The Spectrum of Everyone
The struggle is real, but the discourse around autism reveals a lot about our cultural sickness.
Autism was back in the headlines recently, thanks in part to comments made by Robert F. Kennedy Jr. His department–Health and Human Services–has highlighted an “epidemic” of cases of autism which it says “cannot be solely attributed to the expansion of diagnoses”. The Secretary has tasked teams of researchers to collect data about potential causes to be included in a report, due to be published later this year. It’s the sort of thing any sane government should want to understand: a dramatic rise in a potentially disabling condition among children. Yet the backlash was immediate.
Advocates from autism support groups slammed the Secretary: it’s not a disorder, it’s not debilitating and speaking this way stigmatizes those with autism. Some parents pointed to their Harvard-graduated children as evidence that folks with autism are doing just fine. Others took exception to the suggestion by RFK Jr that there may be environmental factors causing the rise in diagnoses, an idea that flies in the face of the popular conception of autism as just different wiring. Some even proposed that speaking of autism as a disability will lead to eugenics.
This young man has been well-versed in the current debate:
I don’t have insight into potential causes1, nor do I have any insight into fixes. But the conversation around autism as a public flashpoint reveals so much about our culture. The messaging around disability has long been oddly conflicted. We want it to be normalized, but at the same time, special. Advocates would like to reach a point where no one even notices differences between people, but at the same time, campaign for special help for those who are “differently abled”. Is autism a medical condition to be treated? A social difference to be accommodated? Or an identity to be celebrated? Our culture tries to say “yes” to all three and has ended up with policies that contradict each other, treatments that harm, and a public conversation too confused to help anyone.
Some of the confusion may stem from autism’s earliest definitions. Two doctors independently described the condition in the 1940s, and their frameworks are still shaping the debate. Leo Kanner, an Austrian-American psychiatrist, observed children who were withdrawn, fixated with the “maintenance of sameness”, and uninterested in people. He described autism as a severe, early-onset developmental disorder, even suggesting that cold or distant mothering might play a role. Around the same time in Vienna, Hans Asperger wrote about socially awkward but intellectually precocious children who showed intense interest in systems and patterns. While acknowledging that autism could be disabling, Asperger saw it as a natural variation of human neurology—quirky, not broken; a group of potential geniuses.
Both men identified the same core traits: social difficulties, communication challenges, and restricted imagination—what later became known as the ”triad of impairments.” Some investigators believe that Kanner stole Asperger’s research, but perhaps of more interest is that their conclusions diverged, and that tension remains. Today’s advocacy groups echo Asperger’s view: autism is a difference to be embraced. But the rise in therapies, accommodations, and special education funding still reflects Kanner’s model: autism is a condition that requires serious support. We're trying to have it both ways.
If today’s confusion over disability feels like a Frankenstein’s monster, that’s because it is—the product of decades of shifting definitions, evolving diagnoses, and ideological meddling. For one, autism has no physiological test—no scan or lab work can confirm it—and the diagnostic criteria have shifted over time. Although it remains primarily a social and communication disorder, physician and author Dr. Suzanne O’Sullivan notes that well-meaning efforts to expand access to support have steadily widened the boundaries of diagnosis. Screening programs are promoted on the assumption that earlier detection is always better, but as she points out, relaxed criteria mean that many who were “healthy on Monday [are] patients on Tuesday.” The struggle is real, she says—but when diagnosis becomes the gateway to support, it creates pressure to keep moving the goalposts. Overdiagnosis is not without its harms, either.
Secondly, language keeps shifting. We are aware of the technocrats’ and academics’ preoccupation with applying novel definitions and inventing new terms. This may be well-intentioned. For example, the push for “people-first” terminology which represents an effort to separate the person from their ailment, replaces “disabled person” with “person living with disability”. This linguistic device was meant to reduce dehumanization but can end up downplaying the impact of the condition on the sufferer.
