Professional Documents
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SHILDRICK Corporeal Cuts Surgery and The
SHILDRICK Corporeal Cuts Surgery and The
MARGRIT SHILDRICK
Body & Society © 2008 SAGE Publications (Los Angeles, London, New Delhi and Singapore),
Vol. 14(1): 31–46
DOI: 10.1177/1357034X07087529
www.sagepublications.com
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03 Shildrick 087529F 29/2/08 4:10 pm Page 32
catches precisely the contradictions that underlie the whole enterprise of the
corporeal cut.
Those contradictions arise, I think, because despite the analysis offered by
Goering and Gilman, there is much more than surface appearance at stake.
Aesthetic interventions into the body certainly allow for a very different outward
show, but in common with less ‘playful’ modifications, they also enable more
profound changes in self-presentation. What is interesting is where we locate the
limits of what is currently socially tolerable in terms of reconstructive surgery
and what is still beyond the pale. As recent press reports indicate, the reality of
facial transplants maintains a high yuk! factor – a potent illustration of the abject
rejection of an otherness that is indistinguishable from the selfsame – explained
in large part because of anxieties about the perceived assault on personal identity.
At the present stage of surgical sophistication in this newly emerging technique,
it is perhaps unlikely that the recipient of a new face would appear less than
normative, but it is the anticipated transfer of personality, and not the physical
effects of cutting, that is the perceived problem.3 I shall return to this in my
later discussion of organ transplantation. For now, what should be noted is that
although lesser surgeries may also be seen as enacting enhancements or trans-
formations of identity, the crucial difference is that they can be justified as
instances of self-determination. The paradox, then, is that the procedures – and
it is particularly clear in the context of elective surgery – are understood as being
within the control of the sovereign subject who, in Western terms, is a more or
less fixed and pre-given entity, and at the same time are intended to mobilize
some sort of transformation of identity. The body is viewed both as a canvas to
be inscribed at will by a transcendent subject, and an integral element of selfhood
in which any change extends throughout the constitution of the whole person.
The effect of modifications to the body might be read as no more than the equiv-
alent of my saying that if I wrote a great work of literature I would think more
highly of myself, but it seems to go much further. The changes wrought are not
simply the achievements of an unchanging self displaying new facets, but are
spoken of as transformations in personality and identity. The term ‘makeover’
used in relation to ‘aesthetic’ surgeries catches something of this so that on tele-
vision programs like The Swan we can see the subject simultaneously standing
back as it were and commenting on the new appearance of her old self, and
claiming to be a different person.
In a certain sense, then, surgery is not just reconstructive in the sense of
restoring or even rearranging existing components of the embodied self, but is
fully constructive in creating something new. The corporeal cut is not seen as
destructive as such but as an act of generation. The way this plays out in the
context of conjoined twins illustrates the point, where the rhetoric surrounding
separation refers constantly to the need to ‘free’ two already existing persons
from the stifling embrace of a singular monstrous body, in order to take up the
autonomous selfhood that our society privileges as the right and proper form of
human being. Despite the grave dangers – many previously thriving infants, and
more rarely adults,4 do not survive the cut – the need for separation surgery is
rarely challenged. The question of where to cut to separate the one from the
other is viewed merely as a bio-technical problem with few, if any, existential
implications for survivors. Certainly, there is little acknowledgment that the
consequences of what is effectively a phenomenological split, as well as a surgical
procedure, might need to be addressed with the same gravity afforded the clinical
planning. In the few narrative accounts available, it is clear, however, that many
conjoined twins themselves, while sometimes expressing a preference for full
independence or an appreciation of independence post-surgery, maintain a
conflicted relationship to their self-other. Where embodiment is co-extensive, the
desire for, or putative acquisition of, corporeal autonomy is seldom straight-
forward, and varying degrees of psychic trauma, including strong feelings of loss
and incompletion, offset the imagined abstract and material gains. In one very
telling video documentary following the post-separation lives of twins Hussein
and Hassan, we see them as thoughtful teenagers many years on from their
decidedly successful surgery, praising their mother for making the decision that
has given them independent lives (Joined at Birth, 2003). As the video footage
shows, both young men are highly mobile and healthy, and in an interview they
are placed on either side of their mother as though supporting her rather than
each other. What is interesting, however, is that she reports that the twins –
without conscious intention it seems – will often sleep together in a position that
reflects their previous morphology as conjoined. Moreover, as Hussein and
Hassan reveal, their favourite workout is the use of an exercise bike, which – by
dint of removing their individual single prosthetic legs – they are able to pedal
together with their original two legs in perfect synchronicity. Clearly proprio-
ceptive achievement imbricates here with unspoken psychic attachments. In other
words, their own ongoing phenomenological sense of corporeal unity relates back
to their pre-separation state.
