athamas, son of Aeolus, had by his wife Nebula a son Phrixus and a daughter Helle, and by Themisto, daughter of Hypseus, two sons, Sphincius and Orchomenus, and by Ino, daughter of Cadmus, two sons, Learchus and Melicertes. Themisto, robbed of her marriage by Ino, wished to kill Ino’s children. She hid, therefore, in the palace, and when an opportunity presented itself, thinking she was killing the sons of her rival, unwittingly killed her own, deceived by the nurse who had put the wrong garments on them. When Themisto discovered this, she killed herself.
– Gaius Julius Hyginus, Fabulae I
Yeesh, that’s even more lifeless than Antoninus Liberalis. We get a list of people who were begotten, then an angry mother who killed her own kid, then herself. There’s gotta be more to this story, right?
Yes, Euripides wrote a play called Ino, which seems to have told this story, and would have done so a lot better than Hyginus did here, I’m sure. But unfortunately, we’ve only got a few fragments of it.
Stuff like this, as bland as it is, is an important source for the preservation of some lesser known myths. Of course, Teiresias is not a lesser known myth, but y’know.
Number III: Lactantius Placidus’ In Statii Thebaida
*sigh*
(press yak bak button)
Lactantius Placidus is the name given to the writer of a critical analysis of Statius’ Thebaid.
It probably comes from around the fifth century CE (Miller, 1).
Oh yeah, and he talks about Teiresias.
Yup, that’s about it for this one.
Number IV: The Vatican Mythographers’ Scriptores Rerum Mythicarum Latini, Book II
Okay first off, this one isn’t even a classical text, it’s medieval.
What we collectively call The Vatican Mythographers is the work of three different unnamed people. The names of two of them are unknown, and the third is thought to be Alberic of London, who lived in London and whose name was Alberic. Other than that…
*press yak bak button*
Like Hyginus, this one’s kind of a summary of various myths. I don’t want to just write these guys off like that, though. In the medieval era, there were two major obstacles to the preservation of classical mythology – widespread illiteracy, and the church’s hostility to anything pagan. So, yes, they kind of Christianized these stories, but by doing so they were able to help keep them alive in the popular culture of the time (Pepin, 1-4).
That includes, of course, Teiresias.
There are three different fragments of the Vatican Mythographers we’ll be using.
Number V: Pseudo-Apollodorus’ Bibliotheca, Book III
This used to be attributed to Apollorodus, a 2nd century BCE Alexandrian writer, but that’s probably not true. We now think it was written some time in the 2nd century CE.
It, too, is a compilation of mythology. It’s sort of a “greatest hits” of Athenian tragedy, which of course includes Teiresias.
Number VI: Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Book III
Ovid writing transgender mythology, biggest surprise in the world, I know.
Was Ovid a chaser?
If you’re new to the channel, we talk about Ovid all the time. Lived in Rome during the age of Augustus, wrote sad boy love poetry and the Metamorphoses, which is full of mythological transformation stories. There’s a pretty full biography of him in the main video on the Enarees if you’d like to know more.
RELATED: The Enarees: Scythian Transgender Priestesses
RELATED: Exploring the Remains of an Enaree Priestess
Number VII: Hesiod’s Melampodia
Hesiod is old.
Like, really old.
*How old was he, Sophie?*
Hesiod’s SO old, he lives in a museum! Badum bum
Hesiod is SO old, when he was born, they hadn’t even invented history yet! OooOOOOOOHHHHHHHH
Hesiod is SO old, he’s running for United States congress! DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAMN
When it comes to the most influential mythological writers in the ancient Mediterranean, it’s a tossup between Homer and Hesiod. Both of them wrote around the same time, and are the oldest sources for a lot of the most popular myths.
The Melampodia might not have been written by Hesiod, but was attributed to him, so we call it a Hesiodic poem. If you’re familiar with the Homeric hymns, it’s a similar idea.
It survives only in fragments, including a tiny bit about Teiresias.
There are a couple other Hesiodic fragments we’ll be using as well.
Number VIII: Fabius Planciades Fulgentius
Has there ever been a name in history begging to be read in the Plinkett voice more than that one?
Fabius Planciades Fulgentius, or just Fulgentius, lived in North Africa in the late 5th or early 6th century CE. Recall that the Roman Empire in the West fell in the late 5th century – either 476 or 480 CE, depending on who you ask. So, Fulgentius lived around the same time. He was a mythographer of minor importance, but he was popular during the early Renaissance, which is mostly why we know about him (Whitbread).
Number IX: Antoninus Liberalis
If you watched the video on Siproites, you might recognize this name. It’s the only source we have on Siproites – only a single line.
But if you didn’t, here’s a crash course.
We don’t know much about Antoninus Liberalis. He wrote in Greek, but he had a Latin name, he probably lived after the reign of Antoninus Pius – the 2nd century CE, and he was clearly literate. Based on his name, we assume he was a former slave who earned his freedom, but that’s about all we know (Celoria, 2-4).
His work is called the Metamorphoses, which is not the same as Ovid’s Metamorphoses, or Apuleius’ Metamorphoses, or Kafka’s Metamorphosis, or Applegate’s Animorphs, or Saban’s Mighty Morphin Power Rangers. It’s mostly a summary of another lost work, which is also called Metamorphoses, it’s a whole thing.
Look at the name – Metamorphoses – it’s clearly a collection of transformation stories, just like Ovid’s work.
So naturally, we find Teiresias in there too. In fact, the little bit we have about Teiresias from Antoninus Liberalis is in the very same paragraph as the bit about Siproites, just two sentences later. Go figure.
