As part of my research into ‘Sexy Capitalism’ I recently read the book by Christopher Ryan and Cacilda Jethá: Sex at Dawn: The Prehistoric Origins of Modern Sexuality.
Sex at Dawn for me was a revelation. Well maybe not a revelation, but certainly an exciting and perspective-changing piece of work. The book dives deep into our sexual history and provides a convincing account of how our predominant stories about this history (i.e. that the nuclear family and the patriarchy) is simply false. As the authors state:
“Deep conflicts rage at the heart of modern sexuality. Our cultivated ignorance is devastating. The campaign to obscure the true nature of our species’ sexuality leaves half our marriages collapsing under an unstoppable tide of swirling sexual frustration, libido- killing boredom, impulsive betrayal, dysfunction, confusion, and shame. Serial monogamy stretches before (and behind) many of us like an archipelago of failure: isolated islands of transitory happiness in a cold, dark sea of disappointment. And how many of the couples who manage to stay together for the long haul have done so by resigning themselves to sacrificing their eroticism on the altar of three of life’s irreplaceable joys: family stability, companionship, and emotional, if not sexual, intimacy? Are those who innocently aspire to these joys cursed by nature to preside over the slow strangulation of their partner’s libido?”
The book starts with the premise of what the authors call the “standard narrative of human sexual evolution”. This is not new stuff and if you are a human you are likely to have heard this story many times. It goes something like this (this is the truncated version):
1.) Boy meets girl
2.) Boy and girl asses one another’s mate value from perspectives based upon their differing reproductive agenda/capacities.
– he looks for healthiness and sexual fidelity
– she looks for wealth and social status
3.) Boy gets girl: assuming they meet one another’s criteria, they “mate” forming a long-term paid bond – the “fundamental condition of the human species”
Our stories are normally much more romantic than this, but at the most basic level this narratives dominates our telling of human sexual history.
This story is based on a few assumptions. A woman needs a man who has a high level of wealth and social status to ensure he can protect her and look after their children. In return a man demands fidelity to ensure the children he is looking after are his. A man is not going to spend lots of energy on another’s genes. In doing so monogamy, and male domination over females, is in our nature — it is what we have always done to survive.
Ryan and Jethá however take a contrarian view. They argue this story is not about something that is ‘natural’ but is rather the result of particular social developments. They offer a range of evidence to support this and it is impossible to cover all of it in one review (you should just read the book) but here are a couple of stand outs.
First, Ryan and Jethá look at our closest biological cousins, the apes. What’s interesting here is the many myths that exist within or understandings of apes — primarily because when it comes to sexuality different ape species are very different. For example, many advocates of the standard narrative point to the existence of gibbons, who are completely monogamous, to back up their claims. But as Ryan and Jethá point out, our closest relations are not gibbons, but are in fact, bonobos. And when you look at bonobos you will find a range of interesting behaviours. Bonobos live in female-centered societies, war is rare and absent, and sex serves as an important social function. Bonobos are polyamorous with both male and female apes having regular sex with multiple partners. If you want to look at our extended family therefore, they argue, you are better looking at bonobos than at gibbons.
The authors then back this up with biological and anthropological evidence looking at human beings. Again, so much to cover, but for example, they argue that human sexual organs are evolved to be ready and raring for sex at any time. This evidence ranges from the fact that women can and do have sex at any point in their menstrual cycle (which differs from most mammals) to the existence of male testicles on the outside of the body, which allows men to have sex at any point of time. Beyond this, the two argue that women in particular are biologically evolved to have sex with multiple partners — with evidence ranging women’s ability to have multiple orgasms in a single session (which largely differs from men) to the way in which women make lots of noise during sex (which Ryan and Jethá argue is an adaptation designed so women can call potential other mates during sexual activity).
Finally, Ryan and Jethá use a bunch of anthropological evidence to back up all of these claims. Anthropological evidence around the existence of polyamorous hunter gatherer societies is not new, but this is interesting nonetheless. The authors for example look at the Mosua in China, a polyamorous society in which women and men have sex with many partners and where children are looked after by mothers and their immediate relations (the idea of a ‘father’ is non existent). In this society there is no shame associated with this — people have sex, enjoy it and do it proudly.
Brought together all of this evidence is convincing. Ryan and Jethá produce an extremely excellent piece of work, which, while research heavy is entertaining and very funny. They actively convinced me of our sexual history, leaving me with a greater desire to investigate more into this topic. It is definitely worth a read.
However, and this is a big however, I have a concern. I fear that basing this work on biological determinism (i.e. that ‘polyamory is natural’) could eventually undermine their claims. That is the topic of another blog post however and one to come!