Showing posts with label Ovid. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Ovid. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 1, 2016

The Sites of Hermaphrodites: Intersex in the Greco-Roman World


“Whoever comes to these fountains as a man, 
let him leave them half a man"

The Tale of Hermaphroditus
Publius Ovidius Naso
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Holy Places in the Classical World

In the Book of John Mandeville, the hermaphrodites play a memorable role in the pilgrimage narrative despite only have a handful of lines devoted to them. The intersex people are pictured in various sketches of Mandeville's travels and the pilgrim directly ties his narrative to illustrative mappa mundi that show the hermaphrodites living on islands along the margins. In a sense, while circumscribed to a small corner of the narrative and the map, the hermaphrodites evidence the wider thesis of Mandeville's second pilgrimage wherein he claims, "now wole Y telle of yles and dyverse peple and bestes" (Ln. 1378-1382). While the first pilgrimage from England to Jerusalem is a fairly conventional travel log and collection of tales on the holy land, the second pilgrimage works to instill a sense of the world on the margins and the world oriented towards the margins. In this work, the Isle of the Hermaphrodites does critical work in demonstrating the allure of alternative sites of travel outside the usual centers of the Christian world and pilgrimage. As an anti-loca sancta, the isle of hermaphrodites functions as a kind of elsewhere holy site that draws travelers from the center to the margins. The role of the hermaphrodites in the pilgrimage narrative could be dismissed as one among many monstrous races imagined on the margins but a brief consideration of the tradition of hermaphrodites in the classical literature informing later medieval thought shows how the children of the moon, the children of Hermes and Aphrodite, and the children of Adam have long functioned to disorient and reorient maps of who lives in the world.

Medieval thinkers and pilgrims inherited their world-views (literally their view of the world and the peoples in it) from classical writers. These traditions are most evident in the ways that medieval travelers continued to regard the world that contrasted with Christian biblical or clerical authorities. Indeed, numerous Christian theologians discouraged pilgrimage not only because it was dangerous and a potential waste of resources but because it encouraged the debatable notion that certain holy sites were more sacred than others. If God is omnipresent, why must we travel from one location to another encounter the divine? If Saints are now in heaven, why barter large sums over who gets to house their remains? These critiques were all the more fervent when such sites and relics were of non-Christian origin. The common habit of regarding certain wells or mountains as sacred or artifacts as imbued with magic without direct or historical ties to the Church challenged the supremacy of Christianity in geopolitics. And yet despite critics, pilgrimage was a booming practice for much of the middle ages and medieval thinkers generally did not disregard the holiness of something because it happened to predate the Christianization of the region. Not only the ruins but the world-view of Plato, Ovid, and Augustine lay foundations for late medieval thinking about sacred places and monstrous peoples.

A significant feature of the hermaphrodite tales is that they are heavily bio-cartographic as discourses of intersex tended to have a strong consideration of the relation between people and environment. Classical thinkers knew (or had heard) that intersex people existed but wanted to know where they came from and where they lived. As a result, various origin stories worked to tell how hermaphrodites were brought into the world and by unpacking these first causes to give a sense of their meaning. Among the traditions that unfolded from Plato's Symposium of Love to Augustin's City of God, the concept of hermaphrodites in the world developed from mythologically distant in time and place to evidence of Creation's diversity in the here and now. Each of these three authors, spanning the start, middle, and end of a thousand years of classical thought represent an ongoing conversation that would continue into medieval conceptions of gender. While hermaphrodites in the Greco-Roman world been examined through art history, medical texts, and archeology, these texts offer a distinct literary quality that share a disciplinary tradition with later medieval pilgrimage narratives. The medical and the artistic understanding of hermaphrodites are undoubtably in conversation but among classical tales there are peculiar literary ways of thinking. The question is not only how did intersex persons live in the classical eras but how did storytellers conceptualize hermaphroditism as a bio-cartographic mode of thinking about place and space, gender and the environment, the sacred and the human. As for some later natural scientists and philosophers, encounters with intersex bodies tells us a lot about our world-views of gender and the world we thought we knew.


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The Mountain 
(Plato c. 380 BCE)

The Mountain looms large in the literary ordering of intersex in order of embodiment and space. For Plato, the mountain represented the divine locus by which the gods controlled the world and towards which we might rise together in order to claim authority over our lives. In fear of our collective power, Plato narrates, the gods on the mountain divide and conquer gender non-binary peoples, forcing them to the margins of the world. In the tale of Aristophanes from Plato's Symposium, the author addresses the forgotten power of hermaphrodites and suggests that this might be rectified if people construct sacred places devoted to hermaphroditic Love. The prompt for Aristophanes's speech is his concern that society neglects and misunderstands Love, "[f]or if they had understood him they would surely have built noble temples and altars" (Plato). For Aristophanes, the basic element of faith is the keeping of sacred places and the rituals therein. Framing the following myth of the hermaphrodites, Aristophanes establishes the goal of his narrative as the creation of loca sancta in the honor of hermaphroditic Love. By coming together at these sites, we might remember who we are as trans and intersex peoples. We might reclaim our embodiments and our collective strength so that we might scale and conquer the mountain that sets limits on our access to our bodies and public space.

