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I. Introduction
Since the end of the nineteenth century, suicide has been one of sociology's most highly researched areas (Durkheim, Reference Durkheim2002 [1897]). The vast majority of this research involves investigation of who kills themselves, and under what circumstances; the dominant common currency to emerge from these studies is a wide variety of ‘suicide rates’. These suicide rates have been deemed to be of particular importance as they continue to be used as ‘objective measures’ of the health of the social body, and more usually, given cohorts within that body. The problem here is that these suicide rates are thoroughly questioned by almost all involved in the field, who point to ongoing systemic underestimations of anywhere between 15 to 50 per cent (De Leo, Reference De Leo2007; Walker, Chen and Madden, Reference Walker, Chen and Madden2008; Tait and Carpenter, Reference Tait and Carpenter2013) – making such rates ‘not only unreliable but useless for the purpose to which they are put in sociological research’ (Green, Reference Green1992).
This systemic undercounting may be for a range of reasons. Walker, Chen and Madden (Reference Walker, Chen and Madden2008) contend that factors such as disparities between jurisdictions, lack of standardisation in the reporting of coronial deaths, and issues over forms for police reports, put a particular slant on the data. They also point to the reluctance of some coroners to reach a finding of suicide in the first place. It is this final factor that constitutes the central problematic of this paper.
In Australia, suicide can only be determined by a coroner, a finding they are often particularly reluctant to reach (Senate Community Affairs Reference Committee, 2010) – even though the standard of proof required to reach this finding is only ‘on the balance of probabilities’. Coroners decide how the notion of suicide is operationalised, where its boundaries lie, which deaths are found to be suicide, and how these deaths are actually recorded. In short, ‘the truth’ of suicide lies with the coroner. There have been numerous attempts to address the ‘problem’ of coronial underestimation of suicide (De Leo et al., Reference De Leo, Dudley, Aebersold, Mendoza, Barnes, Harrison and Ranson2010; Harrison, Abou Elnour and Pointer, Reference Harrison, Abou Elnour and Pointer2009) – to the extent that the Australia Bureau of Statistics now attempts to compensate for such ‘underestimation’ issues, post facto.
There are a significant number of similarities between the Australian system and those in the UK. For example, in the UK, suicide is also determined by a coroner; as in Australia, coroners are now required to have legal standing, whereas it was previously acceptable for coroners to be only medically trained. Also, as in Australia, the UK has attempted to compensate for coronial underestimations of suicide, in this instance by incorporating open verdicts:
‘Suicide rates based on suicide verdicts alone are clearly an underestimation of the true rate, yet including all open verdicts may equally be an approximation. A crucial problem of suicide research, therefore, is deciding which open verdicts to include.’ (Linsley, Schapira and Kelly, Reference Linsley, Schapira and Kelly2001)
The use of narrative verdicts in the UK has also compounded the problem (Carroll, Hawton, Kapur, Bennewith and Gunnell, Reference Carroll, Hawton, Kapur, Bennewith and Gunnell2012). Narrative verdicts briefly describe the circumstances of death, without attributing that death to a particular category, i.e. suicide. Such verdicts can be particularly difficult to code (for example, as a suicide or an accident).
In spite of these similarities between the two coronial systems, one important difference concerns the standard of proof required to reach a finding of suicide, with the UK requiring the criminal standard of ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’. Significantly, suicide is no longer a crime in most Western countries. It was decriminalised in the last Australian state in 1958, in the UK in 1961 and in Ireland in 1993, and by 2000 it had been removed from the criminal statutes of all fifty American states (Neeleman, Reference Neeleman1996). However, it will be suggested here that suicide's long history as a criminal offence still has a significant contemporary effect on how it is perceived, conceptualised and adjudged – particularly within countries where suicide is largely determined within a coronial system, such as in the UK, Australia and the US. This paper will address the central question: Regarding the determination of suicide, in what ways does our past still shape our present? This question is addressed via coronial research conducted in England and Australia.
II. Histories of the present
There is a familiar teleology to dominant public narratives regarding the ‘history’ of suicide. The argument runs that it is only in very recent years that we have been able to adopt an enlightened approach to the phenomenon. That is, we have now progressed to the stage where its truth has been all but revealed – largely through the rise of the psychological sciences, but also through the concomitant weakening of religious belief and judgment. Where it was once a serious criminal offence, this previous regressive legal categorisation is long gone, and we can now address suicide with clarity and rationality. Furthermore, we can look back into the past and not only see obvious examples of issues such as depressive suicides; we can apply our contemporary moral lenses to the awful treatment of the families of those who committed suicide, or those who survived suicide attempts; we can also accurately trace the historical trajectory of our transition from ‘then’ to ‘now’.
