Gender Fluidity in Gods and Heroes

Ardhanārīśvara, the divine union of Śiva and Pārvatī.
Ardhanārīśvara, the divine union of Śiva and Pārvatī.

By Dr Neel Burton — Psychiatrist, philosopher, and wine writer; Fellow of Green Templeton College, University of Oxford; author of over twenty books.

Essay substantially revised on 25 August 2026.

Many cultures feature gods, demigods, heroes, and other mythological beings with both male and female attributes, and it is worth asking why that might be.

In Hinduism, Vishnu’s female avatar, Mohini, seduced Shiva, later giving birth to the god Shasta. Shiva himself is often represented as Ardhanarishvara, an androgynous composite of Shiva and Parvati with a body that is male on the right-hand side and female on the left.

This recalls the Greek Hermaphroditus, son of Hermes and Aphrodite, who became fused with the nymph Salmacis—giving us the word ‘hermaphrodite’.

The great warrior of the Mahabharata epic, Arjuna—a kind of Hindu Achilles, but more thoughtful—spent a year as a woman, during which he took the name of Brihannala, and taught song and dance to the princess Uttara.

Speaking of Achilles, to prevent him from dying at Troy, as had been foretold, his mother Thetis sent him to live at the court of the king of Skyros disguised as another daughter of the king, under the name of Pyrrha (‘the red-haired’), Issa, or Kerkysera. The great killing machine of Homer’s Iliad was for a time a shy princess.

Hapi, the god of the annual flooding of the Nile, brought such fertility to the land of Egypt as to be regarded by some as the father or most important of the gods. He is usually portrayed as intersex, with a ceremonial false beard and pendulous breasts.

Hapi might be compared to Tlazolteotl, the Aztec goddess of fertility and sexuality, who was associated with the moon and, like the moon in Aztec culture, had both male and female attributes. Tlazolteotl inspired vice, but as Tlaelcuani the ‘Eater of Filth’ she was also able—not unlike Jesus—to purify sinners by absorbing their sins.

The Mesopotamian Ishtar, the beautiful goddess of fertility, love, war, and sex, was sometimes represented with a beard to emphasise her more bellicose side. Ishtar could change a man into a woman, and the assinnukurgarru, and kuku’u who tended to her cult had both male and female features.

After the hero Gilgamesh rejected her offer of marriage, Ishtar unleashed the Bull of Heaven, leading to the death of Enkidu, whom Gilgamesh loved more than anyone: ‘Hear me, great ones of Uruk/ I weep for Enkidu, my friend/ Bitterly mourning like a woman mourning.’

Gilgamesh bears more than a passing resemblance to the Greek Herakles (Hercules), who spent a year enslaved to Omphale, Queen of Lydia. Omphale made Herakles wear her clothes and sit at the spinning wheel, while she herself wore the skin of the Nemean Lion and brandished his olive-wood club.

To seduce the nymph Callisto, Zeus, the king of the Greek gods, took the form of the goddess Artemis. Zeus took many lovers, but, according to the historian Xenophon (d. 354 BCE), granted immortality to but one, the Trojan prince Ganymede, whom he abducted and appointed his cupbearer.

Other instances of same-sex (typically male) love in Greek myth include: Apollo and Hyacinthus, Hermes and Krokus, Dionysus and Ampelos, Poseidon and Pelops, Orpheus and Kalais, and Herakles and Abderus, Hylas, and Iolaus. In these pairings, the eromenoi (younger men) usually got killed, with the first three, Hyacinthus, Krokus, and Ampelos, each finishing up as a flower or flowering plant, the hyacinth, the crocus, and the vine. If you love a god, you will probably die, but you will also flourish.

Also in Greek myth, the prophet Teiresias spent seven years as a woman, even giving birth to children in that time. One day, Zeus and his wife Hera dragged Teiresias into an argument about who has the greater pleasure in sex: woman, as Zeus claimed, or man, as Hera countered. Teiresias averred that, ‘Of ten parts, a man enjoys only one.’ For this, Hera struck him blind, but Zeus compensated him with the gift of foresight and a lifespan of seven generations.

Even the hyper-masculine Thor, the Germanic god of thunder, had to travel to the land of the giants dressed as a bride to retrieve his hammer, Mjölnir, without which he and the other Asgardian gods would have fallen to the giants.

But Thor had nothing on Loki, who turned himself into a mare, mated with the stallion Svaðilfari, and gave birth to Sleipnir, the eight-legged horse of Odin.

What It All Means

How might all this gender bending be read?