Once again, although the corporeal cut represents the attempt through bio-
scientific means to repair and recuperate the body to the cultural imaginary, it
fails to encompass the full phenomenological and psychic significance of embodi-
ment. However severe the modification, however strongly the body is subjected
to regimes of regularization and control, the very plasticity of corporeal being
that makes intervention possible also mobilizes an escape from the imposition of
a fixed normative form. I have already outlined some of the paradoxes in play, and
want now to turn to yet another complication that disturbs the apparent certainty
of biomedicine that the body can be remoulded either without consequences to
the embodied subject, or at least in the case of some aesthetic procedures with
only controlled consequences. In operations like both separation and gender
reassignment surgery, the incursion intends to cut apart or cut away, and the
excision will be followed contingently by more or less degrees of reconstruction
of self material enhanced by prosthetic supplements. In transplant surgery, by
contrast, the whole point is to replace some intrinsic part of the corporeal self
with living organs taken from the body of another. If the question with regard
to the excision of body parts is how far may the process be supposed to go
before it radically affects embodied subjectivity, then the pertinent concern in the
context of transplantation is the very opposite: to what degree is the self altered
by the assimilation of ‘alien’ body parts? In a strange way the implications of
attempting – as with conjoined twins – to split a singular morphology into self
and other are paralleled by the incorporation of the organs of another into an
existent self. Although it is perhaps not widely known, many recipients have
multiple transplants, and the most ‘heroic’ procedure of a heart graft often involves
a combined heart-lung transplant. Alongside that, some patients may require at
other points kidney and/or liver grafts in addition, effectively replacing a whole
set of major organs with non-self material.5 In such circumstances, only the most
committed Cartesian could fail to ask what has become of the embodied subject.
That both additive and reductive surgical processes are surely acts of creation that
throw Western ideals of embodiment into doubt is, however, strongly denied. In
the biomedical and public narrative alike, separation surgery – and indeed gender
reassignment procedures – is deemed to liberate a ‘true’ self from a contingently
anomalous form, while organ transplantation is understood to give renewed life
to a self threatened with imminent death by the failure of specific bodily
components. For all that our everyday understanding of ourselves is broadly
phenomenological in tone, it is, I suggest, only because of an underlying retreat
to the notion that the body consists in a conglomeration of individual and alien-
able parts that transplant surgery becomes acceptable.