Unlike binary models of gender, Aristophanes asserts a non-binary model wherein hermaphroditism is a divinely created natural state in humanity. He names three distinct genders which are not as gender is embodied today: children of the sun (a people with double masculine traits who he calls "men"), children of the earth (a people with double feminine traits who he calls "women"), and children of the moon (a people who have both masculine and feminine traits who he calls "hermaphrodites"). Aristophanes acknowledges that in his day, the word "hermaphrodite" is used, "as a term of reproach." This makes evident that just as the term has debatable meanings and connotations in modern culture, the term is no less problematic in a Classical context. Despite the dangerous significance of the word, Aristophanes insists that this disregard for the hermaphrodite was not always the norm, "[o]nce it was a distinct kind, with a bodily shape and a name of its own." Aristophanes is speculative on the current existence of hermaphrodites but sees them as a mythical, foundational, and even divine form of life.

The hermaphrodites are so powerful in Aristophanes's estimation, that they threatened to rise to locations and significance usually held by patriarchal authorities. In their divine unified state, the hermaphrodites threatened to unseat the ruling gendered hierarchies. "Terrible was their might and strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were great," writes Aristophanes. This relation between the power of the body and of the mind is significance, as it ties together how confidence effects the deployment of one's body. If culture celebrates intersex bodies, they become more powerful. Alternatively, if intersex bodies are decried as shameful, they exist in a time of diminished power. And this power is related to the ability to organize the biopolitics of space. Connecting them to Homer's Titans and Giants, Aristophanes writes that they tried to mount Olympus, "to scale heaven, and would have laid hands upon the gods" (Plato). Already in Aristophanes there is a danger in the hermaphrodites power to go where they will. This resounding claim echoes in Eli Clare's mythology of the Mountain as the quintessential concept that organizes bodies and space. "The mountain as metaphor looms large in the lives of marginalized people," writes Clare. "How many of us have struggled up the mountain, measured ourselves against it, failed up there, lived its shadow?” The Mountain is the mythical signifier of the order of nature that dictates the place of powerful bodies at the center summit and the marginalized along the borders. While the Mountain of the gods is too hard for a divided community to climb member by member, together they can rise and overthrow the signs of their oppression. 

The gods on the mountain fear the collective strength of the hermaphrodites and so decide to divide them. Together and whole, they have the ability to travel across divisions of space, even into the sacred places of the gods. In response to this disruptive movement, the gods decide to take away the hermaphrodites body and collectivity, in turn effecting their power and ability to move as they will. The gods decide to go with the plan to divide and conquer the children of the moon. "Methinks," says one god, "I have a plan which will enfeeble their strength and so extinguish their turbulence; men shall continue to exist, but I will cut them in two and then they will be diminished in strength and increased in numbers; this will have the advantage of making them more profitable to us." Together the hermaphrodites are a challenge to those who order the world and assert a hierarchy of embodiment. Yet when their bodies and collective community are taken from them they are weaker. As Plato notes, the work of division is not destruction but subjugation. By isolating hermaphrodites from one another, they don't have control over themselves and cannot strive together. As a result, hermaphrodites will forget who they are and will become more subservient to those on the mountain. This then is the origin of love, explains Aristophanes, and why we need holy sites to remind us to seek after love: alone and separate we are weak but by coming together we are strong enough to shake the orders of the world.
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The Well
(Ovid c. 8 CE)

While named for the protagonists of the story, the focus of the "the Tale of Salmacis and Hermaphroditus" is the well wherein the merger of the two happens and the child of Hermes and Aphrodite earns his name. "Now you will hear where the pool of Salmacis got its bad reputation from, how its enervating waters weaken, and soften the limbs they touch," claims AlcithoĆ«, the narrator of Ovid's tale. "The cause is hidden, but the fountain’s effect is widely known" (Ovid IV. 274-316). From the onset, this site of hermaphrodites is judged as well known and dangerous. Yet within this danger is the riddle of intersex for the ancient mind: evident in existence but mysterious in cause. In this tale, Ovid works to bridge reality and myth, people and location. While Plato imagines the mountain as a site of the division of hermaphroditic embodiment and community, Ovid imagines a sacred well as a site of creating new hermaphrodites. In Ovid's Tale in Book IV of the Metamorphoses, the birth of the first hermaphrodite is narrated as a boundary crossing of gender that results in a new place and embodiment through which we can change our views of the sexed body (IV.346-388). The tale imagines the site of this gender mixing and crossing as the locus for rape and challenges to the patriarchal order of gender and sexuality. While tied up in violence, the dangerousness of the well of hermaphrodites also signs powerfulness. Ovid imagines that the existence and significance of such as well goes beyond any one story. While the first hermaphrodite's birth may have stemmed from shame and violence, the site as well as the identity of hermaphrodite might be reclaimed sources of power. People may flock to this location to stake their interest in trans or intersex embodiment and community. Through the tale of the well, the Ovidian world-view establishes intersex as grounds for travel. That the well might become a kind of holy site for trans and intersex pilgrimage is not tangential to the story but implicit in the identifying of the space and embodiment of the protagonist with the name "Hermaphroditus."