Under closer scrutiny, this form of linear, triumphalist history seems more a pleasant reassuring story we tell ourselves – particularly when considering the issue of suicide – rather than any kind of defensible analysis about the relationship between the past and the present. Arguably, a more useful methodological approach can be found employing Foucault's ‘history of the present’. As he wrote, when discussing his history of incarceration:
‘I would like to write a history of this prison, with all of the political investments of the body that it gathers together in its closed architecture. Why? Simply because I am interested in the past? No, if one means that by writing a history of the past in terms of the present. Yes, if one means writing a history of the present.’ (Foucault, Reference Foucault1977, pp. 30–31)
A history of the present is concerned with questioning the taken for granted assumptions about the way in which modern society is ordered. Rather than looking back to find current social processes and organisations in our own history, this approach looks back at our society to question the naturalness of contemporary ways of ordering our lives. As such, it is able to reveal the heterogeneity of our social identity, one often masked by those who look to the past to find support for current arrangements and orders. By ‘suspending contemporary norms of validity and meaning’, a history of the present seeks to break with ‘true, given, natural’ ideas of reality; only in such a way can we understand the socially constructed nature of our own space and time.’ (Dean, Reference Dean1994, pp. 32–35)
There are three central elements of a history of the present. First, it takes issue with the idea of free human agents, or subjects of history, who use their attributes to create society. Instead, given the constraints imposed by time, culture and past experience, it is argued that ‘history is the stage of human drama precisely because it is both made and not made by human actors’ (Dean, Reference Dean1994, p. 55). Second, a history of the present utilises previously marginalised or subjugated insights into past lives by using popular knowledges rather than those of kings or priests, and local memories rather than officially documented ones. It is these illegitimate and disqualified forms of knowledge that offer us an insight into the socially created and historically specific ordering of our current reality. Finally, and most significantly for this paper, a history of the present also takes issue with the idea that as a society we are progressing in a linear fashion towards a more civilised society. When we think of the great histories of our society, they are most often about momentous changes, written as a movement toward a ‘perfectible future’. As such, the history of civilisation is about the triumph of science over nature and/or the mastery of human actors in the creation of better and more just political and social institutions. As discussed above, this approach constitutes the dominant narrative regarding the eventual decriminalisation of suicide. However, the historical evidence discussed below suggests a far more complex past, and a far more complex present.
2.1 Histories of suicide
As Alvarez (Reference Alvarez, Pabst-Battin and Mayo1981) points out, history does not contain a blanket prohibition against suicide. The ancient Greeks were very disapproving of suicide, whereas the Romans generally regarded suicide positively, considering it a validation of the stoic principles by which they lived and died. Likewise, the Vikings regarded suicide as one of the noblest of deaths, following their god Odin, who, according to Norse mythology, killed himself.
Early Christians adopted many of the beliefs and practices of the Romans, and their approach to suicide was similarly positive. Indeed, early Christianity was often characterised by the quest for martyrdom:
‘Even the most stoical Romans committed suicide as a last resort; they at least waited until their lives had become intolerable. But for the primitive church, life was intolerable whatever its conditions. Why, then, live unredeemed when heavenly bliss is only a knife stroke away? Christian teaching was at first a powerful incitement to suicide.’ (Alvarez, Reference Alvarez, Pabst-Battin and Mayo1981, p. 25)
This continued until the seventh century, when sects such as the Donatists brought frenzied mass suicide to such levels that the church was forced to intervene – largely for reasons of practical numerical survival. From this point onwards, suicide came to be shaped as an offence against God, the most deadly of moral sins, and prohibitions against it became more and more extreme. These prohibitions – the seizing of property by the state, public hanging of the body, burial in unconsecrated ground with a stake driven through the body – became relatively standard. Furthermore:
‘The chosen site was usually at a crossroads, which was also the place of public execution, and a stone was placed over the dead man's face; like the stake, it would prevent him from rising as a ghost to haunt the living. Apparently, the terror of suicides lasted longer than the fear of vampires and witches; the last recorded degradation of the corpse of a suicide took place in England in 1823 … . (Alvarez, Reference Alvarez, Pabst-Battin and Mayo1981, p. 8)
The evidence suggests that towards the end of the nineteenth century, suicide began to be approached in a different way (Marsh, Reference Marsh2010). Importantly, this change was not brought about by a humanist realisation that suicide should not be stigmatised, but rather it developed as part of the rise of new forms of governance and regulation. That is, suicide was no longer to be simply a sin against God; it was now an important indicator of the health and well-being of the population. In his Foucaultian analysis, Marsh (Reference Marsh2010) noted that suicide was brought into the realm of the statistically knowable, and from there came to be regarded, first and foremost, as a matter of psychiatric concern. Of course, this is by no means a unique phenomenon, but is instead a familiar tactic for effective contemporary governance (Tait, Reference Tait2010).
The point here is that current attitudes towards suicide, whether social or administrative, have a complex history, and are cross-cut by a wide range of different knowledges – theological, ethical, legal, medical, psychological and governmental. Consequently, the effects of these knowledges may well need to be taken into account when attempting to understand how coroners reach their conclusions in making suicide determinations. Importantly, it is not only aspects of the history of suicide that have a role to play in shaping these determinations; other histories are also relevant.
