Professional Documents
Culture Documents
F
F
“For more than two decades, Francesca Happé has led the way in explaining the
psychology of autistic people to students and experts alike. Now joining forces with
Sue Fletcher-Watson, this new introduction brings the voices of autistic people
themselves, their families and communities to the forefront of their analysis. The result
is a magnificent book that will cause us all to think anew about autistic psychology and
experience.”
—Professor Liz Pellicano, Macquarie University, Australia
“For many people, myself included, Francesca Happé’s 1995 book was their gateway
to autism research. This update, written with Sue Fletcher-Watson is much-needed
and long overdue. Like the first edition, it provides a wonderfully lucid yet concise
introduction to psychological accounts of autism. But it also serves as an historical
document, reflecting the seismic changes in our understanding of and attitudes
towards autism over the past quarter century and the growing voice of autistic people
in challenging preconceptions about their own condition and influencing the priorities
and goals of autism science.”
—Dr. Jon Brock, Macquarie University, Australia
Autism
Sue Fletcher-Watson is Senior Research Fellow at the Patrick Wild Centre, University
of Edinburgh, and leads the Development/Autism/Research/Technology, or DART,
lab group. She has been awarded the British Psychological Society Margaret Donaldson
Prize and a certificate of excellence from Autism Rights Group Highland for
“amplification and inclusion of autistic voices”.
CHAPTER 1 Introduction 2
Bibliography 166
Index 189
Preface and
Acknowledgements
Preface
This book is intended mostly for undergraduate and post-graduate students
studying psychology, or related subjects. Our primary goal has been to provide
a comprehensive and critical overview of the available psychological theories
of autism, and to enable students to understand something about this fascinat-
ing way of being. The text acts as an introduction to a range of concepts, which
can be explored further, and we signpost recommended reading, flagging work
by autistic writers wherever possible. The book is enhanced by the inclusion
of beautiful sketch-note summaries by Marisa Montaldi at the start of every
chapter, which illustrate and highlight the key content presented.
A note on language
The language used to describe autism is currently the subject of intense and
passionate debate. Our primary goals in this work have been to:
For this reason we have not used any functioning labels in the text, and mini-
mised any use of medical and deficit-focused terminology. However, we have
included some person-first language (e.g. person with autism), although we
know this will not be the preference of many autistic people. Our reasons
for doing so include the fact that, historically, person-first language was
part of the early disability rights agenda – this was not a language construc-
tion imposed by the neurotypical/non-disabled community. Gernsbacher1
recently pointed out that language can be stigmatising when different con-
structions are used to describe people with and without a disability – as in
the phrase “typically developing children and children with autism” – and we
have tried to avoid this throughout by using matched constructions as far as
possible.
An oft-cited online survey2 shows that about 60% of autistic respondents
approved the use of the identity-first construction “autistic” to communicate
about autism, and just under 40% endorsed “autistic person” specifically. Thus
identity-first language receives strong support in the community, and many
have written eloquently about the importance of this kind of language for their
well-being and identity.3 We have no desire to over-ride this wide-spread and
well-articulated preference, and the majority of language here is identity first.
However, in the same survey, more than 30% of the autistic group surveyed
approved the use of the person-first phrase “has autism” to communicate about
autism. Moreover, about 25% of respondents on the autism spectrum selected
either “has autism/Asperger’s syndrome” or “person with autism/Asperger’s
syndrome” when asked to pick only one preferred language option. It is very
clear from the data that, even within an autistic group, there is diversity in
opinion, and we have chosen to reflect that diversity in our choice of language
in this book. To readers of the future, we can only apologise if this choice seems
to have been retrograde.
Community contributors
We would like to thank ten members of the autistic community for providing
insightful and fascinating reflections to each chapter, and for giving feedback
on the content and tone of the book. They are as follows:
2 Kenny, L., Hattersley, C., Molins, B., Buckley, C., Povey, C., & Pellicano, E. (2016).
Which terms should be used to describe autism? Perspectives from the UK autism
community. Autism, 20(4), 442–462.
3 www.identityfirstautistic.org/
x Preface and Acknowledgements
to note that I am neither an academic nor, despite being autistic, am I in touch
with the latest research – so had it not been for this work, my understanding
of my own condition would have easily continued to be decades out of date.
I received my diagnosis at age 13, in 2002, and like for many autists, my
school life mostly comprised an environment and teachers lacking faith in
my ability or prospects, and I had little reason to think otherwise. It wasn’t
until, with open-minded family, I was given the option to leave school and
pursue my own education in whatever form it took that I began to see more.
I eventually chose to continue studying, on my own, and self-taught my
GCSEs.
Fast-forwarding to after post-graduate study, I now work in software,
designing user experiences: a discipline requiring empathy, imagination, a
marriage of holistic and detailed perspective and an unbiased approach to
human behaviour and data – traits that deeply resonate with me but contra-
dicted the consensus on autism. My journey here forced my understanding of
my own condition to evolve, as well as how “broken” I should consider myself
to be. Now witnessing a similar evolution reflected in the research is both
astounding and painfully validating.
Most striking to me are the psychological theories around information
processing in Chapter 8. There’s this one account of a boy ‘mistaking’ a pillow
in a model bed for a piece of ravioli. I can see how that might appear charm-
ingly peculiar from some perspectives, yet there’s little evidence suggesting
he is confused at all. He might simply be thinking in a different order, and
I suspect we may be surprised by how large an effect that simple difference
can have.
This world we share is beautifully complex (the social universe espe-
cially), and we humans often leverage assumptions and bias in order to navi-
gate, infer and interpret it effectively. What if this boy is simply assuming less
and noticing more? Observed by someone who assumes more and notices less,
he may well appear confused or even deficient. But to perceive something so
impartially might just mean growing up in a world that makes that little bit
less sense and learning to revel in it with open arms. It may only be a slightly
different way of being, but in situations more significant than ravioli bedding,
it is easy to imagine how that can create large ripples in everyday lives.
For me, being diagnosed was an unstated, seismic reassurance that
I was indeed different, but that it is OK and that I’m not alone. And I wouldn’t
change it for a second.
Living diagnosed, however, is different. Being labelled with a ‘deficiency
in understanding’ that is both poorly understood and, by definition, disqual-
ifies you from understanding your deficiency, can gradually undermine your
confidence in your own perception and reality (and therefore an entire pop-
ulation’s). Yet it may not be until reading a book like this that the realisation
confronts you. Witnessing research grow more towards what I’ve sensed to be
true, but felt too “diagnosed” to argue for, is both retroactively heartbreaking
and dramatically empowering.