OKAY SOPHIE ENOUGH ALREADY LET’S GET TO THE STORIES COME ON WHAT THE-
The above sources all cover the first story, but each of them has different details involved.
I’ll do my best to more or less summarize what we have, and to coalesce them into a single story, but we’ll have to point out the differences as they come up. It’s not ideal, but the other option is to tell the same story over and over with each variant, which seems a lot more boring.
To make sense of this, I actually did something really embarrassing. I’m a little nervous to admit this, it’s pretty awful. I hope you don’t think less of me after this.
I guess I should just admit it…
*big sigh*
I made a spreadsheet.
*boo*
I know, I know. I felt like an accountant. It wasn’t a good time. I’ve got a headache.
Anyway, look at this thing. Ah, it sucked to put this together.
But as we can see here, there are a lot of inconsistencies in this story. Some of them even leave parts of it out. Hesiod doesn’t mention the bit with the snakes at all, and Antoninus Liberalis doesn’t mention the argument between Zeus and Hera, which is why those ones are grayed out.
But here’s the story, as best as we can pull from this.
Teiresias was the son of Everes, or Periere, or maybe some other guy. He was from Thebes, or maybe some other place.
One day, he was out for a walk, or grazing his sheep, or maybe doing something else, on Mount Cyllene, or Mount Cithaeron, or in a forest, or maybe somewhere else.
As he did, he found some snakes doing it. He hit one or both of them with a stick, or stomped on one or both of them, or killed one or both of them, or otherwise injured one or both of them, and as a result he turned into a lady.
From there, she went on to live her life, having sex with a man at least once, for seven years, or eight years, or maybe some other length of time.
Later, she found the same snakes in the same place, or the same snakes in an unspecified place, or different snakes in the same place, or different snakes in an unspecified place, or she didn’t find any snakes at all, because Apollo or an Oracle told her where to go, or because she had a hunch, or maybe for some other reason.
She hit the snakes in the same way, or she hit or killed the snake she didn’t hit before, or she left them alone, or there were no snakes at all and this part didn’t happen, but regardless she turned back into a man.
Later, Zeus and Hera were having an argument that was playful, or heated – seems like those boomer WIFE BAD jokes have also always existed – this time they were arguing about who enjoys sex more. Zeus was convinced that women enjoy it more, and Hera believed the opposite. So they figured, why not ask someone who’s done both?
Teiresias told them if there are 10 parts of pleasure, women get 9, and men get 1. Or he said if there are twelve parts of pleasure, women get 9, and men get 3. Or he said if there are 19 parts of pleasure, women get 10 and men get 9. Or he said women enjoy it three times as much as men. Or he said women enjoy it more, but he didn’t specify how much.
Whatever it is he said, Hera wasn’t happy about it. She blinded him and cut off his hands, or maybe just blinded him, or otherwise injured him. Zeus felt bad about it, but he couldn’t reverse what Hera did, so he gave Teiresias the gift of divination, and maybe also gave him a life spanning 7 generations.
Yeesh.
What are the through lines there?
Teiresias was a man, who was turned into a woman, then turned back to a man.
Zeus and Hera argued over who likes sex more. Teiresias confirms women like it more, so Hera blinds him, and Zeus gives him the gift of divination.
The snakes don’t always show up, the location is often different, and it’s only mentioned once explicitly that he got busy with a man after transforming. But the fact that he was consulted in Zeus and Hera’s argument makes it obvious he did.
I kind of love this story, because it really shows you just how terrible the pagan gods were.
Like, take a moment to imagine what that must have been like for Teiresias. Imagine God himself comes to you – whatever god you’re picturing, that’s fine, the specifics don’t matter too much here. It’s inarguably God, and you know it. God asks you a question – he’s having a disagreement with another god, and wants your opinion. So you answer as honestly as you can, and the other god gets so mad at your answer she gouges out your eyes.
Talk about shooting the messenger. By the way, has anyone heard from Hermes lately? Hope he’s okay.
The world has always been a dangerous and uncertain place, but it was much moreso in the ancient past than today. Regardless of how much you prayed, how many sacrifices you made, how faithful you were to your gods, you might still suffer.
Of course that’s true of Abrahamic religions as well, but if you’re a follower of one of those religions, you can reassure yourself by saying it’s all part of God’s plan.
For the Romans, and especially for the Greeks, sometimes you suffer because the gods are petty, juvenile, and vindictive. It doesn’t matter how good a person you are; the gods are just awful.
I guess I get the rage though – Zeus can also be pretty petty, so I can imagine him jumping up and down pointing at his wife yelling I TOLD YOU I TOLD YOU.
Here’s another fun bit. We know Zeus can transform into whatever he wants. He’s appeared as a swan, an eagle, a satyr, a “golden shower” – that’s what the Greek says, get your mind out of the gutter that’s not what it means – and even as Artemis, which Ovid tells us in Book II of the Metamorphoses (l. 401-465). So, why not just down to business in disguise and see for yourself? But as we already saw, mythological stories contradict themselves all the time.
But one of the big takeaways I think about with this story is Teiresias’ wisdom was so widely recognized that even the gods came to them for advice. Their wisdom went so far beyond the mortal realm that even the most powerful beings in the Universe deferred to it.
Wild to consider, hm? That living on both sides of the gender divide offers unique and valuable insight into the world that most people will never understand, hm?
Now, we know Teiresias was given the gift of divination. But what sort of divination did he practice? How did that work for him?
For that, we’ll have to wait for the sequel.
