Bicycle Built for Three

Autism, schizophrenia and bipolar disorder (manic depression) are listed separately in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, but a discerning eye will recognize the commonality among these three conditions:

• Each is classified as a mental illness without any evidence of sickness.
• Each is diagnosed through peripheral characteristics instead of direct etiology.
• Each manifests as a cognitive perception distinct from the species-driven norm.

These three conditions are eerily similar, and for a misunderstanding humanity, they ride past as triplets in crime.

Dawkins, Hitchens, Harris, and Dennett

Short-sighted science, intellectual fatuousness, a simpleton’s atheism—who needs to believe in a Hell’s afterlife when we have the tortures themselves right here?

Choosing Up Sides

My stand is always with the autistic individual, never with the relative of any autistic individual.

That is not to say a parent of an autistic child cannot win me over. The ones who argue doggedly for their child’s abilities, who fight and scrap for environments always affirmative, who celebrate autism along with every other feature—my stand is also with them, not because of their status as parent, but because they have chosen the constructive course.

And those parents who make themselves heard by disparaging their autistic child? Who clamor ad nauseum for their child’s limitations, and insist limitations alone be heard? I oppose these with bitter force, not because I have ignored their standing as parent, but because I am resolved to human decency—it is there I draw the line.

The Prerequisites of Language

Nearly all animal species have sufficient biological equipment for producing an abstract language—they can make sounds, they can gesture, they can rub against one another. With access to some mud, most organisms could write things down.

Almost any physical artifact can serve the purpose of conveying a language, as we humans have by now so ably demonstrated. What the other animals lack is what language represents. For what good is an abstract language when one’s entire world is already present, always in the here and now?

And we humans too—we had nothing to talk about until just so recently.

Evidence Against the Flynn Effect

In this era of Google maps and GPS systems, it seems most delivery drivers still need to call and ask for directions.

Control Group

For clinical trials of various autism treatment options, why does no researcher ever think to make use of the most obvious control group—the autistic children who have escaped diagnosis? It should be a simple matter to round them up from the institutions, graveyards and other dumping grounds of irretrievably broken lives.

Or is it not that easy to track them down?

The Two Forms of Human Logic

Humanity currently perceives its world with the aid of two distinct forms of logic.

The first logic derives from the evolutionary inheritance of our animal past. Its goal is survival and procreation of the species, and its impact has been to conceptualize the sensory world into food sources, danger, sex, shelter, and so on. Darwin’s genius was to expose the structure of this biological logic and to lay out its influence as seen from the outside and experienced from within. Non-autistics are born naturally into this form of logic—it is the other logic they must learn to acquire.

The second logic has been extremely recent in its genesis. Its goal remains unclear, but its impact has been to conceptualize the sensory world into pattern, shape, space, time, and the like. The genius of the Greeks and the fruit of the Renaissance was to expose the structure of this non-biological logic and to lay out its influence as seen from the outside and experienced from within. Autistics are born naturally into this form of logic—it is the other logic they must learn to acquire.

Neither form of logic by itself appears to have transcendent power, but combined, they have rapidly transformed a species and its world. Combined, they have transfigured individuals.

An Aside to the Two Forms of Human Logic

Wittgenstein would have employed the word grammar instead of the word logic, and in many ways, grammar is the more illuminating choice.

The Printing Press and the Internet

Each quantum leap in language dissemination breaks the stranglehold of a fossilized institution—the Church formerly, academia now.

Medieval and mediocrity share a similar root.

Snapshot

Someone should take the time to perform an MRI study on personal computers—say Intel-based machines versus some Macs. Each comparison group could be resonance photographed while performing the same task, for instance the monthly payroll. I suspect there will be some differences.

Since the Intel-based machines are in more widespread use than the Macs, their images could be taken as the healthy ones. The areas of highest concentrated glow might be described as the presumptive location for a monthly payroll module, and the authors of the study could claim they have greatly advanced our insight into the concept of computing. By comparison, the electronic flows of the Macs could be described as disordered, and various treatment plans—such as battery boost, a well-placed bobby pin, or just a good shake—might be suggested.