2.2 The place of the public inquest in English law
Unlike in Australia, in England there are public coronial inquests, for all suspected suicides. This is particularly significant because it means that English coroners are required to deal with grieving families when making their deliberations. How public inquests came about is also significant, because these historical circumstances also speak to the coroner's role, both within that inquest, and more generally.
From the inception of the role in the eleventh century, one of the central responsibilities of the coroner has been to investigate deaths ‘considered worthy of inquiry’ (Burney, Reference Burney2000, p. 3). This would include deaths such as those by accident, where there was some suspicion of wrongdoing, and those by suicide. This eventually became a largely administrative task, conducted in a non-adversarial environment, as part of the effective administration of the populace. In addition to the recording, assessing and categorising of death, the coroner's role has most recently expanded, throughout Australia and the UK, to incorporate elements of social management and prevention of harm. Consequently, the coroner is not only an essential part of the legal system – in that they manage the relationship between the state and the deaths of its citizens, and, in particular, those deaths deemed to warrant investigation – now they are also an important element of the process by which the state accumulates social data, data which is used to identify problems and shape policy. The problem here is clear: if coroners are reluctant to reach a finding of suicide, as Walker et al. (Reference Walker, Chen and Madden2008) contend, then their role in the production of valid statistics, which in turn direct social policies and programmes (targeting, for example, suicide prevention), becomes significantly compromised.
It is important to note that the role of the coroner – and the functioning of the coronial inquest – is not just a matter of abstract social and administrative interest. It has been argued that, historically, both are central to how English democracy came to be shaped and understood, and, as such, questions about how well the coronial system works, and about how former British colonies have chosen to refract this original office for their own purposes, continue to be asked. Burney (Reference Burney2000) examines the historical role played by the public inquest in placing important checks on state abuse of power, by insisting that all prison deaths – and most famously, the deaths of eighteen protesting workers killed in the Peterloo Massacre in 1819 – face public scrutiny and judgment. This notion, that questionable deaths be the subject of public investigation – an investigation accessible to, and readily understood by, all interested parties within the community – became central to English conceptions of justice and democracy (hence, it is argued, the continuing importance of pubic inquiries into possible suicides). Indeed, much of Burney's book examines the complex tension that arose within the coronial inquest, between the voices of this participatory tradition, and the bearers of new, scientific knowledge that sought to bring medical expertise to the inquest process, often at the expense of public understanding and involvement.
Arguably, this tension – or at least a modern variant on it (i.e. between medicine and the law) – can still be clearly seen within the fabric of contemporary death investigation (Carpenter and Tait, Reference Carpenter and Tait2010). Interestingly, it will be argued here that the research on suicide determination to be discussed in this paper has uncovered a far more significant tension, a tension between the governmental and the pastoral functions of the coroner. If the governmental function has always included investigative and preventative elements (investigative, in delivering an appropriate finding, and preventative, in contributing accurate data to inform social policy), the pastoral, therapeutic function now involves looking after the well-being of bereaved families. That is, in addition to these two traditional, prescribed roles of the coroner – death investigation and prevention – this research will suggest that there now appears to be a third function, one which may often sit at odds with the first two, in that coroners have been allocated, or perhaps more accurately, have allocated themselves, a role in the process of giving closure to grieving families. This ‘therapeutic’ role may often result in coroners managing the inquest in ways that go well beyond the simple finding of facts, and which have significant implications for the administrative elements of the task.
2.3 The rise of therapeutic jurisprudence
The tension evidenced among coroners concerning the role of the family in suicide determination appears to be relatively new, as there is little sign of it in Burney's book on the English coronial inquest during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries mentioned earlier. What may have happened here are the effects of a new vector within the coronial process, what Freckelton (Reference Freckelton2008, p. 576) refers to as ‘therapeutic jurisprudence’ – defined as ‘the study of the role of the law as a therapeutic agent’.
Within this approach, the law is not simply a set of codes to be followed without reflection, much in the manner of Legal Positivism; such codes have consequences for all those caught up in the proceedings. As such, legal institutions, and those charged with making them work, are now deemed to have some responsibility for the mental and emotional well-being of all participants. King (Reference King2008, p. 4) is quite explicit in his call for an increasingly therapeutic approach to coronial practice:
‘Coroners’ work is intimately connected with well-being – a concern of therapeutic jurisprudence. Part of the Coroner's role is to determine whether there are public health or safety issues arising out of the death and whether any action needs to be taken to remedy any problems, particularly those that may cause future deaths … Moreover, the dead person's family suffer grief and, depending upon circumstances of the death, significant trauma.’
