Trope: "Sex or Romance = An Essential Part of Humanity"
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| Image description: Data (right) and Tasha Yar in "The Naked Now." When discussing asexuality in Star Trek, many fans point to Data (portrayed by Brent Spiner), the beloved android character from Star Trek: The Next Generation. But what does the show tell us about Data, sexuality, and what it means to be human? Image obtained from Memory Alpha |
In the very first episode of Star Trek: The Next
Generation, there is a scene in which Enterprise first officer
William Riker meets Commander Data, an android constructed to look human but
with vastly more capability. As Data is listing his abilities, Riker asks him
if he considers himself superior to humans. Data replies, “I am superior, sir,
in many ways. But I would gladly give it up to be human.” This desire forms a
great deal of Data’s character and his decisions throughout the course of the
show. Through TNG’s seven seasons, we see the many ways in which Data tries to
become more human and the many forms this takes. But this wish is not unique to
Data. Throughout sci-fi and fantasy, we see many characters who are something
unhuman who long to attain humanity. Indeed, so entrenched is this concept, that
when Data expresses his dream to Riker, the latter quips, “Nice to meet you,
Pinocchio,” in reference to the wooden puppet who wanted to be a real boy.
On the surface, there is nothing inherently wrong with characters like Data striving to become more human. In fact, there are many terrific moments throughout TNG in which Data’s journey to attain humanity inspires the humans around him to become better themselves, and I look forward to exploring both the highlights and lowlights of that journey in a future Data-specific post. However, there are a few ways this notion can become unfortunate. The first has to do with choice. While there are many non-human characters who do long to become more human, there are many others who simply don’t. Even if these characters never express an interest, or even sometimes reject the notion entirely, many times the media they’re in, the characters they interact with, and usually the audience too are left to imagine that surely they must want it even when the evidence points to the contrary.
The second way this can become problematic is what this post is all about, our third aphobic trope, regarding what a non-human character must do or become in order to have attained ultimate humanity. Even when analyzed through a non-aspec lens, these things can be somewhat cringeworthy, for they often involve these characters conforming to what the other people around them feel comfortable with, rather than being accepted for who and what they are. When observed from an aspec point of view, however, they often become even worse, because many times sex and/or romance are framed as the ultimate pinnacle a non-human character must achieve in order to become fully human. I refer to this trope as “Sex or Romance = An Essential Part of Humanity.”
Spoiler warning!
Star Trek: The Next Generation ("Encounter at Farpoint"; "The Naked Now"; "The Measure of a Man")
Star Trek: Voyager ("Scorpion pt. 2"; "Revulsion"; "Someone to Watch Over Me")
Dragon Age: Inquisition ("Subjected to His Will" and related dialogue)
Star Trek: Voyager ("Scorpion pt. 2"; "Revulsion"; "Someone to Watch Over Me")
Dragon Age: Inquisition ("Subjected to His Will" and related dialogue)
Posts referenced in this one; Spoiler warnings still apply:
Content warning: Discussions of Aphobia/Asexual and Aromantic Discrimination
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Everything I just said in the introduction may sound like a familiar
tune. That’s because this same element is very much present in two tropes I’ve
previously discussed on this blog – the tropes I’ve come to know as “Asexuality = Childish/Prudish” and “Asexuality & Aromanticism = Frigid/Emotionally Stunted”. In the
former, sex is portrayed as the threshold that separates
adolescence and adulthood, often framing non-sexual people as
naïve children; the latter portrays people on the aromantic and asexual
spectrums as lacking emotion due specifically to their lack of sex or romance,
and portrays them as somewhat subhuman as a result.
In many ways, the notion that sex or romance are an essential part of humanity is a combination and culmination of those previous two tropes, made all the worse because it literally keeps these characters from being seen as people we can fully understand or identify with. This phenomenon is most common when dealing with characters that are not entirely human, but it is not limited merely to them. If you think back to my two main example characters from the “Childish” and “Emotionally Stunted” trope essays, Sheldon Cooper and Sherlock Holmes respectively, you will see two very clear examples of characters that already are human, but who are treated as “other” primarily because of their lack of sex and romance.
This is part of what makes this trope so quietly insidious. When we see human characters treated as “other” because they don’t experience sex or romance, it makes it hard for aspec people to be fully appreciated as individuals. Worse, when we see non-human characters treated the same way, and sex or romance are framed as a milestone they must meet, not only does it imply that to be non-romantic or non-sexual is outside the realm of human experience, it is implied that we too are "less than". Not only that, but since media is often concerned with making these characters as human as possible, those of us looking for representation find ourselves losing it as these characters are pushed into “normalizing” situations.
