On an Asylum

Ryan Kennihan

By the end of the eighteenth century, Reason had become king. And through its scientific logic, its rigorous mechanization, its preordained influence, it had raised western civilization out of a world of superstition and fear, to the age of natural laws and empirical science. The industrial revolution was just hitting full steam and somewhere along that timeline, somewhere between the French Revolution and the invention of the internal combustion engine, there came about a humanitarian revolution. A revolution, that, through the devices of reason, and of course moral fortitude, irrevocably improved the lives of the poor, the downtrodden, the children, the criminals, the addicts, and the insane. This last group, as vague a qualification as it was at the time, became the poster child for the Victorian bourgeois humanists. By the late eighteenth century, the insane were by and large roaming the rural and city streets of Europe to be made the tormented entertainment of the populous, or they were chained up in the back rooms and basements of prisons and workhouses, to rot, out of harm's way. Since the notion of curing madness did not yet exist, the managers of the hospitals and jails, where many insane found themselves, subdued their disturbed psyche by any means necessary. It was these conditions of torture and neglect that inspired middle-class 'enlightened' reformists, and lead to the creation of the purpose built public lunatic asylum, forever changing the way in which western society dealt with madness.

The Icon
In searching for an alternative to the barbarisms so at odds with the sentiments of the age, reformists found their model in William Tuke and the Moral Treatment of his York retreat. Tuke envisioned an institution where there would be no need for restraints or physical violence. At his Retreat, he established a moral classification system, which, through the Quaker codes of hard work and religion and a conditioned response to reward and punishment, madness would find its way back to Reason. Madness as an enigmatic entity, was never explicitly discussed or addressed with the patients. They were simply given a set of rules, corresponding to the norms of bourgeois society, and instructed to behave accordingly. Outbreaks of madness, fissures shown in the veil of good moral conduct, were punished vis-�-vis a restriction of liberty. Good behaviour, i.e. performing correctly within the set of established social practices, lead to complete freedom within the house and eventual release. The choices, the actions, and the consequences were entirely set on the shoulders of the patient. The only thing left for the staff to do was to observe the clientele for any breach in the mask of normalcy. This constant observation taught the patients to restrict and mold their outward appearance to the expected behaviour of the middle class. Any transgression would be correlated to a punishment, for which only the patient would be responsible. By refusing to engage madness at its fundamental level, in fact, by refusing to even explicitly discuss its existence, patients were forced to decide for themselves. But with this decision, madness was dealt with at a mental level as opposed to the physical one of bodily punishment and restraint. Preserve the fa�ade at all costs and you will be rewarded. As stated by Foucault, "..under observation madness is constantly required, at the surface of itself, to deny its dissimulation. It is judged only by its acts; it is not accused of intentions, nor are its secrets to be fathomed. Madness is responsible only for that part of itself which is visible. All the rest is reduced to silence. Madness no longer exists except as seen." [my emphasis]. Yet, this is all subsequent analysis, what was significant at the time was that madness was being 'cured'.

The role that architecture was called on to play was this: the almost utopian ideals of the reformist society, of morally rejuvenating every lost soul and feeble mind in their own image, found their embodiment in the architecture of the asylum. The building itself became considered, "emphatically an instrument of treatment" . The physical structure was thought as influential to curing madness, as any other mechanism available to the reformist. The architecture of the institutional asylum was to serve as psychiatrist, judge, dictator, symbol, and liberator for the patient and for the society as a whole. Without a properly designed asylum, curing the insane was considered an impossibility, but in 1814, when the need for such buildings was becoming increasingly clear, there were only vague notions of what a 'properly designed asylum' was. Tuke's York Retreat was again an essential influence at the time. The purpose built building embodied a number of ideals central to the new typology. Firstly, its siting in the countryside, outside of the city centre, was considered an indispensable feature. Fresh air, soothing views of natural landscapes, garden walks, and a general feeling of escape from the ills of metropolitan life (often considered a chief cause of insanity), and from proximity to family woes, were all vital to the cure of insanity. This sense of liberty, despite its physical actuality, was amplified by the structure of the building itself. Patients were provided with large dayrooms, and airing yards so they would not be locked in their cells all day. In addition, the windows at the Retreat were regarded as architectural innovations in that they eliminated the need for bars on the windows, and the detrimental effect on the mind that they produce. The mullions were made of iron, thus implementing measures of security, without gaining the appearance of a prison. The appearance of the building was vital. If it were to, "�put on the appearance of a Jail; Patients would become sullen or vindictive, and the chance of recovery reduced to almost nothing." The asylum had to be the icon of the social and moral principles that brought it into existence. This institutional building was to single handedly represent the benevolent will and intent of the institution for the sake of the patient as well as for the society of reformists. Society's ingenious new solutions to its ills exist as seen. In addition to appearance and setting, two of the most fundamental aspects crucial to the actual implementation of Moral Treatment were, the ability to classify and separate the patients in terms of sex, class, and type and severity of madness, and the ability to observe every public facet of their conduct. Curing madness was dependent on successful classification and the allocation of personal liberty based on behaviour and this could only be achieved through the careful design and structure of the building as a taxonomic and optical apparatus. The two most influential architectural examples available at the time were Bentham's Panopticon of 1781 and the more recent radial plans of George Stark for his Glasgow Lunatic Asylum of 1807. The benefits of the former in terms of continual observation are unmistakable and well discussed elsewhere, yet the pure form of the panopticon was considered too oppressive for the fragile minds of the insane and thus incompatible with the society's newfound intentions to cure them as opposed to just contain them. It also was incompatible with the central desire to classify and separate the patients. The radial aspects of the Glasgow Asylum, on the other hand, allowed for more sufficient classification, facilitating individual treatment, in addition to more ample lighting and ventilation potential.