The metaphor of the body as some kind of machine that is either in good
working order or malfunctioning is particularly clearly deployed in the context
of biomedicine, where the purpose of the enterprise is to effect interventions that
may be essentially violent in nature. Whether that takes the form of drug regimes,
radiotherapy, the setting of bones or cutting the flesh, the clinical care of the
body frequently entails what, in other circumstances, would constitute the legal
category of battery. And yet we implicitly contract and explicitly consent to such
assault in the provisional and convenient artifice that our corporeality has no
bearing on our selves. As phenomenologists like Kleinman (1988) and Leder
(1990) have indicated, even when we have an integrated everyday understanding
of the relation between mind and body, the onset of corporeal breakdown or
disease is likely to precipitate a new-found awareness of the body, not as an
intrinsic element of the self, but as an alien other threatening to the self. At such
a moment, the machine model that treats the body as like other utility allows
for a range of reparative interventions that may include both the corporeal cut
and the incorporation of spare parts. Many transplant recipients explicitly refer
to their operations as though they were repair jobs, of no more consequence
than replacing the clutch in a car, and there is growing anecdotal evidence to
support the observation that patients who adopt a machine model approach
display both faster clinical recovery rates and, initially at least, less psychic distur-
bance following transplant. It is, however, hardly surprising that complications
should arise subsequently, for where the spare parts rhetoric would appear to
refer to inanimate interchangeable objects, the reality of transplant surgery is that
what is cut from one body and grafted into another is a living organ. I do not
mean to suggest the acquisition of an artificial prosthesis is necessarily without
disturbance – for a phenomenological approach would indicate that all changes
to corporeality are significant to the self – but that the incorporation of an
animate body part that has been an element of an other is substantially more
likely to provoke anxiety. Moreover, the distinction between organs obtained
from living donors and those from what used to be called living cadavers may
itself generate different levels of anxiety, though it remains unclear what the
implications are for a phenomenological perspective.6 In my own work relating
primarily to heart transplants, where the donor is necessarily brain dead, recipient
anxiety is allayed not only by deployment of an ‘objective’ spare parts model,
but also by the paradoxical and ubiquitous use of the term ‘the gift of life’ to
describe the donated organ and the process of reassignment.
The rhetoric of the gift of life – through which transplant units both appeal
for organ donations and justify their operative practice – is intended to evoke a
generous transfer of body components that, in the case of living donors, can be
cut from one and grafted into another without loss or gain to the subjectivity of
either. In the many cases where a quasi-cadaver is the source of the donor organs,
it is treated on the one hand as a disposable source of transferable spare parts,
and yet on the other has the status of a willing subject, at least by proxy. Not
surprisingly the recipient may feel some guilt that acquisition of an organ that
will likely prolong her own life relies on the death and evisceration of another,
but that may be the least complex response. It is widely reported that recipients
experience a range of reactions following transplant surgery that all tend towards
an image of the embodied self not as autonomous, discrete and having the same
irreducible self-identity over time, but as mutable and open to otherness.7 Even
where there is a positivist attitude towards corporeality as intending some kind
of personal property that a subject alone may dispose of, the question of who
owns a transplanted heart, for instance, is not easily resolved. Does the act of
cutting the organ from its originary body and grafting it elsewhere mean that it
no longer belongs to the donor but has become an inalienable part of the recip-
ient? When speaking of their transplants, patients may clearly slip between the
two possibilities of ownership, referring to both ‘his/her’ and to ‘my’ heart. The
underlying reality, of course, is that the DNA of transplanted material remains
unchanged in its new location to the extent that the receiving body perceives it
for life as non-self material that should be ejected. Although very high doses of
immuno-suppressant drugs may damp down that biological reaction, it remains
the case that the ‘new’ organ will never be less than alien, while at the same time
providing the sine qua non of the self that attempts to reject it. Even on the
simplest reading, the gift of life is double-edged, and while patients may be
expected to finally view the organ as their own, they are also implicitly reminded
of its provenance. The strict requirement of confidentiality prohibits the dis-
closure of information that might identify individual donors, but recipients are
encouraged to anonymously write a letter to the donor family, and – in the
jurisdiction where my own research is situated – to attend an annual cathedral
service that brings together families on both sides of the transfer. In other words,
the recipient is scarcely allowed to forget that the transplant organ is not simply
a circulating spare part.
