The right to be a blockhead

Consider this article a safe space, in which we can conduct a little thought experiment freely, without moral judgement. Now think of someone in your entourage – say, a relative, or a colleague – who you just can’t stand. They don’t have a label, they haven’t been diagnosed with any disorder, as far as you know; it’s just that you find them, well, too stuck up, or too unsociable, or too narrow-minded, or just outright mean… Others probably agree with you, and together you vent about them behind their back. And maybe you’re one such curmudgeon yourself, in the eyes of some of your colleagues, and maybe they’re talking smack about you as we speak! But I digress.

Now, imagine that this person you have in mind walks into the office one day and declares that they’ve been diagnosed with a certain condition which would explain their quirky ways. The irritable accountant has discovered she’s hypersensitive; the rigid manager has found out he’s on the spectrum… They’re now among the ranks of the neurodivergent: their brains work differently than most people’s, and there’s nothing they can do about it. Would you continue to criticise them or hold them to blame in the same way? And if not, why?

‘This imaginary scenario serves to highlight the stark difference such labels make in the way we see and treat one another’

“We’re all mad down here”

This imaginary scenario serves to highlight the stark difference such labels make in the way we see and treat one another, following an implicit moral dichotomy. On the one hand, there are people with a condition – a disorder, a disability, or just a certain “type of brain”, according to the Cambridge dictionary definition of “neurodivergent”, but we’ll come to the problem of definitions later! – which, as the word suggests, conditions their abilities and behaviour. And then there are the rest: normal people, to put it crudely, or, to use the language of neurodiversity, “neurotypical” people. By definition, since the latter don’t have a known condition, it’s implied that they’re somehow in control of and therefore responsible for their behaviour and abilities (or lack of). And so we sneer behind the back of that IT guy who can’t take a joke or trash talk the boss who keeps barging in to micromanage his team. Until they’re diagnosed with ADS or ADHD, they’re fair game.

But let’s examine this dichotomy more closely. That colleague or acquaintance who gets under your skin: would you really describe them as normal, or typical? I’m reminded of one former coworker with bright blue eyes who would cast a fascinated gaze over my face and smile without blinking while I was speaking to him… To this day I place him somewhere on the psychopathy spectrum, if such a thing exists (and if it doesn’t yet, perhaps it should). At the very least, I’d say he occupies that colourful borderland between the dreary norm and Hannibal Lecter territory.

Dwight Schrute syndrome

The 2005 hit TV show The Office is full of such characters. Like Michael Scott (Steve Carell), the hyperactive, attention-craving manager impervious to social cues; or Dwight Shrute (Rainn Wilson), his nerdy and over-zealous assistant, who will stop at nothing to implement order. Are they neurotypical? Maybe, by default, since the show’s writers haven’t indicated otherwise – but only just. One rabbit hole I enjoyed tumbling down for the purpose of this article led to a host of content speculating about their respective conditions. Some say Scott shows all the signs of histrionic personality disorder (HPD), while Schrute has either paranoid personality disorder (PPD) or autism spectrum disorder (ASD). The list of acronyms goes on as fans discuss the other members of the team, from the stuck up accountant Angela Martin (Angela Kinsey), who clearly has OCD, to the childish salesman Andy Bernard (Ed Helms), who is tagged with a range of labels, from dissociative personality disorder (DPD) to intermittent explosive disorder (IED) to some form of brain damage caused by the mixing of alcohol and seahorse powder...

But while fan theories are fun, to pin down these characters with labels would be to miss the whole point of The Office: the magic of the show lies precisely in its celebration of those unique quirks and idiosyncrasies which make them both laughable and endearing. And by holding up this colourful mirror to us all, workplace comedies like The Office – and those which have followed in its wake, like Parks and Recreations or Community – suggest that we can accept and laugh at each other for the weirdos that we truly are.

‘Works of fiction might serve to dispel this fantasised normality’

After all, this is the power of good story-telling, or “narrative imagination”, as championed by moral philosopher Martha Nussbaum. “This means the ability to think what it might be like to be in the shoes of a person different from oneself, to be an intelligent reader of that person’s story, and to understand the emotions and wishes and desires that someone so placed might have” (Not for Profit: Why Democracy Needs the Humanities, 2010). Where works of fiction have helped usher the kind of emotional shift from disgust to empathy which has led to better treatment for a growing number of minorities, it might now serve to dispel the fantasised normality on account of which a shrinking majority are deprived of the empathy they need.