At the core of this issue is the idea sci-fi and fantasy often seeks to explore: what exactly does it mean to be human? What exactly is “normal” and why should it or should it not be conformed to? There are several extraordinary attempts to answer this question across all genres, but there are just as many cringey ones. Not to mention that, in pieces of media where non-human races are shown as respected equals to humanity (or sometimes even improvements), this question becomes even more difficult to answer.
For a good example of this, let’s return to Data for a second. From that quote in the first episode of TNG, we see that Data is stronger and better than humans in many ways, but by the second episode – the infamous “The Naked Now” – we also learn his construction and programming allow him to have sex. While under the affects of a disease which causes the entire crew to behave as if intoxicated, Data does indeed have sex with fellow officer, Tasha Yar. This fact is later mentioned in the far better episode, “The Measure of a Man,” as part of the defense that Data is a sentient being. Data describes Tasha as being special to him because they shared that intimate moment.
Although there are many other things that are brought up in that episode to prove Data’s sentience, it is nevertheless unfortunate that sex was included as part of the defense of Data’s valid right to existence. And while keeping Tasha’s picture shows that Data treated the moment with importance rather than carelessness, it is also unfortunate to think about the circumstances under which the event happened and the strange implications of him even being made sexually functional in the first place. We see how innocent Data can be in other matters through the show – in “The Naked Now” itself, in fact, we see him struggling to grasp sexual humor – and yet he can somehow navigate a sexual encounter, two things that are both tropey and uncomfortable at the same time when juxtaposed next to each other.
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| Image description: "She was special to me," Data says of Tasha Yar in "The Measure of a Man" when asked why he keeps her picture. "We were... intimate." It's hard to know for sure how much this fact influences the ruling that Data is indeed sentient, but the episode makes it clear that it is definitely part of it. Image obtained from Trek Core |
While Data serves as a good example of how sex is considered
so inherent that it is literally sometimes built into non-human characters, Star
Trek gives us another notable example as well – this time of a character whose
quest to regain their humanity is often framed as requiring sex and romance.
That character is Seven of Nine from Star Trek: Voyager. As a child,
Seven lost her humanity when she was assimilated by the evil cybernetic Borg and
made into a drone connected to the vast collective hive mind. Although she is
eventually disconnected from the hive mind by the crew of Voyager and
restored to her humanity, in Seven we see someone who straddles both her human
and her Borg identities without exactly being one or the other. This melding of
identities makes Seven a truly unique individual and as such, the way she relates
to the world around her is unique as well.
However, throughout Seven’s quest to regain her humanity and develop her own personality, we see her crewmates ignore the progress she makes in so many other areas in order to push her into romantic and/or sexual relationships. Other times, when Seven seems to express interest in these things, it mostly seems it’s because she thinks she must in order to be human. A cringeworthy example that’s played for laughs very early in Seven’s time on the ship comes about as a side-plot in the episode “Revulsion.” While working together on a project, Seven realizes Ensign Harry Kim is attracted to her and states she’s willing to “explore her humanity” by having a sexual relationship with him, one he fearfully refuses. Harry’s awkward one-sided crush continues to be a bit of a joke in the series (although it goes no further), but the fact that Seven’s dialogue in this episode links sex to her humanity not only feels out of character, but reinforces the false notion that sex is what makes a person a person.
The notion of Seven pursuing relationships because she seems to think it’s a vital part of her development comes up again in the episode “Someone to Watch Over Me.” In this episode, Seven begins studying dating (“human mating rituals”), an act she describes as part of her efforts to broaden her human understanding. When this fact is discovered, Captain Janeway’s response is that Seven should try dating for herself, an idea that Seven dismisses by saying she does not require a romantic relationship. Janeway objects, however, stating that she must be interested or she would not have started conducting the research in the first place.
The study itself is a little out of left field, but it is a very clinical one, keeping with Seven’s personality. The way she approaches the whole thing makes it seem even more likely that she’s only undertaking the project because, as she herself says, she believes it’s a requirement to understanding humanity. Later, when talking to Voyager’s Doctor – her mentor in social situations – he likewise suggests dating could be an important emotional process for her by stating “You’re a woman, Seven […] A simple biological fact with implications that are hard to deny.” He also calls it a step forward in her social development that she arrived to “better late than never.”
The ironic thing is that, aside from these awful lines of dialogue, I actually enjoy this episode. However, as someone who has spent half my lifetime unlearning the expectations of society in order to find the true me, I feel for Seven when I see her crewmates defining her life for her in this manner. Seven’s entire world was shaped first by the Borg and then by the crew of Voyager, and so it is unfortunate to see the narrow ways they – and the writers of the show – expect her to define her emotional progress. When we see characters like Seven of Nine pushed unthinkingly into such relationships, it serves as a stark reminder of what our society wants to do to us as aspec people.