What today’s brain imaging studies show most clearly is our own muddled thinking.

Phantom of the Pinker

Is our tool use mental? Do we toil with hammers, wrenches, knives and awls because we thought them up at one point? Is there a brain module for each tool—a saw module, a lathe module, etc.—or is there instead an all-purpose module for tool use?

Or does this talk of tool modules sound silly?

Then why do we treat language differently? Humans now have many different forms of language, but each form manifests as a physical and immediate fact—sound vibrations, movements of fingers, marks on a page, flips in computer memory, etc. I can imagine a spoken conversation, but only because there have been such conversations, they have actually existed in physical and immediate reality—just like hammers, wrenches and saws.

Mentalizing language distracts us from what language actually is. And dreaming up language modules for the brain sounds like the work of someone confused by what exists right before his eyes.

The Crucial Importance of Early Diagnosis

It seems the world is now awash in paeans to the importance of early diagnosis of autism in young children, and I guess looking back on the experience with my own son, I would have to go along. In our case, early recognition kept our family from accidentally stumbling into such traps as ABA, Risperdal, or chelation therapy, and it is hard to imagine what horrors we might be dealing with around here had we inadvertently gone down one of those roads.

Autistic Children Grow Up

Harold Doherty has written recently about one of the irrepressible aspects of his autism reality—namely that autistic children grow up—and I would like to take a moment to wholly concur with that observation.

Autistic children do indeed grow up. In the case of my son, I find him fast approaching a milestone I can only describe as filling me with a type of very real fear. You see, he is nearly 48 inches tall now, and around these parts that means he can soon ride on the biggest rollercoasters—accompanied by an adult, I am sorry to say. Up to this point, I have managed to control this rollercoaster riding behavior through the use of many carefully arranged discrete trials, dutifully noting all the height restriction signs around the amusement park and accurately pointing out the clear difference between the top of Brian’s head and the bottom of the delimiting line. But that clear difference is not so clear anymore, and besides, my rapidly aging arm can only take so many more tugs upon its fast lengthening sleeve, so I am afraid I must face up to the obvious fact—that inevitable day is about to arrive. Then up up up we must ruthlessly go, and if I dare to look I know I will see Brian there on the seat beside me—hands clasped, rubbing and flapping, his laughs much like a kind of madness, the shrieks a little too loud, his giggles far too inappropriate (well, how can they be described as anything but inappropriate when I myself have a death grip on the restraining bar and mouth formed into the shape of a giant O?)—and then down down down, rushing, twisting and bashing about, the perfect metaphor for those chaotic experiences we as parents of autistic children know all too well. And then the briefest interlude near the very end, the tiniest respite before the terror-inducing words are spoken once more—“I want to go again.”

But perhaps Mr. Doherty would rather I wax more serious on his chosen topic, for indeed, as he has rightly noted, autistic children do grow up. So let me speak of another reality my son will soon be facing, that of entering school—entering school, that is, if my wife and I can ever come to a decision about where that experience should best be had. On the one hand, the possibilities seem far too numerous—public school, private school, home school, special needs, Montessori—but on the other hand the choices seem not nearly adequate enough, for what educational setting can possibly meet our son’s many divergent needs? What school system is going to remain flexible enough to accept him pacing the halls when the urge so urgently strikes, and also allow him to drill deeply into a set of encyclopedias when a particular topic has caught his fancy? And how to avoid the bullies? And how to encourage the making of friends? Heck, how to trick him into eating a cafeteria lunch, considering how stark his diet currently is? The challenges are certainly going to be many. The potential problems will undoubtedly be troubling. The world is a daunting place, my wife and I well know it, and launching our son onto life’s expansive path fills us both with a kind of awe and dread. But then we recall how our young traveler is of the category autistic—and thus how his potential is endlessly surprising and creative—and then we relax and smile just a little, for really, how can we ask for anything more?

