A Ballsy History of Dick Pics
From ancient Greece to today, we can understand sexuality through penis art
This article originally appeared on Medium on Jul 22, 2022.
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If we were to travel back in time to ancient Greece, half of humanity would suddenly get a hell of a lot sexier.
That half would be the men.
In ancient Athens, men were viewed as sex objects, not women. Consequently, in most Greek art, the male form was idolized.
And if you love something, why cover it up?
That’s why you won’t find many fig leaves covering men’s shameful bits in Greek art. In most ancient vase paintings, pottery, and statues, male nudity is celebrated. The only men who covered up their genitals were shady and thuggish. It would be like walking into a bank while wearing a ski mask in July.
Now, Substack kids, I am not going to ask you to get out your rulers, but the next time you stroll through an antiquity museum, note the small, flaccid penises.
The Greek beauty ideal was a small package. To the ancient Greeks, a small penis was the mark of refinement and self-control, while a big dick was vulgar and depraved.
Posideon is so refined that he even permed his pubes.
The ancient Greeks found the foreskin especially appalling. Consequently, Olympic athletes tied up their dick — called kynodesmē (“dog tie”) — to prevent flashing their junk in public.
Note the pretty bow. That’s the Martha Stewart version of a dick pic.
In ancient Greece, the only men donning gigantic weiners were fools, satyrs, and foreigners (or anyone you wanted to insult).
As you can see from the plate above, the satyr Silenus didn’t need anyone to hold his purse. (Ok, it’s a pipe case, but still…)
The Greeks even gave small dicks a medical endorsement. Aristotle taught that small penises were better for conception because they kept sperm cooler, while men cursed with large penises had too much heat.
Today, we know size does matter in fertility, but Aristotle got the wrong body part. While penis size doesn’t directly correlate to conception rates, a smaller testicular volume and length correlates with decreased sperm production.
As for beauty aesthetics, will we ever return to men being viewed as sex objects and women being the consumers of that sexuality? With Hollywood pushing for more male nudity in sex scenes, perhaps we may see a return to the penis as the star of the show.
Ancient Rome was “fascinated” by penises.
Unlike the Greeks’ demure penises, there’s nothing the Ancient Romans couldn’t turn into a dick. Slap on some adornments, and a pretty pot became a pretty penis pot.
Apparently, Roman soldiers “shared a drink from this comedic vessel to unwind from a hard day’s march.” Cause nothing says camaraderie like sharing your penis cup.
No object was safe from penis paraphilia. A dull lamp became a triumvirate of cock and balls.
Or you could play spin the bottle with it.
Even innocent wind chimes (called tintinabula) could protect you from evil spirits if a phallic shape were attached. These wind chimes were hung near doors to ward off evil spirits.
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Typically, bells hung from the “tips.” Or you could hang your keys on them.
Simply put, ancient Romans loved dick. But while the ancient Greeks preferred a small, neat phallus that didn’t draw much attention, the ancient Romans preferred to go big or go home.
For example, to the ancient Greeks, Priapus was a minor god with an unfortunate and hilarious condition — a penis the size of a calf leg. The Greeks saw Priapus as comedic relief and someone to pity.
But to the ancient Romans, Priapus was a hero. Romans believed that men with big dicks possessed superior strength. Large penises were so revered that the emperor Elagabalus (203 CE - 222) promoted soldiers based on the size of their um…swords. (If you think that is my last bad penis pun…buckle up!)
In Pompeii, you couldn’t throw a stone without hitting a dick. Penis art was found on public baths, paving stones, and on the walls of private homes. The first potty humor? Perhaps. But definitely not the first dick pic.
Penises also safeguarded wealthy Roman boys from evil-doers. Typically, an aristocratic young boy wore around his neck an amulet shaped as an erect penis, called a fascinum. These fascinums protected boys from experiencing a muliebria pati, “a woman’s experience.”¹ Romans even had a god named Fascinus whose sole job was to fly around, impregnating virgins with his gigantic willy.
To the ancient Romans, real men penetrated, and weak men (and women) were penetrated. So the fascinum signaled to older men that the privileged boy was off limits.
Romans placed fascinums not only on their sons. They hung them from chariots to protect generals from envy. They carried gigantic fascinums during the Liberalia festival — a feast to celebrate a young boy’s first erection and subsequent entering into manhood. Even Italian Prime Minister Vittorio Emanuele Orlando wore one on his wrist to ensure victory for the Allies during World War I.
Today, remnants of the Latin fascinum are found in the English verb to fascinate. Just like in the past, penises continue to inspire awe.