Chapter IV: 2 Teiresias 2 Furious
Here we go, the beginning of the Greek mythology cinematic universe. I can’t wait for the crossover event with Thor and Loki – and look, you can’t sue me Disney because these are public domain characters. If you wanted to keep it locked down, you should have made up your own characters, like Steamboat Willie. Oh, what’s that? Despite your incessant lobbying of the US government to extend copyright law, Steamboat Willie is in the public domain? And we’re watching it right now and there’s nothing you can do about it?
Anyway, the second origin story of Teiresias – let’s take a look. We’re not going to go through the details of all the authors this time, it took too long before. Instead, I’ll just name them.
This time, we’ve got:
- Callimachus’ Hymns – a Greek writer from Alexandria in the 3rd century BCE
- Apollodorus’ Bibliotheca again – we talked about him before
- Propertius’ Elegies – a Latin poet from the Augustan era, the late 1st century BCE
- Nonnus’ Dionysiaca – a 5th century CE Greek epic poet from Roman-ruled Egypt – not the same as the Nonnus we talked about in the video on Pelagius, different guy
Just four writers this time. What do they tell us about Teiresias?
Interestingly, they don’t really contradict each other. I did do another spreadsheet, cringe I know. But whatever, gen z, at least I know how to make one.
Are spreadsheets cheugy?
Wait…
Is the word cheugy, cheugy?
Damn…
Anyway, some of the sources are pretty short for this story – the bit from Propertius is just a single sentence, so a lot is implied, but not blatantly mentioned. The no’s here aren’t really contradictions as much as they are omissions, so this story isn’t as much of a mess. I can tell a fairly clean version of it, as a result.
Broadly speaking, here’s the story.
Teiresias was the son of Everes and a nymph, Chariclo. He was out for a walk one day with his dogs, and was thirsty so he stopped at the Fountain of the Horse on Mount Helicon, near Thebes. But he didn’t realize Athena was there, bathing, and ended up seeing her naked. If you know your mythology, you know where this is going…
Now, Zeus had created a rule. No mortal was allowed to see any god unless the god wanted them to. If they did, they’d have to pay a heavy price. Athena didn’t have a choice here – she had to do something about it. But Athena was besties with Teiresias’ mother Chariclo, so she went as easy on him as she could, and blinded him.
Chariclo shows up, hugs her son, and yells at Athena over it, demanding she undo what she’d done. Athena explains she didn’t want to do it, but reminds her of Zeus’ rule. She can’t undo it, no matter how much she may want to.
But then she tells the story of Actaeon, who was transformed into a stag and devoured by his dogs after seeing Artemis bathing. His mother would look at Teiresias and pray for her son to have a similar fate. Relatively speaking, he got off easy.
But she’ll give him the gift of prophecy, a magical staff to help him walk, and an unusually long life.
What kind of prophecy?
Specifically, it’s ornithomancy. Teiresias can interpret the messages of the gods sent through the actions of birds (Brisson, 29-30). The Romans called this skill augury, and the practice was known as taking auspices, which is where we get the English words “inauguration” and “auspicious”, but it’s a pretty similar practice to what the Greeks did.
Neato.
Did you notice a glaring omission there? That’s right, Teiresias isn’t turned into a lady in this version.
Why not?
It is something the gods were capable of doing. We saw that, sort of, with the first Teiresias myth, but it’s much more clearly stated with the myth of Siproites, if you watched that video.
If not, Siproites’ mythology survives in just a single line of poetry, quote:
The Cretan Siproites had also been turned into a woman for having seen Artemis bathing when out hunting.
– Antoninus Liberalis, Metamorphoses, Book XVII
RELATED: The Transgender Myth of Siproites
Clearly, Siproites was in a similar situation, and was punished as a result.
We also have a few stories of women being transformed into men by the gods. Caenis, a woman, was transformed into Caeneus, a man, by Poseidon (Ov. Met. XII.189-209). Iphis was a girl raised as a boy, who was turned into a man by the Egyptian god Isis (Ov. Met. IX.670-797). Ovid’s Metamorphoses tells us both of those stories. Leucippus’ story is almost identical to Iphis, except it’s Leto that does the deed. We learn about this one in the same story from Antoninus Liberalis that gave us the Siproites bit (Ant. Lib. Met. XVII).
The difference is that this was considered a good thing (Frontisi-Ducroux). With Leucippus and Iphis, they marry a girl they’re in love with and live happily ever after, and Caeneus becomes a tough as nails hero. They also all asked for their transformations, and received them as a gift, a blessing from the gods.
Women turning into men is a good thing, but men turning into women?
You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?
But Teiresias was being punished, so why didn’t Athena turn him into a woman in this story?
It could have something to do with Athena going easy on Teiresias, relatively speaking. In such a deeply misogynistic society, it might have genuinely been preferable to go blind than be a woman.
In terms of punishment-based transformations, we do have other examples to draw upon.
There’s the aforementioned Actaeon story – he discovered Artemis bathing, and was turned into a stag and devoured by his own hunting dogs.
There’s also Calydon – this one comes from Pseudo-Plutarch’s De Fluviis, where he tells us Calydon accidentally saw Artemis bathing in a river, so she turned him into a rock (De Fluviis, XXII).
I know whose fate would be the least worst for me, but to the ancients, Teiresias got off easy. I guess that’s one of the results of mythology being written exclusively by misogynistic men…
From a wisdom perspective, we don’t get as much here. It’s an origin story for Teiresias’ prophetic insights, but they aren’t drawn upon. It does still provide more context for Teiresias’ liminality, though. He straddles the world of the present and the future, the gods and mortals, and the blind and the seeing – just not the world of genders.