Preface and Acknowledgements xi
I can’t certify whether I’m the way I am because I can and therefore
choose to be, or because I can’t be any other way. But I do enjoy this way. And
likewise, does the neurotypical mind choose to be its way, or can it not be
anything else?
Acknowledgements: Sue
My first thank you has to go to Franky for not just allowing me to help her update
her masterful 1994 text, but for giving me the benefit of her experience, knowl-
edge, hard work and support during the process. The original book is a beautiful
piece of writing that shaped my thinking about autism as a student, and it was a
delight to be able to draw on that framework and style for this new text. It’s been
a huge honour to have this opportunity to work with Franky, who has had a tre-
mendous impact on the field and richly deserves her exceptional reputation. She’s
also very good at correcting “which” to “that” whenever I get it wrong (frequently).
I must also thank some key people for getting me to the place where I feel
like writing a book is something I can do – Sue Leekam and Helen McCo-
nachie shaped my identity as a psychologist and continue to provide me with
sage advice and regular ego boosts. My colleagues at University of Edinburgh
and beyond have been patient while I spent days ignoring their emails in an
effort to write: thank you Catherine, Rachael, Lorna, Maggi, Bérengére, Sher-
een, Sinéad, Bethan, Mihaela and Ruth; thank you to all the endless Andrews;
thank you to my DivComp collaborators (so FET) and the Shaping Autism
Research team. Thank you also to Greta Todorova, Andrew McKechanie, Andy
Stanfield and Jon Spiers, as well as three anonymous reviewers, for reading and
giving helpful comments on a first draft.
I’d never have kept my head above water over the past year without the
love and support of my friends: KCO, Robin, Fi, Duncan, Rebecca and the
Wyatt girls – special mention to Ed for providing writing soundtracks. Thank
you a million times over to my family – Mum and Dad, you gave me every
advantage in life; Minny and Hedda, you inspire me; Ben, your intelligence,
patience and generosity know no bounds.
Finally, thank you to the hundreds of autistic people – friends and tweet-
ers, colleagues and advisers – who have challenged and inspired me. Kabie, this
book, and all my work, would be vastly inferior without you. Damian, you’re a
true pioneer and an inspiration. Working in this field is endlessly fascinating
and a great privilege.
Acknowledgements: Francesca
When Sue approached me about the idea of writing a new version of my very
old book, I was delighted. Over the years, I have refused a few suggestions
from publishers that I should write an updated edition, but the idea of writing
xii Preface and Acknowledgements
a new version with Sue at the helm was instantly appealing. I knew she was a
researcher of enormous energy, insight and warmth, but the process of writing
together has shown me what an amazing person and scientist she is! So my first
thanks go to her, for her hard work, endless positivity, patience and humour!
As I write, it is coming up to 30 years since I started my PhD, and I can’t
help but reflect on how tremendously lucky I was, so many years ago, to be
accepted as a student by Uta Frith at the Medical Research Council’s Cogni-
tive Development Unit. Uta has been the best mentor, colleague and friend
anyone could have, and I am enormously grateful for her wisdom, support
and kindness over almost 30 years. I also owe a great debt to Neil O’Connor
and Ati Hermelin, Uta’s own PhD supervisors, who gave me my first experi-
ence of autism as a volunteer research assistant one university vacation. I am
very proud to consider myself amongst their academic grandchildren! I have
also benefitted from the generosity and wisdom of many other great autism
researchers including the much-missed Lorna Wing and Sula Wolff, both of
whom kindly gave me time and advice when I was setting out as a PhD stu-
dent, and Marian Sigman who was so encouraging to me when a post-doc.
More recently, I am lucky to have as my office neighbour the indomitable
Michael Rutter, still working very hard at 85. My many wonderful colleagues at
the Social, Genetic and Developmental Psychiatry Centre and the Institute of
Psychiatry, Psychology and Neuroscience make my job an absolute pleasure.
Over the last 30 years, I have been very fortunate to collaborate with
and supervise many brilliant scientists at the early stages of their now-
illustrious careers, including Rhonda Booth, Essi Viding, Rebecca Charl-
ton, Greg Wallace, Liz O’Nions, Eva Loth, Coralie Chevallier, Catherine
Molesworth, Pam Heaton, Geli Ronald, Dave Williams, Naomi Fisher, Fran
Davies, Eamon McCrory, Janice Rigby, Kim Murray, Tori Hallett, Yulia Kovas,
Alice Jones, Pedro Vital, Fiona McEwen, Claire Harworth, Steph Lietz, Anto-
nia San José Cáceres, Anna Cattrell, Beata Tick, Vicky Brunsdon, Nic Shake-
shaft, Esra Yarar, Bosiljka Milosavljevic, Vinnie Carter Leno, Sophie Sowden,
Lucy Livingston, Hannah Pickard, Debbie Spain and many more. Emma
Colvert, who has led our autism twin study for more than a decade, and the
many research assistants (notably Vicky Milner), placement students (notably
Simone Capp) and project students on that team, deserve special mention.
I have learnt more than I can say from all these lovely people, and I am grateful
for their inspiration and friendship.
Autistic friends, scientists and self-advocates have, of course, taught me a
huge amount, and I would like to thank in particular Ros Blackburn, Richard
Exley, Dinah Murray, Wenn Lawson and James Cusack. Autism family mem-
bers, especially the late Robin Murphy, and Saskia and Michael Baron, have
also been fundamental to my discovering how little I really know about autism.
Friends (autistic and not) and family have supported me, put up with
my ‘narrow special interest’ in autism, encouraged me and made possible
the difficult juggling act of work and family life. The fathomless kindness of
Preface and Acknowledgements xiii
my parents, which I appreciate even more as a parent myself, and their huge
help with our three children, has been fundamental to my ability to pursue
a career I love. Finally, and most importantly, I must thank Daniel for more
than 25 years of love and friendship (and counting), and our children Poppy,
Joe and Sam, who are such delightful, surprising, enchanting and impressive
people. Pushka, our cat, does not get thanked, as she mainly walked over the
keyboard as I attempted to write. AMDG.
1 Introduction
O
RIGINALLY PUBLISHED IN 1994, this book has now been rewrit-
ten and updated dramatically to reflect the significant strides that
have been made, not just in psychological research and theory but in
socio-political theorising about autism, and in public awareness and accep-
tance. Nevertheless, the aim of this book remains the same – to acquaint you
with current research and thinking about autism in a concise yet comprehen-
sive way. We focus particularly on the cognitive level of explanation, which is
the purview of psychological research. At the end of each chapter, recognising
the fast pace of thinking about autism, we highlight current “big questions”
for the field. In each chapter, we have also invited autistic people to provide
their personal perspectives. These sections will, we hope, contextualise the
content by providing relevant insights into the lived experience of autism.