According to this logic, it would be insufficient for a coroner to reach a finding of suicide within an inquest, without considering how this finding might impact upon those left behind by the death. Coroners would no longer be regarded, or regard themselves, as mere functionaries in the process of recording death statistics, rather they would have a therapeutic role to play in the emotional and psychological health of their wider communities. This is not to say that the trauma of losing a loved one cannot ever be exacerbated by an unwelcome finding at an inquest, but it does suggest that the coroner's responsibilities lie beyond simply determining the cause and circumstances of death. As Freckelton (Reference Freckelton2008, p. 577) states: ‘Therapeutic jurisprudence … is in part a practical orientation towards minimizing adverse outcomes. And it is in part about working with the realities of the broad repercussions of the law to fashion them as constructively as possible.’
In summary, then, it is suggested here that there is no neat, linear story to be told of the decriminalisation of suicide; that the coronial process is likely to be the piecemeal product of various historical knowledges, imperatives, practices and beliefs; that the process of suicide determination is likely to still show traces of these practices and beliefs; and that this process is not now fixed in amber, in that new knowledges will continue to arise which will affect how suicide is determined and managed into the future.
III. Methodology
This paper details the results from two associated pilot research projects. These projects involve the analysis of English and Australian coronial practice regarding suicide determination; the data from these projects now forms one component of a larger, ongoing, funded research project.
The first research project was conducted within one geographical area within England, and consisted of two parts. In the first part, observations were made at twenty public inquests into possible suicides. Contact was made with each coronial office, who then suggested which inquests to attend. All the inquests were within the same part of England; they were conducted over a four-month period, some lasting two days, some lasting less than an hour; most took between three to four hours. The inquests attended reached a variety of different conclusions, including suicide, accident, open verdicts and narrative verdicts.
The second part of the English research involved semi-structured interviews, informed by observations made at the inquests. These were conducted with six coroners who had presided over the above inquests. Once again, all were from the same part of England. The interviews were conducted over a two-month period; generally, they lasted about an hour, and they were conducted in a variety of locations.
The second research project was conducted within one state jurisdiction within Australia. Unlike the English study, no observations were made at the inquests. In Australia, inquests are not a regular part of coronial practice for making determinations of suicide, except under special circumstances. Instead, the research consisted solely of semi-structured interviews with coroners. These interviews were conducted with five coroners, all from the capital city of the state and its surrounding areas. The interviews were conducted over a one-month period, and were conducted in the coroner's offices, also lasting about an hour. All interviews were conducted by one researcher for consistency of approach, and transcribed by a professional service before being sent back to each interviewee for confirmation. Thematic analysis was the key process utilised in this research, and an inductive approach to the data was favoured (Braun and Clarke, Reference Braun and Clarke2006). Thematic analysis of the transcripts began with a process of schematic coding, which required all transcripts to be read in their entirety by the research team. Themes were identified through a series of discussions between the research team where both dominant and emergent themes were identified and then reviewed. For the purposes of this paper, the ways in which the stigma of suicide can still impinge upon coronial decision-making, and the therapeutic elements of the role of coroner, were the dominant themes identified and explored in the interviews with coronial staff. At this point it is important to note that thematic analysis is a recursive rather than a linear process. Rather than simply moving from one stage to the next, analysis moves back and forth between the phases as required (Braun and Clarke, Reference Braun and Clarke2006, p. 86). Once the dominant themes were identified in the transcripts, a process of schematic coding began where subthemes were identified.
It is fortunate for this study that all interviews were conducted by the same researchers, which has improved consistency. It is a further strength of this study that it was possible to gain access to all the coroners within a given county in England, and a state within Australia; this permitted a comprehensive assessment of coronial practice within each jurisdiction. Of course, a limitation here is that comparisons are only being made between two specific jurisdictions, with all the associated questions regarding generalisability of the findings. Given that the two jurisdictions were chosen on the basis of their typicality, there is reason for confidence that any broader generalisation would not be unreasonable.
IV. Results
With regard to the legacy of suicide as a criminal offence, the results of this study suggest a complex intersection of issues and factors that affect the decision-making processes of English and Australian coroners. We take these in turn.
4.1 Irrespective of its current legal status, coroners are very aware of the criminal history of suicide
‘the traditions of the body never being put to rest; the body being torn into four sections, planted in the ground in different sections, stakes put through the heart and the fact that the body will never be able to rise from the dead because it's been torn apart, staked to the ground and the person will be forever in hell.’ (English Coroner 3)
‘If you go back in English law 150 years or so suicide was absolutely a dreadful thing to do to yourself. You were cheating on God, you would not have any hope of resurrection … At that stage apparently coroners had been giving burial orders which said that the deceased must be buried at the junction of four roads with a stake through their body – and I'm not getting mixed up with Transylvania here, this is really what it said – where beggars could spit upon their graves as they went past.’ (English Coroner 4)
However, the interviews suggest that English coroners remain much more concerned by these historic legal issues than do their Australian counterparts. The Australian coroners do not seem to consider the history of suicide as a crime to be particularly relevant to their current determinations.