Chapter V: The Third Origin Story of Teiresias
This one only has a single source, so it’s even more straightforward than the last.
It comes from Eustathius of Thessalonica, a Byzantine writer from the 12th century CE. He wrote quite a bit, but his Commentaries on Homer are what he’s best known for. I’m using Brisson’s French translation here.
Eustathius tells us this story according to a writer named Sostratus, and apparently it’s controversial which Sostratus he’s referring to but I really don’t care to get into that. Regardless, it’s a lost poem. Anyway, in this story, Teiresias was still the child of Chariclo, but she was born a girl. One day when she was seven years old, she was out for a walk in the mountains, and Apollo had the hots for her, which.
Are you serious with this? That’s disgusting. I know there’s a lot of weird junk in mythology and I do my best to brush it off, but Apollo was after a seven year old girl? Ew dude.
I wonder if Apollo is in the Epstein files.
So uhh, Apollo’s whole thing is that women aren’t into him. Maybe he should try going after someone who’s not a f***ing child then? F***ing weirdo. *sigh*
Anyway, Apollo bargains with Teiresias, saying he’ll teach her how to make beautiful music in exchange for, yeah. She accepts the gift, but then refused to sleep with Apollo, which, honestly that’s the right move. Young girl Teiresias is clever.
Apollo isn’t happy about this, of course, so he turns her into a man. He’s then tested by Eros, but the nature of that test isn’t really clear. But regardless, he goes on to judge the quarrel between Zeus and Hera that we talked about in the first story.
Then he turned back into a woman, somehow. It doesn’t say how, just that it happened. Such a beautifully crafted mythos! How clever.
As a woman, she fell in love with a man from Argos named Kallon, and had a son with him, named Strabo. He had that thing where your eyes point in two different directions, which I just learned is called squint, because Hera was still bigmad at her.
At some point she saw a statue of Hera and mocked it, so Hera turned her into an ugly man, whom people called πίθων (Pithon), which means little ape, brutal. Zeus felt bad for him, so he turned him back into a woman, but an older one this time, where she went to Troezen, a town east of Argos.
Some guy named Glyphios had the hots for her, and attacked her while she was bathing. But he was a wuss, it turns out, since he got his ass kicked by an older woman – she suffocated him. Poseidon wasn’t happy about this because he loved Glyphios, so he asked the Fates to judge her. They turned her into Teiresias – and this is a weird way to phrase it, because he/she was Teiresias this entire time, I thought. I don’t know. But the context isn’t great here, the pronouns are inconsistent, and I’m reading it in French, which I’m not great at – I can’t find an English translation, and my Greek is practically nonexistent. I’m doing my best here!
Anyway, I’m going to assume this means the fates turned her into a man again. While they did it, they took away his gift of divination, which I guess he had the whole time even though it hasn’t been mentioned yet. He re-learned it, though, from Chiron, who was the only centaur that wasn’t a wild, untamed murdermaniac, and is also considered a wise figure in Greek mythology – we mentioned him before.
After, he went to the wedding of Peleus and Thetis, where there was a beauty contest between Aphrodite and the three Charities – Pasithea, Kale, and Euphrosyne. They have different names in other sources but whatever, that’s what they’re named here. Teiresias was chosen to judge this contest – hasn’t he had enough trouble with the gods already? He chose Kale, who married Hephaestus.
Aphrodite was upset by this, so she changed Teiresias back into a woman – oh no, what a punishment – but this time an elderly one.
Kale gave her beautiful hair and took her to Crete, where Spiderman fell in love with her. Well, his name is Arachnos, but y’know. They did their business, and Arachnos started bragging that he’d slept with Aphrodite, which he obviously did not. This upset Aphrodite, so she turned him into a weasel – fair, man sounds like he was a bit of one. Also, she turned Teiresias into a mouse – why? What did she do to deserve that? Brutal.
So, this is why mice are considered to be divining animals, I guess?
This story is weird.
There are no snakes, there’s no blinding, there’s no Athena, and Apollo serves a very different role.
But in terms of major differences, there are two I’d like to look at here (Brisson, 81-3).
First off, Teiresias starts off as a woman. From there, she goes through seven different metamorphoses. Six of them are changes in gender, and the final one is where she’s turned into a mouse. But interestingly, there’s still a parallel here. Because in the first story, Teiresias’ life is extended – he lives for seven generations. And in this story, she’s transformed seven times, into each of the major age groups – child (girl), adolescent boy, young woman, man, middle aged woman, older man, old woman, and mouse. Ah yes, the seven genders.
Teiresias does have their gift of prophecy as well, but it’s just kind of vaguely brushed over. Sostratus may have gone into that in greater detail, but Eustathius’ artless recap of the story doesn’t give us much to go on.
But still, it’s hard to argue Teiresias didn’t have a wide variety of knowledge and experience after such a life, and their prophetic skills, such as they are, are still present. Teiresias still serves as a wise figure.
It’s also interesting to note that Teiresias is always in a marginalized position. Adult citizen men were really the only people who had any real rights in Greece, and when he was an adult man he was so ugly that people thought of him as an ape. Rough.
So this story, clearly, is REALLY different from our other two Teiresias stories. But that’s one of the things that makes it so interesting.
Chapter VI: Teiresias in Epic Poetry Cycles
When it comes to mythology, there are a few “cycles” we talk about. These are tales generally told through epic poetry, relaying what might have been historical events but heavily mythologized.
The most famous of these is the Trojan Cycle, sometimes called the Epic Cycle – the story of the prelude to the Trojan War, the war itself, and its aftermath. We’ve talked about this on the channel before. It’s mostly fantasy, but we do know there was a city of Troy, it was destroyed, and there were Greeks present during its destruction.