According to Ovid's tale, hermaphrodites are honored as the children of Hermes, the God of Travel and Language whose name means boundary stone, and Aphrodite, the God of Love and Sex whose name means emergence from water. "The Naiads nursed a child born of Hermes, and a goddess, Cytherean Aphrodite, in Mount Ida’s caves," writes Ovid. "His features were such that, in them, both mother and father could be seen: and from them he took his name, Hermaphroditus" (Ovid IV.274-316). In his tale, Ovid has Hermaphroditus live up to each part of his name. The story begins with a young man traveling alone until he arrives at a special well. There the traveler encounters a nymph who falls under the spell of love, "the nymph’s eyes blazed with passion." The lover assaults the traveler and by the force of her attraction the two merge. The scene is suggestive of a violent sexual encounter, where man and woman come together and produce something new from the intercourse. Brought together so completely, the love and traveler fuse and only then does Ovid name them, Hermaphroditus. The child emerges from the water, like Aphrodite, and speaks in a new voice, like Hermes. Importantly, Ovid also suggests that hermaphrodites might have the honor to make special demands of the gods that created them. “Father and mother, grant this gift to your son, who bears both your names," cries Hermaphroditus. The divine origin of Hermaphroditus signifies that the youth's divinity and by these natures he has authority to change the world. In Hermaphroditus's curse there is a hint of the divine world altering power of Plato's hermaphrodites. Nonetheless, it is not until after merging with a nymph that the child's body reflects the genders of both parents. Like many transgender youths, Hermaphroditus was not himself, able to speak in his own voice and authority, until the momentous gender transition. 

Beyond his own story, Hermaphroditus's emergence from the water, like Aphrodite, tells the story of the well's transformation. As a result of Hermaphroditus's birth, the well becomes a locum sanctum, a place where others may bathe and become intersex. "When he saw now that the clear waters which he had penetrated as a man, had made him a creature of both sexes, and his limbs had been softened there, Hermaphroditus, stretching out his hands, said, but not in a man’s voice, “Father and mother, grant this gift to your son, who bears both your names: whoever comes to these fountains as a man, let him leave them half a man, and weaken suddenly at the touch of these waters!” (IV.346-388). Divine agents like the gods have special authority to order the world. Often their acts cannot be easily unmade even by other gods. In this case, Hermes and Aphrodite are both invoked to enchant the well into a locus of gender boundary crossing and emerging reborn from the water. In a way, the gods turn the well into a shrine to Hermaphroditus. "Both his parents moved by this, granted the prayer of their twin-formed son, and contaminated the pool with a damaging drug," writes Ovid (IV.346-388).  Far from being a divergence in the divine order, Hermaphroditus and intersex bodies who would afterwards carry his name are in fact doubly affirmed by language and gender, travel and attraction. Made and remade, born and reborn under the influence of the gods, Hermaphroditus and his well become boundary stones, markers of a threshold across which lies a new intersexual horizon.Interestingly, Hermaphroditus does not ask for his body to be personally changed or changed back. Rather he asks that the well be held responsible for altering him by becoming a sacred site for other bodies to become intersex. A traveler by accident or pilgrim by intent could travel to this site to become marked in name and form as divine children. 

The boundary marker of Hermaphroditus not only mixes it creates something new. "Now the entwined bodies of the two were joined together, and one form covered both," writes Ovid, "they were not two, but a two-fold form, so that they could not be called male or female, and seemed neither or either" (IV.346-388). The rape of the man by a woman that birthed Hermaphroditus signals the danger patriarchal cisgender masculinity feels towards intersexuality and the mingling with the feminine. The fear of women inspired by the tale suggests that masculinity fears female desire because it desires his power.  As became painfully evident in later Freudian theory, men fear that women envy the male penis and will attack him for it. The penis is taken the the site on the body where masculine power is concentrated. But beyond the directly phallic, the desire for male flesh also the desire for male embodiment and the power that it affords. This then is the danger of being intimate with women and sharing physical space with them, whether at work, in bathrooms, or simply out in the public sphere: the feminine will mix with the masculine and leave the patriarchal cisgender order forever changed. With women having long been associated with wetness and fluidity, fear of the feminine is located in the female space of the well. The resultant environmental message is that when a man steps into a feminine sphere he might not come out again without being affected by that feminine space.

