Lindsay Clancy, Free Will, and Moral Responsibility

The Lindsay Clancy case is horrific.

Three children are dead.

Cora was five. Dawson was three. Callan was only eight months old.

Their mother killed them.

When my wife first told me about this trial, and gave me the gist: that Lindsay Clancy murdered her three kids, then tried to kill herself but only succeeded in paralyzing herself, my initial reaction was visceral:

“Good. She deserves much worse.”

After all, what could be more evil than a mother murdering her own children?

But then more information began to emerge.

And as I've learned more about Lindsay Clancy's mental condition before the killings—especially the evidence concerning her repeated attempts to seek help—my thinking about her moral responsibility has changed. That is to say, I’ve changed my mind.

And that’s led to a change of heart.

Let me be clear from the outset: I have not been following every minute of this trial. I've seen clips, I've followed some of the reporting, and my wife has kept me informed about some of the highlights (she’s following this case like a hawk). So I want to hold my conclusions with an appropriate degree of humility. Moreover, the jury has access to evidence that I do not.

But I have spent much of my academic career thinking, writing, and publishing about human freedom, rationality, and moral responsibility.

And I think philosophy can help us think more carefully about this tragedy.

Three Different Questions

There are at least three questions that need to be distinguished.

First: Was Lindsay Clancy seriously mentally ill?

The evidence I've seen gives me substantial reason to believe that she was suffering from severe mental illness and quite possibly postpartum psychosis (which is importantly different from postpartum depression and can involve a profound break with reality). Whether she was psychotic at the precise moment of the killings is, of course, one of the issues being litigated.

Second: Was her illness sufficiently severe to satisfy Massachusetts's legal standard for lack of criminal responsibility?

I'm not an attorney, so I'm not going to pretend to offer legal expertise I don't possess.

Massachusetts law, however, asks whether, because of mental disease or defect, the defendant lacked substantial capacity either to appreciate the criminality or wrongfulness of her conduct or to conform her conduct to the requirements of law.

For philosophers of human freedom, this immediately raises a related question: did Lindsay Clancy possess the rational freedom and power necessary to control her conduct—to act otherwise than she did?

That is fascinating because it intersects directly with questions philosophers have debated for centuries:

What does it mean to be morally responsible for an action?

And that brings us to the third question:

If Lindsay Clancy was severely mentally ill, what degree of moral responsibility did she possess for the deaths of her children?

This is where I think the philosophy of human freedom can shed some light.

The Drunk Driver

Consider a familiar philosophical thought experiment.

Imagine a man who gets drunk. He freely chooses his first drink. Then he freely chooses his second. Perhaps he freely chooses his third.

Eventually, however, the alcohol begins exercising such an influence over his cognitive faculties that he is no longer capable of thinking clearly. His rational control becomes severely impaired.

Then he gets behind the wheel of a car.

While profoundly intoxicated, he runs over and kills a pedestrian.

Suppose, for the sake of argument, that at the precise moment of impact his cognitive capacities were so impaired that he did not possess the kind of libertarian freedom normally required for moral responsibility.

Does that mean he's morally innocent?

Of course not.

Why?

Because moral responsibility doesn't necessarily begin at the precise instant the pedestrian is struck.

We trace the responsibility backward.

There was an earlier point at which this man possessed rational freedom and the power to control his actions. He understood what alcohol does to the brain and body. He understood the risks associated with becoming intoxicated. Nevertheless, he freely chose to consume something that would progressively compromise his rationality and control.

In an important sense, he freely chose to surrender his freedom. He used his freedom to destroy his freedom.

His lack of rational control at the end of the causal chain does not necessarily erase the morally significant freedom he possessed at the beginning of it.

This is precisely why we can appropriately hold our hypothetical drunk driver responsible even after his intoxication has severely compromised the rational capacities and control ordinarily required for moral responsibility.

Now let's shift gears.

If the evidence concerning Lindsay Clancy is accurate, her story appears to move in almost exactly the opposite direction.

