ibbet places persist in the toponyms of England and in folk histories. Hanging in chains was intended as a punishment worse than death — a ‘further mark of infamy’, but it was also an alternative to the other great postmortem punishment of the eighteenth century: anatomical dissection. Although the Murder Act presents these two punishments as equal options, they actually have quite different tendencies. Anatomical dissection ultimately anonymises and annihilates the body. The particular criminal — and the particular crime — are irrelevant to the fate of the body, which comes to stand for a universal medical body. After it had been cut down to the bones, the parts divided and examined, there was rarely even enough body to bury. The anatomised criminal body was fully dislocated from any particular place and ultimately obliterated. By contrast, the criminal
hung in chains was written enduringly into the landscape. His name often became inalienable from the place of his gibbet, and his particular crime and fate was remembered through the erection of what was, effectively, a monument or even a Benthamite ‘autoicon’. The gibbet functioned as a mnemonic; the massive crowds and carnival at the occasion of its erection served to make the occasion unforgettable in local memory. Moreover, the two punishments also have different genealogies: gibbeting coming out of the late medieval tradition of bodily punishments which reveal the triumphalist State and the humiliated deviant. It goes with heads on spikes and nailedup quarters. Dissection, though equally dreaded, comes from the growth of scientific medical knowledge, and did not originate primarily as a punishment at all. In making anatomical dissection a part of the punishment of criminals, however, the suspicion that the anatomist was in collaboration with the hangman grew (Forbes 1981; Richardson 1989). Given these divergent histories and consequences, it is remarkable that such different practices were ever considered alternatives of equal weight. This demonstrates not only the distance between the public perception of the nature of anatomy and the emic perspective of its practitioners (as discussed by Richardson 1989), but also perhaps a failure on the part of the legislature to consider the immortality that sometimes accompanies notoriety. Finally the study of the gibbet illustrates one of the paradoxes of the cultural history of the body: that the dead body can be both the epitome of powerlessness, upon which any design of the living can be enacted, and simultaneously very powerful, maintaining a presence in the places, fears and imaginations of the living for many generations after. There is no evidence that the erectors of gibbets gave much thought to the possibility that a gibbet’s presence would permanently affect the landscape. Their siting was intended to maximise the impact of retributive and deterrent justice, enacted on the body. Yet these historically situated moments
สถาน ibbet คงอยู่ ใน toponyms ของอังกฤษ และ ในประวัติพื้นบ้าน แขวนในห่วงโซ่ตั้งใจว่าเป็นโทษที่แย่กว่าความตาย — 'เพิ่มเติมเครื่องหมายของ infamy" แต่มันเป็นทางเลือกอื่น ๆ มาก postmortem โทษศตวรรษ eighteenth: ชำแหละกายวิภาค แม้กระทำฆาตกรรมนำเสนอลงโทษสองเหล่านี้เป็นเท่าตัว จริงมีแนวโน้มค่อนข้างแตกต่างกัน ชำแหละกายวิภาค anonymises และดาตัวสุด อาญาเฉพาะ — และอาชญากรรมโดยเฉพาะซึ่งมีความเกี่ยวข้องกับชะตากรรมของร่างกาย ที่ยืนสำหรับร่างกายทางการแพทย์สากล หลังจากนั้นได้ถูกตัดลงกระดูก ส่วนแบ่ง และตรวจสอบ มีไม่ค่อยเพียงพอแม้ร่างกายฝัง ตัวร้าย anatomised dislocated ทั้งหมดจากที่ใด ๆ โดยเฉพาะ และสุด obliterated โดยคมชัด อาชญากร hung in chains was written enduringly into the landscape. His name often became inalienable from the place of his gibbet, and his particular crime and fate was remembered through the erection of what was, effectively, a monument or even a Benthamite ‘autoicon’. The gibbet functioned as a mnemonic; the massive crowds and carnival at the occasion of its erection served to make the occasion unforgettable in local memory. Moreover, the two punishments also have different genealogies: gibbeting coming out of the late medieval tradition of bodily punishments which reveal the triumphalist State and the humiliated deviant. It goes with heads on spikes and nailedup quarters. Dissection, though equally dreaded, comes from the growth of scientific medical knowledge, and did not originate primarily as a punishment at all. In making anatomical dissection a part of the punishment of criminals, however, the suspicion that the anatomist was in collaboration with the hangman grew (Forbes 1981; Richardson 1989). Given these divergent histories and consequences, it is remarkable that such different practices were ever considered alternatives of equal weight. This demonstrates not only the distance between the public perception of the nature of anatomy and the emic perspective of its practitioners (as discussed by Richardson 1989), but also perhaps a failure on the part of the legislature to consider the immortality that sometimes accompanies notoriety. Finally the study of the gibbet illustrates one of the paradoxes of the cultural history of the body: that the dead body can be both the epitome of powerlessness, upon which any design of the living can be enacted, and simultaneously very powerful, maintaining a presence in the places, fears and imaginations of the living for many generations after. There is no evidence that the erectors of gibbets gave much thought to the possibility that a gibbet’s presence would permanently affect the landscape. Their siting was intended to maximise the impact of retributive and deterrent justice, enacted on the body. Yet these historically situated moments
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