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The World
(Augustine c. 426 CE)

By the early Christian era of the Roman empire, literary discourses on intersex seem to have opened up in writers such as Augustine of Hippo so that hermaphrodites were not merely outcasts from the mountains of the past nor merely the potential future products of sacred wells but an emergent element of God's living Creation. Like Plato and Ovid, Augustine is concerned with the origin of hermaphrodites. Instead of the gods or heroes, Augustine suggests a likelihood that intersex people are descended from the line of Adam and Eden. Yet the Christian writer is not so much interested in locating a mythical past but in meditating on the diversity of God's creation in the present. Augustine gives the hermaphrodites a special locus of consideration in book sixteen of his meditation on the City of God. "As for the Androgyni, or Hermaphrodites, as they are called," writes Augustine, "though they are rare, yet from time to time there appears persons of sex so doubtful, that it remains uncertain from which sex they take their name" (XVI.viii). Calling them by the combined names of the Greco-Roman gods, Augustine demonstrates that the sacredness of hermaphrodites perpetuates in ways into the Christian era of the classical period. Augustine asserts the sacredness of intersex by locating it as part of the diversity of God's creation which imagines all things and all places together in a great mappa mundi. The worldview of Augustine's Christian God does not locate intersex in an elsewhere or eslewhen but as a dynamism and diversity arising out of human procreation and God's divine Creation. Although rare, he writes, hermaphrodites are the children of men and the children of God.

The idea that hermaphrodites are monsters that signal failures of embodiment that should be eschewed to the margins is condemned by Augustine as heretical and small-minded. Whether or not intersex is a human person on another race of people entirely, they are members of God's world. To call hermaphrodites disordered in their embodiment is to critique God their creators. Augustine writes, "what if God has seen fit to create some races in this way, that we might not suppose that the monstrous births which appear among ourselves are the failures of that wisdom whereby He fashions the human nature, as we speak of the failure of a less perfect workman?" (Augustine XVI.viii). As a Creator, God works in diverse ways to produce diverse forms of life. Yet if Christians are to believe that God creates and names all things according to a divine mappa mindi, then one must admit that the diversity of genders beyond the binary of man and woman are also a key element of God's plane. If hermaphrodites exist then they are a part of God's created world and share in that sacred co-existence with all other embodied lives. 

The seeming flaw in hermaphrodites that social discourse claims in order to compel people to push intersex bodies to the margins of the world is rather a flaw in the social discourse. The problem is not in the true lives of the hermaphrodites but in the environment that misunderstands them and fears sharing the world with them. "But He who cannot see the whole is offended by the deformity of the part," writes Augustine, "because he is blind to that which balances it, and to which it belongs" (Augustine XVI.viii). By turning from the marginalized to the marginalizers, Augustine effectively flips the script of shame back on itself. Yet even the marginalizers are not flawed because they are "blind" but are flawed insofar as they marginalize. This blindness is not a lack of sign that leads to bad information but an insistence on a certain kind of information, the gender binary, so that people cannot see the world in any other way. It is the boundary lines that inhibit our ability to see those that cross or existence between categories of gender and place. The hermaphrodites are not flawed because they fail to exist within a binary gender, rather the binary gender system is flawed because it fails to account for hermaphrodites. If people can see the world in a hermaphroditic way, they could better see the diversity of gender in creation. Space and gender turn from set defined categories in which bodies exist into a dynamic discourse that changes as the world changes.

The World that Augustine arrives at in the end of his thoughts on hermaphrodites is that the world is too big for humans to fully know in advance. This does not mean that all knowledge of the world is faulty, that there is no truth, but that the fullness of Truth is God's alone. "For God, the Creator of all, knows where and when each thing ought to be, or to have been created," writes Augustine, "because He sees the similarities and diversities which can contribute to the beauty of the whole" (XVI.viii). God's World will always exceed any map humans make of the world, there is always more diversity than any system can contain. Creatures can learn of God's mappa mundi through encounters with the world but cannot possess that knowledge beforehand. The world does not fail because of having hermaphrodites in it but a worldview without hermaphrodite fails. Gender as a form of knowing is not ended because intersex disproves the gender binary. Truth is more complex because new truths are continually added. Creation is bigger because God continues to create new and different forms of life. In a sense, God and the World is most active on the margins of existence and knowledge whereas those who remain rooted in the Mountains will daily become further from the whole Truth, Goodness, and Beauty of Creation. The implicit command then is for pilgrims to travel and on the road have their conceptions of self and society, center and the margin, boundaries and crossings, place and space continually expanded and diversified. If hermaphrodites are monsters on the margins, they point in the direction pilgrims must travel to find the sites that will transform them and the world.