The rhetoric of this revolution, taking place in England and across western Europe, ended up finding a piece of testing ground in Ireland, where the Lord Lieutenant's office had the freedom to enact legislation with little resistance. In 1817 Ireland became the first nation to pass legislation requiring the provision of public asylums across the country. The plans for the first nine Lunatic Asylums built in Ireland after the 1817 legislation were drawn up by the architectural practice of Francis Johnston and William Murray who designed two versions of the public asylum, a smaller version for 100 patients(ill.2) and the larger X- plan asylum for 150 patients. The former was erected at Armagh (1820-25), Belfast (1825-29), Derry (1829), Carlow (1833), Portlaoise (1833), Waterford (1835), and Clonmel (1835). Only two of the larger plans were erected at Limerick (1824-26) and Ballinasloe (1831-33). The designs for these institutions, buildings which were essentially some of the first publicly mandated and funded institutions for the insane in the whole of the Western world, are a compelling distillation of the philanthropic and architectural rhetoric of the time, and, at closer inquiry, reveal them to be potent elucidations of the many paradoxes inherent in the society that created them.

The Plan
It is on these foundations that the asylums of Johnston and Murray stand. Their asylums were a virtual checklist of every element promoted by the reformers of the era. The buildings were each sited about a mile outside of their respective towns in what was then virgin countryside and farmland. All of the natural elements of fresh air and bucolic landscape were there for the soothing of the misguided mind. Each wing of the buildings had its own corresponding airing yard and workshop in order to distract the demented musings of the psyche with the constant action of the body. The plans of these buildings were the embodiment of proper moral treatment for the betterment of the poor and insane and this is precisely how they were intended to be read; a perfect hybrid of the radial plan and panopticism (fig. 1) . Each of the building's radial arms is carefully laid out in order to classify and separate patients by sex, type and severity of affliction. For example, convalescent patients were kept in larger rooms on the front of the first floor. Noisy patients, i.e. the most acutely afflicted, were isolated at the ends of the diagonal arms, farthest from the Governor's House, and thus farthest from salvation. This placement kept them from upsetting the other patients while serving to exemplify the social and moral stratification of the asylum and fortifying the system of reward and punishment in the minds of the patients. Within the arms, patients were divided up into individual cells, facilitating individual treatment and individual reflection.

At the centre of the radial arms, in both plans, is the 'Governor's House', the authoritative focus of the asylum. It contained the bedrooms, offices, boardrooms, and parlour of the director of the asylum and its symbolic and functional program is three-fold. In addition to simply housing the director, it had to maintain the image of an ideal middle-class home, an image essential to the enactment of Tuke's religious and moral family environment. The house presents the fa�ade of the proper bourgeois atmosphere within the asylum itself, encouraging the patients to enact the daily performance as reasoned members of society. The aim being, that simply engaging in this performance is a positive step towards curing madness. The house's fa�ade of social order begets an equivalent fa�ade in the patients themselves.