There were eight poems in the Trojan Cycle, and we have two of them – the Iliad, and the Odyssey. But fortunately, we have enough sources talking about the rest of it that we can piece together a contiguous story.
Probably the second most famous of these epic poetry cycles is the Theban Cycle. This was made up of four epics: the Oedipodea, the Thebaid, the Epigoni, and the Alcmeonis. Every epic poem we know of was related to one of these two cycles, or were about Herakles or Theseus in some way (West, 3).
We don’t have any of the poems of the Theban Cycle, unfortunately. Just some fragments.
It’s the Oedipodea we’re most interested in today. From what we can tell, it was around 6,600 lines of poetry, and told the story of Oedipus. For comparison, the Iliad is 15,693 lines of poetry, and it’s this long (show the book), at least in translation.
Only a few fragments of the Oedipodea survive, and from that we can pull out a couple of details that show us it’s a different story than the better known play Oedipus Rex by the Athenian poet Sophocles. But it’s the best we’ve got, so we’re going to explore that one now.
The play opens with Oedipus, the king of Thebes, speaking to a priest, with a group of children with him. The priest describes a great blight that has stricken their city – people are ill, the crops aren’t growing, their animals are sick, and nobody can bear children. Creon, Oedipus’ brother in law, enters – he’d just come from the Oracle, who told him the curse is because the previous king, Laius, was murdered, and his murderer is somewhere in the city. They didn’t have a chance to look into it at the time, because a sphinx was terrorizing the city. But now, they need to find Laius’ murderer and deal with him, if the city is to prosper once more.
Oedipus is onboard – he loves his city and his people. Besides, he’s the king now, and whoever murdered the last king might want to come after him as well.
There’s always a chorus in Greek tragedy; it’s a collective group of people that represented different things depending on the play. Here, they’re a group of elder men of Thebes. Oedipus orders them to tell him everything they know about the murder, and they can’t help because they don’t know much, but the chorus leader suggests that Oedipus speak with wise old Teiresias. After all, Apollo clearly knows who the killer is – Oracles always speak through Apollo – and Teiresias can use his gift of prophecy to see what Apollo sees.
Teiresias arrives, and things proceed, quote:
Oedipus:
Teiresias, you are well versed in everything,
things teachable and things not to be spoken,
things of the heaven and earth-creeping things.
You have no eyes but in your mind you know
with what a plague our city is afflicted.
My lord, in you alone we find a champion,
in you alone one that can rescue us.
Perhaps you have not heard the messengers,
but Phoebus sent in answer to our sending
an oracle declaring that our freedom
from this disease would only come when we
should learn the names of those who killed King Laius,
and kill them or expel from our country.
Do not begrudge us messages from birds,
or any other way of prophecy
within your skill; save yourself and the city,
save me; save all of us from this pollution
that lies on us because of that dead man.
We are in your hands; it’s a man’s most noble labor
to help another when he has the means and power.
Teiresias:
Alas, how terrible is wisdom when
it brings no profit to the man that’s wise!
This I knew well, but had forgotten it,
else I would not have come here.
What is this?
How gloomy you are now you’ve come!
Let me
Go home. It will be easier for us both
to bear our several destinies to the end
if you will follow my advice.
You’d rob us
of this gift of prophecy? You talk
as one who had no care for law nor love
for Thebes who reared you.
Yes, but I see that even your own words
miss the mark; therefore I must fear for mine.
For god’s sake, if you know of anything,
do not turn from us; all of us kneel to you,
all of us here, your suppliants.
The conversation continues. Teiresias the seer knows the truth – it was Oedipus himself who murdered Laius, his own father, though he didn’t realize it. Then, he arrived at Thebes, outsmarted the Sphinx, and as a result became king of Thebes, where he married the widowed queen of the city, Jocasta… his own mother.
But how can he tell Oedipus the truth?
Oedipus continues to push him, eventually even claiming Teiresias himself must have done it. Otherwise, why would he keep this a secret? That’s when Teiresias drops a doozy, quote:
Teiresias:
Yes? Then I warn you faithfully to keep
the letter of your proclamation and
from this day forth to speak no word of greeting
to these nor me; you are the land’s pollution.
Oedipus is furious, of course, but Teiresias reveals more of the truth to him, even as he presses Teiresias, as much as he’s able. He tells Oedipus it was him who killed Laius, and that he lives “in the foulest shame unconsciously”. It’s Oedipus’ fault that all these awful things are happening.
Oedipus can’t accept this of course, and sends Teiresias away. Teiresias reminds Oedipus that he was invited, and that it’s not his fault the gods have such an awful fate in store for Oedipus.
Of course, everything Teiresias sees eventually comes true. Oedipus discovers he murdered Laius, his father, and then married Jocasta, his mother. Jocasta kills herself over it, and Oedipus gouges out his eyes. It’s a bad ending.
But Oedipus was the one who summoned Teiresias in the first place, and he did so because Teiresias was known to be a great seer. Oedipus tossed him out and rejected his insight, sure, but not because he was wrong. He just didn’t like the answer he got. Talk about shooting the messenger.
I wonder if Hermes wore a bulletproof vest.
Anyway, this is the first example we’ve seen of Teiresias’ gift of prophecy actually being used. And what does Oedipus say to Teiresias when he first arrives? “You are well versed in everything, things teachable and things not to be spoken, things of the heaven and earth-creeping things.”
He lives between the world of the gods and of mortals, and that’s why he was summoned. He has insight into both.
