But are romantic relationships always the same thing as sexual relationships (or, to put it somewhat more complexly, does romance always imply a sexual component)? Recently, some psychologically and evolutionarily minded theorists have argued that sex and romance, although often co-occurring, are two different things. These theorists argue that the brain architecture and cognitive processing for lustful attractions emerged at a very different time in evolutionary history than those for romantic attachments (Fisher, 2004). Romance may have evolved relatively recently in our evolutionary history, developing out of processes related to how children attach themselves to parents (Hazan & Shaver, 1987). So, over evolutionary time, the brain architecture and processing originally reserved for securely attaching ourselves to our mothers—a good thing—has been co-opted and modified to allow us also to attach ourselves to our romantic partners. Presto: romantic love is born! In contrast, our faculty for sexual desire and attraction (“the lust system”) may have evolved from the ancient animal mating and sexual attraction systems, much older neuropsychological systems than the attachment system in the brain. So what are we to make of asexual people who form long-term (and presumably) “romantic” relationships (33 percent)? The fact that many asexual people, who presumably do not operate from a lust/sexual attraction perspective, have an operating romantic-attraction system gives support to the idea that the sexual attraction and romantic attraction systems are indeed different. Thus, asexuals who are in relationships and have romantic attachments to their partners are an important test case of the theory that sexual and romantic attraction can potentially operate independently. Asexuals are not necessarily aromantic. Hence, the nature of sex (and romance) can be revealed by studying asexuality.
The study of asexuality offers a unique opportunity to view sexuality through a new lens, but, perhaps more importantly, this new lens affords a distant, wide-angle view of its subject. When scientists examine a phenomenon, they often try to remove themselves from it so that they can view it more objectively—to view their earthly phenomenon as if they were, perhaps, looking down from space. Asexuality may provide this kind of distance from sexuality. So getting an asexual person’s view on sex, and/or trying to see sex from an asexual perspective, allows us to see sex in a new way.
In chapter 8, I show that adopting this distant view of sex offers us some intriguing insights into the nature of human sexuality. One of these insights is that sex is odd, if not downright bizarre. For example, when we deconstruct the sex act—certainly easier to do if one is asexual—its components can be perceived as “symptoms” suitable to a diagnosis of a mental disorder: obsessive thoughts, odd vocalizations, repetitive movements, and so forth. This illustration may strike you as a bit strained (albeit perhaps amusing), but I expect that with some thought, the main point of this deconstruction of sex is understood. Also, even if not convinced by this illustration, other evidence exists, as shown in chapter 8, that sexuality is often linked to strange and even pathological behaviors. So, despite sex being the “great story of life,” it is also sometimes tenuously linked to mental health, broadly defined. These connections certainly make me wonder about what is a disorder, sexual and otherwise, and whether, for example, asexuality should be construed as one (Bogaert, 2006b; Bogaert, 2008) (see also chapter 9). In any event, I think the odd world of sex is worth exploring, especially as viewed from the distance of an asexual person.
A distant view of sex offered up by asexuality also shows how pervasive sexuality is in our own and many other cultures and how very profoundly it affects people’s lives. (Ironically, perhaps some critics of human sexuality research need to take a true asexual’s view of sexuality to see how important sex is in its effects on people and society!) For example, in chapter 11, I show how sexuality pervades the media, including art, and speculate on what the history of art, and aesthetics generally, would be like without sex. Similarly, in chapter 12, I discuss humor, this strange and wonderful faculty of the human psyche; I review why so much humor is sexually oriented and what humor would be like if it was completely devoid of sex. I also ponder the degree to which asexual people “get” sexual humor. Again, the asexual view on these issues leads to important insights into sex and human nature generally, and thus adopting an “asexual” lens affords a view we shouldn’t miss. So stick around: I expect the ride will be an interesting one.
CHAPTER 2
The A, B, C, and Ds of Sex (and Asex)
In this second chapter, I examine some of the fundamental psychological processes of sexuality as they relate to both sexual and asexual people. These processes are rather conveniently summarized by the letters A, B, C, and D. There are two words for A: attraction and arousal. There is one B: behavior. C refers to cognition, a fancy word for our thoughts. And the fourth is D: desire. Focusing on these processes will allow us to deconstruct or break down and examine some of the key components of sexuality; this approach will also allow us to consider definitions of asexuality.
Let’s begin with attraction. It refers to that rather basic, even primal, lure that draws us to someone or something. Of course, in a general (nonsexual) sense, we can be “attracted” to nearly anything—for some reason, French fries come to mind—but, for our purposes, let us keep our discussion of attraction relevant to the domains of love and sex. But here, too, we need to make a distinction between romantic and sexual attraction. Psychologist Lisa Diamond (2003b) describes romantic love as the “feelings of infatuation and emotional attachment” associated with pair bonding. This type of attraction, then, refers to the “love” attraction we have for others, and the people we find “attractive” (our objects of desire) are those with whom we may fall in love. This kind of attraction is often the stuff of drama, as many of the most powerful and enduring stories give us a heavy dose of love attraction between partners.
In contrast, sexual attraction refers to the “sexual” or lust lure for others. It also might be termed one’s “sexual orientation.” Sex researchers, particularly those with a psychological bent, believe that sexual attraction to others is the sine qua non of sexual orientation. So, for example, if you are a woman and primarily lust after—in other words, are turned on by being with, looking at, thinking about, or fantasizing about—men, then you have a heterosexual sexual orientation. Thus, you are sexually attracted to, or have sexual orientation toward, men.
The distinction between romantic and sexual attraction extends even further. As introduced in chapter 1, some biologists and social scientists have suggested that romantic and sexual processes are potentially independent, governed by different brain systems, and evolved from different processes (Diamond, 2003b; Fisher, 2004). Key aspects of romantic functioning (e.g., affectional bonding) may have evolved relatively recently in our evolutionary history from the attachment system (Hazan & Shaver, 1987), whereas sexual desire/attraction processes may have evolved from very basic mating and sexual attraction systems. The basic mating system is much older, evolutionarily (or phylogenetically) speaking, than the attachment system. Reptilian brains are, after all, geared for sex, not for love.[3]
3
An interesting exception was pointed out to me when I was visiting a crocodile farm in Northern Territory, Australia. The caretakers noted a rare case of a male and female crocodile that seemed to have developed an affinity for one another and, unlike all the other animals there, preferred to be caged together. They also slept on top of one another like love-obsessed newlyweds. Surprised that love would emerge in such an unnatural context, it made me wonder, a bit tongue in cheek, whether human love is partly a function of being in captivity.