Not too long ago, I came across a fascinating article in the New Yorker about Lesch-Nyhan syndrome, a rare disease that causes subjects to mutilate themselves in horrible ways. The article opens with the story of a four-and-a-half-year-old boy named Matthew, who wears mittens year round to keep from biting his fingers off. Matthew’s older brother, who also suffers from the disease, has already bitten off parts of his fingers and lips, and is prone to tantrums that oft end in unbelievable violence (exposed thigh, dinner fork, multiple stitches). While cures are being researched and tested with some success, most diagnosed with Lesch-Nyhan syndrome learn to live in constant fear of themselves.
For most, the physical realities of this disease are beyond comprehension. But the writer bridges the gap between reader and subject by pointing out some of the self-destructive qualities found in very common bad habits. I, for one, am a nervous nail-biter. My undergrad roommate’s Uncle chews his cuticles until they bleed. My sister enjoys poking her gums with a toothpick, just to feel that satisfying sting of pain. Simply crank each of those habits up a couple dozen notches, and you’ve got Lesch-Nyhan syndrome.
As I read, I couldn’t help but also connect the implications of this disease with matters of the heart. If our nail biting and cuticle chewing betray an odd tendency to want to break skin with teeth and feel physical pain, then the abuse we often put our hearts through must point to something similarly illogical and habitual.
Why, for example, is it so darn easy to dole out sound advice to others and simultaneously turn a deaf ear to those very same words of advice when applied to our own missteps? Why is it so easy to see how stupid your friend is being for staying with her dead-beat boyfriend, but impossible to see that your own idiot boyfriend is equally incorrigible? Why, in the words of Paul, do we not do the things that we want, but do the very things we hate?
It seems to me that while we would hope to point to some sort of self-less motive behind self-destructive behavior, if we got right down to the bottom of it, we’d discover that the pain we put ourselves through is often committed with incredibly selfish desires. Paul continues in Romans 7 by saying that it is no longer “I who does it, but sin that dwells within me,” concluding that the desire to hurt ourselves is habitual, because sin is habitual.
If only we could learn a little something from those who have trained themselves to live with Lesch-Nyhan syndrome. Towards the end of the New Yorker piece, an older gentleman with Lesch-Nyhan, in the middle of an interview with the reporter, stops talking, grips his arm and yells to his nurse: “I’m about to do something. Help.” Out of the corner of his eye, the reporter can see the man’s hand contract into a fist, undoubtedly preparing to punch himself. Upon asking for help, however, the man is quickly restrained, the episode passes and all is well.
Lesch-Nyhan survivors train their minds to read their own impulses, and at the slightest sign of self-destruction, they call to others for protection against their own hands. Likewise, could we learn to identify our own spiritual weaknesses that lead to a bruised heart or wounded spirit, and be willing to turn to our fellow brothers and sisters for help? Could we come to know ourselves well enough to sense the onset of our vices? Could we be vulnerable enough to share these vices with one another, and in so doing, discover true koinonia?
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Tags: community, Lesch-Nyhan, self-destruction