Searching for normies

All the Dwight Schrutes and Michael Scotts we encounter in our lived experience suggest that our spontaneous moral segregation between typicals and atypicals could well be arbitrary, as might be the conceptual distinction itself. There’s a vague circularity in most definitions of these concepts, like the one proposed by the Cambridge dictionary, which defines neurodivergent as “related to a type of brain that is often considered as different from what is usual” and neurotypical as “not associated with a brain condition [...] that is often considered as different from what is usual.” That’s right: neurodivergent is what isn’t neurotypical, and vice versa – which does nothing to substantiate the distinction.

‘Autistic traits are distributed normally in the whole human population, as are ADHD traits’

—Ginny Russell, sociologist

And this is hardly surprising, since neurodivergent categories are in fact psychiatric constructs which denote a range of traits on a spectrum, rather than a binary reality. “These extend into the subclinical population, therefore many people who do not have an autism diagnosis have autistic traits,” sociologist Ginny Russell explains in her contribution to the 2020 book Autistic Community and the Neurodiversity Movement (Palgrave Macmillan). “This is known by researchers as the ‘broad autism phenotype’. It means there is no clear bimodal distribution separating people with and without autism, so in reality there are not two distinct populations, one ‘neurotypical’ and one ‘neurodivergent.’ Instead autistic traits are distributed normally in the whole human population, as are ADHD traits.”

A further reason to question this moral segregation arises from a critique of our common-sense understanding of the notions of conditioning and responsibility. That neurodiverse people can’t help their behaviour is implied by the term’s prefix: they’re quite literally conditioned by their brains. But in the age of neuroscience – “we are our brain”, as the title of Dick Swaab’s 2010 book proclaims – we all are. And when we’re not conditioned by our brains themselves, we’re at least partially shaped by our upbringing, social background, or specific events in our lives.

Here again, Nussbaum’s moral imagination can help us shed benevolent light on the other’s peculiar ways. Next time someone strikes you as inherently unlikeable, try imagining for them a life story which makes sense of their behaviour, and see if you still feel the same way. Better still if you can find out more about their real life journey, slowly but surely, one coffee or lunch break at a time…

‘Many argue that its blanket definition has become a distraction from the pressing needs of those with very real impairments’

Beyond duality

This murkiness of the typical-atypical dichotomy is one of the reasons why the neurodiversity model has been called into question in recent years. Many argue that its blanket definition has become a distraction from the pressing needs of those with very real impairments, which the medical model of disability is more apt to recognise and treat.

Others argue, on the contrary, that this murkiness should inspire us to open up the model further. Like Sharon daVanport, founder of Autistic Women and Non-Binary Network (AWN), who describes it as “something that I intimately understood as the all-inclusive acceptance of every neurological difference without exception,” adding, “I further came to appreciate that neurodiversity didn’t leave anyone out.” (Autistic Community and the Neurodiversity Movement)

These two responses to the problem – to broaden neurodiversity to include everyone or narrow it back down to clinical impairments – needn’t be mutually exclusive. We can devise targeted policies to help those with disabilities whilst still aspiring to that all-encompassing kindness to which neurodiversity points.

‘The neurodiversity movement seems to point beyond itself, to a vision of man undivided by scientific classifications’

When I think of my old colleague with the reptilian smile, I can marvel at his eerie aloofness, and consider that maybe it’s fine to be a bit Hannibal Lecter-ish after all. In fact, non-consensual cannibalism aside, Hannibal Lecter would probably make for a perfectly charming coworker! And even if he didn’t, he’d still be worthy of compassion and care, on account of our shared humanity alone.

In its laudable effort to surpass the segmented worldview inherent to any identity politics – with their ensuing economies of empathy, to which the supposedly privileged have no claim –, the neurodiversity movement seems to point beyond itself, to a vision of man undivided by scientific classifications. Christians speak of agape, the merciful love for all fellow humans, including one’s enemies (Luke 6:27); Buddhists speak of metta, or loving-kindness; and Hindus, of atmaivaabhut, my personal favourite: this is the empathy we feel when we see in others the same divine soul which resides in all of us (Yajurveda 40.6). All carry the same perennial ideal which is sorely missing in today’s scientific models: that of caring for others unconditionally.

Picture © sturti / iStockphoto