But I suspect that vision will remain much too short-sighted for Mr. Doherty’s taste, who having perceived that autistic children grow up, has contemplated the consequences all the way to their very end—all the way to the doors of institutions. Well, why not? We too have institutions hereabouts, some of them particularly well suited for handling the troubles of a child such as my own. After all, what else can I be expected to do with a son endlessly obsessed with ceiling fans, a son constantly fussing about with knobs and buttons and switches? Unless experts recommend otherwise and insist he be committed to a more specialized place of residence—such as M.I.T.—then I will have to make the call to Purdue, I think, it is there I will have him placed. (My wife, however, focused on the issues of Brian’s perfect pitch and rhythmic singing, suggests the wards of Juilliard would make a better home.) It is possible I am being much too pessimistic, of course—perhaps Brian will surprise us all and defy our most carefully crafted expectations, striving first to do some simple, honest work and only later discovering his more expanded calling (such as Ms. Dawson and Ms. Harp seem to have so ably done). What fills me with the greatest emotion, however—and here I think Mr. Doherty could hasten to agree—is thinking about what might happen if I were not there to help Brian make the most difficult decisions. What would happen if, God forbid, both I and my wife were irretrievably gone? What if Brian were somehow forced to rely upon his own unique perspective—along with whatever meager tools his parents had managed to instill? What if he had to decide for himself what indelible marks to cast upon his world? What if he had to go forth as an individual? Have I fully considered those possibilities, have I contemplated the consequences all the way to their very end?

Yes, Mr. Doherty, autistic children grow up—what an inspiring thought that is! What incredible terror, awe and joy!

Fresh Air

When nearly everyone has become lost examining the details on the barks of all the trees, the one who maps the forest performs a great and thankless task. And the one who charts the country surrounding the forest—he does an even greater and still more thankless service. And the one who suggests that insight is to be gained in the forest and in the country—and not on the barks of all the trees—he gets to play the role of today’s pariah, and tomorrow’s savior.

As always, when the problem has become intractable, the way out is to examine the context. Forever digging deeper into details only clouds the landscape with dust.

Putrefaction

The modern scientist, with a hint of superiority, will often extol the steady and methodical pace of scientific progress. But consider the work of Newton, Darwin and Einstein—what was steady and methodical about that?

The systematic advance of science is the smell of science gone bad.

Abusing the Source – An Example

For each person inspired by Wittgenstein, there are a thousand academicians explicating Wittgenstein.

Abusing the Source – The Program

public class AbusingTheSource {

  public static void main(String args[]) {

    // inheritance from our past
    java.util.Random generator
        = new java.util.Random();
    String[] visionaries = {"Wittgenstein",
         "Beethoven", "Kierkegaard", "Einstein",
         "Nietzsche"}; // etc.

    // current reality
    String[] academicians
        = newBatchOfAcademicians();
    String person = newPerson();
    boolean isGriswoldHeard = false;

    // the foreseeable future
    do {

      // the source of academic wealth
      String visionary = visionaries[
          generator.nextInt(visionaries.length)];

      // demonstrate one-to-one correspondence
      // of something to nothing
      System.out.println("\n" + person +
                  " inspired by " + visionary);
      System.out.println("-----------");
      for (String academician: academicians) {
         System.out.println(academician +
                  " explicating " + visionary);
      }

      // prepare for tommorow
      academicians = newBatchOfAcademicians();
      person = newPerson();
      if (isGriswoldHeard) {
        academicians =
            removeOneAcademician(academicians);
      }
      if (academicians.length < 1000) {
        isGriswoldHeard = true;
      }

    } while (academicians.length > 999);

