I’m not sure where to begin with this one.
I suppose I could start by noting the paradox of it: A condition traditionally associated with an excess of logical thinking, and concomitant deficit in affect, is here being linked to magical thinking.
On the other hand, neither is the image of the ethereal autistic child and her faraway gaze unfamiliar to us. Analogies with Sleeping Beauty have been made (see Uta Frith’s Autism: Explaining the Enigma); an analogy with Rapunzel has been indirectly — and probably unintentionally — suggested (see Stephen Shore’s Beyond the Wall); and I’m sure any number of other fanciful comparisons are out there as well.
In any case, the online newspaper Spectrum recently featured an article by Sarah Deweerdt entitled “Study of recurring beeps supports ‘magical world’ theory of autism.” The article refers to the most current research on the failure of habituation to stimuli in autism spectrum disorders (ASDs).
As always, let’s take this piece by piece.
What is “habituation”?
Don’t want to click on the link? Okay, here’s a basic definition: After awhile we all get used to things that surprise us, so that eventually we barely notice them (if at all).
Case in point: The first time someone blows a whistle, it is jarring and unpleasant. But if it happens often enough (as with football players during practice), eventually it’s no big deal.
The ability to become habituated, according to the theory in question, is much impaired in autism — hence the trademark autistic hypersensitivity to sensory input.
“Magical”…really?
So why, you may ask, is this referred to as “magical thinking?” What does magic have to do with anything?
The idea goes something like this: The world of the autistic child is one of unpredictability, seeming chance, and constant surprise. Contrast this with the well-developed neurotypical’s world, which is comparatively ordered, logical, and predictable.
With the theory itself, I have no issue. Indeed, the content of the theory is intriguing, and would help explain a number of other key features of day-to-day life for many on the spectrum.
My issue is with the name. It’s not so much that I object to it, I just think it may be misapplied in this case.
Contrary to popular perception, I am going to suggest to you that magic is all about order, not chaos. It’s about being in control, not about being overwhelmed.
Bearing that in mind, we can proceed to characterize magic according to two alternative understandings.
The first type of magic can be predicated of autism, but not in the way in which proponents of the above theory understand it. We’ll call this mode of thinking micro-magic.
The “little world” of micro-magic
Imagine you are looking at one of those matching exercises that tend to appear on tests and homework assignments.
One one side, you have the words “magic” and “technology;” on the other, “modern” and “pre-modern.”
How would you match them up? If you’re like most, you’d put “magic” with “pre-modern,” and “technology” with “modern.”
This is where things get tricky.
If anything, autism actually has greater affinity with modern consciousness, particularly — and please hear me out on this; I will explain what may appear to be a harsh and offensive generalization momentarily — in the obsession with, and over-confidence in, its ability to impose its own order on the universe.
For all their apparent differences, technology and magic spells amount to about the same thing: Gaining control over objective reality and bending it to our will.
At its worst (a very important qualification), human technology can carry this tendency to its destructive extremes.
Moreover, it can lead to what contemporary philosopher Charles Taylor calls the “buffered self” — that is, the self that hides under insulation, as in one of our large modern houses, against the encroachment of transcendent realities and values.
Literature and film abound with stories of people who, whether by magic spells or by as-yet undeveloped technology, succeed in making themselves invisible. In creating the buffered self, modern technology has in some sense achieved this feat.
To state the obvious, the “magic” in question exists on a far smaller scale in the case of ASD folks. And aside from the unquestionable assault on the patience of family and friends, it is relatively benign.
Anyone who has experience with the autism spectrum will easily guess what I’m talking about. Think of the various types of repetitive, idiosyncratic behaviors and rigid routines common among the ASD population.
Remember that the autistic child lives in a frightening and uncertain world. The micro-magic by which she ensconces herself within the manageable confines of her own little (I supposed you could say “buffered”) corner of reality is not so much about power as survival.
Micro-magic, as a tool in the hands of an autistic child, is a response to his/her alleged “magical world.” So if the theorists researching this matter are looking for the magical aspects of autism, they are looking in the wrong place.
Or perhaps it is more accurate to say that they are looking on the wrong side of the macro/micro-magic divide.
But I’ll get to macro-magic next time. Thanks for reading.
Acknowledgement
Top image obtained through a Google Advanced Image Search; remaining images, in order:
Steven Depolo. https://www.flickr.com/photos/stevendepolo/3830010769
Photographer: Andwhatsnext. Scanned photograph. Credit: Copyright (c) 2003 by Nancy J Price (aka Mom). https://commons.m.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Autism-stacking-cans_2nd_edit.jpg#mw-jump-to-license
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