However, while Romans revered the phallus as a symbol of man’s control over nature and weaker humans, Christianity had a different take. Now, I am not saying the Catholic Church wrecked all the pagan fun, but…the Catholic Church totally wrecked all the pagan fun.
The Catholic Church forces the penis underground.
Throughout the history of sexuality, religious figures peddled shame to control the unwashed masses. And no other man peddled more shame than Saint Augustine.
While most religions saw the story of Genesis as an allegory for finding a spiritual paradise, Augustine took the Adam and Eve fable quite literally.
According to Augustine, once the serpent tempted Adam and Eve, they were thrown out of the Garden of Eden and forced to wander the world, trying to control their lust. From there, he believed that original sin passed from one generation to the next through a man’s seed (semen).
Penises were now something vile and corruptible that needed to be contained. During this time, art went through a dickless period with most members covered up. (Except for the baby Jesus, constantly flashing his bits at his mom.)
But what happens when you tell the crazy medieval kids to stop doodling dicks?
Of course, they doodle more dicks.
Once the Catholic Church declared male genitals taboo, it spawned what is colloquial known today as “penis marginalia” — trippy penis paintings in the margins of medieval manuscripts.
You can find dragons wearing penis hats.
And ladies going for a little joyride through Christianity.
One couldn’t even go on a nature walk without finding dicks hanging from trees.
But while Medieval monks poked fun at all the dick censorship in the margins, the message remained in the central religious text —the flesh was corrupt. To the Catholic Church, the penis was the devil’s tool that must be tamed.
Centuries later, Michelangelo experienced the power of Church propriety when he painted the Last Judgement scene on the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling. Michelangelo saw no problem with displaying the nude figure. Pope Paul IV disagreed. He ordered another artist to cover up all the penises with fig leaves — a censorship Michelangelo never forgave.
In retaliation, Michelangelo bit off the Pope’s dick.
Sort of. In the Last Judgement, he portrayed Pope Paul IV as Minos with a giant serpent twisted around his legs while having a snack.
Ouch. This is why you never piss off an artist.
The trouble with dick pics
Now, settle in and pour the tea (or stimulant of choice) as I share a cautionary dick pic tale…
Around 1525, Antonio Vignali, a Siennese writer, founded a boys club called the Accademia degli Intronati (Academy of the Stunned). During this time, Vignali wrote a Rabelaisian satire mocking sex and politics titled La Cazzaria: The Book of the Prick.² (In Italian, “Cazzo” is slang for penis.)
This book made me blush. And it takes a lot to make me blush. Let’s just say there are a lot of homoerotic talking penises, fratboy pickup lines, and some really bawdy advice on anal sex. (Sodomy was a severe crime in Venice during this time.)
In La Cazzaria, Vignali used different body parts as metaphors for the power politics threatening Siena.
And guess which body part best conveyed his angst?
Yep, that’s a lot of pricks.
Prints like the above were intended to show the playful side of Renaissance erotica. Even the inscription wrapping around his head mocks the male genitalia. It translates as “everyone looks at me as if I am a dickhead.”
Apparently, one of his haters agreed. The manuscript was meant for private consumption only, but someone pirated a copy and released it to the public. The book destroyed Vignali’s career, and he was forced into exile.
So if you ever want to paint a self-portrait using collage elements…go with fruit.
In La Cazzaria, the penis is described as “the most perfect and necessary of all created things.”³ Leonardo da Vinci would have agreed. He believed, “A man who is ashamed to show or name the penis is wrong. [Instead] of being anxious to hide it, man ought to display it with honor.”⁴
Men today often send a dick pic as a form of aggression. But when researchers asked 1,307 dick pic senders why they flashed their junk, the number one answer given was they hoped women would send a nude picture back.
I bet if we went back in time and asked men why they doodled penises on murals, manuscripts, and paintings, they might give a similar answer. So maybe the next time an unsolicited dick pick pops into your DMs, remember the lesson from history — one man’s flashing is another man’s flirting.
(Sidebar for the literal-minded: Unsolicited dick pics are a horrible way to flirt. Please don’t.)
Carlyn Beccia is an award-winning author and illustrator of 13 books. If you enjoyed this article, please share this publication with friends. Wednesday’s article is always free. Sunday’s article is available only for paid subscribers.
Sources and further reading:
(1) Friedman, David M.. A Mind of Its Own: A Cultural History of the Penis (p. 25). Free Press. Kindle Edition.
(2) Vignali, Antonio. La Cazzaria: The Book of the Prick. United Kingdom, Routledge, 2003.
(3) Friedman, 64.
(4) Nuland, Sherwin. Leonardo Da Vinci: A Life. United States, Penguin Publishing Group, 2005, 164.
A terrific read. Thanks. No margin for me to scribble in, alas.
That was revealing....