  }

  private static String[]
             newBatchOfAcademicians() {

    // factory work -- suitable for a machine
    String[] newBatch = new String[1000];
    for (int i = 0; i < 1000; i++) {
      newBatch[i] = "Academician " + (i + 1);
    }

    return newBatch;

  }

  private static String newPerson() {

    // simplicity personified
    return "Person";

  }

  private static String[] removeOneAcademician(
             String[] academicians) {

    // an arduous task
    // (TO DO: stress test the hardware)
    String[] aMoreQuietBatch =
        new String[academicians.length - 1];
    for (int i = 0;
           i < aMoreQuietBatch.length; i++) {
      aMoreQuietBatch[i] = academicians[i];
    }

    return aMoreQuietBatch;

  }

}

Abusing the Source – The Precursor

For each person inspired by Christ, there are a thousand theologians explicating Christ.

Early Warning Signs

The following two assumptions enjoy widespread acceptance within the academic and research communities:

• Human intelligence is centered within the structures and dynamics of the human brain.
• The unusual early behaviors of autistic children (e.g., lining up toys, echolalia, spinning and twirling) are an indication of a neurological disorder.

But I would have us consider an alternative view to both intelligence and those early warning signs of autism, for not only are the above assumptions false, their negations directly support each other.

It has become tantamount to dogma within the scientific community that intelligence is centered within the human brain—I am certain I will not make the slightest dent in that conviction anytime soon. Armed with ever more sophisticated brain imaging technology, and fortressed by countless experiments attempting to match neuronal activation to a plethora of human tasks, the world of cognitive research expects soon to discover the exact locations of logic, language and the arts, and hopes not long after to describe the intellectual mechanics pulling together this tangle of synapses, cortexes, and brain matter plasticity. The pictures are indeed vibrant, and the metrics are certainly bountiful; but conceptually, I am convinced all is not well.

Consider the hallmark features of human intelligence—pattern recognition, sophisticated visual-spatial capacity, conceptual logic, mathematical and musical skill, the pragmatic use of abstract language. Does it strike no scientist as even the slightest bit unnerving that these features first made their appearance only quite recently in human history? Almost nothing of what we take and measure for human intelligence today can be found in the behaviors of Homo sapiens from just thirty to fifty thousand years ago, and it is only the slightest hint of such ability that begins to emerge near the dawn of recorded time. We gaze with anticipation into our fMRIs and calculate hopefully our degrees of significance, but we forget we peer not into the brains of just our contemporaries, but also into the brains of our more distant ancestors. And so we must ask—why the sudden and late emergence of all this cranial intelligence for which we so fervently delve? Why could we not have built our modern civilizations way back then, when these same brain structures and capacities already existed? Why should we have tarried until just so recently?

And of course there is that little detail known as the Flynn effect, the observation that intelligence scores have been increasing at roughly three IQ points per decade. What a puzzler that discovery must be for any neuronal-based model of human intelligence, and no wonder those who have staked considerable reputations on such models—including Professor Flynn himself—seem so willing to explain this phenomenon away as mostly a twentieth-century anomaly soon to dissipate (demonstrating again that today’s scientist is far more ready to embrace an unlikely coincidence than question the foundations of an established career).

Me, I would much rather be bold. I would rather negate that first assumption, and place the locus of human intelligence firmly outside the human skull.

If instead of sourcing intelligence within the human brain, we distribute it instead throughout the environmental structures we humans have been building—and will continue to build—all around us, we arrive at a tangible locale for intelligence more directly fitting what we already know about the subject. Tens of thousands of years ago, the human environment was almost entirely biological, and so were the forms of our intellect. Food acquisition, shelter, warmth, sex, avoidance of deadly enemies—these were the sum cognitive focus for a species whose universe extended no farther than that of the boundaries of the tribe. No clocks, no yardsticks, no musical notes, no truth functions to decide yea and nay—not on the hunter-gatherer’s grassy plain. Suddenly we no longer live on that plain, our locale has dramatically shifted—growing both larger and more detailed in ways we have scarcely begun to conceive—and it is no coincidence that as our setting has so dramatically transformed, so have the forms and degrees of our intelligence. With our surroundings now filled to the brim with structure, pattern, complexity, repetition, embodied conceptualization—much of it decidedly non-biological—our abilities to navigate and master this strange new world are exactly the skill sets we measure when we place a human being in front of that little booklet called an IQ test.