Our goal is to ensure that this academic text is firmly embedded in real-world,
community priorities.
Further reading is suggested in two ways – references in the text will
allow you to find out more about specific issues raised, while suggested read-
ing (usually in the form of books or review articles) appears at the end of each
chapter, allowing you to deepen your knowledge of those aspects of autism
that particularly interest you. Throughout the book, discussion has been kept
as brief as possible in the hope that the book will provide a manageable over-
view of autism, tying together a number of quite different areas. It should whet
your appetite for the more detailed consideration of specific aspects of autism
provided by the suggested readings.
to find the right answer for the question in any one context, we need to think
about our reasons for asking. One can think about this distinction between the
different senses of a question in terms of different levels of explanation.
In the academic study of autism, three levels in particular are useful; the
biological, the cognitive and the behavioural. It is important to keep these lev-
els distinct, because each of the three levels does a different job in our under-
standing of autism. So, for example, to inform the search for possible causes
of autism, it may be appropriate to look at biological features, while to address
family priorities, it may be more important to consider the behavioural
description.
Morton and Frith (1995) introduced a specific diagrammatic tool for
thinking about levels of explanation in developmental conditions such as
autism. Figure 1.1, taken from Morton and Frith (1995), shows their causal
models of the three levels and the possible relations between these levels in dif-
ferent diagnostic categories. Pattern (a) is the case of a condition defined by its
unitary biological origin, which may have diverse effects at the cognitive and
behavioural levels. An example of this type of condition might be Fragile X
syndrome, as currently conceptualised; Fragile X syndrome is diagnosed in the
presence of a specific gene mutation on the X chromosome. However, not all
individuals so defined have the same cognitive or behavioural features; while
many will have severe learning difficulties and social anxiety, others may have
an IQ score in the average range and appear socially confident.
Pattern (b) shows a condition with multiple biological causes, and sev-
eral different behavioural manifestations, but a single defining cognitive fea-
ture. Dyslexia, according to some cognitive theories (e.g. Hulme & Snowling,
2016), may be an example of such a condition. A number of biological causes
may converge in causing a cognitive difference in the phonological system,
leading in turn to multiple behavioural difficulties (e.g. with reading, spelling,
auditory memory, rhyme and sound segmentation). Many attempts have been
made to characterise autism in this way (see Chapter 6).
Pattern (c) is the case of a condition defined by its behavioural features
alone, with multiple biological causes and cognitive natures. Conduct disorder,
C1 C2 C C1 C2 cognitive
S1 S2 S1 S2 S behavioural
Reproduced from Morton & Frith (1995) by kind permission of the author.
4 Chapter 1 Introduction
(avoiding large groups, social anxiety, limited eye contact) may be very similar.
We’ll return to this interesting question in Chapters 8 and 9.
At the cognitive level of explanation, in Chapter 5, we will first provide
an overview of how the cognitive level may be used to link behavioural and
biological features. We will review criteria for a good psychological theory,
considering quality and quantity of evidence and practical impact. Subse-
quently, Chapters 6–8 will describe and evaluate the available cognitive models
of autism in three distinct groups. Primary deficit models attempt to identify
a single difference (nearly always characterised as a deficit), which has a root,
causal role in determining autism. Developmental progress models tend to
frame autism as the result of multiple interacting processes across early devel-
opment. Cognitive difference models are concerned with the complex ways in
which people with autism relate to their environments and attempt to charac-
terise autism on that basis.
In the final two chapters of the book, we will review the contribution that
psychological theory has made to our understanding of autism and to prac-
tice in schools, clinics and beyond. This will include a discussion of alterna-
tive approaches to understanding autism – e.g. sociological models – and the
possibility that our biological-cognitive-behavioural framework would benefit
from the addition of a fourth level of explanation. In Chapter 10, we wrap up
with a discussion of the key issues for the future of autism research.
in foodstuffs leads to the selection of individuals with the ability to taste this
substance and avoid consuming large quantities of foods containing alcohol –
since being drunk does not increase reproductive success! In developmental
time, alcohol has different effects – in large quantities, it may hamper the phys-
ical and mental development of the foetus. Later in the life course, but still in
developmental terms, intake of large quantities of alcohol may have long-term
effects on adults, for example, cirrhosis of the liver. In terms of processing time,
however, the effects of alcohol are usually pleasant – that’s why we drink it! In
large amounts, though, it has effects on our behaviour, for example, causing
slurring of speech and loss of balance. These are “online” effects in the sense
that they persist only for so long as the maintaining cause is there – the high
blood alcohol level. The developmental effects, however, will persist, even after
the individual has sobered up. This example may seem a long way from autism
but, as will emerge in Chapters 7 and 8, psychological theories of autism can
be very different depending on whether they focus on developmental or pro-
cessing causes.
In the context of autism research, we might also ‘zoom in’ on the devel-
opmental timescale a little more closely. Autism is characterised as a ‘neuro-
developmental’ condition, meaning that it emerges from differences in brain
development. Two key lessons emerge from this characterisation of autism.
One is that any research needs to take into account the chronological age of
the participants and, if different, their developmental level too. Without this
context, it is impossible to determine whether a behaviour is typical or atyp-
ical, delayed or divergent, concerning or not. Take as an example the typi-
cal child’s learning of irregular past tenses, which follows a u-shaped curve.
In early development, children learn and imitate the correct irregular forms
of verbs and plurals (e.g. “we went to the park”; “I saw two sheep”). Later, as
children, from about 2 years, start to recognise and apply grammatical rules,
they tend to overgeneralise these, making charming over-regularisation errors
(“we goed to the park”; “I seed two sheeps”). And later still, children compe-
tently apply grammatical rules and have learnt the cases where an irregular
form is correct.
We can see from this example how important it is to understand the
developmental stage reached by an individual before passing judgement on
their competence. Developmental processes do not necessarily follow sim-
ple upward trajectories from less to more skilled. Moreover, the same pat-
tern of behaviour (in this case, correct use of irregular word forms) may be
apparent at different stages for different reasons (in this case, mimicry versus
mastery). One relevant example more specific to autism relates to the prev-
alence of restricted and repetitive behaviours in children: a large survey of
typically developing toddlers showed that behaviours like lining up toys, hand-
flapping and specific narrow interests are very common in 2-year-olds (Leekam
et al., 2007). This kind of information is essential when, among other things,
attempting to identify markers of autism in early development. Understanding
how and why children engage in such patterns of behaviour can also play a
Chapter 1 Introduction 7
This one is also certainly true, but it is striking that little progress has been
made in determining precisely what this biological basis is. As we will see in
Chapter 4, genetic, neurological and any other biological markers of autism
remain elusive.
