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Deodands put a price on objects that caused death

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Cabinet of Curiosities How the Railways Killed a Medieval Law
Deodands put a price on objects that caused death, sometimes providing compensation to bereaved families.

The Great Railway Disaster between Paris and Versailles, 1842
via Wikimedia Commons

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By:
Amelia Soth

September 16, 2026
September 15, 2026

5 minutes

The icon indicates free access to the linked research on JSTOR.

In 1829, hundreds of spinners and weavers had gathered at the Norfolk Arms Hotel when the floor collapsed under them. In the tumble, the crowd fell two stories, all the way into the cellar. Thirty people died.
After the incident, a jury convened for an inquest. They assessed the value of splintered timbers that had been the floor: 5 shillings, to be divided amongst the family of the victims. A pretty paltry sum, even by the standards of the day—but that was the nature of the law.

When an object killed a person, the owner of that object was on the hook for the value of the thing in question.

The jury was working from a legal concept that was over eight centuries old: the deodand, an obscure survival of medieval law. As William Pietz writes in “Death of the Deodand: Accursed Objects and the Money Value of Human Life,”
The term itself comes from the Latin phrase deo dandum, which means “that which must be given to God.” It is an example of the idea that evil objects are sacred, that they are charged with divine power, and that they therefore belong to God. In English law prior to 1846, any moveable material object—more specifically, any piece of personal chattel property—that directly caused the death of an adult human being became deodand and, as an accursed thing, was held to be forfeit to God (whose earthly representative in such cases was the royal sovereign).
By the time of the horrible accident in 1829, the deodand was on its way out. But it would have a surprising last act, making its mark on some of the key legal battles of the Industrial Revolution.
First, an explanation of the concept: When an object killed a person, the owner of that object was on the hook for the value of the thing in question. That money was due to the king, and theoretically was to be used for charitable purposes. In practice, it was usually collected by the local coroner, and often (though not always) given to the family of the deceased.
In theory, a deodand was a moving object that caused someone’s death. But in the course of eight hundred years, there can be a lot of variation, and when it comes to deodands, it’s much easier to identify the exception than the rule. For instance, say a cask of ginger rolls through a trapdoor and lands on a poor laborer below. Definitely a deodand. Now, imagine a church bell falls on someone and kills them. That should count, right? No: because deodands can only be chattel property, whereas a church bell, being part of a fixture on the landscape, comes under real estate.
Then there’s the motion issue. If you fell off a ladder, that ladder would become a deodand, even though you were the one in motion. It’s not about blame, either: based on the case history, it seems that you could be doing a drunken jig on the top step, and the ladder could still be declared a deodand.

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Another problem is how much of the object counts as a deodand. In some cases, for instance, where someone was run over by a cart, only the cart wheel would be assessed as a deodand. But when one Bedfordshire man slipped and fell on the pole of a cart “so that it entered his fundament,” the whole cart, including the load and the horses pulling it, was seized.
The reason for all this variation might be that the assessment was left to the discretion of the jury. Just imagine all the factors—invisible in the record—that could have swayed the jury’s findings: local opinion, gossip, public sympathy or blame, and the desire for revenge… It was an imperfect but accessible means of exacting justice—punishing the negligent, sparing the merely unlucky, providing for the bereaved.
The death knell for deodands was the arrival of the railway. After all, if someone gets struck and killed by a train, it’s pretty hard to dispute that a moving object was responsible for their death—but there’s a big difference between a local merchant paying up a couple of shillings for a busted barrel, and a railway company having to pony up the cost of an entire, brand-new locomotive.
There was an element of public sentiment, too: in “Deodands: A Study in the Creation of Common Law Rules,” Anna Pervukhin finds that, during the Industrial Revolution, juries began to assess deodands at much higher costs. Perhaps they felt that the industrialists were particularly negligent, or wealthy enough not to mind the cost. In some cases, the jurors even explicitly suggested they would let the whole deodand issue go if the industrialist made some kind of provision for the family of the departed person.