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

Unconfessing Gender: Dysphoric Youths in Gower's Iphis


"Dicunt accidiam fore nutricem viciorum, Torpet et in cunctis tarda que lenta bonis: Que fieri possent hodie transfert piger in cras, Furatoque prius ostia claudit equo. Poscenti tardo negat emolumenta Cupido, 
Set Venus in celeri ludit amore viri"

John Gower
Confessio Amantis

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The following is a transcript of a paper,
"Unconfessing Gender: Transgender and the Medicalization of Sin in John Gower's Iphis and Ianthe,"
presented at the International Congress of Medieval Studies
at Kalamazoo, Michigan. 2015.
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After a period of gender ambiguity, a child is assigned male at birth, but as he reaches puberty and falls in love, the boys feelings and embodiment raise gender trouble, so an authority comes in and prescribes a more radical operation that will transform his genitalia to fit with socially prescribed norms and correct the child’s perceived chemical and mental imbalance. As a youth in an increasingly medicalized Christian society, the child has no voice in the decision. Like so many trans and intersex children, his body is treated as the property and problem of his parents, doctors, and Church leaders. The idea of letting the child freely chose a gender would be considered medically irresponsible, socially irregular, and legally unlikely. The child’s body and voice is taken from him, given away to other authorities who decide how to best tell their story, how to frame it, and where to pin authority and culpability. In this case, the trans youth being managed is Iphis (from the 14th century Confessio Amantis) and the storyteller who at once exploits and critiques the narrative is John Gower.

What do we do with the silencing of the transgender child? How do we sit with the omission of choice at the end of Gower’s adaptation of Ovid’s "Fable of Iphis and Ianthe?" In the “Prologue” to the Confessio Amantis and “the Tale of Iphis and Ianthe,” Gower testifies to sin as an embodiment of collective “division” or dysphoria of the body’s humors and political environment. While scholars may be tempted to describe these as exempla, defined hiearchally with a narrative facta evidencing claims about an ethical dicta, I take seriously Gower's decision to describe and frame his work not as an Exemplum on Sins but as a Confession of Love. I contend that confession as Gower performs functions more horizontally, as a “speaking together,” challenging readers to look to the wider social systems that dysphorically produce all bodies. For Gower, the conflict over the gender of Iphis is not a matter of personal choice but the confession of violent social management. 


In Unconfessing Gender, I trace how Gower tackles how the medicalization of sin creates a double-bind, where the isolate and pathologized trans bodies are framed as constituting a crisis of gender that excuses authorities to take extraordinary measures to cure that body, irregardless of the will of the trans subject. By framing the tale of Iphis by an examination of accidiam, or Sloth, Gower presents how society establishes the compulsory production and reproduction of cisgender (as well as compulsory heterosexuality, as Diane Watt has previously examined) as a demand that the inherent dysphoria of creation makes impossible. This failure of lives to conform to a fixed structure of gender casts individuals as suffering from accidiam, literally carelessness, in relation to the production of specific gender norms and the heterosexual reproduction of the proper gender ideal (i.e. men). By establishing such bodies as a crisis in the order of nature, extraordinary measures are excused in order to fix the trans queer body into a proper cis-hetero subject. Through the medicalization of body and soul, these measures justify the subjugation or outright disregard of the will of the trans person as an inherently diseased subjectivity.


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The Depression of
Dysphoric Youths

"If aversion to the medieval period as primitive, benighted or premodern underwrites models of science," writes Ann Cvetkovich, "then acedia is indeed relevant to the search for alternatives to the medical model of depression" (Depression: A Public Feeling 89). Turning to the Confessio, diagnoses such as depression and dysphoria meet medieval alternatives. By presenting Iphis through the medieval social model of Sloth, Gower turns depression and dysphoria from a personal failure to a public feeling. 
"Dicunt accidiam fore nutricem viciorum," Gower writes concerning Sloth in the introduction to Book IV (Gower IV.i). By asserting that acedia is the nurse of all vice, Gower establishes depression as a symptom and an operation of wider systemic practices. Medieval disability scholars have demonstrated that for pre-modern thinkers, religion and medicine were inextricable. The symptoms of depression, despair, and sluggishness span categorizes of physical and spiritual. Thus, in this study, I utilize the term dysphoria as genealogically related to Gower's conception of "division." The development of dysphoria as divisioun in medieval confessional discourses occurs in Gower and elsewhere within literature on acedia. "In its original Greek," writes Cvetkovich, "acedia means without care or careless" that "should be viewed as a social and cultural phenomenon, not a biological or medical one" (Cvetkovich 88-90). This movement from political ethics to private pathology arose as a conflict explored in Gower's Confessio.

