명화 읽는 영어수업 23(툴프 박사의 해부학 강의)

1.

1) In the painting, several men, dressed in 17th-century attire, are gathered around a table. At the center lies a lifeless body of a man, partially dissected, with his left arm exposed. One man, identified as Dr. Tulp, is performing the dissection and gesturing with tools or his hands, while the others observe intently. A large anatomy book lies open nearby, adding to the scholarly atmosphere. The men appear to be learned professionals, possibly doctors or students.

2) My eye is first drawn to the exposed arm of the cadaver and to Dr. Tulp’s hand. This is likely due to the light that illuminates that area more brightly than the rest, creating a dramatic contrast and drawing attention to the dissection—the focal action of the scene.

3) Dr. Tulp is conducting a public anatomical dissection. He appears to be demonstrating the musculature of the arm, possibly explaining how tendons work. His hand mimics the movement of the dissected arm, suggesting a teaching moment.

4) Most of the observers seem deeply focused, curious, and perhaps reverent. Their expressions reflect concentration, suggesting they are absorbed in the lesson. There is also a sense of formality and seriousness, appropriate for both the scientific and solemn nature of dissecting a human body.

5) This was a rare and significant event at the time. Public dissections were major educational and social occasions. Painting this scene immortalized the growing importance of scientific inquiry and medicine in the 17th century, and highlighted the prestige of Dr. Tulp and the Amsterdam Guild of Surgeons.

6) Rembrandt is likely conveying the rise of scientific knowledge and rational inquiry. He captures a moment where learning and the human body intersect, portraying the dignity of medicine and the solemnity of death. There’s also a humanistic element: the cadaver was once a person, and now serves a purpose in advancing science.

7) It shows that medicine was beginning to move away from superstition and toward empirical study. Dissections were becoming valuable for teaching anatomy. It also indicates that such events were public and communal—part scholarly, part spectacle. It reflects an early professionalization of medicine.

8) In modern times, dissections are private, clinical, and performed in sterile environments. Today, medical scenes involve technology, scrubs, gloves, and strict ethical protocols. In contrast, the painting shows formally dressed observers in a dark, almost theatrical setting, with a focus on human interaction rather than scientific tools.

9) I would speak to Dr. Tulp. I’d ask, “What do you hope your students learn most from this dissection? And how do you feel about working with the body of a former person in front of an audience?”

10) Before the scene, there was likely a ceremonial introduction, perhaps reading about the condemned man who became the subject. After the scene, the body might have been further dissected or examined. The audience may have discussed their observations, and the event might have been recorded in official guild documents.

2.

a.

Today, I stood before the members of the Amsterdam Guild to perform what is not merely a dissection, but a demonstration of science and progress. The body of the criminal lay cold and still, yet through it, we breathed life into knowledge. As I lifted the tendons of the forearm with my forceps, I felt the eyes of students, scholars, and even artists upon me.

I know that this moment, painted by young Rembrandt, will not only record the muscles beneath the skin, but the intellect above it. Let them see that we surgeons are not butchers—we are men of reason. This is more than anatomy; it is the future.

b.

I arrived early, heart pounding, my hands cold despite the crowd. I had never seen a human body opened before. Dr. Tulp entered with the authority of a man who holds both scalpel and truth. His voice was calm as he explained each tendon and muscle, but I could barely listen—I was transfixed by the precision of his hands. I leaned forward, trying to see beyond the heads of others, hoping to absorb every detail. For the first time, I felt the thin line between life and death, science and art. One day, perhaps, I will take his place. But today, I am only a student—eager, overwhelmed, and grateful to witness this lesson.

c.

They gather around me now—curious eyes, ink-stained hands, sharp tools. I cannot speak, but I am still a lesson. Once, I walked the same streets of Amsterdam, laughed, loved, and yes, I made mistakes. That is why I lie here—punished not only by the law, but now offered to science. I feel no pain, but I feel their gaze. Dr. Tulp handles my arm like a map to knowledge, not a remnant of a man. I wonder—do they see me? Or do they only see tendons and muscle, bone and mystery? Perhaps in death, I serve a greater purpose than I ever did in life. Perhaps this is my redemption.

d.

I am not a surgeon. I do not hold a scalpel. But I observe more sharply than most. When I entered the dissection hall, the air was thick—not with blood, but with anticipation. Dr. Tulp stood like a conductor, orchestrating flesh and knowledge. Around him, the guild men posed, frozen by their own sense of importance. Yet the one who could not pose was the man on the table—cold, still, silent. I wanted to paint more than anatomy. I wanted to paint truth. Light and shadow, gesture and gaze—all must reveal the fragile balance between knowledge and mortality. They will remember the doctor’s hand, but I hope they will also see the humanity in the corpse, the curiosity in the students, and the silence in death. Through my brush, I give them all a voice.