The union of masculine and feminine elements shows them to be complementary, inseparable, or one and the same, while also emphasising divine attributes such as power, fertility or creativity, and boundlessness. In its completeness, the union of the sexes also represents perfection and self-sufficiency, and, by extension, serenity or even ecstasy.

Spiritual schools tend to look favourably upon sexlessness, especially in the priestly caste, since the attraction between man and woman—or indeed between man and man, or woman and woman—gives rise to worldly concerns and attachments, such as children and a home, and jealousy and heartbreak, which can detract from spiritual work and the wisdom and liberation at which it aims.

In heroes, gender fluidity may mark out the hero as something more than a mere mortal. It may also, like the katabasis (descent into hell) undertaken by Gilgamesh, Herakles, Odysseus, Orpheus, Aeneas, and other mythical heroes, represent the search for knowledge, especially self-knowledge, which is the hallmark of the heroic quest.

As well as the search for knowledge, the katabasis represents death and rebirth. Wisdom is perspective, that is, objectivity rather than subjectivity—and the pretender has to die to himself, to die as a subject, to be reborn as a hero. The time that he spends as a woman, or in the guise of a woman, is another way of making the same point. To become more than himself, the hero must first cease to be merely himself.

But there is also an uglier, misogynistic aspect to all this gender shifting. Especially in Western myths, there is often the suggestion, as with Herakles and Teiresias, that having to spend time as a woman is a kind of humiliating punishment—made all the worse, in their particular cases, for being meted out by a woman.

Continue Exploring

If this essay spoke to you, you might look into The Meaning of Myth and For Better For Worse: Essays On Sex, Love, Marriage, and More.

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Whatever is done for love always occurs beyond good and evil. – Nietzsche

Splitting is a very common ego defense mechanism; it can be defined as the division or polarization of beliefs, actions, objects, or persons into good and bad by focusing selectively on their positive or negative attributes. This is often seen in politics, for example, when members of the Labour Party portray members of the Conservative Party as narrow-minded and self-interested, and conversely when members of the Conservative Party caricature members of the Labour Party as self-righteous hypocrites. Other examples of splitting are the deeply religious person who thinks of others as being either blessed or damned, the child of divorced parents who idolises one parent and shuns the other, and the hospital in-patient who sees the doctors as helpful and dedicated and the nurses as lazy and incompetent. An example of splitting in literature can be found in JD Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye. The main protagonist, Holden Caulfield, is mystified by adulthood. To help cope with his fear of becoming an adult, he thinks of adulthood as a world of entirely bad things such as superficiality and hypocrisy (‘phoniness’) and of childhood as a world of entirely good things such as innocence, curiosity, and honesty. He tells his younger sister Phoebe that he imagines childhood as an idyllic field of rye in which children romp and play, and himself as the ‘catcher in the rye’ who stands on the edge of a cliff, catching the children as they threaten to fall over (and presumably die/become adults).

Anyway, I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s around – nobody big, I mean – except me. And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff – I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That’s all I’d do all day. I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thing I’d really like to be.

In contrast to JD Salinger, Miguel de Cervantes uses splitting to great comical effect as his main protagonist, the self-styled Don Quixote de la Mancha, guides us through a world that he has repopulated with heroes and villains, princesses and harlots, giants and dwarves – with the heroes being the greatest, the villains the most cruel, the ladies the fairest and most virtuous, and so on. ‘Take care, your worship,’ cries Sancho Pancha, Don Quixote’s peasant-turned-squire, ‘those things over there are not giants but windmills.’ Splitting diffuses the anxiety that arises from our inability to grasp the nuances and complexities of a given situation or state of affairs by simplifying and schematising the situation and thereby making it easier to think about; it also reinforces our sense of self as good and virtuous by effectively demonizing all those who do not share in our opinions and values. On the other hand, such a compartmentalization of opposites leaves us with a distinctly distorted picture of reality and a restricted range of thoughts and emotions; it also affects our ability to attract and maintain relationships, not only because it is tedious and unbecoming, but also because it can easily flip, with friends and lovers being thought of as personified virtue at one time and then as personified vice at another (and back and forth). Splitting also arises in groups, when members of the in-group are seen to have mostly positive attributes, whereas members of out-groups are seen to have mostly negative attributes – a phenomenon that contributes to groupthink. Finally, it is worth noting that both fairy tales and the Church feature a number of sharp splits, for example, heroes and villains, good and evil, heaven and hell, angels and demons, and saints and sinners; and that the greatest characters of literature, such as the Achilles or the Odysseus of Homer and the Anthony or the Cleopatra of Shakespeare, contain large measures of both good and bad, with the one being intimately related to the other.