The Use and Value of Fingerprints - Glenn Conjurske

The Use and Value of Fingerprints

by Glenn Conjurske

We all know that fingerprints are of value to detectives and policemen, and this because the fingerprints of every human being are different from those of every other. It is none of my purpose to speak of such matters, however. I speak rather of those points in which the fingerprints of all men are the same, for it is here that our fingerprints are of use and value to all of us. We are all born with ten fingers, and ten fingerprints. These consist of an intricate system of tiny ridges, covering the fore side of our hands and fingers. The back side has none. These ridges are most pronounced at the ends of our fingers. The configuration of these ridges is different in every human being, but their existence is the same in all.

Now the value of these fingerprints is entirely independent of their individual configuration. Their value rises from their existence. But the old proverb says, “We never know the value of water till the well runs dry,” and the same is true of the value of fingerprints. Most of us may live with these all our lives, and never understand their value, nor ever have an inkling of their use or purpose. We would soon learn their value, however, if we were obliged to live without them.

In this I happen to have an advantage over most of my readers. Some years ago I lost the print of my right thumb. I was using my table saw, and reached for a block of wood near the blade, to remove it from the table. This I did without due caution, and put my thumb directly into the blade, which was spinning at several thousand revolutions per minute. Fortunately, I was using a blade with only twenty-four teeth, which were large, and spaced about an inch apart. When my thumb came in contact with one of these teeth, it threw my whole hand and arm back with such force that my hand hit my shoulder, thus removing my hand from the path of the blade so quickly that a second tooth only grazed my thumb. The result of this brief contact with the spinning blade, however, was to obliterate a good part of the print of my right thumb. That single large (and fortunately rather dull) tooth of the saw tore a single piece of flesh from my thumb, a little larger in size than a large pea, though ragged in shape. I turned off the saw and went to the house to tell my wife that I had a bad cut. I then went back to the saw to hunt for the piece of flesh which I had lost. I soon found it, and took it with me to the doctor. The nurse told me it was of no use, and that they could do nothing with it. The doctor, however, looked at it and said, “We can make some use of that.” I was told, against my hope, that they could not sew the piece back in, as it would die for lack of any circulation of blood. But the doctor pulled together all the flesh from the surrounding area to fill up the hole, then took the skin from the piece which I carried in my hand, and grafted it over the wound, informing me, however, that there would be no feeling in it.

This operation did not leave me entirely destitute of a fingerprint, but it left my fingerprint so far damaged that I quickly learned what its use and value had been.

To keep my readers in suspense no longer, the small ridges on our fingerprints serve the same purpose as the ridges inside the jaws of a vice or a pair of pliers. They enable us to grip things without slipping. This I did all my life without any idea of how or why I was able to do it. When my thumb print was damaged, however, I soon found that I had lost much of that ability. Very often now, when I endeavor to pick up some small thing between my thumb and fingers, it slips out of my grasp, so that by losing my fingerprint, I was quickly taught its purpose and value.

But this is not all. The print of my thumb is damaged in two ways. First, some of the network of ridges is lost, and the piece of skin which was grafted on is surrounded by smooth scar tissue. But this, I am persuaded, is not the primary loss. The greater loss is beneath the surface. The soft cushion of flesh beneath the fingerprint is very much reduced in size, and it is also hard, being laced with scar tissue. Thus I have learned that it is the combination of the tiny ridges which cover the surface, and the firm but spongy flesh beneath them, which enables us to grasp objects without losing them. And it is the wisdom of God that these ridges are circular, to prevent slipping in all directions. The soft, spongy flesh, covered by rough skin, is ideal for grasping and holding things, whereas everything would easily slip from our fingers if they were smooth and hard. And thus by the means of my accident I have seen one small facet of the great wisdom of God in the fashioning of our bodies, extending to a thousand small details, which most of us may never be aware of. “I am fearfully and wonderfully made,” and all of these small details belonged to the original plan. God does not go on improving his inventions from year to year as man does. There is no need for this, for what God has made was perfect in every detail from the moment he made it.

Glenn Conjur