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Deodands were written out of the law in 1846. This was seen as progress, but as Harry Smith argues in “From Deodand to Dependency,” the immediate effect mostly served to protect the railroads:
The real effect of abolishing deodands in that year was to deprive the relatives of railway victims who had no rights against the railway companies of even the smallest compensation. The losers would include the families of passengers who were uninsured, those of trespassers who were careless (or suicidal), and, equally tragically, those of unfortunate railway employees killed in the course of their employment.
Deodands were a messy, odd, and imperfect way of resolving tragedies without clear perpetrators. In recent years, some scholars have proposed reexamining them as a framework for the legal rights of nature. But perhaps a more compelling way to consider them is as a way of thinking about accountability for nonhuman entities. What would a medieval jury do, tasked to rule on an AI encouraging suicide or murder?

Have a correction or comment about this article? <a href=
deathlawRES: Anthropology and AestheticsThe American Journal of Legal HistoryTransactions of the American Philosophical Society

Resources

JSTOR is a digital library for scholars, researchers, and students. JSTOR Daily readers can access the original research behind our articles for free on JSTOR.

From Deodand to Dependency

By: Harry Smith

The American Journal of Legal History, Vol. 11, No. 4 (Oct., 1967), pp. 389-403

Oxford University Press

Death of the Deodand: Accursed Objects and the Money Value of Human Life

By: William Pietz

RES: Anthropology and Aesthetics, No. 31, The Abject (Spring, 1997), pp. 97-108

The University of Chicago Press on behalf of the Peabody Museum of Archaeology and Ethnology

The Ox That Gored

By: J. J. Finkelstein

Transactions of the American Philosophical Society, Vol. 71, No. 2 (1981), pp. 1-89

University of Pennsylvania Press

Deodands: A Study in the Creation of Common Law Rules

By: Anna Pervukhin

The American Journal of Legal History, Vol. 47, No. 3 (Jul., 2005), pp. 237-256

Oxford University Press

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The concept of the deodand, a remnant of medieval law, established that objects causing death were considered forfeit to God, with the owner being liable for the value of the object. This legal framework functioned by assigning value to moveable chattel property that resulted in a fatality, theoretically with compensation due to the royal sovereign or the bereaved families. As detailed in the text, the deodand arose from the idea that evil objects were sacred, charged with divine power. In English law before 1846, any movable property directly causing death became deodand, though distinctions existed; for example, a church bell, being a fixture, fell under real estate rather than chattel property. Furthermore, the concept faced ambiguities regarding motion, such as whether a falling ladder or a person in motion could be deemed the owner of a deodand. The assessment of the deodand’s value was often left to the discretion of the jury, which was influenced by factors like local opinion, public sympathy, and the desire for retribution.

The transition away from the deodand was significantly impacted by the emerging industrial era. The arrival of railways served as a critical catalyst for this legal change. While a local merchant might compensate for a damaged barrel, the scale of responsibility shifted dramatically when an entire railway system was involved in a fatality. The transition was framed as legal progress, as it was formally written out of the law in 1846. However, Harry Smith argues in "From Deodand to Dependency" that the immediate effect of abolishing deodands primarily served to protect the railroads. By eliminating the liability of deodands, the law deprived railway victims of any legal recourse for compensation against the railway companies, affecting passengers who were uninsured, trespassers, and railway employees who were killed during their employment.

Anna Pervukhin’s study, "Deodands: A Study in the Creation of Common Law Rules," further explored the role of these concepts in developing common law rules. She suggests that the assessment of deodands varied based on context, noting that in some instances, like a man slipping on a cart pole, the entire cart, including its load and horses, was seized, demonstrating the jury’s broad discretion in determining liability. In the context of the Industrial Revolution, public sentiment also played a role; juries sometimes assessed deodands at higher costs, potentially reflecting a desire to hold industrialists accountable, especially regarding negligent conduct. In essence, the deodand represented an imperfect but accessible mechanism for resolving tragedies without clearly identifying perpetrators. Ultimately, while abolishing the deodand simplified legal structures, scholars suggest that these historical concepts might offer a framework for understanding accountability for nonhuman entities, prompting reexamination of responsibility beyond human actors.