Throughout history, artists have produced figures in paintings and sculptures and portrayed characters in fiction that project an asexual aura. Not only do such depictions reflect the artist’s sensitivity to existing human variability—a variability that the audience can understand and respond to—but they also serve two dramatic functions: first, to emphasize a value that the artist or his or her patron holds dear, and second, to increase the conflict or tension that makes storytelling work.
As an example of the former, an asexual portrayal may serve to reinforce the notion that a character is immune to worldly temptations, or perhaps is completely consumed or driven by one goal and motive. So, the portrayal of a character may de-emphasize secondary sex characteristics (e.g., women’s breasts), or perhaps present them in an androgynous manner. The Virgin Mary, saints, and angels have often been portrayed in this way throughout the history of European Christian art.
It was also for this reason that Arthur Conan Doyle gave his fictional character, Sherlock Holmes, an asexual aura: to portray his character as being driven by intellect. Interest in the flesh could potentially compromise Holmes’s power of reasoning. Indeed, Holmes is presented as being above (or somewhat immune to) most other pleasures of the body, including eating. In Watson’s words: “It was one of his peculiarities that in his more intense moments he would permit himself no food, and I have known him to presume upon his iron strength until he has fainted from pure inanition” (Doyle, 2003, p. 32).
The second reason for portraying asexual characters—to increase tension and conflict in drama—is something artists (particularly writers) understand implicitly, as character is often a driving force in storytelling. Indeed, theorists of fiction have pointed out the important role of character in effective storytelling (Morrell, 2006), and human variability (sexual and otherwise) is the raw material for the development and portrayal of character.
Note that I am not merely referring to high art here. Examples of asexual characters (or characters who have an asexual aura) help drive fiction in the popular media, with some of it, of course, far from being considered high art. Indeed, perhaps the most important examples are ones found in the popular media, as those venues have a wide appeal to psychological and social forces common to most, if not all, people.
A prime example of asexuals in low art is the title character in the TV program Gilligan’s Island. This program ran for three years in the late 1960s, but the relatively short stint on TV belies the popularity of this program, as it was very successful in reruns for many years. Thus, it had a large appeal, at least for a segment of the population. Other than the title character, Gilligan, the male characters on this TV program—the Skipper, the Professor, and even Mr. Howell—projected an asexual aura at times, but Gilligan was essentially asexual. Although physically mature, he evinced little sexual desire or attraction.
Why was he portrayed so? The simple answer, I believe, is the writers knew that this type of character portrayal had appeal for preadolescent boys—indeed, a large portion of the audience for this program may have been boys—who could identify with Gilligan, in part because of their own asexuality or, more accurately, presexuality. A sexual Gilligan would not have appealed to their sensibilities, and perhaps even threatened them. Also, his asexuality made good fodder for the type of humor in which this show reveled: One of the female characters, the movie star Ginger, was very sexual, at least for that time in TV-land, and thus her overtures to Gilligan made for comedic tension.
Today there is a character on TV who is Gilligan’s sexual equaclass="underline" Sheldon, from the popular show The Big Bang Theory. He is, of course, Gilligan’s intellectual superior by light years, an academic nerd of epic proportions, but the humor of this show partly derives from a similar dramatic/comedic tension: the character’s asexuality brushing up against a sexual world.
Another character with an asexual aura who predates Gilligan and also may outlive Sheldon is Jughead Jones, Archie’s male sidekick in the popular comic series created in the 1940s. Jughead is consumed with interests (hamburgers, mostly) other than the usual teenage preoccupation of finding and keeping mates. In the modern incarnation of this series, there has been a suggestion that Jughead is gay—for instance, a male character “comes out” to him (IBNLive.com, 2011, April 2)—but I expect that the original writers wanted Jughead presented asexually. Thus, although the “asexual” word likely did not creep into the writers’ editorial meetings (at least those in the early years), Jughead was likely created as an asexual (and aromantic) contrast to Archie, who was girl crazy.
As mentioned, women have also often been portrayed in art and the popular media as asexual—for example, the iconic virgin. Such icons are presented in high art (e.g., religiously inspired art of the Virgin Mary) to highlight virtues, but also in more popular fiction to increase tension and drama. For example, iconic asexual female characters seem to occur with regular frequency in dramas or comedies—perhaps a naïve ingénue or a nerdy, priggish librarian (complete with thick glasses). These portrayals may enhance the dramatic/comedic arc of a story, because these asexual female characters may likewise brush up against a sexual world. They also offer a glimpse, or at least a fantasy, of an asexual character possibly becoming sexualized. No doubt such glimpses, if they are realized, have a titillating appeal to some heterosexual male audiences.
That asexual characters seem to be of a “type” or routinely have certain characteristics—such as the asexual “man-child” (Gilligan), the intellectual nerd (Sheldon), the asexual prig (the librarian)—may speak to our expectations of how asexuality often manifests itself in people in the real world, even if these expectations are often distorted stereotypes.
The history of asexuality should also include some mention of the emergence of asexual identities. As discussed in chapter 6, the identification as an asexual person (“I am asexual”) is probably a recent phenomenon, and largely a Western one at that.[13] Use of the word “asexual” to describe an individual may also be a relatively modern, Western phenomenon. This modern use of the term likely emerged from an increased public awareness of asexuality in response to recent media attention to one of my asexuality papers and a popular scientific paper on asexuality by Sylvia Pagan Westphal, both of which appeared in 2004 (Bogaert, 2004; Westphal, 2004). It also occurred because of David Jay, who is, speaking of history, an important figure in the modern story of asexuality. He is an asexual man, the founder of the Asexual Visibility and Education Network (AVEN), and he has been assertive in promoting awareness of asexuality.
It is unclear exactly how many people in the modern world identify as asexual (see chapter 10), but the emergence of this term, and an asexual identity in general, probably fills an important psychological void for a number of people not comfortable with traditional categories of sexual identities (CNN.com, 2004).
Summary
One of this book’s themes is that the study of asexuality informs the study of sexuality. At a basic biological level, this is true: The study of asexual species and their adaptability—or lack of it—in changing environments gives clues as to why sexuality exists. Within a sexual species, asexual variation also informs sexuality. For example, sexuality researchers are finding some evidence that the potential mechanisms—such as prenatal hormones organizing brain sites—underlying an asexual orientation are the same as those underlying traditional sexual orientations (i.e., gay versus straight). It is certain that many humans never mated throughout history, but it is unclear how many people were asexual—that is, lacked sexual attraction or desire—for much of human history. In recent times, however, evidence of asexuality is clear. Asexuality has also been portrayed throughout the history of art. That humans create asexual figures and characters attests to a common understanding that sexual variation exists, and that sexuality, at least in art, sometimes needs a dramatic foil.
13
A case in point: in the 1960s, I doubt viewers would likely have identified Gilligan as an “asexual.”