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Hearing Voices. Brendan Kelly
Читать онлайн.Название Hearing Voices
Год выпуска 0
isbn 9781911024446
Автор произведения Brendan Kelly
Издательство Ingram
Early Irish law outlined a series of rights for persons of unsound mind and the intellectually disabled, specifying an obligation for families to look after the insane, the elderly and those with physical disabilities.12 Law texts from the seventh and ninth centuries distinguished between a person who was deranged (mer), a person who was violently insane (dásachtach) and a person with intellectual disability (drúth).13 There was a clear distinction drawn between madness and intoxication due to alcohol.14 A person with epilepsy (talmaidech) was regarded as possessing legal competence once he or she was of sound mind; it was, however, imperative that he or she was minded in order to prevent injury to self or others during seizures.
Exploitation of the insane was forbidden; a contract with a person of unsound mind was invalid; anyone inciting a drúth to commit a crime had to pay the fine himself; and there were specific provisions dealing with land owned by the insane.15 There were also provisions dealing with offences committed by persons of unsound mind or a drúth, and provisions governing issues related to childbirth and responsibility for offspring of the mentally ill. Overall, the main concern of these laws was to protect the mentally ill and intellectually disabled from exploitation and ensure that any children were looked after appropriately.
For much of this period, there was a widespread belief that mental illness conferred lightness of body such that affected persons could move from one spot to the next at high speed by merely touching the ground here and there; i.e. essentially flying.16 This was consistent with the belief that madness induced by battle resulted in warriors becoming as light as air and simply floating away from the battlefield, as reportedly occurred to Bolcáin, King of France, at the battle of Ventry when he beheld the ferocious Oscar, son of Oisín, rushing towards him.17
This interesting belief persisted up to the thirteenth century and contributed to the mythic figure of Mad Sweeney (Suibhne Geilt), whose remarkable tale is told in Buile Suibhne, an epic story written in the twelfth century but with origins in the ninth century or earlier. The story of Sweeney is a vivid one, magically retold by Seamus Heaney (1939–2013)18 and brilliantly reimagined in comic form by Flann O’Brien (1911–1966).19 Sweeney, a chieftain, was cursed by Ronan the Fair, abbot of Drumiskin, and condemned to a life of madness, flying and wandering through the world. After wandering for many years, the curse was tragically fulfilled when he was killed with a spear.
Maddened by the slaughter at the battle of Moyrath in 637 AD, Sweeney (Suibhne) flew into the air from the battlefield20 and in this altered state decided to turn away from mankind and live with the birds and animals in the wilderness.21 For many years he wandered from tree to tree (commonly the yew tree), having strange, disturbing visions. In the end, he joined a community linked with St Moling but was speared to death by a swineherd who falsely accused him of adultery with his kindly, charitable wife.
Sweeney’s story is a powerful one, full of tragedy and loss, and for many centuries it underlined the idea of the mentally ill person as a wandering loner, misunderstood, persecuted and cast out. This was a feature of the history and mythology of mental illness in many cultures, not just Ireland.22 In all of its torment, tragedy and isolation, Sweeney’s story reflected not only contemporary views of the dislocation and loneliness of madness, but also tensions between pre-Christian and Christian Ireland, demonstrated vividly in Sweeney’s unresolved disturbance and dislocation.
There were various other local stories and traditions concerning mental illness and intellectual disability. In Kerry, a valley became known as Gleann na nGealt, Glenn of the Lunatics, as it was believed that all the mentally ill would, like Bolcáin and Sweeney, come to live there eventually, if left to their own devices.23 It was thought they would drink the water and eat watercress from the well, Tobar na nGealt, which were said to have cured the madness of Gall, king of Ulster, as well as that of Bolcáin. Those who lost their minds owing to being jilted in love could also seek solace in Gleann na nGealt. There is a nearby stone with a hollow in its centre, known at the Mad Stone, and a river crossing known as Fool’s Crossing.
The valley is still a site of local and tourist interest, as well as the subject of research, most notably in relation to the lithium content of its water.24 This is of interest not only because lithium is now used in the treatment of bipolar affective disorder (manic depression), but also because international studies have suggested that higher concentrations of lithium in drinking water might be associated with lower rates of suicide at population level.25
Biochemical analysis performed for the purpose of this book, however, showed that the lithium content of water from Tobar na nGealt is less than 5 micrograms of lithium per litre of water.26 The same result was obtained for water from a stream near the village of Inch (on the other side of the Dingle peninsula, also in County Kerry); water from Our Lady’s Holy Well at Dromore near Kenmare, County Kerry; and Dublin tap (drinking) water. These concentrations of lithium are significantly lower than the concentrations apparently associated with lower rates of suicide in Austria27 and Japan.28
The concentration of lithium in the water in Tobar na nGealt is also too low to have any detectable therapeutic benefits at the individual level. Even if the water had a concentration more than 200 times greater than it has (i.e. if it had a concentration of 1 milligram of lithium per litre), and a person drank two litres per day, that would still correspond to a daily dose of just 13.8 milligrams of lithium carbonate,29 which is less than two per cent of the usual therapeutic dose for bipolar affective disorder (approximately 900–1,200 milligrams per day for an adult).
Biochemical analysis is, however, neither the only nor the best way to examine the therapeutic value of Tobar na nGealt or other folk cures for mental illness, which find their true value as embedded elements of local traditions and beliefs, and reflect subtle, powerful cultural interpretations of mental illness and human suffering. In Inishowen, Donegal, a well with similar properties was known as Srubh Brain and there was another well at Port an Doras, near Inishowen Head.30 Cures were also reported at Cloc na Madaidh near Malin Head and the sixth-century oratory of St Barry in County Roscommon, where three nights spent in the ruins followed by mass on Sunday were reputed to alleviate madness.31
From a social perspective, the image of the wandering lunatic reflected in the traditions of Sweeney and Gleann na nGealt was a largely accurate one (except for the flying). Although chieftains were said to protect the mentally ill of their kin group, society was generally unwelcoming and unsympathetic.32 Some accommodation was provided for the mentally ill in Irish monasteries during this period, but this was erratic, limited in scope, and did not endure. One such monastic hospital was the relatively large Hospital of St John without the New Gate of Dublin, founded by Ailred the Palmer in the twelfth century.33 The Hospital of St Stephen (where Mercer’s Hospital later stood) may also have housed the mentally ill, although it is unclear to what extent such establishments catered for the mentally ill and intellectually disabled as opposed to those with medical or surgical needs, and the poor.
Overall, since Brehon law focused on protection from abuse rather than neglect, and provision in monastic hospitals was patchy at best, the mentally ill and intellectually disabled in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Ireland tended to live harsh, difficult, brief lives characterised by vagrancy, illness, imprisonment and neglect, especially in times of hardship and famine.34 The dissolution of the monasteries changed this landscape further, resulting in even less accommodation and greater neglect. Interestingly, though, while dedicated provision for the mentally ill was very limited, there is no compelling evidence of widespread witch-hunts against the mentally ill in Ireland, as were reported in other countries during this period.35
Nonetheless, as the 1600s drew to a close, the mentally ill in Ireland tended to be either homeless or confined in prisons, and, despite isolated initiatives,36 their plight clearly presented increasing cause for concern. This concern ultimately led to the beginnings of systemic reform in the early 1700s. One of the key figures in this process was Sir William Fownes, a wealthy, philanthropic landowner whose initiatives were to shape institutional mental health care in Ireland for many decades to follow.
Sir William Fownes:
Providing for the Mentally Ill
Sir