It is not our brain that has been changing—there has not passed nearly enough evolutionary time. The human brain, plasticity and all, has grown not one iota smarter, for the human brain is not the seat of human intelligence. It is our physical environment—that is the tangible object that has grown so remarkably more brilliant. The form of the physical human surroundings—there can be found the long sought-after location of our increasing cognitive skill.

And the Flynn effect? It resolves into little more than a triviality under this new paradigm of intelligence, for it becomes simply another measure of the increasing amount of pattern and complexity we humans have been embodying into our environment year after year, along with the confirmation that each generation can absorb this new information and its strange, mostly non-biological form. Each generation finds itself born into a set of surroundings more complex, more detailed, more rapid than those perceived by the previous generations, and by necessity learns to navigate and to master, and lo and behold finds itself scoring better than all its progenitors on any test designed to capture intelligence. The Flynn effect is not a twentieth century coincidence; it is not produced by better nutrition, selective breeding or a socially-driven multiplier effect (and Professor Flynn, it most certainly is not produced by proximity to the local college). The Flynn effect has been with us from the time of the great leap forward, and assuming we can learn to embrace this phenomenon instead of so glibly dismiss it, the Flynn effect will remain with us, and sustain us, for a considerable time to come.

But I can hear your objections already ringing in my ears: have I not placed the cart before the horse? The essential question, you say, is not that we humans have been constructing a structurally more complex environment all around us and have been learning to skillfully live within it—anyone can attest to that—the essential question is what produced this remarkable transformation? Are not the splendors of modern civilization the result of human intelligence, the unquestionable evidence for its cranial existence?

Having absorbed enough logic from our current environment to know I would not want to be accused of placing a cart before a horse, let me state unequivocally it has not been pre-existing neuronal intelligence that has prompted the massive environmental transformation. If it is a cause we are seeking, then we must direct our attention outside intelligence and search for the catalyst someplace else. So let me turn this discussion to what must seem to be a completely different topic—the early warning signs of autism.

In the autism research community, the early behaviors of autistic children have been branded with the most miserable of reputations—I am certain I will not prompt the slightest halt in that practice anytime soon. Emblazoned with such adjectives as obsessive, fruitless, self-stimulating and meaningless, autistic behaviors have been cast into one of the psychiatric community’s most profitable and prolific targets, an abundantly fertile field for the development of eradicating therapies, minimalizing drugs, and the not-so-occasional slur. The grants are indeed impressive, and the size of the research teams has certainly grown massive; but conceptually, I am convinced all is not well.

Consider the form of those early autistic behaviors—lining up objects, repeating passages, fascination with circles, letters and numbers, turning on and off light switches, rocking, humming and all the rest. Does it strike no researcher as even the slightest bit unnerving that these behaviors are in no way random or chaotic, but instead cluster around the concepts of pattern, repetition, symmetry and simple logic? Tens of thousands of years ago such concepts had scarcely begun to scratch the human surface, and it was only quite recently this species dared to embrace such features as the ones making us distinctly noble. And yet we confidently pronounce the autistic behaviors as aberrant, we calculate with smug certainty their substantial difference from the norm, all the while forgetting how we as Homo sapiens have been suddenly jolted into being nothing like our normal animal selves. And so we must ask—why this contemptuous dismissal of behaviors we have not yet begun to fathom? Why, given our lingering uncertainty about the exact location and genesis of human intelligence, are we so intent on demonizing the most spontaneous occurrence of intellect’s fundamental form?