The more researchers have learnt about autism, the harder it gets to sum up the
condition in a single sentence – and that’s just drawing on research evidence,
let alone the multiplicity of lived experiences. We can say categorically how
autism is diagnosed, but that’s not the same as what it is. In each of these listed
domains, evidence for differences is mixed. That isn’t to say that differences
don’t exist – they do, and sometimes they are disadvantageous – but the pre-
cise nature of the difference is hard to pin down.
What about severity? As you will see in Chapter 3, we believe that
attempting to use ‘severity’ estimates to describe autism is futile. When invok-
ing a concept of severity, what we are usually trying to capture is the level of
support an individual requires – in which case reporting the support need
itself is both more accurate and more helpful. While this book characterises
autism in terms of difference rather than deficit, there is no doubt that some
of the experiences that typically accompany autism – poor sleep, restricted
diet, epilepsy, language delay, learning disability and poor mental health, not
to mention encountering prejudice, bullying and discrimination – can be
severely upsetting and disabling.
What new facts might we add to counter more recent myths? An obvi-
ous one would be ‘vaccines do not cause autism’. This scare is entirely trace-
able to flawed and sometimes actively fraudulent science. There is now a vast
and conclusive body of evidence disproving the link between vaccines and
autism. We might also emphasise that ‘not all autistic people are male’, given
that research has often overlooked or even systematically excluded women,
girls and non-binary people from autism studies.
Big questions
One question we grappled with while writing this book is, what right do we
have as neurotypical researchers, without lived experience of autism, to write
an authoritative text on autism? We couldn’t possibly write a book about the
experience of autism, of course – but we are psychologists, and so we can try
to write about psychological theories of autism. We hope it is legitimate for
us to have a platform to present and discuss those theories, but we are very
aware that there are many other ways to view autism. These include other dis-
ciplinary perspectives, but also – very importantly – autistic voices and experi-
ences. We wanted to give space in our book for stakeholders to comment and
reflect, providing a contrasting, critical perspective or enriching our academic
content with personal experiences.
This leads to another big question – how to incorporate autistic voices
without tokenism? In the context of this book, we have invited people to con-
tribute by identifying a core theme within each chapter and asking an interested
person to comment on that theme. Our goal is to include autistic contrib-
utors whose personal experience actively resonates with the topic of each
chapter.
A final point to raise is that these written accounts from autistic people
are not accessible to the very large proportion of the autistic community who
aren’t able to read or write with confidence – young children and people with
learning disabilities or limited language. In an attempt to represent these peo-
ple, some of our contributors are autistic parents of autistic children, or autistic
professionals who have day-to-day contact with autistic people who are less
able to speak for themselves. Others had a profile in childhood which might
then have been designated ‘severe autism’, but have acquired a lot of commu-
nication skills since that time.
In reading this broad chapter, I think an important thing to remember is that sci-
entific theories of autism focus on differences between people with and without
autism, or differences associated with certain autistic traits in the population.
They do not describe autistic people themselves, nor their lived experience. It
is easy to read about autism and picture an ‘autistic person’ (usually a child or
someone we know), whose personality and experience of the world are almost
Chapter 1 Introduction 11
built around the differences or autistic traits described. Scientific theories focus
on differences because these can help us understand what the condition of
autism is. However, people are more than just bundles of measurable traits,
and each autistic person is first and foremost a human, with a lived experience
that is often closer to what we would think of when we imagine any human life.
For instance, I have quite typical long-term goals, ambitions and challenges for
someone of my age and in my career. However, as a result of autism-related
sound sensitivity, I also experience a lot of stress from excessive noise in my
household and neighbourhood. This has affected my mental health and my
ability to study and has made it difficult to find a suitable place to move out.
However, rather than having defined my life, this feature of autism has made it
more difficult for me to focus on my otherwise ‘normal’ goals.
More generally, each autistic person has his or her own personality, pri-
orities and preferences, goals and struggles. I have met quite a few people with
autism, all with very different personalities to me. Some I liked and others I very
much disliked! Perhaps surprisingly, I consider most of my ‘neurotypical’ friends
more similar to me than any autistic person I’ve met so far. Similarly, while some
autistic people embrace an autistic identity, others do not consider it a central
part of their life or personality. By adulthood, many autistic people will also have
one or more comorbid conditions, and these might feature more prominently
in their everyday life than features of autism. Crucially, each individual with
autism has their own unique strengths, difficulties and needs, and these should
be the central concern for anyone who wants to work with autistic people.
Understanding autism can make it easier to help autistic people, but I would
urge the reader not to think of autism as a personality, or a different ‘type’ of
person. Instead, think of it as a set of changes to an otherwise very human life.
These changes can be extreme or not so extreme, positive or negative, and can
make for a meaningful but often tumultuous experience.
Recommended reading
T
HERE ARE TWO strands to the history of autism – the history accord-
ing to professionals, mostly clinicians and latterly researchers, and the
history according to autistic people and their families. Here we provide
a brief overview of key influential figures from both strands, who have helped
to shape how autism is viewed today.
This description of a 5-year-old boy called Donald was written over 70 years
ago in Kanner’s landmark paper Autistic Disturbances of Affective Contact. The
term “autistic” comes from Bleuler (1908), who used the word (from the Greek
“autos” meaning self) to describe the social withdrawal seen in adults with
schizophrenia. Despite radical changes in our conceptualisations of autism,
clinicians and teachers today still remark on similar features to those described
by Kanner so many years ago. Moreover, autism has almost certainly always
existed. Folktales can be found in nearly every culture that tell stories of indi-
viduals with unusual behaviour and a literal interpretation of the world. The
following stories come from two very different cultures, but each centre on a
character who we might now describe as autistic. The first tale comes from
India:
One time Sheikh Chilli was hotly in love with a girl, and he said to his
mother: “What is the best way of making a girl fond of one?” Said his
mother: “The best plan is to sit by the well, and when she comes to draw
Chapter 2 The history of autism 15
water, just throw a pebble at her and smile”. The Sheikh went to the well,
and when the girl appeared, he flung a big stone at her and broke her
head. All the people turned out and were going to murder him, but when
he explained matters, they agreed that he was the biggest fool in the world.