"Divisioun" marks that makes all bodies dysphoric, then manages the production of trans bodies as specially marked by sins such as acedia to be managed by the literary and social operations of confession. Division in this way functions like depression, “a category that manages and medicalizes the affects associated with keeping up with corporate culture and the market economy, or with being completely neglected by it." (Cvetkovich 12). The medicalization of sin makes trans populations and makes them isolated and expelled and/or divested of power and exploited.  
In his investigation of acedia, Gower affirms the dangers of this medicalization of divisioun where "Depression is another manifestation of forms of biopower that produce life and death not only by targeting populations for overt destruction, whether through incarceration, war, or poverty, but also more insidiously by making people feel small, worthless, hopeless." (Cvetkovich 13). Dysphoria as a systematic disease can take on a variety of particular symptoms from suicide to social erasure. Gower demonstrates this slow death through the impossible isolation of pride in Narcissus's ignored cries and the impossible demands of sloth in Iphis's loud silence.

Divisioun becomes defined by Gower in the prologue as a form of dysphoria which all humans share as a result of their creation. “Man," writes Gower, "The which, for his complexioun / Is mad upon divisioun / Of cold, of hot, of moist, of drye, / He mot be verray kynde dye,/ For the contraire of his astat / Stant evermor in such debat” (Gower Prologue 974-980). "Mad" here functions both as "made" and "mad," a pun possible perhaps only in Middle English. Madness marks all bodies as corporately dysphoric due to a collective failure to embody the fixed unified ideal of cis-gender. Each body is made up of many “kindes” (or genders) of matter: the feminine cold and wet, and the male hot and dry.  This madness is however not of the dysphoric person's own making. He is "mad" because of the division and debate in the physical and political environment. In this way, all trans bodies are in a sense dependent on social discourses for their making and remaking. 
Extending this further, every body (not just one marked as especially dysphoric) contains multiplicities that bring about debate. This "debat" suggests the impossibility of escaping discourse for some sort of meta-language. Debate, like confession (as speaking together), requires two or more interlocutors where neither is presumed to above the other.

Establishing Iphis under the sin of Sloth (carelessness, non-productivity) underlines 
childhood through young adulthood as period in which a person's gender goes through significant shifts that may be in contradiction to what society wants or even the person's own desires. A dysphoric youth has a slothful relation to gender, "this propreliche of kinde, / To leven alle thing behinde"(Gower IV.5-6). He is "careless" about reproducing the past, is willing to leave cis-gender forms behind, because he cares too much about the alternatives his dysphoria opens. Likewise, the slothful "everemore he seith, 'Tomorwe'/ and so he wol time borwe" (Gower 8-10). Youths have an ability to defy having a fixed "kinde" of gender, prolonging a period of gender ambiguity that allows them to take greatest advantage of bodily dysphoria and in exist in what J.Jack Halberstam calls "the wondrous anarchy of childhood" (The Queer Art of Failure 3). Instead, the dysphoric youth might live only in the present, "Of that he mihte do now hier / He tarieth al the longe yer" (Gower). Refusing to move forward into a fixed gender, trans youth are enamored of the dysphoric present. This lack of movement in a single recognizable direction towards the "the plogh" and "labour" of cis-gender leads authorities to fear and discredit trans youth as directionless or slothful. In reality, the opposition arises out of the youth having too many directions and producing too many alternative "kindes" of embodiment. 

In this way, Gower affirms the critically Trans understanding of the unnaturalness of cis-gender and violent management systems that produce trans bodies as depressed. Gower's formulation of acedia is intimately tied to the dysphoria caused by the failure to properly produce and reproduce the "lenta bonis" (good seed) of cis-gender (Gower IV.i). Like the alchemists’ practice of solve et coagula,  that is described alongside Iphis in the confession of acedia, the transitions of trans gender are considered a waste of time. As a corporate sin, the community that helps encourage the trans youth have a dysphoric relation to gender, they "hath this propreliche of kinde, / To leven alle thing behind" (Gower IV.5-6). That “thing” that society fears trans lives will leave behind is cis-gender. Dysphoria is too inherent in our make-up and the dysphoric have too much potential power for change. As a result, society targets those particularly marked by dysphoria, trans youths, to be isolated into oblivion, to kill themselves like Narcissus or become docile participants in cis-gender, to be depressed and silenced like Iphis. 