‘It's quite a different history. We might've started off like that, I think, in the early days … I'm talking about the early days of the colony … but I really think that really – that went away some time ago.’ (Australian Coroner 1)
‘I think their coronial system is probably a little bit more traditional … and I suppose the alternative description is old-fashioned.’ (Australian coroner 3)
There could be a number of reasons for this, many based around social, cultural and historical differences between the two countries, but one significant issue is likely to be the following.
4.2 England and Wales retain the criminal standard of proof for suicide determination, and hence retains greater links to suicide as a crime
As a direct legacy of times when it was categorised as a crime, the standard of proof required for reaching a finding of suicide by an English coroner is the highest possible: ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’. As previously mentioned, this stands in contrast to the necessary Australian standard, which is ‘on the balance of probabilities’. The importance of this issue is compounded by the fact that English coroners express a nuanced understanding of just what constitutes ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’.
‘The standard of proof of beyond a reasonable doubt as applied in the public prosecution services is quite a lot lower really … I doubt many people would be prosecuted if you needed the level of sureness you need for a suicide verdict … Don't misunderstand that there's only one standard of proof, which is beyond a reasonable doubt, but then of course it's up for interpretation what's beyond a reasonable doubt.’ (English Coroner 1)
Consequently, in England a finding of suicide can be very hard to attain. Many deaths, which would readily meet the Australian standard, are classified as something else, such as an ‘accident’ or an ‘open verdict’. This particularly stringent reading of ‘beyond a reasonable doubt’ results in a significant reduction in the numbers of English suicides recorded each year, a fact of which the coroners are very aware:
‘Every coroner does things differently, and like I say, a rough rule of thumb – if you're looking at statistics, I can guarantee that suicide is under-represented. Roughly, I say you could add a third onto the figure … ’ (English Coroner 4)
‘We're left with about 300 cases a year which we inquest … I would say we do 50 suicides a year out of 300 – genuine suicide verdicts. Then there are probably about another 30 odd, which probably are.’ (English Coroner 1)
This is not to suggest that Australian coroners are prepared to hand out findings of suicide without an equal measure of caution; however, this caution is framed within a significantly lower legislated standard of proof.
‘the more serious it is, the higher up the scale you have to go towards “reasonable doubt”. You don't have to get there; it's just on the balance, the balance has to be a lot stronger than just “probably”.’ (Australian Coroner 2)
‘It's just the same as any other finding coroners make; you have to be satisfied having regard to the seriousness of the finding. Suicide is a more serious finding than accidental death.’ (Australian Coroner 5)
Once again, whether as a consequence of the retention of the criminal standard of proof, or for other more complex reasons, English coroners profess a greater awareness of issues of stigma than seems to be the case in Australia.
4.3 English coroners are more concerned with ‘stigma’ than their Australian counterparts
Almost all of the English coroners interviewed brought up the issue of the stigma that suicide leaves the family of the deceased. Not only does this matter appear fundamental to how English coroners understand the notion of suicide, it also seems central to how they reach a determination.
‘I think a lot of coroners – me included – sometimes take a sympathetic view of the family, and perhaps, well, you know – why leave them with the stigma of this, when we can actually make their situation better?’ (English Coroner 1)
‘People are concerned to avoid a suicide verdict, because of the stigma attached to it and you notice I didn't use suicide and that I originally used the words “took his own life”. If the evidence stacks up and we can say, when the person's mind was disturbed, then that sometimes ameliorates the stigma to the family.’ (English Coroner 2)
‘“Felo de se” was not only a crime but it was a huge, huge social stigma because you know you're damned … and of course previous to that, if you committed suicide, the state would forfeit all your good because that's how the Coroner made money for the Crown.’ (English Coroner 4)
This is not to say that Australian coroners are unaware of the potential of stigma falling upon the deceased's family, indeed some Australian legislation is written with this very possibility in mind:
‘The Births Deaths and Marriages Act, which was reformed at the same time as the Coroners Act, says you can't put suicide on the register; you can't even mention it on the BDM register … because of the stigma. It damages the reputation of the family and the dead person.’ (Australian Coroner 2)
However, while not irrelevant, it is clear that the issue of stigma is considered by Australian coroners to be of lesser importance, certainly to their own deliberations as coroners.
‘I don't really think that sort of discourse has much currency here.’ (Australian Coroner 3)
Somewhat related to the issue of stigma, it became evident from both sets of interviews, and from the additional observations made at inquest, that a further historical issue was of importance when considering matters impacting directly upon suicide rates: the frequency of English coronial inquests.
