Kissing is as old as humanity. It is a deeply rooted primate trait that behaviorists believe originated in our lineage between 21.5 million and 16.9 million years ago. Osculation goes far beyond a mere romantic act or a cultural development, and as its age suggests, it’s certainly not limited to humans or even primates. Many animals do it. Giraffes do it, bears do it, but the bonobos are known to be the most prolific kissers. Some have been observed to tongue-kiss for up to 12 minutes straight – a true marathon, often leading to intercourse.
Chimpanzees and orangutans even exchange platonic kisses, for affection and reconciliation. It turns out that kissing had also been practiced between the Neanderthals and our ancestors, Homo sapiens, who shared particular oral bacteria that diverged long after the sapiens-Neanderthal evolutionary split. How could both have the same distinct germs? By swapping saliva after their speciation.
From an evolutionary standpoint, locking lips plausibly originated as a way to vet potential partners. When going in for a smooch, one might encounter red flags, such as bad breath, which could signal decay and disease. Saliva has always played an important role in choosing a mate, since it contains hormones and other invisible compounds that may give the brain clues to determine whether the kissing partner is suitable for reproduction. Thus, for many, the first kiss could be either a total turnoff or an appetizer, leading to a more intimate encounter.
Of course, kissing has never been without potential side effects. Some studies suggest that up to a billion bacteria can be transferred during deep kissing (sweet). But despite the potential dangers, like spreading all sorts of pathogens and acquiring a lifelong herpes infection, we simply can’t resist it.
Sealing the deal
For the Romans, a kiss was far from being just a romantic gesture. It became a highly regulated social tool that conveyed social hierarchy, loyalty, family surveillance, legal agreement, political protocol, and, of course, inappropriate passions.
Roman writers categorized kisses by intensity and the relationship between the people involved. A three-tiered vocabulary was assigned: The so-called social kiss, osculum, was regarded as a polite kiss on the face or hand used to greet family members, friends, and social equals. There was the affectionate kiss, known as the basium, expected between spouses, which was a soft form of kissing, since it typically did not involve saliva.
Finally, there was saviolum, which translates to “tender kiss”, but was far from being an innocent one. It was a plentiful, freestyle, open-mouthed kiss that writers associated with passion, sexual desire, and even immorality.
Speaking of bad behavior, there was the so-called jus osculi, or the “right of a kiss”, which was essentially a sobriety test aimed at women, who were treated pretty much like minors in Greco-Roman society. Roman men were legally allowed to kiss their female relatives (wives, sisters, and cousins) on the mouth to check if they were secretly consuming alcohol, which was associated with infidelity, hysteria, and abortion.
The kiss also functioned as a formal acknowledgment of a relationship. Through this kiss, both parties affirmed their mutual obligations and the protection that the man was expected to provide. That said, surely some used it as an excuse just to establish the desired contact.
There was also the “sealing the deal” kiss. In Ancient Rome, a kiss carried both romantic and legal weight. If a couple shared a kiss during their engagement, the engagement was considered physically sealed. It mattered because, if a man passed away before the wedding, the woman was allowed to keep half of the engagement gifts.
Otherwise, any public display of desire or even affection was considered obscene. While most Romans were exhibitionists in displaying their status and wealth, they were modest about public displays of romance or love. “Showcasing” affection was seen as a sign of “softness”, a lack of self-control, and could even be interpreted as a sign of low status.
A real man was expected to act manly, meaning be courageous, disciplined, and most importantly, be a master of himself. Hence, a man of standing was emotionally impenetrable and physically disciplined. When a gentleman made his feelings public, he was effectively telling the world that he was a slave to his emotions. Thrusting private intimacy into the public sphere was deemed obscene in the literal sense of the word ob-scaenus, meaning “off-stage”. By kissing in front of others, one was de facto forcing them to participate in one’s private life, which was regarded already then as rude.
Worse, succumbing to “sweetness” in public was associated with the corrupting Eastern influences: Greek and, even worse, Persian.