He’s a liminal figure, yes, but this is one of the things that makes him so wise. His counsel is sought for this reason.
The tiny fragments we have of the Oedipodea do reveal a couple of key differences between it and Oedipus Rex. It’s enough to tell us that these are two different interpretations of a story (West, 5-6). Sophocles must have drawn on more than just the Oedipodea while writing his play, or he just took some considerable creative license. Either way, we can’t be certain that Teiresias was even in the Oedipodea.
We do have another source on the Theban Cycle as well that involves Teiresias – Statius’ Thebaid.
Publius Papinius Statius was a Roman writer of epic poetry, who was born in 50 CE in Neapolis, modern day Naples. His father was a poet who won some awards for his work, and son carried on in father’s footsteps. He lived in Rome for a time where he was a resident poet in the court of the emperor Domitian, married a woman named Claudia, but had no children himself, and died around 96 CE (Shackleton, 1-5).
We talked about Statius in the video on Lucian and Megillus, which I know was awhile ago and not a lot of people watched, but you should! It was an interesting video, I think. Anyway, he started writing an epic called the Achilleid, about, you guessed it, Achilles, but by the time he died he’d only finished the first chapter and a half. Shame, really, since it could have been a great source on Achilles.
RELATED: Transgender Narratives in Lucian of Samosata’s Dialogues of the Courtesans
But his greatest work was the Thebaid, a twelve book poem that covers the events of the much earlier Thebaid. It’s a story about the sons of Oedipus, Eteocles and Polynices. After the events of Oedipus Rex, Oedipus stepped down as king of Thebes, and his sons agree to take turns as king – each would rule for a year, while the other was exiled. Eteocles gets the first term, since he’s the older brother. When it’s his turn to abdicate, he refuses, and Polydices prepares for war.
Eteocles gets word that his brother is building an army, and seeks advice on how to deal with it. And since he’s in Thebes, who else would he ask but Teiresias.
This time, Teiresias does something we’ve never seen him do before – he performs necromancy. It’s a pretty elaborate ritual, but he’s able to summon the spirits of a bunch of different figures, including poor Actaeon who we talked about earlier. Most importantly though, he summons Laius, the former king of Thebes who Oedipus murdered. That would make him… ah, this is a weird one. I guess he’s like their… step-grandfather? As well as their step-father? Yeesh.
This shows us another way that Teiresias serves as a liminal figure – between the living and the dead. That’s similar to how he serves in this other epic poem, not sure if you’ve heard of it, it’s called THE ODYSSEY.
In Book XI of The Odyssey, Odysseus has been on his wanderings for some time. Originally he led a fleet of 12 ships, but all but one of them had been destroyed at this point. He’d encountered the Lotus-Eaters, Polyphemus the cyclops, the Laestrygonian cannibals, and Circe the witch, who turned some of his men into swine.
After leaving Circe’s island, they visit the underworld, hoping to find some guidance on how to get home. When they do, they find none other than Teiresias, whose skills as a prophet are just as powerful in death as they were in life.
He tells Odysseus that Poseidon has it out for him, which is one of the main reasons why he’s had so much trouble getting home. From there, he essentially spoils the rest of the story for us. If Odysseus and his crew can avoid harming Helios’ cattle when they find them, they’ll get home safe. But if they do harm the cattle, their ship will be destroyed and everyone will be killed, except Odysseus, who might still make it home but in bad shape, aboard someone else’s ship.
From there, he tells Odysseus how to appease Poseidon, and how he can commune with the other spirits as well.
So once again, we find Teiresias as a liminal figure, as a bridge between the living and the dead. Even in death, his wisdom is still valuable.
Chapter VII: Other Tales of Teiresias
So at this point, we’ve talked about the main stories, but there are some other places he shows up. Let’s take the time to trace these tertiary Teiresias tales.
In general, he shows up to answer someone’s question, or to deliver a warning.
There’s another scene in another Sophocles play, Antigone, that plays out largely the same as the one in Oedipus Rex.
Antigone takes place after both Oedipus Rex and the Thebaid. In it, Antigone, the daughter of Oedipus, wants to bury her brother Polynices, but he’s been shamed by Creon, the new king of Thebes and Antigone’s uncle. Antigone insists, and Creon reacts to this like any reasonable person would do – he buries her alive in a cave.
Teiresias arrives, and says he has wisdom to share with Creon. Creon tells him he trusts his wisdom and his counsel, so Teiresias delivers the news. He warns that if Creon leaves Antigone underground and leaves Polynices unburied, one of Creon’s own sons will die and Thebes will be shunned by the gods.
Of course, he gets mad about it, but eventually agrees to follow Teiresias’ advice, though it’s too late – Antigone is dead, and so is his son.
He shows up in Ovid’s Metamorphoses another time as well, right after the transformation bit. The nymph Liriope asked him if her son would live to old age, and he said “yes, if he never knows himself”. Her son, by the way, was Narcissus, and we all know how that one turns out.
Teiresias does get to chill, at least once, for a little bit, in Euripides’ Bacchae. He and his old friend Cadmus, the founder of Thebes and retired king, are on their way to the mountains to join in exaltation of the god Dionysus. It’s pretty adorable to imagine, two old men dressed in zany costumes, walking to a festival.
But then Pentheus shows up, the big stinky jerk, the current king of Thebes. He’s banned worship of Dionysus, and orders anyone who engages in it to be put to death. Talk about a buzzkill.
Teiresias and Cadmus continue on their way anyway though. No young whippersnapper is gonna harsh their vibe!
