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Crimes of Madness

The insanity defence in historical perspective

The end to a very sad story occurred today. Theresa Riggi, an American who had murdered her three children in Edinburgh after a prolonged custody battle, committed suicide in Rampton Hospital, one of three high-security hospitals in England primarily designed for those who have been convicted of violent acts, but are also thought to have mental health problems. To many of us, killing one's own children must be a mad act. But the line between crime and madness has long been a blurry one, and remains so today.

Although the circumstances surrounding Riggi were quite different, juries historically found it quite difficult to convict mothers who committed infanticide and, essentially, send them to the hangman's noose. Post-partum depression may not have been known, but puerperal insanity or mania - a somewhat similar diagnosis- was, convincing many, though not all, juries that it wasn't quite fair to treat a mother who killed their children in the same way one judged a murderous highwayman.

But, then again, not all murderers are highwaymen, killing for a very specific, self-interested reason. There is evidence from as early as the 10th Century in English legal records of the link between mental state and the intention to commit criminal acts. The first recorded case of an insanity defense goes back to the 13th Century, where it was thought that "one who does not know what he is doing, who is lacking in mind and reasons and who is not far removed from the brutes" should not be judged in the same way as someone who was in full command of his or her senses. The first English acquittal based on insanity can be traced to 1505, where it was found that "the felon was of unsound mind. Wherefore it was decided he go free.

Generally speaking such aquittals were a rarity before 1800. In that year, James Hadfield (1771-1841) was tried for trying to kill George III (whose own mental health wasn't always brilliant), but was found not guilty by reason of insanity. Hadfield expressed in court that he had been told by God to kill himself in order to save the world. Not being up to such a sacrifice, Hadfield figured the next best option was to kill the King. Instead of being hanged, Hadfield was sent to Bethlem Hospital, where he remained for the remaining 40 years of his life. Indeed, the irony in countries or jurisdictions where there is no death penalty or whole-life sentences, an insanity defense may see you incarcerated for much longer than a "life" sentence of 25 or so years. It is thought that Hadfield might today be diagnosed with schizophrenia; the fact that he had been struck in the head eight times with a sabre during the Napoleonic Wars might have also had some impact on his mental state.

The subsequent case of Daniel M'Naghten (1813-1865), a Glaswegian who attempted to kill Prime Minister Robert Peel (he succeeded in killing the PM's secretary by mistake), spurred an attempt to clarify how the insanity defense could be used. M'Naghten ended his days in Broadmoor Hospital, the first such secure hospital in England. The M'Naghten Rules (1844) helped juries and judges determine cases of possible insanity. The accused were assumed from the outset to be of sound mind and some evidence of a disease of the mind had to be present to carry on with the defense. Such standards remain in place today in many countries.

In the USA, the first successful insanity defense did not occur until 1859. Daniel Sickles (1819-1914), a Congressman, killed his wife's lover in a rage when he discovered she had been unfaithful. Relying on an effective media campaign that painted the wife as the true villain, Sickles was found not guilty and, rather than spending his days institutionalized, went on to become a General for the Union in the Civil War, where he lost his leg.

Of course, there have been some, including the late anti-psychiatrist, Thomas Szasz (1920-2012), who would argue that the use of the insanity defense is a travesty. While it may be abused in some cases, what appears to be more scandalous is the number of people in prisons who have a diagnosed mental health problem. Since the closure of psychiatric asylums beginning in the 1960s, it is thought that many of the people formerly housed within the walls of the asylum now reside within the confines of the corrections system—if they are not homeless. The relationship between crime and madness may be more complicated than we imagine.

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