(From 151 Folktales of India, Kang & Kang, 1988)
In a village, there lived a boy called Gahan. It was Sunday and Gahan’s
mother wanted to go to church early. But Gahan didn’t like getting up
in the mornings, so he said he would stay in bed. When his mother was
ready to go, she came into Gahan’s room. “I’m off to church now”, she said.
“When you get up, if you decide to come to the church, be sure and pull
the door behind you”. “Don’t worry, mother”, said Gahan, “I won’t forget”.
After a while Gahan climbed out of bed, washed and dressed and was
just about to leave when he remembered what his mother had said. He
opened the front door, pulled it down, held it by the knocker and began
to pull it along behind him. You can imagine how all the people laughed
when they saw Gahan walking along the street dragging the door behind
him. When he arrived at the church he walked straight in. But he made
such a banging and clattering noise that everyone turned to see what was
happening. They, too, thought that it was very funny, but Gahan’s poor
mother was very embarrassed. “What on earth are you doing?” she asked.
“Well, mother”, answered Gahan, “you asked me to pull the door behind
me if I left the house, didn’t you?”
(From Folktales from Australia’s Children of the World,
Smith, 1979)
These tales suggest that the unexpected behaviours of people with autism have
been recognised in many different cultures over the centuries. But it was not
until Kanner wrote about a group of 11 children with a puzzling but similar
constellation of features that autism was clinically recognised. These features,
as described by Kanner, included the following:
needs. They would also use “you” when referring to themselves and
“I” for the other person (termed “pronoun reversal”), following from a
direct repetition of the other speaker’s remark. In the same way, chil-
dren with autism may use the whole of a question instead of a typical
request (e.g. “Do you want a sweet?” meaning “I want a sweet”).
Hyper-sensitivity to stimuli: Kanner noticed that many of the children
he saw reacted strongly to certain noises and to objects, such as vacuum
cleaners, elevators and even the wind. Some also had feeding problems
or would eat only a very restricted diet.
Limitation in the variety of spontaneous activity: shown in the children’s
repetitive movements, verbalisations and interests. However, Kanner felt
that the children showed a good relation to objects, such as dexterity in
spinning things or completing jigsaw puzzles.
Good cognitive potentialities: Kanner believed that the outstanding
memory and dexterity shown by some of his cases reflected a superior
intelligence, despite the fact that many of the children had been consid-
ered to have severe learning difficulties.
Highly intelligent families: Kanner remarked that all his cases had
intellectual parents. However, this is probably due simply to a referral
bias – Kanner’s sample is unlikely to have been representative; only the
well-connected managed to see the famous child psychiatrist at Johns
Hopkins Hospital.
In his later writing (Kanner & Eisenberg, 1957), Kanner isolated just two of
these many features as the key elements of autism: “Extreme isolation and
the obsessive insistence on the preservation of sameness”. The other aspects he
considered to be either secondary to and caused by these two elements (e.g.
communicative impairments), or nonspecific to autism (e.g. stereotypies).
In Chapter 3, we will reassess Kanner’s description of autism and consider
changing diagnostic criteria in relation to that original set of case studies.
complicity from the physician (Czech, 2018). Asperger’s writings have shaped
our understanding of the condition and cannot be ignored in the history of
autism. As we write, the autism community is adjusting to the shocking new
information about Asperger’s role in the evil treatment of disabled children by
the Nazi death machine and discussing whether the term ‘Asperger’s syndrome’
(no longer in the diagnostic manuals) is still appropriate and acceptable.
Kanner and Asperger were both foundational to our understanding of
autism and their descriptions are similar in many ways. Both men believed the
social differences in autism to be innate (in Kanner’s words) or constitutional
(as Asperger put it) and to persist through life into adulthood. In addition,
Kanner and Asperger both noted the children’s lack of eye contact, their ste-
reotypies of word and movement, and their marked resistance to change. The
two authors report the common finding of isolated special interests, often in
idiosyncratic objects or topics. Both seem to have been struck by the attractive
appearance of the children they saw. Kanner and Asperger make a point of
distinguishing the disorder they describe from schizophrenia, on the basis of
three features; the improvement rather than deterioration in their patients, the
absence of hallucinations and the fact that these children presented as autistic
from their earliest years. Lastly, both Kanner and Asperger believed that they
had observed similar traits – of social withdrawal or atypicality, intense delight
in routine and the pursuit of special interests to the exclusion of all else – in the
parents of many of their patients.
There are three main areas in which Asperger’s and Kanner’s reports dis-
agree, if we believe that they were describing the same sort of child. The first
and most striking of these is the child’s language abilities. Kanner reported that
3 of his 11 patients never spoke at all and that the other children did not use
what language they had to communicate. Asperger, by contrast, reported that
each of his four case study patients (and, by implication, most of the unspeci-
fied number of such children he met) spoke fluently – even “like little adults”.
Asperger notes their “freedom” and “originality” in language use, and reports
that two of his four cases had a tendency to tell “fantastic stories”.
Asperger’s description also conflicts with Kanner’s on the subject of
motor abilities and coordination. Kanner (1943) reported that “several of the
children were somewhat clumsy in gait and gross motor performance, but all
were very skillful in terms of finer muscle coordination”. Asperger, by contrast,
described all four of his patients as clumsy and recounted their problems not
only with school sports (gross coordination) but also with fine motor skills
such as writing.
The last area of disagreement in the clinical pictures painted by Asperger
and Kanner is that of the child’s learning abilities. Kanner believed that his
patients were best at learning rote fashion, but Asperger felt that his patients
performed “best when the child can produce spontaneously” and suggests that
they are “abstract thinkers”. The same dichotomy can be observed in different
approaches to autistic support and education today.
18 Chapter 2 The history of autism
Aloof: these children were described as being either “aloof and indif-
ferent in all situations” or as making social contact in order to satisfy a
need, but then retreating immediately.
Passive: this group accepted social contact, but did not seek it out. In
the playground, for example, they might be given a role in a play sce-
nario, but require direction from their non-autistic peers to sustain it.
Active but odd: these children did approach others to engage in social
interaction, but did so in an atypical way. A consequence of their
peculiar behaviour was that they “were sometimes rejected by their
peers” – an early flag for the fact, now increasingly recognised, that the
responses of non-autistic people play a key role in the experience and
adaptation of autistic children (Grossman, 2015).
Reproduced from Uta Frith, 1989, with kind permission of the author and of the artist, Axel
Scheffler.