Lindsay Clancy and the Loss of Rational Agency

Consider the following sequence.

At (t1): Lindsay possesses substantially intact rational agency and libertarian freedom.

At (t2): She begins recognizing disturbing changes in her own cognition. Something is happening to her mind. She realizes that she may be losing her grip on reality.

At (t3): While she still possesses sufficient rational agency to recognize the danger, she seeks assistance. She reaches out to her husband, family members, doctors, and mental-health professionals because she is afraid of what is happening to her.

And this point is crucial.

According to evidence presented by the defense, Lindsay didn't simply embrace what was happening.

She fought it.

She sought psychiatric help. She communicated suicidal thoughts. She underwent treatment. She was prescribed psychiatric medications, some of which she believed were adversely affecting her mind. She was hospitalized. Her family observed her deterioration. Testimony during the trial has described a woman who was, in the words of her former mother-in-law, essentially “begging for help.”

Then we arrive at (t4).

At (t4): According to the defense's account, the people and systems upon whom Lindsay depended failed adequately to recognize the severity of her deteriorating condition.

I want to be careful here. I am not claiming that her husband didn't care about her. I'm not claiming that every doctor who treated her was negligent. And I'm certainly not in possession of enough evidence to assign legal responsibility to particular individuals.

Taking someone seriously while nevertheless tragically underestimating the danger is different from callously dismissing someone.

But this much appears significant:

Lindsay sought help, and whatever help she received was ultimately insufficient to prevent the catastrophe she apparently feared.

Then comes (t5).

At (t5): If the defense is correct, severe mental illness eventually overwhelms her capacity to accurately perceive reality, reason appropriately, and exercise the kind of rational control ordinarily required for moral responsibility.

And finally:

At (t6): While allegedly suffering from postpartum psychosis and profound cognitive impairment, Lindsay kills her three children.

Do you see the difference?

Two Roads to the Loss of Freedom

Return to our drunk driver.

His trajectory looks something like this:

Rational agency → free choice → voluntary intoxication → diminished rational agency → death of another person.

Lindsay's trajectory, if the defense's account is correct, looks remarkably different:

Rational agency → recognition of deteriorating cognition → freely seeking help → inadequate intervention → severe mental illness → diminished rational agency → death of her children.

These aren't morally equivalent trajectories. Indeed, in one important respect, they're almost opposites.

The drunk driver uses his freedom in a manner that foreseeably contributes to the destruction of his rational control.

Lindsay appears to have used the rational freedom she still possessed in an attempt to preserve her rational control.

The drunk driver essentially says through his actions:

I know this will compromise my ability to think and act rationally, but I'm going to do it anyway.

Lindsay's actions seem to communicate something much different:

Something is happening to my mind. I don't want this. I'm afraid of what might happen. Please help me.

That distinction matters. It matters enormously.

Responsibility Follows Rational Control

I've argued elsewhere that rational responsibility requires a relevant kind of freedom.

Merely causing something is not sufficient for moral responsibility.

Suppose a tornado destroys my neighbor's house. The tornado caused the destruction, but the tornado isn't morally responsible.

Why?

Because responsibility requires more than causation. Moral responsibility requires the appropriate kind of agency. When evaluating an agent's moral responsibility, therefore, we should ask questions like these:

Did the person possess the cognitive ability to understand what she was doing?

Did she possess the capacity to recognize the moral significance of her actions?

Did she possess sufficient rational control over what she was doing?

And importantly:

What did she freely do with the rational control she possessed while she still possessed it?

That last question is exactly why the drunk driver is morally responsible. And it might be exactly why Lindsay Clancy's situation is fundamentally different.

But Psychosis Does Not Automatically Eliminate Freedom

An important qualification is necessary.

We should not reason this way: Mental illness → no free will → no responsibility.

That's far too simplistic. Even psychosis does not necessarily eliminate all agency. A person might have radically false beliefs about reality while retaining the ability to reason instrumentally.

Someone suffering from a delusion might think:

I need to accomplish X. Therefore, I need to do Y.