In another case they actually invented the practice of astrology – Lucian tells us Teiresias was the first one to figure out the gender of the planets and their influence on human activity (Luc. Astr. 11). Who knew astrology was invented by a transsexual prophet?
Of course, Lucian is best known for being a satirist, so take this one with a grain of salt.
But in terms of his specific skillset, it seems like they’re just kind of an all purpose magical character, with whatever skills are needed for the moment. And because they’ve had so many different experiences, it never feels out of place. Instead, it just adds to Teiresias’ place as a liminal figure.
Chapter VIII: What Does All This Mean?
This isn’t an exhaustive list of Teiresias’ appearances, but for our purposes today, it doesn’t need to be. It still demonstrates what Teiresias was, as a mythological figure.
As a prophet, Teiresias lived between the realm of the divine and of mortals.
This also allowed them to live between the present and the future, for all the good it did for the people around them.
As a necromancer, they lived between the realm of the living and the dead. This was true for them in life as well as in death – in The Odyssey, normally shades had to drink the blood of the living in order to recognize them. Even the shade of Odysseus’ own mother couldn’t recognize her son without doing so, but this wasn’t a problem for Teiresias.
They lived between genders, of course – having been both a man and a woman.
And because their gifts came along with blindness, they stood as a liminal figure between the blind and the seeing, or to use more modern language, between disabled and non-disabled people.
They walk back and forth across many supposedly immutable barriers, and in doing so transgress the way things are supposed to be.
These experiences provide them with so much wisdom that warriors, kings, generals, and even the gods consult them.
Sometimes, they’re reluctant to provide such counsel – we saw that in Oedipus Rex. Nobody likes to be the bearer of bad news. But they do so when asked, nonetheless.
So, what is wisdom?
The field of philosophy has spent millennia grappling with ideas like this, so much so that the very word philosophy itself means “love of wisdom”, and that’s not why I chose the name Sophie, I chose it back in high school before I even knew what philosophy really was, but hey, I’m not complaining.
Well, it’s hard to define, so much so that the lack of a consistent, all-encompassing definition of wisdom is practically a meme among psychologists and philosophers (Trowbridge, 150).
If we ask Plato, he’d tell us one aspect of wisdom is a recognition of one’s own ignorance, of how little one really does know about the world in which they live, and the nature of reality. In the Apology, Socrates compares his wisdom with someone else’s by saying, quote:
Well, although I do not suppose that either of us knows anything really beautiful and good, I am better off than he is – for he knows nothing, and thinks that he knows. I neither know nor think that I know. In this latter particular, then, I seem to have slightly the advantage of him. Then I went to another, who had still higher philosophical pretensions, and my conclusion was exactly the same.
– Plato, Apology
His pupil Aristotle, on the other hand, differentiated between two different types of wisdom. First, there’s sophia – theoretical wisdom, which refers to deeper, more universal truths. Then, there’s phronesis, which is a more practical type of wisdom that helps guide your actions (Dennison).
I asked you all this question in a post on the channel recently, and many of you seem to agree with Aristotle – it’s some combination of theoretical knowledge and life experience.
In the words of Terry Pratchett: “Wisdom comes from experience. Experience is often a result of lack of wisdom.”
More recently, Carolyn Aldwin proposed a more universal definition of wisdom, quote:
Wisdom is a practice that reflects the developmental process by which individuals increase in self-knowledge, self-integration, nonattachment, self-transcendence, and compassion, as well as a deeper understanding of life. This practice involves better self-regulation and ethical choices, resulting in greater good for oneself and others.
– Carolyn Aldwin, Gender and Wisdom: A Brief Overview
Knowledge of self, integration of self, nonattachment, transcending oneself, and compassion.
I don’t know about you, but I feel like I can map my transition onto those steps.
Knowledge of self – after a lifetime of feeling like things are not quite right, we go inward, ask ourselves some difficult questions, and come to realize the truth about ourselves.
Integration of self – perhaps after a period of denial, we begin to accept the knowledge we’ve gained about ourselves, and from there begin to adopt it into our personality.
Nonattachment – part of the integration process involves letting go – of who we used to be, of how we navigated the world, of some of the privilege we may have held, of our intense need to control the outcome of our transitions (Whitehead). This takes longer for some than others to realize, but one’s transition will play out the way it plays out, and like a dog on a leash, we do have some control over where we go, but much of it is out of our hands. The path to inner contentment as trans people is through changing what can be changed, and learning to be at peace with what we cannot. The serenity prayer – “God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the difference”.
Transcending oneself – by leaving our previous self behind, we sculpt our personas, our societal roles, and often our very bodies, into what better suits us. For some, that means straddling multiple genders. For others it’s a hop from one side of the fence to the other. For still others, it’s transcending the very idea of gender in the first place. Regardless, this is what it looks like to truly self actualize – to reach the pinnacle of Maslow’s classic Hierarchy of Needs.
If Aldwin’s definition is correct, and wisdom leads to better ethical choices and a greater good for society, is it any wonder so many trans people are so vehemently antifascist? Even if the power brokers of the world weren’t currently using us as a scapegoat for the problems they’re causing, I think that would still be the case.
Another paper, this one by Nic Weststrate and Judith Glück, spoke to different adults of a wide range of ages, and determined wisdom comes from processing difficult life experiences (Weststrate and Glück). They also mentioned – and this jives with what everyone other than Plato told me – that wisdom comes from life experience.
That’s certainly been true for me.