20 Chapter 2 The history of autism
There are also academic writers on the subject, one of the most prominent
of whom is Jim Sinclair. Sinclair was an early leader for the autistic com-
munity, co-founding Autism Network International in 1992. Xe1 has subse-
quently shaped scholarly argument in support of neurodiversity, writing in
1993 that:
7. Neurodiversity
Within the disability rights movement, autism is often characterised as a ‘hid-
den disability’ – meaning that it is not marked out by obvious physical features.
Other hidden disabilities include many of what psychologists term “neurode-
velopmental disorders” – e.g. attention deficit hyperactivity disorder, dyslexia,
dyspraxia, epilepsy and Tourette’s syndrome. Moving away from the negative
terminology of ‘disorder’, the term neurodiversity was coined by InLv member
Judy Singer, who wrote, “We are beginning to divide ourselves . . . according to
something new: differences in ‘kinds of minds’ . . . swinging the ‘Nature-Nurture’
pendulum back towards ‘Nature’” (Singer, 1998). Neurodiversity thus describes
variability in brain structure and function, and resulting cognitive processes,
accounting for differences between all individuals and, in cases of neurodi-
vergence, also giving rise to diagnostic categories. Neurodivergent people may
find that their experiences of the world and of other people do not align with
the norm, and this is attributed to basic, underlying neurological differences.
Crucially, neurodiversity dictates that neurodivergent people are different,
not less.
It is important to emphasise that adopting a neurodiversity stance does
not preclude providing support to people in need, nor does it deny the very
real challenges experienced by many autistic people and their families. Autism
is often accompanied by mental health difficulties (e.g. anxiety, depression),
medical conditions (e.g. epilepsy) and behavioural features (e.g. self-harm, poor
sleep, limited diet) which have significant negative impact on the individual and
those around them. Autism is also associated with intellectual disability in many
cases (though see Dawson et al., 2007, for thoughts about intelligence testing and
autism). Limited verbal communication and/or additional language impairment
presents a significant barrier for many. Even where autism is accompanied by
high IQ and fluent speech, it might be categorised as a learning difficulty as it
offers barriers to learning, where learning is expected to occur in a typical class-
room. All of these issues are worthy of research attention and targeted support.
The essence of neurodiversity tells us that, in identifying such areas for support
and measuring suitable outcomes, our goal should be to provide relief in areas of
need but not to eliminate an individual’s neurodivergent status.
The motto “nothing about us without us” foregrounds the need for
disabled people to be involved in all aspects of decision-making about dis-
ability. In the context of autism practice and research, we must work closely
with autistic people and their allies to deliver research that matters to them
(Milton, 2014). This does not mean abandoning psychological theory nor
scientific rigour. It does mean developing participatory research practices
24 Chapter 2 The history of autism
(Fletcher-Watson et al., 2018; Scott-Barrett et al., 2018) and framing our ques-
tions, designing our methods and disseminating our findings in a way that is
respectful and embracing of autistic differences.
Big questions
What is next for our understanding of autism? The autism field has moved
through many phases, and we can expect dramatic shifts to come. Can we
envisage a future in which autism leaves the diagnostic manuals all together
and becomes a self-determined personal identity? If so, what will this mean
for the provision of evidence-based supports for the difficulties experienced
by autistic people?
How can we cater to diversity within the autistic community? At the
moment, the majority of autistic people who are playing a role in shaping
research and practice are those without intellectual disability. It remains
challenging to engage directly with autistic people who are minimally ver-
bal or learning disabled. The viewpoint of parents can be very valuable here,
but these may not easily reconcile with the perspectives of autistic people.
Certainly, respect for, and acceptance of, autism must encompass the whole
community.
Does “neurotypicality” necessarily exist and what does that mean for
neurodivergence? Neurodivergence is used to describe everyone who is cate-
gorically distinct from a neurotypical standard. All autistic people are neurodi-
vergent, but not all neurodivergent people are autistic – other neurodivergent
people might have ADHD or Tourette’s syndrome, for example. Meanwhile,
the term neurodiversity encompasses individual differences between all peo-
ple. Neurodiversity, like biodiversity or ethnicity, doesn’t automatically imply
Chapter 2 The history of autism 25
that there is a norm from which all others diverge. Instead, we are all different
and diverse. Taken this way, how can we use the concept of neurodiversity to
encourage greater acceptance, without undermining neurodivergent people’s
need for support and understanding?
Spread over many parts of the world, participants discovered their autistic
identity through a shared, yet deeply personal, exploration of a different way of
being. For all our cultural, political and neurological diversity, we found plenty
in common, not only in the shared experience of trauma and marginalisation
but, for many of us, also in a certain fundamental autistic way of being (Dekker,
1999). Text-only communication proved a gateway to understanding, not a
barrier. ‘Autism’ became my key for belonging, for the first time in my life, to a
community of some description. The idea of being autistic became embedded
in my sense of identity.
Early on, the notion emerged from discussions on InLv that human
neurology is innately diverse, an aspect of biodiversity, and that this neurodi-
versity (Singer, 1998) is as valuable to the human ecosystem as any other form
of diversity. We conceived neurodiversity as an inherently inclusive notion. Far
from ‘dictating’ that neurodivergent people are ‘different, not less’, we were very
much including those of us who felt less or broken, accepting them as human
beings on par with those who felt non-disabled or even superior. Neurological
diversity does not prescribe anything, such as how one should consider one’s
own condition. It simply exists; it’s a fact. What we were advocating was the
political recognition of the logical and ethical consequences of that fact – that is,
equal rights for all neurodivergent people, including our right to exist, live, love,
work, procreate, etc., like anyone else.
These days, neurodiversity activism has, in large part, moved beyond that
original idea. Many now promote a specific and prescriptive ‘paradigm’ that,
by claiming there is no such thing as a suboptimal neurological configuration
(Grace, 2015; Walker, 2014), excludes autistic people who find themselves
disabled or broken. Too often, I hear of autistic people joining a group of neuro-
diversity advocates hoping to meet kindred spirits, only to find themselves being
told precisely what to believe, how to identify and how to communicate, with any
perceived transgression resulting in a swift ban. An ironic situation for a move-
ment founded on the idea of embracing diversity.
Like those 1960s–1970s parents trying to prove they didn’t cause their
children’s autism, autistic activists these days are ever more distrustful and
defensive. In trying to defend our right to exist, we are falling into the trap of tak-
ing our own narrative too seriously. The challenge neurodiversity activists face as
we approach the 2020s, then, is basically one of growing up and learning once
again to accept those who are different from ourselves.