The inference from X to Y might be perfectly logical even though X itself is based upon a delusion.

This matters because prosecutors have pointed to behavior that appears calculated or planned. But evidence of planning does not, by itself, establish intact moral rationality.

Psychotic people can plan.

The deeper question is: What world did Lindsay Clancy believe herself to be acting in?

A person can possess the ability to calculate means toward an end while simultaneously lacking an accurate perception of reality or the ability to appreciate the moral significance of the end itself.

So we need to distinguish at least three things:

Rationality. Moral comprehension. Volitional control.

They often travel together. But they can come apart. And determining precisely what Lindsay possessed at the moment she killed her children is ultimately a question for the evidence.

Is There a Biblical Basis for Diminished Responsibility?

At this point, Christians might reasonably ask: Is there any biblical basis for thinking that diminished rational capacities can result in diminished moral responsibility?

Obviously, the Bible does not provide anything resembling a modern legal “insanity defense.” We should not pretend that it does. Nevertheless, Scripture repeatedly indicates that God does not assess moral responsibility merely by looking at the external action or its consequences. The knowledge, intentions, and rational capacities of the agent matter.

We have seen this principle in Jesus's teaching. In Luke 12:47–48, Christ distinguishes between the servant who knew his master's will and disobeyed and the servant who did not know. Both acted wrongly, but they were not equally culpable. Likewise, Paul describes himself as having been “a blasphemer, persecutor, and insolent opponent,” yet says that he “received mercy because [he] had acted ignorantly in unbelief” (1 Timothy 1:13).

The Old Testament law makes a related distinction. Deuteronomy 19 distinguishes between a person who intentionally kills his neighbor and someone who kills another person unintentionally, “though he did not hate him in the past” (vv. 4–6). Numbers 35 similarly distinguishes murder from an unintentional killing. In both cases, the physical consequence can be identical—a human being is dead—while the moral and legal culpability of the agent is radically different.

Why? Because God does not merely judge bodily movements and their consequences. He judges persons.

Indeed, Scripture repeatedly emphasizes that God sees what human beings cannot. “Man looks on the outward appearance, but the LORD looks on the heart” (1 Samuel 16:7). Hebrews 4:12 speaks of “the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” Thus, the internal condition of an agent—what she knows, what she intends, and what she understands—is morally significant.

Perhaps most interesting for the present discussion is Nebuchadnezzar in Daniel 4.

Whatever precise diagnosis one might assign to his condition—and we should be cautious about imposing modern psychiatric categories upon an ancient text—Scripture describes a profound disruption of his ordinary rational functioning. When his condition ends, Nebuchadnezzar says, “my reason returned to me” (Daniel 4:36).

That's remarkable language.

Scripture recognizes a meaningful distinction between a person functioning with ordinary powers of reason and that same person experiencing a condition in which those powers have been profoundly compromised.

None of this proves that Lindsay Clancy satisfies Massachusetts's legal standard for lack of criminal responsibility. Nor does it prove that every person suffering from psychosis lacks moral responsibility. As I've already emphasized, mental illness does not automatically eliminate freedom.

But these biblical principles do seem to support a more modest conclusion:

The degree to which an agent possesses knowledge, rational comprehension, intention, and control is relevant to the degree of moral responsibility appropriately attributed to that agent.

Or, put differently:

The objective evil of an action and the subjective culpability of the person performing that action are related—but they are not identical questions.

That distinction matters enormously in the Clancy case.

The killing of Cora, Dawson, and Callan was objectively horrific. Nothing about postpartum psychosis could ever make killing three innocent children good.

But the question before us is not merely whether the actions were evil. The question is also: How morally responsible was Lindsay Clancy for performing them?

And if her ability to perceive reality, comprehend the moral significance of her actions, and rationally control her behavior had been profoundly compromised by a severe mental illness she neither chose nor welcomed—and against which she had previously fought by seeking help—then both philosophy and Scripture give us good reason to take those facts seriously when assessing her culpability.