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Two Natures

Turning to the tale of Iphis, I contend that Gower offers a debate between confession and of the medicalization of sin, presenting the problem and cure of the dysphoric and slothful trans body as humorally and socially managed. By attending to the medicalization of sin, we can see how sloth, sexual desire, and the transformation of a female into a male are all signs of an excess of heat in a body’s humors and controlled by environmental influences, suggesting a deeper allegory operating in the tale's key characters of Isis and Cupid as representations of a dypshoric Nature
and an erotic Nature. The opposition of these two figures echoes the debate over Sloth that Gower establishes in the introduction to Book IV. "Dicunt accidiam fore nutricem viciorum," writes Gower, establishing Sloth as being like Isis, the midwife of all division and dysphoria (Gower IV.i). This dysphoria resists the unity promised by Love but will supposedly be undone in the end. "Poscenti tardo negat emolumenta Cupido," concludes Gower, "Set Venus in celeri ludit amore viri" (Gower IV.i). While many dysphoric youths may wish to remain in the ambiguity given by Isis, the cure of Love works rapidly to overcome the slow intrenched resistance of the patient's will. In this way, Gower forecasts later conclusions that if Eros and Unity cure the madness of division, it is by a violent Love.

A goddess of "childinge," or childbirth, Isis governs transitions. When she helps Iphis to be born first "in privete" as "a dowhter" and then again as publicly as "a sone," her presence marks pregnancy and birth processes of transition & bodily transformation (Gower IV.460-466). While Ovid's Metamorphoses provides a central text on which the Confessio is based, both follow in the tradition of the Metamorphoses of Apeleius. At the conclusion of the frame, Isis appears and calls to the protagonist, " I am nature, the universal Mother, mistress of all the elements, primordial child of time, sovereign of all things spiritual, queen of the dead, queen of the ocean, queen also of the immortals, the single manifestation of all gods and goddesses that are" 
(Metamorphoses of Apuleius. XI.47). Like the Nature of Roman de Silence, Isis is a craftswoman. Unlike her, Isis's Nature is mad, unstable, and many faced. As with Osiris, when Isis puts together her dead husband, following the alchemical dicta, solve et coagula, dissolve and remake, Iphis is mad(e); an image of Nature & Transition. Because of Isis, it is the father who demands to only have and see cis-masculinity is said to be "mad so to wene" made to understand & mad to understand Iphis’s masculinity (Gower IV.469). It is a madness constituted by divisioun, or dysphoria, in his understanding; a corporate detour into non-productive transness propelled by the “debate” of father, mother and nature.

Following the promise in the prologue to his Confession of Love, that love will unify and fix a world mad by division, Gower replaces Isis as the doctor that operates on the youth at the end of Iphis, making Cupid the divine agent to correct the dysphoria and produce the proper cis-male subject that the Father demanded from the start. "Forthi Cupide hath so besett / His grace upon this aventure," accounts Gower, "That he acordant to nature... Transformeth Iphe into a man" (Gower IV.496-501) Marking Cupid here as an agent of Nature aligns him with Isis, yet the masculine nature of Eros does what the trans feminine nature Isis cannot or will not. "For love," writes Gower, "hateth nothing more / Than thing which stant agein the lore / Of that nature in kinde hath sett" (Gower IV.493-495). These two gods represent two competing natures: the nature of dysphoria and the nature of cis-gender (“nature in kinde”). The law and dysphoric feminine nature (represented by Isis, Iphis & her mother) are fixed when Iphis takes on the nature of the law and the masculine humor of Love.

The supposed cure is no less material for being also social as Eros's cure signals a surge in sanguine masculinity, where the humors of Iphis’s blood change like any trans man on hormones. 
The "grace" that he bestows means an increase in blood corresponding to the already wet body becoming warmer (Gower IV.497). In the process, Iphis takes on the gender and humoral register of Love. "Wherof the kinde love he wan," continues Gower, "Of lusti yonge Iante his wif" (Gower IV.503-504). He is of the "kinde" of "love" (the gender of Eros) because of the circuit that Iphis and Ianthe form. Humorally, it is because of Iphis's state of arousal with Ianthe that the change takes place at the point of the mutual "kest" (Gower IV.478-500). Iphis’s loins fill with blood as he grows an erection. Changing him from melancholy (cold & dry) to lustful (hot & wet) is a turn of fortune's wheel as "aventure" reproduces Iphis as a man. These biopolitical discourses participate in the production of trans lives that embody them as a form of depression. "Even if depression is understood as spiritual or political and not just a biochemical disorder," writes Cvetkovich, "it affects the body and requires physical forms of healing, whether drugs, exercises or meditation" (Cvetkovich 113). Even today, hormone replacement therapy usually comes with hot flashes and changes in mood (or humor).