Section references
Chance, Paul. (1974). ‘After you hit a child, you can’t just get up and
leave him; you are hooked to that kid’: O. Ivar Lovaas interview with Paul
Chance. Psychology Today, January 1974, http://neurodiversity.com/library_
chance_1974.html
Dekker, Martijn. (1999). On our own terms: Emerging autistic culture.
Autism99 online conference. Republished 2015, www.autscape.org/2015/pro-
gramme/handouts/Autistic-Culture-07-Oct-1999.pdf
Grace, Ally. (2015). Ten things you reject by embracing neurodiversity.
Respectfully Connected (blog), http://respectfullyconnected.com/2015/02/
ten-things-you-reject-by-embracing/
Chapter 2 The history of autism 27
Recommended reading
A
LTHOUGH WE KNOW autism has a genetic foundation, leading to
neurobiological differences (see Chapter 4), it is diagnosed on the basis
of a set of behaviours. The key reason for this is that, despite attempts,
no reliable biological marker has been found. A reliable marker must show
adequate sensitivity and specificity: meaning that it must be found in virtually
all members of a group, and it must be exclusive to that group. At the moment,
the best biomarker candidates we have for autism resemble attempts to iden-
tify which UK region you are from based on hair colour. Yes, there are group
differences in prevalence of red hair between Scotland and other UK nations,
but red hair is not found in a large enough percentage of the Scottish popula-
tion to be sensitive and is found too widely elsewhere to be specific.
Our reliance on behaviour to identify autism leads to challenges for the
field, as we will see in this chapter and beyond. Interpreting changing preva-
lence estimates or identifying meaningful sub-groups is extremely hard given
the variability in how behavioural diagnostic features have been defined over
time, and the potential differences in how they are applied in different settings.
TABLE 3.1 Continued
Specify if:
With or without accompanying intellectual impairment
With or without accompanying language impairment
Associated with a known medical or genetic condition or environmental factor
Associated with another neurodevelopmental, mental or behavioural disorder
With catatonia
clinician might look for/ask about that does not involve communication, and
vice versa. The overall aim of the changes in DSM-5 was to move to a system
where a broad category diagnosis was accompanied by a detailed description
of the individual’s strengths and needs, rather than trying to squeeze people
into specific categories they didn’t necessarily fit.
Because the DSM tends to be more influential in research and therefore
on psychological theory, which is our focus in this book, we will use this as the
framework for subsequent discussions.
Auditory
hypersensitivity
2
IQ-score
0
2
Spoken
language 4
2 6
4
6 8
8
In this three-dimensional space, we illustrate IQ scores, spoken language and a sensory feature
often experienced by autistic people, as orthogonal dimensions. All data are hypothetical only.
Autistic people may be located in every available point in the resulting three-dimensional space,
but there is the potential, if we measure the right things, to identify clusters where features often
overlap.
1 Thanks to Caroline Hearst who inspired our use of this term: www.autangel.org.uk/
autism-constellation.html.
Chapter 3 Autism at the behavioural level 35
level of anxiety. Importantly, in this case, having few social relationships might
cluster together with high relationship satisfaction and low anxiety. This group
of people might be characterised as happy with a small number of friends,
reflected in low anxiety scores. Another group might have few friends, but
high anxiety and low satisfaction with their relationships. Could helping them
achieve more social contact lower their anxiety? A third group might have
high satisfaction, large amounts of social contact and high anxiety. Perhaps
having a big social circle is both rewarding and stressful – could a better bal-
ance be achieved between the two?
These examples illustrate that it is important to contextualise any such
measurement within an individual’s own priorities – working with allies to
identify these where the person themselves may find it hard to self-advocate.
In the previous example, provided an individual is not at risk as a result of their
relative isolation, a small amount of social contact should not be characterised
as a sign of impairment, as in the first cluster described. The key take home
message is that autism, both conceptually and in terms of lived experience, is
manifest in complex interacting domains. To discuss the ‘autistic spectrum’
in a linear fashion, or to attempt to measure ‘severity’ vastly over-simplifies
and misrepresents the reality. Where a measure of support need is relevant
we propose using exactly that terminology – as it is in the DSM-5: e.g. Level 3:
requiring very substantial support.
one function of the clinical diagnostic process is not only to offer an autism
diagnosis when appropriate but also to take the opportunity to get to know the
individual and their family. An in-depth diagnostic process has advantages,
placing the clinician in a strong and informed position to make a diagnosis
and, ideally, signpost relevant information and access to services for the future.
Although we note that this is an ideal, rather than a reality, for many people,
at the same time preliminary evidence indicates that having a diagnosis may
yield benefits in terms of improved quality of life and reduced stress for the
families of autistic people (McKechanie et al., 2017).
At present, a reliable, clinical diagnosis of autism is rare before the age of
3 years, though some argue it is possible as young as 18 months. This is primar-
ily because the types of social behaviours that are characteristically different
in autism (according to the diagnostic criteria noted earlier) do not emerge
reliably in typical children until around three years. Moreover, restricted
and repetitive behaviours are common in all children at about two years old
(Leekam et al., 2007a). However, there is substantial interest in the possibility
of pinpointing earlier indicators of autism. The search for very early signs that
would allow one to predict which children would turn out to have autism,
has been prompted by two different concerns. Practical considerations have
pressed for earlier diagnosis in the hope that very early intervention might
produce benefits on early stage outcomes like onset of language. Theoretical
considerations urge the early identification of autism in order to explore the
causal direction in development – for example, do differences in processing
of faces lead to or result from difficulties in social interaction? The emergent
findings on early signs will be reviewed in Chapters 4 and 7.
A relatively recent phenomenon is that people have begun to self-identify
as autistic, often later in life and sometimes prompted by the diagnosis of a child
in the family. There is little or no research evidence so far on the validity or con-
sequences of this choice. However, it is certainly easy to understand why many
people might recognise autism in themselves but either not feel the need for an
external confirmation by a medical professional, or actively refuse to undergo a
formal diagnostic evaluation that ends in being labelled with a ‘disorder’ (Kapp
et al., 2013). At the same time, self-identification does raise concerns. Are there
individuals who would not be independently identified as autistic, merely seek-
ing to align themselves with a group that seems to be getting a certain amount
of public attention? Are people who would benefit from mental health support
mis-identifying the causes of their feelings? These cases are hopefully in a small
minority. Nevertheless, the phenomenon of self-identification presents chal-
lenges to academic research, not least in efforts to estimate prevalence.
to be very high in the UK (Knapp et al., 2009) and USA (Buescher et al., 2014;
Lavelle et al., 2014). Kanner and Asperger both described the condition as rare.