None of that, however, elicits the degree of anxiety and disturbance that
comes from the inability to view the corporeal cut as a decisive break in the
materiality of embodiment. The well-recorded tendency of recipients to invest
the incorporated organ with at least some vestiges of the donor’s supposed
identity and personality is a move that the biomedical professionals of transplant
teams find difficult to countenance. Nothing in the extensive briefing material
given to prospective patients indicates that such an outcome is likely, and for all
the painstaking effort to ensure that consent to the transplant procedure is
properly obtained, the focus is on the clinical risks, the burden of life-long drug
regimes, the continuing disruption to everyday life, and never on the possibility
of disorder to one’s sense of a unified self-identity. Yet a substantial number of
recipients do report that the graft of a replacement heart introduces, among
other transformations, unanticipated feelings and emotions, unexplained changes
in dietary preferences, and even new attitudes and values (see, for example,
Inspector et al., 2004; Potts, 1998; Sharp, 1995; Sylvia, 1997). It is not the purpose
of this article to judge the veracity of the competing explanations given to such
experienced changes, but rather to note that the recipients’ belief that the person-
hood of the donor has become intertwined with their own is indicative of an
intuitively phenomenological understanding of intercorporeality. The corporeal
cut both fails to solidify the boundaries of self and other, and enables a quite
literal incorporation of otherness that cannot fail to disturb the dominance in the
socio-cultural imaginary of a sovereign self. But just as the phenomenological
implications of cutting a concorporate body apart – although the whole discourse
around phantom body experiences might teach us much – are rarely addressed,
so too the embodied significance of stitching together previously distinct modes
of corporeality are not just ignored but even suppressed. That at least is how it
appears on the surface, but in parallel with some recipients’ needs to express their
anxieties about the persistence of self – their own and that of others – through
sometimes lurid narrative accounts of transferred identities, the biomedical
professionals shelter their own anxieties behind the ambiguity of the ‘gift of life’
rhetoric. One cardiologist prominently involved in transplant procedures has told
me that the phrase acts as a useful reminder to post-op patients that prompts
more treatment-compliant behaviour. There is no reason to doubt the effect, yet
I would suggest that the transplant teams themselves are invested not only in the
utility and altruism of the gift, but also in the implied but undiscussed notion of
the transfer of what constitutes the extra-organic aspects of life.
What, then, does the operation of the corporeal cut and its related implications
tell us about embodiment? Insofar as the bodies addressed here are marked by
some corporeal anomaly, they might be characterized simply as falling outside
the normative parameters of the embodied subject as defined within modernist
discourse, and therefore exceptional. They are, in a sense, contingently queer,
and yet, as postmodernist theory reminds us, no body is safe in its normativity
and the standards themselves are based on an illusion. What is interesting is that
the positivist operations of bioscience – the cutting up and reconstruction of
individual bodies – fully imbricate with the abstract speculations of contemporary
theory that would queer all bodies regardless of their specific morphology. As
Jane Prophet puts it, ‘the transformative journey from human to posthuman
involves a keen awareness of the physicality of the flesh through the experience
of surgical . . . intervention’ (1999: 55). Even as the body is cut open, it re-forms
not only corporeality but an embodied self. The conventional distinctions
between the normative and non-normative body are becoming increasingly
redundant as highly sophisticated prostheses – both organic and mechanical –
or cosmetic alterations, for example, operate not just as tools for those with
anomalies, but as potential enhancements for any body. The bio-clinical trans-
formations undertaken by performance artists like Orlan exemplify the possi-
bilities by taking them beyond the usual elective limits, but the point she makes
is that the external interventions that would seem to rely on a modernist and
somewhat Cartesian view of corporeality as manipulable – precisely because it is
separable from the self – also expose the inherent plasticity of embodiment in
general. Orlan’s project may appear to be fully intentional and under her own
specific control, but in a sense each performance exceeds its own strictly corporeal
limits and demonstrates the performativity of the self. Against the drive to repair
and recuperate the damaged or anomalous body to the cultural imaginary,
Orlan’s work uses the corporeal cut as a tactic of queering the embodied self. It
may seem to be a long way from the conventions of surgery, but it nonetheless
uncovers the inherent ambiguity of every intervention into the body.
The resistance of the flesh to normativity is, perhaps, less surprising when we
consider the illusory status of any fixed and given morphology. The body, no less
than the self, is a construction in process, and although open to deliberative
transformation, it does not necessarily change or develop in predictable ways.
