Neurotypical Mental and Emotional Handicaps (Part I)

Here is a wonderful satirical website, the Institute for the Study of the Neurologically Typical (ISNT), devoted to the study of neurotypicals as mentally handicapped. The author of the website heaps particular scorn on the notion that people on the spectrum are emotionally flat and lack a "theory of mind." I have been meaning to write about this issue, particularly of this theory of the mind claim, for some time so I thought I would take the opportunity here to do so. My friends Melanie and Noranne pointed me to this site so this post is dedicated to them.

I would hope that readers of this blog would have long come to appreciate that, while I may be an Asperger, I do have emotions. I am hardly a cold-blooded calculating machine; even my more academic writing breaths with a sense of humor and a strong sense of the personality behind it. That being said, there is something different as to my emotions and one could make a good case that it might be useful to find a different word to describe my "emotional" self. The notion of a "theory of mind" is that other minds are different from my own and that what applies to me does not apply to other people. For example, I love talking about Early Modern religion wars almost as much as I like talking about my ultimate favorite topic, myself, and can go on about these topics for an hour at a time easily. Since I do not read facial expressions very well, I have a difficult time telling when people become bored with this topic. Perhaps, some might argue, I cannot even comprehend how something that so interests me could fail to at least grab the attention of others.

I would make the case for turning the rhetorical tables against neurotypicals and argue that, on the contrary to the usual charge, it is neurotypicals who lack a theory of the mind. I would describe myself as living in a Cartesian universe. Firstly because the idea of sitting in front of the fire, (or in my case my modern electric heater) wondering about issues like whether God exists, whether I am the victim of some illusion creating demon (perhaps the Matrix) or whether I am a figment of my own imagination comes naturally to me. To me, these are important issues to be taken seriously and not to be put aside in favor of "living." Second, and more importantly, I am conscious of myself as a mind floating in a metaphysical universe hemmed in by other minds which I do not comprehend. Much of my mental energy is devoted to contemplating these other minds, theorizing about them and ultimately coming to terms with the fact that I do not understand these other minds. (Confirming one's ignorance is a worthwhile task. It is not enough to know that you are ignorant about things in general. You need to have a clear idea as to what you are ignorant about.) I do not understand other minds nor do I make any pretense to. I recognize that everyone has their own little universe that is incomprehensible to everyone else.

A somewhat counter-intuitive result of this is that I am an almost fanatical rationalist. Reason, as the shared heritage of all non-mentally handicapped people, is the only thing that can navigate the metaphysical ether between minds; it is the one product of the mind that can be understood by another. As such, for all intents and purposes, it is the one thing that can be viewed as meaningful. You live in your own self-contained mind, its own metaphysical universe containing thoughts, personality, and emotions. (My atheist Asperger friends would tell me that there is no mind; that it is just an illusion created by the brain. To be clear, I am talking here about the perception of mind, not any metaphysical reality.) I grant you that all of these things are real. The problem is that these things do not translate into my self-contained mind, in its own metaphysical universe. I do not understand these things and cannot take them into account beyond recognizing their existence as a sort of metaphysical black hole. As such your personal qualities while real, for all intents and purpose, might as well not exist. You have no reason to expect that I would understand the non-rational parts of your mind. Therefore, there is no reason to expect me to take it into account. The only thing that you have that can be meaningful to me as it is to you is your reason.

(To be continued …)

Historians in the Philosophy Department: A Response

In response to an earlier post, a commentator posed the following series of questions which I would like to respond to:

What is the historian’s relationship with philosophy? Is it merely to document which philosopher's were influential and their personal and philosophical effect on contemporary and future society? Should historians comment on the content of a philosopher's works? Does a historians training prepare them to understand philosophy in a manner which could justify any opinions, theories, conclusions they may state? Should historians abstain from analyzing the content of philosopher's work? My questions are focused on getting insight on how a historian conceptualizes his relationship and duties when dealing with philosophy.

The issue of the relationship between history and philosophy is a pertinent one for me since I operate within the gray zone between them as an intellectual historian. For me, the line between the history of philosophy and philosophy is that a historian is only interested in the who, what, when, where and why of an issue. A historian when approaching a given philosopher will, therefore, try to explain what that philosopher actually believed, where did he get those beliefs from and who was influenced by this philosopher. What will be noticeably absent from the work a historian of philosophy is any indication whether the historian actually agrees with the philosopher in question. A philosopher on the other hand, when faced with the work of a philosopher from a previous generation is going to have to voice some sort of judgment about the work of said philosopher. For example, as an undergraduate at Yeshiva University, I took an Intro to Philosophy class where we learned all about Anselm, Aquinas and Descartes and their arguments for the existence of God. The byline for the class, though, was “why you are not going to march up to the blackboard and demonstrate that there is a God in under forty-five minutes.” As a side point, the professor who taught this class, Dr. David Johnson, is, surprisingly enough, a deeply religious Christian and this was one of the best classes I took in college.

There is a story told about Thomas Kuhn and his history of science class. It was his custom to assign his students a primary source text in early modern science for analysis. From the responses, he was able to tell which of his students were history majors and which were philosophy majors. The history majors would just analyze the text, regardless of whether it made sense or not. The philosophy majors would try to make sense of the text even if the end result they come up with was very different than the actual text.

Some people would take a firmer line than I do in regards to history and philosophy, particularly my advisor, Dr. Matt Goldish. When I first came to Ohio State to start work on my Ph.D. I wanted to do a dissertation either on Isaac Abarbanel’s relationship to Kabbalah or his views on Maimonides. Dr. Goldish insisted that whatever I did it could not simply be an analysis of a text but must work to fit itself into some larger narrative. We went back and forth on this issue but in the end, Dr. Goldish prevailed. He is my advisor so his word is law. He is also a far more knowledgeable historian both in terms of the craft itself and also in terms of the politics of the field. Finally, he managed to convince me that, no matter what my views on history, in order to get a job, I am going to have to write something that will speak to people outside my narrow field and that means addressing larger narrative issues.

Certainly, a major part of what historians of philosophy have to do is to document which philosophers were important in a given era. This is important because not every philosopher who we moderns think is important was prominent during his own lifetime or immediately afterward. For example, it is a matter of some debate as to how widely read Enlightenment philosophers were doing the Enlightenment. I think historians are capable of analyzing works of philosophy. The fact that historians have a unique ability to deal with the societal context of a given philosopher gives them an important seat at the table when discussing philosophy.