The focus of this book is the history of sexual
desire, a broad subject, and one that is not easy to research given the almost
ubiquitous nature of taboos around sexual behaviour and expression. Any history
must therefore be constructed from a highly selective range of artifacts and
records, especially for those eras and groups of people without the technology
to record their experiences. Nevertheless, that is the aim: to record a history
of human sexuality. This is an ambitious book. Sexuality is a fundamental
aspect of human life, and so a history of sexuality can be seen as an attempt
to understand something of the essence of human beings, not merely their
fleeting institutions, ideas, or the social arrangements of a particular time
and place. Professor Edward Shorter is well placed to undertake such a history,
having previously published extensively on related topics such as female
bodies, psychological illness and disease, and most recently on the history of
psychiatry. Shorter sets some boundaries around the task, focusing exclusively
on Western history, beginning at the time of the Greeks. Those decisions
inevitably mean that the book has some limitations, especially given that it is
becoming increasingly difficult to talk about ‘Western society’ without
recognizing a wide range of ‘non-Western’ influences, both historically and in
contemporary times. But limits have to be set.

The book begins by setting out a bold thesis: that ‘sexual behaviour
and sensual pleasure are the product of biologically driven desire rather than
of fashion or social conditioning.’ Not just bold, but provocative. It is the
brain, Shorter states, that drives our sexual behaviour; there is something in
the basic wiring of our nervous systems that is behind all that match-making,
love-making, and lust. Shorter informs us that ‘biological liberation of the
brain’ will emerge with ‘overpowering clarity’ as the central narrative in the
history of sexuality. This would not be nearly such a provocative thesis if it
were not given as a direct challenge to social constructionist arguments. With Written in the Flesh Shorter is
attempting to capture the conceptual ground long claimed by social science. In
this sense the book can be seen as one more challenge to the primacy given to
social factors in explaining human behaviour by many commentators since the
1960s. Shorter is in good company when it comes to asserting a role for
biology. Literary theory these days is drawing on evolutionary theory to
develop a more complete view of literature, although this does not extend to
the apparently deterministic model favoured by Shorter. There is even a term
(biodenial), albeit that it carries a psychodynamic connotation, for those who
disagree with the role posed for biology. With such an introduction the reader
settles in for a history that will not only recount the intimate practices of
generations of our forbears, it will lead us to a new appreciation of
sexuality.

Following the introduction the book is divided into two chapters
setting out a baseline of sexual desire, an exploration of hindrances and the
ideas of the Romantics, followed by a description the ‘great breakout’; the
period in which biology triumphed over culture and led to the full expression
of our innate potential as sexual beings, the modern era of ‘total body sex’. A
chapter on sadomasochism follows, and the book concludes with an epilogue that
explores some implications of the story that has been told so far.

The book is well written and highly readable. There is evidence of
extensive research, but Shorter does not allow the narrative to become bogged
down in detail or in a relentless litany of facts. As a writer Shorter is well
engaged with his subject, and he tells the story with pace, warmth and humor.
Illustrations from various sources are enough to make the point, and the range
of famous names called to give testimony is impressive. As you would expect in
a book of this nature there are more than enough spicy anecdotes to engage the
reader. You might think twice, though, about what you record in your diary.
Also, Shorter does not pursue an overtly ideological agenda, something that can
make reading of historical accounts tiresome. I did find the reminders of his
biological theory a little intrusive, as if stating it enough times would make
the point. There are several instances where Shorter cites as evidence,
individuals’ sense of the innate nature of desire. These include Lady Montagu,
Virginia Woolf, and even John Locke. But a sense that something is so is just
that, a perception. It might just seem that way. The discussion of ‘hindrances’
shows that Church and social sanctions had plenty of support from ordinary
conditions of life such as crowded living situations, lack of privacy,
infestations, and hygiene. Getting down in the Middle Ages really did mean
getting dirty. Shorter does not stint in his use of the vernacular, a commendable
aspect of the book given the use of both euphemism and obscenity to describe
sexual practices. He criticizes those researchers who have been rather too coy
in their surveys, omitting for example, to inquire as to mens’ use of their
nipples as an erogenous zone. Many readers will learn a new word or two, and
some will be enlightened as to the erotic practices of their fellow citizens.

By describing gay and lesbian sexuality separately from that of
heterosexuals Shorter is able to show both similarities and differences between
the two groups. This is particularly informative in the latter part of the book
when the politicization of lesbianism is discussed, as there is a clear break
between the developing eroticization of the gay male body and the retreat into
Puritanism amongst lesbians. There is also a remarkable parallel between
heterosexuals and gays in limiting sexual activity to genital contact and
kissing. Oral sex was rare for both groups until relatively recently.

