Dr.
Richard Wassersug is a professor of anatomy and neurobiology at Dalhousie University
in Halifax, Nova Scotia. He wrote this piece, which was first published in The
New York Times on March 27, 2007 and in the British Times on April 27, 2007 under
different titles not selected by Dr Wassersug which do not reflect his views.A
much longer and more detailed version of this essay will be published in the Journal
of Religion and Health later in 2009 under the title of "Passing Through the Wall:
On Outings, Exodus, Angels, and the Ark." Individuals are invited to contact Richard
directly if they are interested in a copy of that paper.
My
daughter and I were talking about outing oneself - the act of disclosing one's
inner identity. The discussion was not purely academic.
"Dad,
when most people out themselves, they open the closet door and just come out,"
she said. "You, Dad, you went through the wall."
I had just told my daughter
that I was a eunuch.
It all started with a diagnosis of prostate cancer
in 1998, when I was 52. Two years later, after failed surgery and radiation, I
started hormonal therapy. This meant taking chemicals that slow the growth of
prostate cancer cells by depriving them of androgen - in effect, castrating the
patient.
Chemical castration is the common treatment for advanced prostate
cancer, and more than 250,000 American men are taking these drugs. But few people
know of any men taking them, simply because we hide. It is shameful to be castrated.
My initial response to the therapy was typical. My mood plummeted along with
my testosterone level. Hair vanished from my arms and legs. Muscle disappeared,
fat appeared. My memory suffered. Not only was I now more likely to lose my car
keys, I occasionally couldn't remember where I left the car.
"Eunuch" simply
means a castrated man. Given the pervasive stereotype of eunuchs as ineffective
wimps, it is no surprise that men dread this label. I became curious about whether
the stereotype was true, and how eunuchs functioned in the past.
The first
thing I discovered was that eunuchs were anything but mindless, cowardly automatons.
There were philosophers (Abelard, Origen of Alexandria), a saint (Ignatius of
Constantinople), military leaders (Cheng Ho, Narses) and even assassins. They
were the chamberlains, diplomats and senior government officials in the major
long-lasting, dynastic governments across Asia for 3,000 years. Furthermore, descriptions
of eunuchs' physique and psychology mirrored many of the anatomical and emotional
changes I experienced.
Then I discovered the classicists' hypothesis that
the eunuchs of antiquity were models for our depiction of angels. God is thought
to surround himself with angels as advisers and emissaries, who are identical
in appearance to males castrated before puberty: tall, beardless, nonsexual beings
with voices like the legendary castrati.
It appears that from the Judeo-Christian
standpoint, the occupants of heaven were exalted eunuchs. In turn, earthly rulers
aspired to reach this divine ideal. In "The Perfect Servant" (University of Chicago,
2003), Kathryn M. Ringrose notes that by the 10th century the Byzantine court
was "perceived to be an earthly replica of the court of heaven where the emperor
functioned as Christ's representative on earth and was attended by an 'angelic'
corps of eunuchs."
This eunuch-angel connection has helped me understand and
adapt to the side effects of androgen deprivation. When I was stoked up on testosterone
in the old days, for example, I would obsess about exacting revenge on those who
offended me. Now I see the foolishness in such macho fury. Rather than trying
to undo others, I can now willfully exercise restraint. It's not that I'm never
pugnacious anymore, for I'm no perfect angel, but I realize it's better to maintain
a higher mission than fight petty battles.
I don't recall crying much
as an adult, but since my castration I'll weep while watching Mothers Against
Drunk Driving commercials. At first, I feared that my tears would be perceived
as maudlin self-pity. But the truth is that I've become more sensitive to the
trials and tribulations of others. I am thus no longer embarrassed by my tears.
I consider them humanizing, just as they are for angels. The link to my chemical
castration is obvious; testosterone fuels aggression but suppresses empathy and
the ability to cry.
Understanding angel (and eunuch) psychology has even
helped me overcome the cognitive side effects of hormonal therapy. Angels may
be omnipotent, but they undertake just one task at a time. According to the Talmud,
they are not permitted to attempt more. Biblical angels blessed, cursed, relayed
messages and even killed, but they were never on two missions at once. It seems
that thousands of years ago it was already recognized that androgen deprivation
makes multitasking difficult - but doesn't prevent one from accomplishing a single
task well. This realization has helped me maintain a busy, productive academic
life.
I still have a beard and sing bass: androgen deprivation in adulthood
doesn't change those male features. Singing in a group never appealed to me before
my castration, because it offered little opportunity for individual advancement.
But recently I joined a choir, where I now enjoy the richness of the collective
sound born of collaboration - and how much I've gained by accepting how much I've
changed.
Angels cry. So do I. They also sing, and so do I.
If you want to discuss with specific
points about the essay or your own concerns about living well without testosterone
(now Dr Wassersug's major area of academic research) you can contact him directly
by e-mail at: tadpole@dal.ca