4.4 Due to compulsory public inquests in England, English coroners necessarily deal directly with the grieving families, upon whom the stigma of a suicide finding would fall
In Australia, inquests are relatively uncommon, only deployed when there is considerable uncertainty over the cause or manner of death, whereas in England, all possible suicides result in an inquest. The crucial issue here is that holding an inquest gives the family of the deceased direct access to the very person who is going to make the formal decision about the circumstances of that death. This decision has significant social implications. The desperation of the family not to have a suicide finding by the coroner may be perfectly understandable, given the previous discussion and the stigma still associated with this verdict. While some English coroners profess relative immunity to the wishes of family members, others are aware that such wishes often factor into their overall decision-making process.
‘They tend to come in numbers. If you've got 10 members of the family with their eyes burning on you, and they really don't want that verdict, it is very, very hard … .’ (English Coroner 4)
‘It's very tempting to give a sympathetic verdict to the poor widow who stands before you saying we can't be sure he took his own life – this dreadful thing.’ (English Coroner 1)
In contrast to this approach, some coroners state that they are not at all swayed by the wishes of the deceased's family.
‘It boils down to evidence as far as I'm concerned … I wouldn't be persuaded just because they're all shouting [the family] … I'm afraid you've just got to be robust about it and stick by your guns.’ (English Coroner 2)
In the absence of an inquest, Australian coroners are not subjected to constant family requests to reach findings other than suicide. Without such extraneous emotional pressure, Australian coroners claim that they are in a better position to reach their finding based solely upon the information presented to them. Australian families are still welcome to have an input, and this is factored into the eventual finding, but this is not done in person, and in the absence of direct family contact the Australian coroners appear to feel that they have greater latitude in reaching the finding of their choice:
‘You find that the families will write to you and they will say … this was not a suicide. You go … well, everything suggests that they bought the rope the day before at Mitre 10, they waited until everyone had left the house, there's a note that says this is what they're intending to do, and they were found hanging in the shed. If it's not suicide, then what the hell is it? … I'm not writing fiction. I'm not making it a different death.’ (Australian Coroner 2)
While English coroners may regard the inquest as the cornerstone of their professional lives, it appears to have no such status in Australia. Indeed, while Australian coroners are fully aware of the structure of the English system, they consider that the economic and emotional costs of inquests are far too high to warrant the introduction of the practice within their own jurisdictions:
‘It gives me pause for thought, but yeah … I don't know how you would be resilient, and how it couldn't impact on your decisions actually if you were involving yourself face to face with families who may simply be wanting to speak with the person making the decision, or maybe wanting to influence that decision … .’ (Australian Coroner 4)
The continuing effects of the two historical factors discussed so far – the legacy of suicide as a crime, and the practical implications of compulsory inquests – are not the only factors at play in reducing contemporary suicide rates. One final reason involves a relatively new set of expectations placed upon coroners, relating to their perceived responsibility for the emotional well-being of grieving families.
4.5 English coroners consider they have a responsibility to consider the emotional well-being of the grieving family in reaching their decisions
It became apparent during the interviews – particularly in England – that there are differing opinions over the central role of the coroner. Some coroners took a hard line over their determinations – understanding their role as fundamentally administrative – while others saw their role in a more pastoral light, pertaining first and foremost to helping the grieving family.
‘I often engage the family and will say, “I'm thinking along these lines. What's your view?” Sometimes if you carry the families with you, it's more cathartic – it's totally wrong, but it's a more cathartic experience for them … you put the family at the heart of the inquiry.’ (English Coroner 4)
Which can be directly contrasted with:
‘I'm not a social service. I'm supposed to be making an inquiry on behalf of the State, not on behalf of the family, and if this person has taken their own life, and the evidence satisfies me beyond a reasonable doubt that this is the case, what verdict can I possibly come to other that that they have taken their own life?’ (English Coroner 6)
Clearly, there is a division here between those coroners who see their principal task as providing comfort and closure to grieving families, and those for whom the job remains steadfastly administrative. This tension may well be relatively new, and is evidence of precisely what Freckelton (Reference Freckelton2008) refers to as ‘therapeutic jurisprudence’. Some coroners may now feel a professional obligation for the mental and emotional well-being of the bereaved – irrespective of the consequences for other elements of their job, i.e. the accuracy of the suicide data for which they are primarily responsible.
The question here then is: Has ‘therapeutic jurisprudence’ taken a greater hold within English coronial practice, as opposed to Australia, or indeed, were some elements of therapeutic jurisprudence – social healing – always present to a greater extent in England, with its inquest-based, death investigations? Certainly, the evidence presented in this research suggests that concern for the well-being of the bereaved family plays a significantly greater role in the English coronial system than it does in its Australian equivalent, which appears to have quite limited contact with the bereaved families, and expresses limited responsibility for their post-death well-being.