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Mad for Iphis

What then do we do with the intolerable silence at the end of Gower’s Iphis? Ovid’s Iphis is given the power of voice in choosing how to manage his dysphoria. “Telethusa [Iphis’s mother] had recourse to pray'r,” writes Ovid. “She, and her daughter with dishevel'd hair; / Trembling with fear, great Isis they ador'd, / Embrac'd her altar, and her aid implor'd” (Ovid IX). What do we make of Gower’s omission of the trans voice in his confession on the improper productivity of dysphoria? I contend that the answer can be found in Gower’s other omissions. While boasting half a dozen tales of trans or cross-dressing figures, Gower surprisingly omits a prominent Classic trans narrative, Ovid’s story of Aphrodite’s other child: Hermaphroditus. Unlike the silence at the end of of Iphis, or Narcissus, or Roman de Silence, or the Pardoner’s Tale, or even Twelfth Night, where once society undresses, un-names, and un-mans the trans figure leaving them mute for the rest of the story, Hermaphroditus ends with a cry, a complaint, of fury against the gods that changes the world around him (Ovid IV.317-345). Where is this trans voice in the Confessio?

This is question critical today, following the medicalization of sin and confession that Gower left in debate with older ethical models, the systematic isolation and silencing of trans youth now commonplace in society. In the 1990's, Dylan Scholinski, a trans man, accounts having been committed to the mental health ward under the name Daphne and confined against his will throughout most of his adolescence for what is now called Gender Dysphoria (Scholinski, The Last Time I Wore a Dress). 
On the brink of the 21st century, Judith Butler argues in Undoing Gender that the psychiatric condition known as “Gender Identity Disorder” or “Gender Dysphoria” in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM), that supposedly describes an illness or failure in need of correction, is primarily a mode of controlling biological diversity and constructing a marginalized identity, transgender. This fits with how Michel Foucault defines post-medieval confession as “the infinite task of extracting from the depths of oneself, in between the words, a truth which the very form of the confession holds out like a shimmering mirage” (Foucault, History of Sexuality I.59). Here we see the danger of unconfessing gender, for while un-confessing means that sin is handled corporately, unconfessing is not letting voices speak together, losing confession for medical authority.

In his memoir, we see that trans self-narration are already looking back to medieval models. Contrasting the doctors speaking medical discourse at him, Scholinski and his fellow youths came back to a speaking together, giving voice to one another. Perhaps this contrast is most striking in Dylan's accounts of speaking with Jesus Christ, a fellow patient (Scholinski 18-20). Despite sharing a medical diagnosis likely similar to Dylan, dysphoria long held as a kind of schitzophrenia, he recounts that the man who claimed Jesus was one of the most reasonable people he met. "The more I talked to Jesus, the I liked him, and the less crazy he seemed" writes Scholinski. "Zealous, but not dangerous. I could imagine him in the outside world, preaching. He'd probably help some people" (Scholinski 18). 
Yet on a day that Scholinski admits to being particularly "depressed," he watched Jesus pinned, swore at, whipped about because he wouldn’t stop pacing the hospital where he was kept captive. No one listened to his cries as they gagged & silenced his voice. “So what if Jesus won’t go into his room?” (Scholinski 33) Dylan asks on behalf of the other, pointing back to a more social mode of confession by affirming a collective understanding of each another's claims to their identity and body. "If I thought he was sane, what does that make me?" wonders Scholinski. "Mental hospitals are rife with this kind of debate" (Scholinski 18). As with Gower, division and dysphoria may lead to madness but also to confession and debate. Suddenly categories change and blur: gender, disability, spirituality, time period. As a result, new things are "made" out of such dysphoria. Medicine tends to work against this remaking of discourse. "The staff discouraged this sort of questioning," accounts Scholinski. "They liked the line between sane and insane to be perfectly clear" (Scholinski 18). In this way, the battle between medicine and madness is not over productivity but what are the proper products, who are the makers and who are the mad(e), who gets to speak and who gets silenced.

So where is this trans voice for Gower? I argue that by omitting the voice of the trans youth in the Confessio, Gower makes a point about how society confesses, speaks together, about dysphoria at the expense of silencing those vulnerable bodies most evidently mad by division. Without the tongue in cheek humor or irony of Chaucer’s tales of queerness, Gower, like other trans feminists, are not afraid to be a kill joy by holding up a mirror, even a broken mirror to reflect on the corporate sins of trans misogyny. The role of readers and teachers then is to hold up that mirror to see how it reflects both the past and the present to us (click for more information on creating an accessible classroom). The medicalization of dysphoria silences trans youths and that is what Gower tells us in his confession. In doing so, he challenges us to beg the question of who and what is being omitted from our discourses, to insist that medieval studies and trans politics to speak together, to collectively speak back against silence, to identify with the dysphoria as a public political feeling we share, to be mad for trans youth, to be mad for Iphis.





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