I’ve worked manual labour for minimum wage, and I’ve known billionaires on a first name basis. I’ve built and sold businesses from nothing, and I’ve lost enough money to buy my house in cash. I’ve owned a six figure a year business, and I’ve been a few bad days away from being homeless. I’ve been a ghost writer for a New York Times bestselling author in my 20’s, and I’ve found myself living in my mother’s basement in my 30’s. I’ve been through, and continue to go through, experiences both awful and beautiful.
Life is a rollercoaster.
But I believe this breadth of experience gives me a unique insight into the world not everyone has.
Consider the breadth of experiences you’ve had throughout your life. What sort of wisdom can you draw from them?
Now, combine that with your experience of having navigated the world as more than one gender. I know everyone experiences this sort of thing differently. Of course, my experience of being a man is different than that of a cis man’s – most of my experience with masculinity involved wanting to distance myself from it. If you’re a trans woman, you know what I mean.
But that experience still gave me a front row seat to the heights of toxic masculinity, in a way most women never do. I’ve been privy to male locker room talk. I’ve witnessed “boys will be boys” type behaviour. I’ve been bullied as a boy, by other boys. I’ve heard the things men sometimes say to other men, when they think women aren’t listening.
Maybe this is one of the reasons why toxic masculinity feels so threatened by transness. We’re turncoats – we have access to knowledge women are forbidden to hold, and can reveal that to other women.
At the same time, I’ve seen how lonely and isolating masculinity can be. I’ve felt the yearning so many men have for real connection with each other, and the internalized homophobia that prevents them from doing so. I know first hand, in a way most women never will, how deeply patriarchy hurts men, even as so many of them actively perpetuate it.
I’ve also, of course, navigated the world as a woman, which I’ve been doing for more than seven years, as of this filming. I know how vulnerable we can feel when a strange man follows us, and how heavily patriarchal beauty standards weigh on our shoulders. I never had the chance to be a young woman, but as I approach my fortieth trip around the sun, I’m watching my youth begin to fade and struggling to embrace the latter half of my life, in a way that men don’t have to. How many famous women do you know that can embrace gray hair and still be a sex symbol in a way George Clooney can, for example?
I’ve seen the best and the worst of both men and women.
In other words, I’ve seen some shit. If you’re a binary trans person who’s been at it for awhile, you’ll know what I mean, I’m sure. Nonbinary is a little different, since nonbinary people are such a mixed bag, but there’s wisdom to be had in that experience as well.
If wisdom really is a combination of knowledge and experience, and if wisdom really does increase through processing difficult experiences, then trans people are by definition wise. Even if the world wasn’t as hateful as it is, we’d still have the experience of navigating the world as a gender with which we don’t identify, and be left with the burden of processing a lifetime of memories incongruent with who we are, which is challenging to say the least.
Cis people, of course, will never have this experience, by definition. In a sane world, transness would be looked to as a source of wisdom and unique insight, just like Teiresias was.
But of course, we don’t live in a sane world, do we? We live in a world ruled by the basest of instincts, where the billionaire class pays their millionaire sycophants to spread hatred in the name of distracting from all the different ways they’re screwing us, every single day.
Instead, we can perhaps draw a certain amount of comfort from the idea that regardless of what nonsense the world spews, there are certain cultural constants. No matter who I spoke to on this matter, from all of you here on the channel to my conservative old dad, I heard some variant of the same answer.
Wisdom is, broadly speaking, a combination of knowledge and experience.
Teiresias had both, and so their wisdom was widely known.
You, too, my trans sibling, have a deep wisdom our cis friends could never understand. And though we might not be viewed that way today in the popular culture, an objective examination of the concept of wisdom would, I believe, have to include us.
Going inward, examining the parts of yourself you dislike, and deciding to be better – that’s not something unique to trans people, of course.
Our personal transformations may be more visually striking than most, but I’ve known cisgender people whose inner process of self discovery and self actualization has been just as profound.
Even still, my trans siblings, we can stand as a visual monument to the breadth of human potential, and of personal freedom.
But even beyond that, you, and I, all of us, are the culmination of a glorious tradition of self actualization through gender transcendence. Whether through HRT or becoming a priestess of Kybele, there have always been people like us, who understand when things aren’t right, and who take charge of their own lives.
There’s beauty in that.
There’s power in that.
Take heart, my friend.
We have always existed.
And so long as humanity continues to endure, so too shall we.
Ancient Sources Cited:
►Antoninus Liberalis. “Metamorphoses”. Translated by Francis Celoria, Routledge, 1992.
►Euripides. “Bacchae”. Translated by Gilbert Murray. Project Gutenberg, 2011.
►Ovid. “Metamorphoses”. Translated by Rolfe Humphries. Bloomington, Indiana University Press, 1964.
►Phlegon. “Mirabilia”. Translated by William F. Hansen. University of Exeter Press, 1996.
►Plato. “Apology”. Translated by Benjamin Jowett. MIT, The Internet Classics Archive, 2009.
Modern Sources Cited:
►Atsma, Aaron J. “Hyginus, Fabulae 1-49”. Theoi Project, 2017.
►Brisson, Luc. “Le Mythe de Tiresias: Essai D’analyse Structurale”. Leiden, E.J. Brill, 1976.
►Frontisi-Ducroux, Francoise. “Linvention de la métamorphose”. Rue Descartes (2009): 8-22.
►Miller, John M. “The Placidus Commentary on Statius”. Cincinnati, Ohio University Press, 1901.
►Pepin, Ronald E. “The Vatican Mythographers”. New York, Fordham University Press, 2008.
►University of Manitoba. “Residential School History”. National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation.
►Whitehead, Richard. “What Is Nonattachment?” Psychology Today blog, 2019. Accessed 5 June, 2025.