‘There's a standard process: we write to the person saying we've concluded the investigation, we're of the view that the facts clearly establish that this happened; we propose making the following findings, don't consider any inquest necessary, give them fourteen days to tell us if you think there are other issues … .’ (Australian Coroner 3)
This is not to say that Australian coroners don't care about the emotional well-being of bereaved families. However:
‘I'll bend over backwards to help, but at the end of the day, how far can you take it?’ (Australian Coroner 6)
V. Discussion
Arguably, here are three main talking points that emerge from this research. First, there are the continuing effects of the complex history of suicide as a category of death; of particular note is the role of religion. Second, there is the continued use of public inquests within the UK, and some of the implications that this has on the coronial processes of suicide determination. Third, there is the rise of therapeutic jurisprudence, particularly within the UK. We take these in turn.
5.1 History and suicide
This research tends to support the notion that the history of suicide as a crime still has continuing effects, not only in terms of how families respond to deaths which may potentially be adjudged as a suicide by the coroner, but also by the coroners themselves. This is not to suggest that the previous status of suicide as a crime is the only variable at play here when trying to understand why both families and coroners often seem to reach a finding of suicide only as a last resort. For example, there are often extreme levels of family grief and guilt, associated with a death by suicide, emotions which, to some extent, may be partially ameliorated by other coronial findings (Sands and North, Reference Sands, North, Kissane and Parnes2014).
A further variable is that of religion. A number of modern religions continue to have prohibitions against suicide, such as Catholicism (Rolheiser, Reference Rolheiser2015). Communities where this theological prohibition is a familiar and accepted part of the moral landscape are going to be more likely to resist a finding of suicide – and this includes both the family and the coroner – than would a community where such a death has no religious implications. Of course, in a broader sense, the effects of religion cannot really be detached from the notion of ‘suicide as a crime’, as if they are two separate issues. As discussed by Alvarez (Reference Alvarez, Pabst-Battin and Mayo1981) earlier in this paper, it was as a result of the power of the early church that suicide came to be positioned as a crime in the first place. In many ways, criminal codes have always been extensions of canon law; the initial criminalisation of suicide, and its continued status as a crime for over 1400 years, is a perfect example.
A further possible variable regarding religion and differences in coronial determinations of suicide in the UK and Australia may well involve differing levels of religiosity between the two countries. This research has suggested that English coroners remain far more concerned with the history of suicide as a crime, and far more concerned with the (often religion-inspired) stigma associated with this form of death, than do their Australian counterparts. Research suggests that while religious observance is declining in both countries, Australia is a significantly more secular nation (BBC, 2007; McCrindle, Reference Mccrindle2013). Obviously, before any meaningful claims could be made in this area, much more focused research would need to be conducted.
5.2 Suicide and the public inquest
This research suggests that issues of stigma associated with suicide's complex religious/criminal history are more able to find voice within a coronial system that mandates public inquest. The place of the public inquest within English law is an historically important one (Burney, Reference Burney2000); English coroners still regard it as central not only to the appropriate execution of their professional responsibilities, but also to the effective legal governance of the population – and all this in spite of the fact that it appears an onerous and inefficient way of getting through their not-inconsiderable workloads. Australian coroners do not share this belief in the indispensability of the public inquest; in Australia, inquests into possible suicides are rare.
The main point here is that such inquests provide a venue for social and moral concerns over suicide to be publically enacted. English coroners are required to confront bereaved families on a daily basis, families who consistently wish to absolve their lost relatives of the stigma of a self-inflicted death. This research suggests that coroners vary in their ability to remain uninfluenced by these pressures. In contrast, Australian coroners are not subjected to these forces, and the evidence suggests that their findings reflects this fact.
It should be reiterated that all the factors mentioned so far – religion, criminal law, social stigma, public inquests – do not somehow act independently of each other. Rather, they are an interrelated set of variables that act in compounding ways; that is (to oversimplify matters), religion has played a role in shaping criminal law, and both of these contribute to the production of social stigma, which can then become publically enacted within the space of the coronial inquest.
Arguably, the final piece of this jigsaw concerns the rise of what has been referred to as therapeutic jurisprudence. This is significant because it creates a context wherein coroners are more likely to be concerned about the potentially stigmatising effects of findings upon bereaved families, and hence moderate those findings accordingly.
5.3 The rise of therapeutic jurisprudence
There are (at least) two ways of understanding therapeutic jurisprudence. The first is to regard it as an interpretive lens through which to read a set of legal practices, rather than a description of some concrete, neatly bounded legal reality. That is, English coroners may be understood as demonstrating, in a piecemeal way, a concern for the social and emotional well-being of families who come to the coronial court. However, this does not thereby automatically translate into, or equate with, a set of unequivocal facts about legal practice that can be called ‘therapeutic jurisprudence’.