So how successful is this attempt to redefine sexual desire? The book
is certainly broad enough in scope, and brings to light the striking flowering
of sexuality in the Greek and Roman civilizations, albeit with variation in the
forms of sexual expression. The long period of sexual quiescence, lasting until
the 18^th century, is equally striking, and there is a strong case
that restraints on sexual behaviour, especially for peasants, involved the
repression of an immanent force that, like one of those watermelon seeds found
in the great pyramids, needed only the right conditions for its growth and
unrestrained expression.

The idea that sexual desire is biologically driven, in the way the
Shorter proposes, is a theory that requires strong evidence and sound argument.
Shorter’s biological theory is sound enough given the ubiquity of sexual
desire. Cross-cultural analysis would likely provide further argument that
there is something innate in human beings’ exploration of the sensual. But in
his attempts to sideline social factors as crucial to the emergence of total
body sex, and to our ideas of hetero and homosexuality the book is less
successful. Indeed, some of the examples he cites, of how social factors, such
as the Church, were effective for so long in shaping sexual desire, seem to fly
in the face of an undiluted biological theory. Shorter all but concedes this
point in his discussion of sadomasochism. He expresses surprise at the recent
rise of consensual sadomasochism, something that comes ‘out of the blue’. The
summary of the history of sexual desire on page 199-200 refers to the actions
of the church and communities, the decline of the small town, and social
acceptance of hedonic behaviour. All of this would be entirely acceptable
within a social constructionist theory, and only the concluding sentence, ‘All
respond now to the same deep neural drives’ reminds us that we are reading a
treatise on sexual desire as biological. Ultimately, Shorter’s theory is just
that, a theory. It certainly reminds us that culture must work with what biology
provides, but it is a long way from establishing the primacy of biology.

The epilogue left me puzzled. At the end of such a comprehensive survey
of sexual desire there is a need to step back and reflect on what it all means
for Western society, and what has been gained in the rush towards total body
sex. It is therefore appropriate that a more reflective section engages readers
in some deliberation on the social an ethical consequences of our new
sexuality. Shorter concludes that the valorization of sexual pleasure is at the
expense of community, rather than reason. This involves a rather narrow reading
of urbanization as driven by the desire for privacy, and that for the purposes
of sexual exploration. This is a point made earlier in the book, but it is an
interpretation that seems hard to justify. Earlier, Shorter emphasizes the
constraints that limited privacy and personal space had on sexuality. But it
seems too great a step to say that increasing attention to ourselves as erotic
subjects has caused a reduction in social cohesion. Correlation is not
causation and there are many factors that have contributed to our increasing
individualism. One is tempted here to refer to the social construction of the
individual, but Shorter has moved too far towards a biological explanation to
allow such speculation. The discussion then moves, inexplicably, to the
influence of television, which Shorter gives as another example of our growing
hedonism. I have never thought of television as especially hedonistic. Individualistic,
yes, and, given the state of much of the programming, not likely to become a
force for the more communitarian approach to social life. I found the epilogue
somewhat disappointing given the scholarship of the preceding sections.

There are some aspects of sexual desire that I would like to have seen
covered, such as the emergence of the Internet as a vehicle for sexual
expression and activity. There is also the internationalization of trade in sex
workers, frequently under conditions of extreme danger and coercion, surely
indicating something of a failure in the universal realization of sexual
potential. There are plenty of people who gain sexual freedom only at the
expense of others. And there are pathologies of sex, too, such as incest, rape,
and sexual torture. If we owe the bounties of sexual liberation to the brain,
it is to the brain we must look to explain these perversions. Our current legal
systems prefer to rely on free will.

If this book had not been proposed as an argument for a biological
theory of sexual desire, its wealth of information and analysis would stand
alone as a hugely significant contribution to our understanding of sexuality.
As it is, the book is a comprehensive summary of the emergence of modern sexual
desire. The limitations arising from the partial documentation of past
practices, and Shorter’s tendency to rely overly much on the records of elite
citizens is a small price to pay for such a detailed and wide-ranging
exposition. There is a useful index at the back of the book, and throughout
there are references and footnotes aplenty. If Written in the Flesh causes debate about its central thesis that is
no bad thing. The book itself should serve as a central reference in pursuing
that debate.

©
2006 Tony O’Brien

Tony O’Brien, M Phil, is a lecturer in mental health nursing at the
University of Auckland, New Zealand:
a.obrien@auckland.ac.nz

Categories: Sexuality, Philosophical