What are laid down as the normative parameters of corporeality are necessary
conveniences that allow for calculated manipulation, without limiting the possi-
bilities that may arise. In any case, cultural theorists are already familiar with the
notion that the body image through which we identify ourselves and mark our
place in normative society is a precariously grounded concept. In both the
Freudian and Lacanian view, we all rely on a constructed and imaginary anatomy
that is dependent on a certain corporeal introjection, which relates to, but is not
determined by, the infant’s own bodily boundaries and sensations. What is
perhaps less well known is that neuroscience has provided its own version of an
imaginary body in the work done on somato-sensory mapping, most notably by
Wilder Penfield in the 1950s and more recently by V.S. Ramachandran. In the
early experiments, Penfield studied the brain cortex of fully conscious human
subjects to generate a body-image map in which the visible features of the body
– eyes, hands, legs and so on – each had a corresponding site on the cortical
surface. What Penfield’s somato-sensory map reveals is that some features – and
notably the hands and lips, which have the largest numbers of nerve endings at
the skin – take up far more space proportionally than they do in the visible body.
Clearly, this experimentally constructed map is not quite the same as the experi-
ential map of the imaginary anatomy, but it does share elements in common.
Both rely in part on the input of both touch and sight messages, and from propri-
oceptive elements, rather than on what we take to be the fixed dimensions of the
visible body. Similarly, both approaches posit a model of the corporeal that is
consolidated in infancy. Indeed, in the case of the the somato-sensory map, it was
thought for many decades that once the neural pathways were set in early life,
then the brain became, as it were, hard-wired. In other words a particular cortical
area would always correspond to the same point on the body, and that therefore
any critical, and irreparable, cut or break in surface continuity and functionality
would result in permanent loss of equivalent brain activity. What could never
be adequately explained, then, was how the experience of phantom limb arises
following accidental or elective amputation. If an arm is excised above the elbow
say, how could sensations be felt in the missing hand – that is in the correspond-
ing area of the somatosensory cortex – in the absence of any external input?
To experience a so-called phantom limb is by no means rare, and some studies
indicate that, immediately following amputation, up to 95 percent of people have
phantom experiences, which may persist for years in around two-thirds of the
cases. The body, in other words, not only resists the traumatic cut, but incorpo-
rates new extensions of itself which reflect, but are rarely identical to, the lost
body part. Moreover, like ‘real’ corporeality, phantom augmentations tend to
change over time. Nonetheless, despite much neurological research around such
notions as cortical reorganization, where active areas migrate to nearby areas
deprived of input, or of the regeneration of existing overlapping pathways that
had laid dormant (Ramachandran and Blakeslee, 1998), for example, no single
explanation of the phenomenon exists. But whatever the attempts at bioscientific
rationalization, it appears that the image of a hard-wired body is redundant, and
that an intrinsic neural plasticity is in play. Indeed, as some of Ramachandran’s
experiments appear to show, all bodies have the capacity to produce phantoms,
to experience strange extensions in space, displacements of affect, and super-
numerary limbs. Going beyond the potentially reductionist approach associated
with bioscience, Ramachandran’s explication of neural plasticity opens on to a far
wider scene. As he puts it:
. . . the so-called body image, despite all its appearance of durability and permanence, is an
entirely transitory internal construct that can be profoundly altered by the stimulus contingen-
cies and correlations that one encounters. (Ramachandran and Hirstein, 1998: 1623)
the normative body and the assumed finality of the corporeal cut – is pleasingly
postmodern in the questions it raises, rather than in the answers it provides.
What, for example, are we to make of the cortical map of conjoined twins, both
prior to and after the cut? Do the lost parts of self-embodiment reappear as a
rejoined phantom? How are we to understand the psychic incorporation of
organic transplants like a facial transplant, or even xenotransplantation? What
part do prosthetic limbs play in body image when what they seem to replicate
has never existed in reality?