Finally, the rise of identity politics has only muddied the waters further. In a culture obsessed with ranking identities by perceived oppression, suffering itself has become a kind of social currency. Whether cause or consequence, the pathologization of every discomfort has become a race to the bottom—what
aptly calls “survival of the sickest.” Our society increasingly rewards this with moral affirmation and institutional support, fostering entitlement in some and indifference in others—until no one feels responsible to help, accommodate, or change.Some might respond, “It’s a spectrum—that’s why people’s experiences differ.” The rediscovery2 of Asperger’s work in the late 20th century lead to the creation of the autism spectrum model, placing “high-functioning” individuals at one end and profoundly impaired individuals at the other. But spectra are only useful when anchored to clear and accessible reference points. Without a defined standard, points on a spectrum become arbitrary and contingent. Even the Harvard parents had to appeal to some agreed-upon standard to show how well their kids were achieving. But having a standard for “normal” is now viewed as a suspect category, because “everyone is normal in their own way”.
Thus, the autism spectrum has become so broad, it’s losing its usefulness. As one writer put it, “If you’ve met one person on the spectrum, you’ve met one person on the spectrum.” Perhaps it should be broken apart once again. Dr Sullivan, who treats children with severe autism, notes that grouping folks such as Elon Musk and Anthony Hopkins together with a child who cannot speak or attend school without full-time support makes serious research—and serious care—nearly impossible, failing those most in need.
Even fans of the newish term, “neurodiversity” are finding a similar problem. Though advocates of the concept draw from past civil rights struggles, which he likes, Bill Williams notes how neurodiversity advocacy “seems to assume that one must have redeeming qualities in order to be valuable.” The movement relies on “normal” as a foil—using it to define its distinctiveness—while simultaneously rejecting the category altogether. He notes the contradiction: neurodiversity advocates bristle at comparisons to “normal” people, yet also believe calling a disabled person “inspiring” is “unintentionally ableist”.
Meanwhile, it seems many pharmaceutical executives and cultural elites are perfectly content to keep everyone on a spectrum—undiagnosed, unresolved, perpetually medicated. A couple of years ago, California’s Governor Newsom denounced the expectation that homeless individuals should be clean and sober to qualify for housing: “We all need to self-medicate, periodically,” he claimed. Though he was speaking about addiction, not disability, his words exposed something deeper: our refusal to reckon with the Fall has trapped us in a cultural paralysis—unable to name brokenness, let alone heal it. The thought that change is possible is almost offensive.
Any mention of prevention is heard as blame. Warnings about over-reliance on pharmaceuticals are met with outrage. Promoting healthier ways of living is framed as dangerous moralizing. And attempts to raise questions—like those from RFK Jr.—are dismissed as “anti-science,” likened to preaching that “pills are bad and suffering is good”. It reflects the fact that society is adrift from foundational truth. We can’t say for sure that something has gone wrong with creation, so disability must be both special and invisible, celebrated and yet undiscussed, affirmed and yet never clearly named.
But, are we allowed to long for health and wholeness? Or must we pretend that human frailty is itself a form of superiority? The Christian view of suffering is neither brutal stoicism nor blind affirmation. Paul’s letters show a beautiful tension: he exhorts slaves to gain their freedom if possible, yet reminds them that even if they remain enslaved, their lives are still hidden with Christ in God. Likewise, we are called to seek healing, freedom, and restoration wherever we can — but also to endure suffering with hope when full healing is not yet given. Pain is part of the human condition after Eden, but it is not meant to be celebrated as "normal." It is a reminder that we are not home yet.
In this life, not every burden will be lifted. But by faith, we live as those who know there is a resurrection coming. Our weakness is not a badge of honor, nor a mark of shame. It is a call to cry out to the only One who can make all things new. So when we see confusion about disability, suffering, and what it means to be human, we don't need to despair. We can long for wholeness without apology, love our neighbors with tenderness, and rest in the hope that Christ is preparing a world where "normal" means perfection.
A quick search will reveal many factors contributing to autism. Pesticides, air pollution, and family history. Rates are higher in children conceived using fertility treatments. One study concluded the formula fed babies were at higher risk of autism. Autism sites point to maternal obesity and age as factors.
Asperger’s work languished in obscurity until the 1980s, probably because it was in German and maybe because no one wanted to vivify any research out of Nazi Germany.
This is a topic I've recently been interested in as well. I recommend the book called "Asperger's Children: The Origins of Autism in Nazi Vienna". It gives a lot to contemplate.