And of course there is that little detail known as the positive outcome, the growing evidence that many, if not most, autistic children can achieve a full potential, display considerable signs of ability, and mature to lives of admirable productivity—all without the benefit of psychotropic drugs, biomedical treatments or behavior-altering therapies (and some—can I even dare to say this—achieving such outcomes despite such interventions). What a puzzler those results must be for any disorder-based model of autism, and no wonder those who have staked considerable livelihoods on such models—almost the entire research community, it would appear—seem hurried to explain such outcomes away as trivial by-products, insignificant anomalies, outliers to be ignored (demonstrating again that today’s scientist stands far more ready to slander an experimental subject than jeopardize the source of any funding).

Me, I would much rather be bold. I would rather negate that second assumption, and place the early behaviors of autistic children firmly outside the category of neurological disorder.

If instead of classifying autism as a type of cognitive damage, we consider it instead as an alternative and valid form of cognitive perception, we arrive at a catalyst for human intelligence that does not require the magic of sudden neurological or genetic transformation. What better means to jolt a species from its strictly biological gaze than to have placed among it members with a decidedly different perspective, so that in addition to concerns of food, sex and enemies, there appear now those creeping influences of symmetry, pattern and repetition. The behaviors of autistic children are not learned, they are not the result of species imitation—they arise from spontaneous need to make sense of experience ungrounded by biological form. And thus the autistic perceptions, and the behaviors resulting from them, they open windows onto concepts mankind has never seen before, they open windows onto the myriad examples of non-biological structure. This collision of perspectives has been many times awkward—no one would argue that. The difficulty for autistic individuals has been many times onerous—that cannot be denied. But apologies are not required, and neither are the slanders; the melded results have been outrageously prodigious, or had you failed to notice? For it has been little more than a matter of poof … and now suddenly all of us, autistic and non-autistic alike, we have disappeared from the hunter-gatherer’s grassy plain.

Autistic perception is not an affliction—that dogma has badly missed the mark. The study of autism as mental illness—it has lent not one iota of understanding to this paradoxical condition. Autism itself is the key—it is the key to our physically-constructed intelligence. Autistic perspectives—they are what has prompted the environment’s massive structural change, there can be found the long sought-for genesis of our increasing cognitive skill.

And the positive outcome? It resolves into little more than expectation under this new paradigm of autism, for it resolves into simple confirmation that autistic influences have been very long among us. Before this species “discovered” mental illness, before it began squelching unique perspectives with medications and endless sessions, the vast majority of autistic individuals matured quietly and productively among us, etching their strangely patterned perceptions into mankind’s fast-transfiguring path. As each generation has found itself born into a set of surroundings embodying more and more of these patterned perceptions—and by necessity has been learning to navigate and to master—lo and behold humanity has found itself fast abandoning the strictures of evolutionary past. Autism is not a twentieth century emergence; it is not the product of industrial toxins, genetic defects or brain dysfunctions to be drugged and therapied away. Autism has been with us from the time of the great leap forward, and assuming we can learn to embrace this phenomenon instead of so hastily dismiss it, the benefits of autism will remain with us, and sustain us, for a considerable time to come.

But I know all this must sound so absurdly impossible, and really, I know no one is currently listening.

So for now I will leave the researchers to all their resonance machinery—I understand how giddy they must be with excitement and what a pretty penny someone has paid for the privilege, so I would not dream of distracting them from these momentary pursuits. But after all the picture taking is over, after all the statistical packages have been run, after all the same conclusions have been written to the same assumption-driven experiments, if perhaps a scientist or two should find themselves suddenly grown weary, perhaps a little discouraged, should they think maybe a brief respite or a change of scenery might do them a little good, I would be happy to guide them to the room one over, the one where their experimental subjects bide their time by playing on the floor—lining up toys, echoing the passages they hear and know, spinning and twirling. And I promise I will be gentle with my suggestion, in fact I will just barely whisper it into their ear, that perhaps this is what they have been looking for all along, right here before their eyes—these early warning signs of a dawning human intelligence.