The elements of panopticism are also apparent in the asylum plan, with the Governor's house as its central ocular element. The windows of the parlour, office, sitting, and boardrooms, are arranged to view directly down the main corridors of the cellblocks and into the Day rooms along side it. (fig. 2) The intent is apparent in the K- type plan where access to the house element is only through an 'Inspection Lobby', yet, the windows which, were it not for the radiating arms of the cell block, would simply be exterior, are arranged directly at the terminus of the hallway and along one wall of the day room. Its ocular nature is laden with implicit intent. It functions in a similar manner to the central tower of Bentham's panopticon, yet its implementation is formally less oppressive. It observes without shouting it. Bentham's Panopticon-as-jail crushes the prisoner under the weight of constant total visibility; it is, "a cruel, ingenious cage." The ocule in Johnston and Murray's asylum is simply a house. Yet it is a house whose significance is doubled in that it represents the Governor as a person, and all of the power that his gaze holds, while symbolizing the society and social order that is continually assigning judgment to the madman as long as he remains outside the bounds of reason and social order. Unlike the pure panopticon, the patient may escape from the gaze within his own cell yet within the public realm of the asylum, in the day rooms, hallways, and airing yards, society is always there, searching for a break in the patients' mask of normality. Once again, "Madness exists only as seen."

The Elevation
Elevationally, these buildings appear not unlike other civic buildings of the time. (fig. 3) They present a fa�ade, which, although slightly austere, is similar to the 18th century classicism found at the Dublin Castle and Collins Barracks or even educational buildings such as Parliament Square at Trinity College. The asylums were careful to maintain an image of gravity required of an institution of authority while simultaneously giving an impression of civil identity worthy of their noble cause. When viewed from the country roads, the size of these buildings was visually amplified by both their placement as singular objects in the landscape, and by the relatively small window size of the cellblocks. Like at the York Retreat, there were no bars on these windows, and the prison image of the past had been replaced by the image of civic fortitude, appropriate to any important buildings of the state. Ruling-class society was looking to these buildings to be a pure manifestation of the humanitarian ideals they were promoting. They were referred to at the time as, 'the most blessed manifestation of true civilization the world can present' . The plans of these buildings were to exist as crystallized diagrams of the new moral treatment and its modes of implementation for the betterment of the lunatic poor. The elevations were vital to promoting these ideals, as ideals of a compassionate state, to the populous as a whole. To the lower class, these buildings illustrated the intent of the sympathetic state to alleviate their troubles by providing for their ill. This allowed them to participate more fully in modern society and to provide more freely for their families without the burden of the sick and aged. These buildings, in conjunction with the new state hospitals, and schools, were to provide a sense that the ruling class intended to help. Alternatively, to the bourgeois reformists, these buildings congratulated them on the successes of their humanitarian revolution. The asylum was proof that their modern intellectual and cultural commonwealth was truly enlightened. Their ideals were ushering in a new era of human civilization. But these lunatic asylums did much more for the reformists. They provided a security blanket. The proof of this survives in a simple architectural section.

The Section
A careful look at the section of the cellblock (fig.4) and it becomes clear that within it there lies an entirely different reading to the stated intent of these institutions, a reading that holds a mirror to the society that made them, rather than the patient for which they were intended. There is, of course, another impetus for the creation of this humanitarian institution. That of fear.

The discussion of fear as a political motivation for this Victorian Humanitarianism is not new, and is well documented in many sources. In the mid to late eighteenth century, there was a sharp rise in the proportion of the population to receive poor aid, due, in part, to an increase in unstable industrial and wage labour. The causes of this are numerous, and best discussed elsewhere, yet what remains important is that the Bourgeois became intolerant of this drain on their wallets. In addition, this large number of unemployed poor, concentrated in the urban centres, inundated the ruling classes with the continual dread of, "an army of landless vagrants" rising from below. This large amorphous group, simply a vast unknown to the middle classes, was seen as urgently threatening to the motivations and morals of their society. Yet, this reason and knowledge based society, created by the middle classes, had eliminated their former means of assuring their prominent positions. Violence, restraints, shackles, execution, torture as modes of ensuring subjugation, were all now seen as barbaric. Thus the culture that science and reason had created essentially disarmed them, removing all of their former defences. The fear that filled that void, of an unfathomable horde, forced the bourgeois to construct a fa�ade of security for themselves, a fa�ade which manifest itself in the guise of humanity for others. The motivations of many humanitarians was indeed sincere, yet perhaps part of the reason its implementation was so successful lies in the unspoken opinion that institutionalization was a solution to a socio-political problem. Classification, documentation, and institutionalization helped bring order to the mob, at least in the minds of the ruling class. The buildings embody this motivation. The lunatic asylum was created as a rational tool to fight the irrational; the irrational in the minds of the patients, the incomprehensible hoard in the minds of the bourgeois, and the irrationality of the fear itself, which struck against the very foundations of their era. "It was a preventative measure, providing for the detention of people who had not committed any crime�.the asylum was an unqualified instrument of social control."

