Keeping the superstitions that work
By Brian Jacobs
On Mon., Jan. 25, a team of Illinois surgeons gave 37-year-old amputee
Matthew Scott the gift of a lifetime. Scott became the first American and
only the third person ever to receive a hand transplant. Although Scott's
recovery will take years, early signs are good. Scott's surgeons hope the
transplant will be a landmark in the field of reconstructive surgery.
But last week, the story took a bizarre turn. Although Scott's donor was
supposed to remain anonymous, a tabloid reporter revealed that the new hand had
belonged to a convicted murderer who took his own life the day before the
historic operation. While Scott remains unfazed by the eerie news, the fact
that Scott's new hand was once used to kill naturally bothers many Americans.
Reading Scott's story, we are reminded that his hand, just like any other, is
made of harmless tissue. Still, we cannot help but grant that tissue a certain
symbolic resonance. The hand that killed, a murder weapon, remains forever
branded.
Scott's transplant is an example of fiction foreshadowing medical reality.
French author Maurice Renard first wrote of such an operation nearly a century
ago. In Renard's famous short story "The Hands of Orlac," a plastic
surgeon replaces the crushed hands of a pianist with those of an executed
murderer. The new hands, at first a godsend for the ruined
pianisthere's where the story differs from Scott'ssoon take on a
murderous life of their own. Renard's story was made into a film in 1925 and
re-made several years later.
The Orlac films paved the way for over 100 spin-offs about amputated parts
invested with a criminal's psyche. Eric Red's 1991 film "Body
Parts," for instance, tells the tale of Bill Chrushank, a doctor who
receives an arm transplant from a serial killer. During his recovery, Bill's
new limb proves itself an agent of its former owner's ill will and acts out
beyond Bill's control. Orlac's influence shows up more famously in the Addams
Family movies and in Oliver Stone's early effort The Hand.
While such films may be dismissed as trashy horror flicks, they reveal a
significant characteristic of our cultural imagination: the body parts
associated with a criminal deed are, in our minds, invested with the human
spirit behind the deed. When we see Orlac's hands as a symbol of the murder
they committed, we expect them to reveal a bent toward their former
occupation.
Many objects in our everyday lives, like Orlac's hands, also become
invested with extraordinary symbolic resonance: no chef would chop onions
with the Simpson double-murder knife, for example. Such a symbol of death
must be locked away out of sight.
Of course, the Simpson knife is like any other knife. This object takes on
meaning in our imagination, which can affect even our most analytical moments.
If the Simpson knife were the last on earth, the only tool to our survival, we
might still be reluctant to use it. The bond between an object and its symbolic
resonance is so strong that the two can never be entirely divorced.
But Matthew Scott must divorce them. He must use his new hand without
considering its horrifying implications. And soon, medical technology will ask
the same of countless other amputees. Orlac's hands have made the transition
from literary symbol to medical reality, and we must no longer envision their
mythical human spirit, good or evil. If anyone ever meets Scott on the street
and greets him by shaking his hand, he or she must disregard the symbolism of
the hand.
The symbolism of these objects endows our lives with richer meaning, and we
should not forbid ourselves this sentimentalism. At the same time, we must be
willing and able to forget it entirely when it becomes silly, a source of
unnecessary prejudice or terror. When we go to the ballpark next fall and catch
a Mark McGwire's first homerun ball, we can still endow the souvenir with every
resonance it deserves. When we see Scott on the street, we can shake his hand
without flinching.
Brian Jacobs is a sophomore in Timothy Dwight.
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