Early twentieth century writer G.K. Chesterton describes an absurdity in English social policy reminiscent of Oliver Lee Bateman’s interesting and provocative FUSION essay on reforming our criminal justice and mental health systems. Chesterton observes that a certain branch of English law once told people “to do something.” For example, it told a slave or a serf to sleep in the master’s shed, and nowhere else. Now, Chesterton complains, people are merely “forbidden to do anything.” The law tells a tramp he will be jailed if he sleeps in anyone else’s field, but, at the same time, he will not be given a field to sleep in. In essence, the law punishes the tramp for lacking the wherewithal to get a bed—in other words, for not doing a thing he could not do. Indeed, if he could get a bed, but didn’t want to sleep in it, either because he was being ornery or wanted to sleep out under the stars for a few nights, he would not be punished, observes Chesterton. Only if he innocently could not get a bed would he go to prison.
Chesterton makes the same salient point as early critics of English capitalism. When the unemployed in the Victorian era failed to find work through no fault of their own, they were called “malingerers” and sent to the workhouse. The law essentially punished them for not doing a thing (feed themselves) they could not do.
Over the last half century, including in the U.S., the pendulum has swung in the opposite direction. Rather than face punishment, the unemployed today enjoy extensive food stamp, Medicaid, and housing benefits, such that some lawmakers fear the unemployed have an incentive not to work. Something analogous has happened in the area of mental illness. We shy away from involuntary commitment of the mentally ill, which has led to a dramatic increase in the homeless population. Many homeless people are unable to take care of themselves, and some are even prone to violence. It is the opposite of Chesterton’s complaint: if mentally ill people cannot take care of themselves and cannot find a place to sleep other than in the streets, through no fault of their own, then they cannot be blamed, and therefore cannot be “punished” with involuntary commitment.
For involuntary commitment is, by the modern definition, punishment, in the sense that any restriction on freedom is viewed as punishment these days. Nevertheless, things have gone too far, Bateman suggests—and I agree. True, well into the twentieth century, some people were unjustly labelled mentally ill and “put away,” sometimes for nefarious reasons. They wrongly lost their freedom. The system demanded reform. But again, things have gone too far.
What prevents us from pushing the pendulum back toward the center? Bateman has several reform ideas, such as building more institutions and creating more inpatient beds. But that only requires spending money, which is the easy part. The hard part is going against a culture that looks with suspicion upon any restrictions on individual freedom. Worse, that culture insists on seeing only the good in everyone, without admitting there might be some bad. It is a culture that leaves the mentally ill homeless man who mutters to himself and lives in a box, and who at least “seems nice” because he smiles instead of snarls at passersby, alone.
While reading Bateman, many people will find themselves in the same position as Chesterton’s readers in 1922, when the latter called attention to the opposite problem. Chesterton’s readers probably thought, “You know, he has a point.” But they likely felt squeamish applauding his position in public, given how at odds his criticism was with the dominant culture of his time. “You mean, you want to make vagrancy legal?” would be the likely retort. Just entertaining the idea at that time invited contempt and ridicule. In the same way, Bateman’s sympathetic readers probably feel conflict with the dominant culture of our time. This is the nub of the problem and why reform is so difficult.
Even I felt conflicted. While reading his suggestion that we bring back flogging as an alternative to sending people to prison, where they become hardened criminals, I thought, “He has a point.” While reading his suggestion that we consider pushing chemical castration for sex offenders, I thought, “He has a point.” While reading his suggestion that we shorten the time to executions for death row criminals, I thought, “He has a point.”
But then, I must admit, I got squeamish; my knees grew wobbly; I felt the dominant culture all around me and within me, with its celebration of freedom in all forms. Even just mentioning the phrase “social bond” triggers in my mind the image of ropes cutting wrists. I scoured Bateman’s essay for some ally to lean on, just in case others might judge me harsh, insensitive, and authoritarian for just flirting with his recommendations. I found it in the part where he mentions California, and how that state was one of the first to require certain sexual offenders to undergo chemical castration as a condition of parole. I thought, “Why, if California says it’s okay, then I can be a little braver and agree with his proposed reform in public.”
This is the attitude that reformers are up against, not just in public but within themselves. So long as reformers speak in generalities, as when Bateman writes, “To give these people [the mentally ill] the help they need, we must return to a more assertive use of civil commitment—but one that is humane, treatment-oriented, and constitutionally sound,” readers inclined toward reform can stay in their safe space. The word “assertive” works well as a euphemism and neuters the aggressive spirit behind an unpleasant action, such as commitment, and certainly works better than “forceful,” “insistent,” or “authoritative.” No uneasiness is provoked there. The phrase “treatment-oriented” seems like the antithesis of incarceration, or, for that matter, any threat to freedom. It suggests only good intent, so that’s nice too. “Humane” and “constitutionally sound” are notions entirely consistent with a love of freedom. There are no triggers there.
Our freedom-loving culture recoils at specificity when it comes to making people do something they do not want to do. Few reformers disagree with the generality that severely mentally ill people should be involuntarily committed, but then, what constitutes “severely mentally ill”? Does the inability to hold a job and earn a living, possibly leading to starvation, count as severe mental illness, necessitating commitment? Such specifics, again, trigger the image of ropes cutting wrists and freedom being compromised. And, again, the reference to California is there to rescue the reformer’s uneasy conscience. Bateman notes that in 2023, California expanded the definition of “grave disability” (another generality) to include the inability to take care of one’s personal health or medical condition. Specifics tend to make a potential reformer skittish, but then, after all, if California is doing it, it must be moral, progressive, and therefore acceptable—right?
Bateman’s reforms are worth considering, especially those concerning mental illness and the homeless population. I myself have written on mental illness for this magazine, and am in full agreement with his position on the issue. I only write to say that reformers are up against something far more powerful than simply a lack of money or the demands of an interest group or lobby. The cultural opposition to mental health reform is more invisible, practically in the air we breathe, yet all-powerful. We don’t think much about the air we breathe until the moment something seems to threaten it, in which case that’s all we think about. This is the challenge that reform faces. It is as hard to get people to go against the dominant culture as it is to get them to acquiesce in a change in the air.
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