Her Last Rational Choices Might Matter Most

But here's what has caused me to reconsider my initial reaction to this case.

Suppose the defense's basic account is correct. Suppose Lindsay recognized that something was going terribly wrong with her mind. Suppose she recognized this before she completely lost touch with reality. Suppose she understood that she needed help.

And suppose she then used the rational agency she still possessed to seek doctors, medication, hospitalization, family assistance, and psychiatric intervention.

If that's true, then consider the tragic possibility:

Some of Lindsay Clancy's last substantially rational free choices may have been choices aimed at preventing the very catastrophe for which we are now considering punishing her.

That changes the moral calculus considerably.

Contrast that again with the drunk driver. His earlier free actions make his later diminished capacity more culpable.

Lindsay's earlier free actions—if the evidence supports this account—might make her later diminished capacity less culpable.

She didn't freely choose the thing that destroyed her rational agency. She apparently recognized that her rational agency was slipping away and freely fought to preserve it.

And she asked others to help her do so.

Does That Mean She Should Simply Go Free?

No.

Three children are dead.

Nothing about this philosophical analysis minimizes that horror. Nor does saying that someone might lack moral culpability entail saying that society must immediately release that person back into society.

There is an important distinction between punishment and protection.

If someone remains a danger to herself or others because of severe mental illness, society has an obvious interest in ensuring that she receives treatment and cannot harm anyone else.

Psychiatric confinement may therefore be completely appropriate.

But retributive punishment is something different. Retribution presupposes culpability. We punish someone because she deserves punishment for what she freely and knowingly chose to do.

If Lindsay Clancy truly lacked the relevant rational control because of an illness she did not choose—and if, while she still possessed rational control, she desperately attempted to obtain help and fight against this mental illness—then I find it increasingly difficult to justify putting her in prison for purposes of retribution.

That doesn't mean nothing should happen to her. It means perhaps something different should happen to her.

Treatment.

Psychiatric confinement if necessary.

Protection of society.

Care.

And perhaps an honest examination of how the mental-health system responded when a mother realized she was losing control and asked people to help her.

A Tragedy Within the Tragedy

This brings us to what I find most haunting about this case.

What do we tell someone who feels herself losing her grip on reality?

We tell her:

Recognize something is wrong.

Tell your spouse.

Tell your family.

Call a doctor.

Talk to a therapist.

Seek psychiatric care.

Take the danger seriously.

Ask for help before something terrible happens.

And according to the evidence presented thus far, Lindsay Clancy apparently did many of those things.

That does not bring Cora, Dawson, and Callan back to life. It doesn't make what happened any less horrifying. And it doesn't answer every legal question the jury must decide.

But if Lindsay used the last remnants of her rational freedom to cry out for help while she felt her grip on reality slipping away—and the people and institutions around her failed to recognize just how dangerous her condition had become—then perhaps our initial instinct to simply look at what she did at the end of the story and pronounce judgment misses something morally significant about everything that happened before it.

When I first heard this story, I looked at the final moment.

A mother murdered her three children. I immediately reacted:

“She deserves her paralysis and whatever happens to her.”

I don't think that anymore.

Why?

Because I learned more.

And once I learned more, reason required me to change my mind. Changing my mind ultimately changed my heart.

After all, part of possessing the wisdom James describes as being “open to reason” (James 3:17) is being willing to change our minds when the evidence warrants it.

Because moral responsibility isn't merely about what happened. It's about who possessed rational control, when they possessed it, what they understood, what they could control, and what they freely chose to do with the freedom they had.

The drunk driver freely chooses to travel down a road that destroys his rational agency and ends in tragedy.

Lindsay Clancy may have found herself involuntarily traveling down that road, recognized where it was heading, slammed on the brakes, and screamed for someone to help her stop.

If that is what the evidence ultimately establishes, then I cannot look at these two cases the same way.

And I don't think justice should either.

Stay reasonable (James 3:17),

Dr. Tim Stratton