Of course, not everyone was so stiff. One of the most famous cases of a display of tenderness was when a certain senator, Manilius, had the audacity to kiss his wife in broad daylight in front of their daughter. Cato the Elder, during his time as censor, the official in charge of public morals, expelled the “liberal” politician from the Senate.
What to many would be an illustration of a loving family, to Cato was nothing more than a manifestation of utter unmanliness and weak character. The censor argued that if a man of the senator’s status could not restrain himself in front of his own daughter, he was a man of unbridled passions and therefore was unfit for the role of assisting the great Republic. Looks like someone was very frustrated, and also probably used it as an excuse to get rid of a political nuisance.
Cato wasn’t the only Roman tired of seeing people exchanging “sweet moments”. The satirist Juvenal and poet Martial were not fans of lip encounters either. Both complained about the sheer frequency of kissing among the Romans. The most praised of all Roman satiric poets, Juvenal, whose phrases continue to echo still today, like “bread and circuses” and “who will guard the guards themselves?”, was deeply cynical about the way people used kisses as a social climber or to gain favor. The writer describes “ass-kissers” who took over Rome, ready to kiss the hands of the rich or patrons, regardless of how much they actually despise them. He also mocks the “soft”, perfumed men who greet each other with kisses (instead of shaking hands).
For Juvenal, the kiss among men was a direct marker of a decaying Roman society. He also mocks the practice of kissing idols: Romans would kiss the hands or feet of bronze statues of gods as a religious gesture of devotion. They did this so often that the bronze on these statues was wearing away from the constant kissing and touching, Juvenal points out, not with appreciation.
Kissing pests
Both Martial and Juvenal found occasion to lament that a man of status (obviously like themselves) cannot take a walk peacefully down the street without being “ambushed” by the miserable, who want to cover him with kisses just to signal their respect or friendship. Juvenal describes skin eruptions and unflattering physiognomies of those trying to greet him and doesn’t spare his peers mention of their unpleasant odors, sweat, and bad breath.
Martial, in his epigrams, provides a vivid picture of Roman society during the early empire and similarly describes the realities of the salutatio, which he regarded as a social burden. There was nothing polite about kissing to Martial. In his work, he described “kiss-hunters” (basiatores) or “kissing pests” who would pursue him through the streets of Rome just to give him a “sweaty” greeting (so he maintained).
“Roman kisses never stop – would that they would stop! – thus you seize me again and again in the middle of the street. Neither rain, nor summer heat, nor winter, nor winds protect me, nor do harsh colds shield me,” he moaned.
Martial ridicules people who insist on kissing everyone they meet, even when they are sick themselves or when the other person is clearly unwell. He even gets more graphic about why these kisses are so unwelcome, citing the lack of hygiene: “I would rather drink from a glass that had been used by a sick man than be kissed by you, Postumus… Your kiss smells of anything but violets.”
In his work on the ‘Tactics for Avoidance’, he writes that some people tired of “close encounters” pretend to be unwell just to avoid a smooch: “Charinus, you want to be greeted, but not kissed… I wish I had a cold, too.”
A virus and a snob
Rightfully so. The Roman historian Pliny the Elder was among many other writers to report “filthy” skin disease called mentagra that began spreading through the Eternal City. It caused foul-smelling, scaly eruptions that started on the chin and spread across the face, neck, and even the chest. Today’s researchers think this was likely a severe strain of the herpes virus.
The virus evidently had its demographic preferences. Pliny notes that it didn’t affect the low-income population as much as it did the wealthy and the aristocracy. This was probably because the Roman elite had an established culture of constant social kissing and touching, which the poor did not. Even in the imperial court, a lot of kissing went on, and of course, it was carefully graded.
In the Roman world, the body was a map of status. Where you were allowed to touch the Emperor reflected your social standing. If one was a close friend to the emperor, he was allowed to kiss him on the cheek or even on the lips.
There was even kissing the chest, which was a sign of extreme devotion and loyalty. If the emperor held out his hand for one to kiss, it was a mark of inferiority or a loss of his favor- a total degradation. If one was expected to kiss his feet, it signified total submission and obedience.