Contemporary prosthetic technologies, which can be understood as either
replacement or enhancement procedures, speak not only to the capacity for
human becoming to engage with both the organic and mechanistic other in just
the manner that Deleuze predicts, but also to a psychic transformation of flesh-
and-blood materiality. The point is that there are multiple ways in which we can
inhabit bodies, and the current binary division of normal and abnormal, whole-
bodied and diseased, disabled and able-bodied, is extraordinarily reductive and
prohibitive. Moreover, we cannot really be sure of having any fixed location of
selfhood. As Donna Haraway asks: ‘Why should our bodies end at our skin?’
(1990: 220). The increasingly potent Western turn to the notion of embodiment as
intrinsically hybrid and continuously open to transformation should encourage us
to rethink the implications of the corporeal cut, both in terms of the dominance
in the cultural imaginary of autonomous subjectivity and individualism, and as a
material intervention that seeks to (re)normalize the body. If the technological
cut, and its corollary of prosthetic development, were to be seen as essentially a
move to open up the possibilities of embodiment, then in place of anxiety the
turn away from the hegemony of sameness would entail a revaluation of morpho-
logical difference. Given an ethical strategy of refusing to cover over difference
and instead queering the norms of embodiment, we could note that the corporeal
cut already demonstrates a deconstruction of the apparent stability of distinct
and bounded categories. It might effect just that replacement of a humanist
politics of norms and identity by a biopolitics of hybrids and transformation that
Haraway calls for. However we understand the process of intervention, then – as
neurological, phenomenological or psychically invested – the fluid corporeality
of the embodied self is not to be denied.
Notes
Parts of this article are based on an original presentation given at the HCTP Annual Workshop,
‘Repair, Regeneration, and Reproduction’, University of Toronto, 2005. I am grateful to HCTP for
their continuing intellectual and financial support.
1. Contemporary media may feed an underlying and increasingly public fascination with surgery
itself, but we still anticipate a return to the closure of the normative body.
2. Leeches remain in use in contemporary wound management, but are rarely spoken of.
3. In her recently published diary, Le Baiser d’Isabelle, Isabelle Dinoire, the world’s first face trans-
plant recipient, says of the donor: ‘I cannot forget her. I cannot and I will not. She exists in me’ (Davis
and Allen, 2007).
4. Surgery on adult conjoined twins is very unusual, with most procedures being attempted in
infancy or early childhood, at least before the age of 7, when both different developmental concerns,
and psychological factors, are believed to complicate recovery rates. The widely publicized case of the
professionally successful Iranian twins Ladan and Laleh Bijani, who demanded separation in their 20s,
ended in the death of both (Guardian Unlimited, 2003).
5. As part of an ongoing empirical project in North America into the significance of heart trans-
plants, I have personally observed a recipient of four different organ grafts – who had also suffered
amputation of some digits due to kidney failure – expressing a desire for a further kidney. The will to
live on is extraordinarily persistent, but who is the ‘I’ who makes the demand for continuing surgical
intervention?
6. The term ‘living cadaver’ – now renamed ‘deceased donor’ – refers to a fully non-sentient, brain-
stem dead yet still organically functioning body. The vital organs of heart, lungs, kidney and liver are
optimally ‘harvested’ for transplant at this point.
7. Early results from a small pilot study to the collaborative project on the phenomenology of heart
transplantation (see note 5 above) have reiterated such reports. The theoretical reflections presented
here, however, precede that project. For a fuller deconstructive approach to the notion of ‘the gift of
life’, see Shildrick (2008 forthcoming).
8. Ramachandran identifies five sources of input to the cortical image (Ramachadran and Hirstein,
1998: 1624).
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Margrit Shildrick is Reader in Gender Studies at Queen’s University Belfast, and Adjunct Professor
of Critical Disability Studies at York University, Toronto. She works on feminist theory, bioethics and
philosophy, all with a focus on the notion of embodiment. Her publications include the books: Leaky
Bodies and Boundaries (Routledge, 1997), Embodying the Monster: Encounters with the Vulnerable
Self (Sage, 2002) and the co-edited collections Vital Signs (Edinburgh University Press, 1998), Feminist
Theory and the Body (Edinburgh University Press, and Routledge 1999) and Ethics of the Body (MIT
Press, 2005).