By Sheri McCord

The disease scrofula affects the lymphatic glands and produces bubo-like lumps on the body.  Beginning in the time of Edward the Confessor, or the late fourteenth century, scrofula began to be called the “king’s evil” because people believed that by touching royalty, a person could be cured. Thomas touched Christ’s wounds for healing. Many religions still view hands-on-healing as viable. Today, touching can still be equated with healing, whether by a physician or by placing one’s hands together in prayer.

But in a scientific register, touch is tied to pain, healing and to contagion. On our college campus, we avoid touching anything and anyone to steer clear of being infected by the host of viruses floating around our buildings. Our desks are disinfected, and we carry around hand sanitizer. Frequent hand washing is imperative.

However, touch is also tied to pain, whether because of being hit, kicked or physically violated in some way. “Bad touches” happen all too frequently, as my role in the SLU Monologues has revealed to me. Stories of rape and sexual assault from the Saint Louis University community wind through the Monologues, and while they are stories of hope and not victimization, they have one thing in common: a touch that wasn’t welcome. However, we also live in a litigious culture, and many of us go through extensive sexual harassment training. No touching colleagues or students, as even a congratulatory hug after a graduation or a pat on the back could be construed as harassment. But this is not to say, of course, that sexual harassment doesn’t happen.

Not surprisingly, touching is associated with dominance. Rosemarie Dibiase and Jaime Gunnoe show that men touch women with their hands more frequently than women touch men. They also note that upper-class individuals touch more often than lower class people. The king’s touch, allegedly curing scrofula, attests to that fact, as the skin of royalty held a curative power for those who believed.

Of course, the dominant class is put into a position of power over the lower classes, which may explain why bosses can often get away with placing a hand on their subordinates. When the power structure is unequal, physical contact is always a touchy issue.  Physical contact is also a cultural issue. Cheek kissing and hugs are not typical where I come from. Where I come from—a lower class, rural background—my family hardly ever hugged. The only touching I remember is my older brother power-driving me into the couch or putting me in a headlock.

We are not a society of touchers, but not only because of disease. So often I hear people refer to their space “bubble,” and how that “close talker” leaned too far into their sphere making them uncomfortable. I imagine these bubbles as a huge, clear plastic ball surrounding each person, and when these balls come into contact with others, they bump around bouncing off one another without ever really touching. Unlike Altrasphere, in this game the objective is not to roll over scoring pods while Gladiator Crush tries to thwart you, but both gladiator and contestant try to miss each other completely and roll their respective ways.

Still, I think we need human contact. As human beings, we can only feel so much through words. As Elizabeth Harvey puts it in Sensible Flesh, “Tactility, often despised, repudiated, forgotten, or subsumed into the other senses, is an insistent reminder of corporeality as the necessary condition of our humanity.”

We can touch things, but when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable and surrender control to another’s touch, we take a leap of faith—faith that we won’t be hurt, taken advantage of, misused. And just as we allow ourselves to be embraced, we simultaneously embrace someone else. This reciprocity is what it means to be human.

Sheri McCord is a part-time faculty in the Women’s Studies Department.