Sometimes one had the privilege of experiencing the emperor’s kiss as well. Family and close friends could count on a smooch on the cheek or the lips, and those inferior but nevertheless with important roles (a closed circle of soldiers and officials) would be bussed on the forehead, in a gesture of benediction and protection. The emperor effectively acted as a divine but fatherly figure blessing his “good soldiers”.
Back to the herpes: the “beloved” emperor Tiberius issued a formal order known as the cotidiana oscula, banning the “daily kiss”. However, the inhabitants of Rome found it very difficult to abstain, since the kiss, like the handshake, was a mandatory social protocol embedded in a long tradition that highlighted respect, status, and equality. Tiberius’ ban was therefore a total failure, yet it gets credit for being the world’s earliest recorded attempt at social distancing to combat a public health crisis.
Tiberius himself was famously miserable-looking and reclusive. Many saw the kissing ban not as a health measure but as yet another clear sign of his tormented soul and desire to avoid his subjects.
To make things worse, according to ancient sources, physicians tried to treat herpes lesions with hot irons, which just resulted in additional disfigurement. Needless to say, there were not many volunteers. Approximately 14 centuries later, King Henry VI of England issued a similar order, the “edict against daily kissing,” which was suspected to be involved in his country battling the Black Death for nearly a century.
The warfare of love
But what would be an article on kissing without romance? Catullus, the author of some of the most sublime poetry in the late Roman Republic, gives us an almost “drunk from kisses” fragment: “Give me a thousand kisses, a hundred more, another thousand, and another hundred, and, when we’ve counted up the many thousands, confuse them so as not to know them all, so that no enemy may cast an evil eye, by knowing that there were so many kisses.”
Sextus Propertius, officially known as the greatest elegiac poet of ancient Rome, looked up to Catullus was a true romantic: In his “elegies” he is love-drunk with Cynthia: “I leaned over you lightly… and I was tempted to steal some kisses, but I feared your fierce temper, which I had felt before,” or “How many kisses we exchanged in our long embrace! How firmly you held me in your arms! … If you grant me such nights, my life will be long; if you give me many, I shall become immortal.”
Propertius also believed that love is immortal and doesn’t end at the funeral pyre. “There, let us join our kisses; for even in the cold ashes of the grave, love shall not be forgotten,” he wrote, and “Would that our souls were bound together in a kiss, and that we might pass into the shadows in a single breath.”
There were others a little less subtle and with slightly inflated egos: “I only want struggling kisses – kisses I’ve seized. I get more of a kick out of your bad temper than your good looks,” writes Martial.
Martial’s description sounds aggressive, but in the context of Roman erotic poetry, they were part of a common theme called “the warfare of love” (militia amori). Roman poets often described romance as a game of war where the lovers teased, resisted, and “fought” each other. To Martial, someone (usually a woman) who gives in too easily is less attractive because it lacks the thrill of the chase. It was all about playful defiance.
There was also Ovid, who in his instruction manual, “The Art of Love,” writes: “Though she might not give, take what isn’t given. Perhaps she’ll struggle, and then say ‘you’re wicked’: struggling, she still wants herself to be conquered. Only, take care that her lips aren’t bruised by snatching, and that she can’t complain that you were harsh. Who takes a kiss, and doesn’t take the rest, deserves to lose all that was granted.”
This is the “all or nothing” philosophy that the poet was known for. In his “Amores”, he advises on how to conduct a secret affair while the woman’s husband is in the same room. He suggests using a cup as a romantic proxy. Ovid says to observe where the lover sips from the cup, then to drink from the exact same spot where his or her lips touched. The cup becomes an almost erotic object embodying forbidden desire.
Speaking of desire, here’s a 4,000-year-old fragment inscribed on a clay tablet from Sippar, Mesopotamia. It is the earliest known portrayal of romantic kissing: “My upper lip becomes moist, while my lower lip trembles! I shall embrace him, I shall kiss him.” And we can assume that she did.