Look again at the cellblock section and the detail of the cell window. From the exterior of the building, it manifest itself as a simple 3'x 3' window, probably associated with a patient's room. The size of the windows implies a certain restraint and discipline befitting the program of the institution yet, there are no bars on the windows to imply the hopelessness of a jail. The scene corroborates the publicized rationale for the placement of the building in its idyllic settings by appearing to give each patient a peaceful and uplifting view, corresponding to the desired effects on the psyche. When multiplied across the fa�ade, they begin to symbolize the field of misguided minds being restored to reason through the central figure of the Governor's house and social order that it implies. The elevation is the reformist canon in built form; the perfect monument to civil society and its enlightened ideals. Yet, behind that stone veil, one can see that the floor of the cell is significantly lower than the exterior would lead you to believe. The elevation shows the cell windows appropriately smaller than those of the Governor's house yet, at approximately the same level. The section reveals them to be 7.5 feet from the ground, hardly encouraging for the enjoyment of the country views. Yet the truly deceptive nature of this section, the instance that is fundamentally illuminating to the true intent of the architects and committees that built these structures, lies in the relationship of the window to its stone opening. The opening for the window reveals the entire frame to the exterior while on the interior, the effective size of the window is reduced by half, further pushing the interior sill height an additional 1.5 feet above the heads of the patients. The interior sill itself is curved downward to discourage any attempts at even climbing for a view of the outside world, let alone escaping. Who needs bars? The sole light in the room is provided through this half window, eight feet in the air. The only air circulation is through a six-inch vent at an equivalent level. The elevation of the door displays a similar intent; drawn, by the architects, with two large padlocks, one for the door, and one for the hatch, with no windows. This is, "the most blessed manifestation of true civilization the world can present"? The plan is the moral apparatus in its ideal form, and it was widely publicized and touted as such. The elevation fortified this viewpoint in the eyes of its observers. The section reveals the construction of the plan and fa�ade as ideological fictions.

Once the fa�ade of humanitarianism was created, cloaking the desire for social control in the twin tenets of morality and reason, that fa�ade itself had to be protected and upheld on those same grounds, even if the actions and enforcement that took place behind it were returning to their former state. But the question of 'why?' still remains. While the institutions, once built, did quickly degrade due to over population, under funding, and mismanagement, at the time they were built, they were the cutting edge of contemporary medical and architectural theory. Why did the architects and the associated building committees turn this extraordinary opportunity into an architectural fallacy? The section goes to such lengths to deceive, would it not have been easier to simply provide the ordinary window called for by popular opinion, expert reformists, stylistic conventions and in fact their very own building? Murray, Johnston, and the Committee for the Construction of Lunatic Asylums knew very well that the plan and elevation would be the sole representatives to the public, opening up the entire vertical depth to exploration unencumbered by public opinion. Like the constructed fa�ade imposed on the patients of the asylum, in order to prove their sanity, the Bourgeois had constructed a similar fa�ade, that of 'humanitarianism' to protect their societal standing and to comfort their deepest fears. What this section reveals is that there was another layer of fa�adism that allowed the reformists to believe their own rhetoric. It allowed them to keep building iconic lunatic asylums that prove that their revolutionary doctrines were working. This is a tautology in granite. In this case, the panoptic elements and, in fact, the panopticon itself may be seen in a different light. The all seeing, unequivocally iconic eye of the panopticon may simply function to comfort the minds of the ruling class just by virtue of its being there to watch over the unruly hoards, as much or more so than it actually functions within the machine of the building itself. As perceived by the ruling class, "Asylums were now seen as an essential guarantor of the social order." And it was of utmost importance that the buildings maintained this fiction and all of its ideological trappings and paradoxes, for anyone who was watching. For them, madness only existed if seen. The plan, as instrument of moral reincarnation, and the elevation as its honourable messenger, were all that was ever published, promoted, or seen by the general public. All the while, the simple section held the secret truth.

As exceptional buildings in themselves, the Asylums of Johnston and Murray are interesting in their design and operation as apparatus intended to elicit a specific response from their inhabitants. They are an intriguing architectural experiment in sociology and psychology, testing the extents to which architecture can affect the way we think and act. The asylums probe the limits of architecture's influence on its inhabitants and on its observers. Yet it is the buildings' disingenuous section, which betrays the secret desires of its architects, and provides an outline of the unconscious fears of an entire society- all within the thickness of a single masonry wall.