The second approach regards therapeutic jurisprudence as having a little more internal structure than this. While it is certainly a lens through which to understand legal practice, it is now also regarded as a coherent legal framework, one with specific strategies, rationales and desired outcomes. The therapeutic jurisprudence movement was, as originally conceived, an attempt to apply research findings from the social sciences to legal processes in order to make those legal processes less damaging to the well-being of those involved with and affected by them (Wexler, Reference Wexler1992). The normative rationale of the therapeutic jurisprudence movement is that there exists an obligation on the part of the legal system to promote therapeutic outcomes and reforms and to identify, limit and, where possible, ameliorate anti-therapeutic roles and processes. It has been argued that the influence of the movement in achieving these goals has been widespread and significant (King, Reference King2011). In what is sometimes referred to as its ‘maturation phase’ (Freckelton, Reference Freckelton2008), therapeutic jurisprudence has set itself a somewhat broader and more ambitious agenda, which includes influencing the work and functions of judges and lawyers outside the specialist criminal courts, where it has until recently been focused (Wexler, Reference Wexler2012). Here, therapeutic principles associated with ‘solution-focused’ judging are argued to have broad application – and this is deemed to be particularly the case within coroner's courts.
While this paper leans somewhat towards the second approach, the central issue here is that the practices associated with therapeutic jurisprudence have found a greater home within the English coronial court, rather than the Australian. While this may have some advantages in terms of offering social and emotional support to grieving families, the price to be paid for this may be a greater reluctance to reach a finding of suicide – largely founded upon its religious and criminal history – and from there, the production of concomitantly questionable suicide statistics.
VI. Conclusion
It is apparent from this research that coronial practice regarding suicide determination, both in England and Australia, still bears the imprint of a range of historical factors, most significant being the long-held status of suicide as a criminal offence, and (at least in England) the continuing perceived importance of the public nature of inquests. In addition to these two issues, the rise of therapeutic jurisprudence further complicates the decision-making process, with all the concomitant implications for the production of defensible suicide statistics. Two main conclusions can be drawn from this research.
First, as previously stated, suicide has not been a criminal offence in the UK or Australia for over sixty years. However, the conduct of bereaved families at inquests, and the lengths some coroners will go to in order to accommodate their desire for an ‘anything but suicide’ finding, suggest that it will take much more than decriminalisation to change deeply held social proscriptions regarding this form of death. Formally legislating for suicide to be treated like any other non-criminal death does not magically make it so.
Second, this research raises an important question: What can be done about the production of suicide statistics that are widely regarded as unsatisfactory? While most coroners understand and accept their role within the governmental regulation of death, this is often deemed secondary to their less tangible pastoral role in helping families deal with bereavement, and what they perceive to be continuing social stigma, certainly in England. While this is not necessarily an invalid or inappropriate role for coroners to have adopted – such management of community emotional well-being constitutes an important function of governance, and coroners are as well placed as any to participate in the process – the relative confusion over their responsibilities may need formal clarification. As it stands, a focus on the therapeutic components of the position, managing as it does some existing religious concerns over socially unacceptable deaths, appears to be impacting on the ability of many coroners to realise their full administrative responsibilities.
Given the importance of suicide statistics, this may require targeted changes to coronial legislation and practice. A number of speculative suggestions can be made here (Tait, Carpenter, De Leo and Tatz, Reference Tait, Carpenter, De Leo and Tatz2015). For example, rather than a single binary – suicide / not suicide – it has been suggested that graded determinations of suicide could be more effective (De Leo et al., Reference De Leo, Dudley, Aebersold, Mendoza, Barnes, Harrison and Ranson2010). That is, the category of ‘suicide’ should be replaced by three alternative categories, based upon probability: ‘possible suicide’, ‘probable suicide’ and ‘suicide, beyond reasonable doubt’. Alternatively, it has been suggested that cases of significant uncertainty over intent necessitate the introduction of a preliminary category of self-inflicted death, one where intent may be uncertain, but death still a highly probable outcome of a given act. This category has variously been called ‘self-manslaughter’ (Cholbi, Reference Cholbi2007), ‘indirect suicide’ (Fairburn, Reference Fairburn1995) and ‘sub-intentional death’ (Schneidman, Reference Schneidman1985). Finally, it has been contended that, ultimately, suicide is an ‘open-textured’ concept, one that cannot simply be reduced to an analysis of necessary and sufficient conditions (Windt, Reference Windt, Pabst-Battin and Mayo1981). As such, ‘suicide’ is simply a term that represents, in a Wittgensteinian sense, a set of loose family resemblances, one that may not fit well with the neatly bounded classifications expected within contemporary governance. Consequently, what may be required is an acceptance of greater indeterminacy for the category of suicide than is currently the case. In many ways, this is precisely the approach taken by advocates of the ‘narrative verdict’, in England now a central element of coronial jurisprudence.
Whatever the final outcome here for coronial determinations of suicide, this research supports the contention that the past ‘crime’ of suicide continues to have significant implications for the way it is currently conceptualised and adjudged within the coronial space – with all the associated problems that flow from this. As it stands, both England and Australia attempt to compensate for their judicial shortcomings, either by simply lumping ‘open’ verdicts into the ‘suicide’ category, or manipulating the statistics post facto. This is surely unsatisfactory in the long term.