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| Image description: Despite the many ways that Seven of Nine (portrayed by Jeri Ryan) develops as an individual, it seems that the crew of Voyager nevertheless defines sex and romance as the "deeper relationships" for which she must strive. Image obtained from Trek Core. |
When it comes to this fact, I
would be remiss if I did not bring up my sweet spirit son, Cole, the spirit of
compassion from the video game Dragon Age: Inquisition and a character I
reference frequently on this blog. Cole too is not human, but appears to be,
and the way the other characters react to him range from well-intentioned
curiosity to hostile suspicion. That fact is sad when you consider that Cole
has only one desire: to help people through their pain, using his spirit nature
to heal people without them knowing he was even responsible for helping them in
the first place.
As I’ve mentioned before in other posts, Cole is exactly what he needs to be in order to do this work and is at his best when he is allowed to do it. Like Seven of Nine, Cole is unintentionally straddling two worlds – the spirit world where he originated and the human world he exists in now. And unfortunately, like Seven of Nine, there exist plenty of ways in which the AroAce tendencies Cole has through the game can be dismantled in the name of making him more human. This comes about most starkly in his personal quest where you as the player make the choice about whether Cole becomes more spirit or more human. If he is made more spirit, his quirky qualities become more defined – his metered way of speaking, the way he often appears and disappears, the way he is able to make people not see him. Conversely, if he is made more human, he becomes more like a “normal person,” a fact that is referenced by nearly all of the other characters in the game. Thus, making Cole more human feels like something done for their comfort, not Cole’s, and it seems like the writers assume having a more “normal” version of Cole is what we as players want too.
While the game tries to balance out the pros and cons of each option, it definitely seems to me that most people view the spirit path as negative and opt to make Cole more human. Personally, I believe this is because media often claims that non-human characters crave humanity and that we should help them on that journey, which I believe is most people’s natural inclination with Cole. What they overlook is the fact that Cole doesn’t actually need to be human in order to achieve his full potential. Being a spirit is what makes him who he is. But when that identity is uncomfortable or difficult for the other characters in the game to relate to, it doesn’t matter what Cole is “supposed to” be; rather, it only matters what they want from him.
Dialogue between Cole and the other companions makes this very clear. Sera, one of the companions who is openly hostile to Cole when he is a spirit, comments at one point “Aren’t you supposed to be getting better? Less like you?” regarding Cole becoming more human. Blackwall, who was always suspicious and uncomfortable about Cole’s spirit nature, repeatedly infantilizes Cole, while likewise making it seem like he should now prep himself for more typical human relationships (a similar variation on the bizarre phenomenon we see with “fully functional” Data in TNG). If Cole is made more human, Blackwall will remark Cole can stop doing the things he did as a spirit and start doing more normal things, such as eating. When Cole makes a noise of disgust about this, Blackwall replies, “Oh, are we at that stage? Spitting everything up? At least you’ve mastered walking. Soon you’ll be eating properly, then drinking, then drinking for real, then girls.”
Remarks like these – and the eventual romance Cole experiences if made human, a fact I plan on
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| Image description: Cole from Dragon Age: Inquisition, the spirit who "heals the helpless" and a character who demonstrates AroAce tendencies. Making him more human has unfortunate implications, but he nevertheless remains a character that I find immensely relatable and inspirational. |
Although these examples include an android, a former Borg,
and a spirit of compassion, the trials and stereotypes these characters experience
are extremely recognizable. Much like the humans in these respective works of
fiction do not acknowledge the privileges and limitations of their own
humanity, so too do
some allosexual people (people who experience sexual attraction) not realize
their own privileges. Nor do they realize that their way of seeing and relating
to the world is not universal. Non-sexual and non-romantic people are not
missing an element of humanity because sex and romance are not the
threshold to becoming a well-rounded person, despite what media says.
During my 2019 “Asexuality in Media” panel at Zenkaikon, one of the audience members made a comment that, to me, sums up what true humanity is – far more than sex, romance, or any of the other things media tries to claim make us human. “The real humanity is in our diversity,” the audience member said, and they are completely right. Although the answer to what makes us human and what our role in the universe might be is a question that stories will likely explore for all time, this to me is a far better answer than the notion of a relationship making non-humans into humans.
All too often, we as non-sexual and/or non-romantic people may find ourselves made “other” by those around us. Like many of the characters discussed in this post, we may find our differences challenging and the way that people relate to us may feel demoralizing. But we have an obligation to ourselves and to our humanity to embrace our true identities and to learn to accept the differences among us. As Solas says to Cole, “Never forget your purpose. It is a noble one, even if this world does not understand.”
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