The Loner

God assumes flesh … and you think he is going to fit right in?

The Magic Grenade

Grenades are randomly destructive—as are nearly all disorders, diseases and defects.

Imagine your job is to test experimental grenades. You do this by walking down a street consisting of a hundred vacant homes, opening the front door of each and tossing a grenade inside. Afterwards you tally up the damage.

Although you can expect some consistency in your results—for instance, you can pretty much expect each floor will sustain some damage, and at least a few pieces of furniture will be destroyed at each place—you will also find a fair amount of randomness in the aftermath. In some instances, walls will be completely demolished and windows will be shattered, TV sets will end up in pieces or not work at all; while in other cases, walls and windows will remain relatively unscathed, and the TV set might actually survive. Much of it depends on the location and force of the blast, as well as the previous arrangement of the furniture in each room. All you can say with certainty beforehand is that something will get destroyed and almost nothing will be improved.

But one day, you test a new grenade and find yourself stunned by the overall results. As you survey the damage from house to house, you find the outcome is remarkably similar and unlike anything you have ever seen before. The floors—the entire floors, without exception—are crumbled into a fine, crystalline powder. The walls, every single one, are riddled with a distinctive pattern of spider-web cracks but otherwise remain structurally intact. Lamps are always smashed but TV sets never are. And what’s more amazing, some objects are actually improved by the force of the blast. The TV sets not only go unscathed, their reception is much sharper, much clearer after the explosion. Stains, dirt, mold, dust, all other messes—these are completely removed by the workings of the grenade, as though a cleaning crew had just come through and done an excellent job. Without exception you find this same pattern of “destruction” from house to house, and in the end you do the only thing you can: you finish your report and stamp it with a capitalized conclusion—THIS IS ONE MAGIC GRENADE!

All theories beginning with the assumption autism is a disorder or a disease must answer to the problem of the magic grenade.

Beethoven

What a strange scherzo it makes to hear Beethoven talked about as one of the old masters, a fatherly icon of classical music. What irony to know how much he is revered and accepted by the proper crowd. Listen to that diabolical music—much of it an affront to all classical sentiment, some of it sounding like a meltdown set to notes.

Genius—respectable only in retrospect.

Raven’s Progressive Matrices

The Raven’s Progressive Matrices intelligence test (RPM) is a pure space and time test. Notice how the two-dimensional patterns are not random, but are designed to highlight various forms of geometrical, symmetrical and conceptual structure—the fundamental basis of our notion of space. And notice how the image-to-image changes also are not random, but are designed to capture a regular pattern of events—the fundamental basis of our notion of time.

Because RPM measures an ability to apprehend spatial and temporal pattern, it should not surprise us that autistic individuals perform well on this test. The results have less to do with the fact the test is non-verbal than with the fact the test captures the essence of the autistic’s natural cognitive domain.

Language Acquisition

Noam Chomsky argued that the speed at which young children acquire language—which is indeed impressive—supports the idea that language must be an instinct in humans. But he failed to recognize the speed at which the species itself acquired language—even more impressive, and a death blow to any talk of language instincts.

What most children have an instinct for is to do what other humans do.

Nice Try!

Here is a recently published autism research article:

Offering to Share: How to Put Heads Together in Autism Neuroimaging (M. Belmonte, J. Mazziotta, N. Minshew, A. Evans, E. Courchesne, S. Dager, S. Bookheimer, E. Aylward, D. Amaral, R. Cantor, D. Chugani, A. Dale, C. Davatzikos, G. Gerig, M. Herbert, J. Lainhart, D. Murphy, J. Piven, A. Reiss, R. Schultz, T. Zeffiro, S. Levi-Pearl, C. Lajonchere, S. Colamarino, 2008).

I cling to some doubts that the autism research community can one day produce a report in which the list of authors exceeds the length of the report itself, but this was one hell of a good effort!