However, current prevalence estimates in Western countries tend to hover around
1% of the population. There is considerable global variation – a meta-analysis
cited rates from 0.3% to 1.2% with a median rate of 0.6% (Elsabbagh et al., 2012)
and called for more epidemiological work in low and middle-income countries.
It is virtually impossible to trace the precise roots of this variability, but it is likely
that differences in diagnostic procedures account for much of the range. In par-
ticular, we can see that those countries with less developed healthcare systems
consistently produce the lowest prevalence estimates. Cultural differences like-
wise impact decisions post-diagnosis (Mandell & Novak, 2005) and should be
taken into account within, as well as between, countries.
Accounting for the dramatic changes in autism prevalence estimates
over time has been the focus of considerable media attention and academic
effort (Fombonne, 2005). A range of headline-grabbing accounts have been
put forward including the effects of pollution, changes to diet and, famously
and tragically, vaccines. While it is known that there are environmental factors
that contribute to autism – the condition is not 100% heritable – there is no
robust evidence to support any of these accounts. In the case of the role of
vaccines, this hypothetical causal factor has been thoroughly, rigorously and
conclusively disproven (Jain et al., 2015; Taylor et al., 1999, 2014). Instead,
variation in prevalence estimates of autism can probably be attributed to a
combination of the following factors.
First, the diagnostic criteria for autism have changed dramatically since
autism was first enshrined in diagnostic manuals (as ‘infantile autism’ in ICD-8,
1967; ‘childhood schizophrenia’ in DSM-I and II, and then ‘infantile autism
in DSM-III in 1980). Specifically, they have broadened to admit a much wider
variety of individuals under the diagnostic umbrella. Alongside this change,
there has been a dramatic rise in awareness of autism, not just in the public but
among medical professionals. If you visit your family doctor now to discuss
concerns about your child’s development, autism will be a potential explana-
tion on everyone’s radar (at least if your child is a boy!) in a way that was
not the case 30 or even 20 years ago. This growing awareness, combined with
broadened diagnostic criteria, may have given rise to a degree of diagnostic
substitution as well. As autism diagnoses have increased, diagnoses of global
developmental delay or intellectual impairment, have declined. This would
imply that there is no absolute increase in the numbers of affected individuals,
merely in the way they are being categorised. A fourth facet of this general
process of raising awareness and widening categories, has been an increase in
identification of autism in populations where that diagnosis was previously
not considered. Diagnostic rates in adults are rising sharply, as adults with
intellectual disability are re-assessed for autism as well, and as others start
to recognise autism in themselves. Anecdotally, there seems to be a specific
phenomenon of parents, and sometimes grandparents, seeking a professional
opinion for themselves, following their child’s diagnosis.
38 Chapter 3 Autism at the behavioural level
autistic people describe the intense beauty and pleasure of their heightened
responses. Enhanced discrimination of pitch, smell or touch sensations are
useful in some careers or hobbies. Synaesthesia appears to be prevalent above
usual rates among autistic people, and some have used this to inspire visual art,
create music or support memory and learning (e.g. Tammet, 2007).
Autistic people also receive other diagnoses at higher rates than the gen-
eral population. Of particular note are high rates of anxiety, depression and
epilepsy. These conditions are in turn linked to early mortality in autism; in
addition to deaths related to seizures, suicide is more common than previously
realised (Hirvikoski et al., 2016). Research is only just beginning to get to grips
with the general and mental health of autistic people, in order to address this
tragic pattern (Cassidy & Rodgers, 2017). The work is challenging. One example
comes from investigations into anxiety in autism. Meta-analysis indicates that
up to 40% of autistic children meet criteria for multiple anxiety disorders (van
Steensel & Bogels, 2011). However, disentangling these data is a challenge – to
what extent is the apparent co-occurrence a superficial consequence of over-
lap in self-report measures used both to capture autistic traits and features of
anxiety? On the other hand, experiencing anxiety or depression should not be
considered merely a component of autism, dismissed without proper investi-
gation or treatment. One promising route to developing our understanding in
this area has been the identification of an underlying psychology construct,
intolerance of uncertainty, which is hypothesised to underpin both certain fea-
tures of autism and aspects of anxiety (Wigham et al., 2015) – we will consider
this in more detail in Chapter 5.
One thing is certain however: for many people, it’s not autism that is a
problem, but all the baggage that goes with it. One of the major challenges for
a psychological approach to the condition is to account for and address these
difficulties. Treatments for co-occurring problems like anxiety are available,
some of which already have autism-specific evidence showing potential for
benefit (e.g. Guénolé et al., 2011). In other cases, further work is needed to
explore whether and how ‘mainstream’ psychiatric and psychological inter-
ventions should be adapted to autism (Spain et al., 2015).
chances you’d come to the same order as another person are surely very low.
You might simply reject the notion that one person can be more or less femi-
nine than another, but even if you didn’t, you’d probably give up trying. Autistic
writers have sometimes referred to the autism constellation, which seems bet-
ter: “It is more like a constellation than a spectrum. It does not move along one
line going from low to high, it circles in many spheres” (Hearst, 2015). Whatever
terms we choose to capture variability in the autistic population, there’s no
doubt that it exists. Consequently, desire to parse autism into meaningful sub-
groups is strong.
A good reason to identify sub-groups is to provide the right supports
to the right people. For example, we might identify in childhood those who
would be most likely to experience anxiety or depression in adolescence and
put in place efforts to increase their resilience and coping strategies. How-
ever behavioural sub-types haven’t proved very successful, beyond a simple
characterisation of autism plus or minus intellectual disability and/or language
impairment. One reason is that the same individual may pass through dif-
ferent presentations as they age. For example, Asperger’s syndrome became
problematic as a separate category as it was realised that often a ‘classically’
autistic child grows into an ‘Asperger-type’ adult. Another difficulty in the
quest to identify sub-groups is that the sample sizes required are so huge.
Capturing detailed genetic and phenotypic information, let alone relating
this to developmental trajectories and adult outcomes, would require huge
investments and sometimes international protocols. One such study is under-
way – the EU-AIMS (European Autism Interventions – A Multicentre Study
for Developing new Medications) consortium is funded by the largest single
grant for autism research worldwide and seeks to develop the knowledge and
infrastructure to underpin new treatments for autism. Identifying biomarkers
for personalised or precision medicine approaches is a key goal for this huge
and ambitious project (Loth et al., 2017). The project also provides a salutary
lesson in the importance of engagement from the outset; subsequent consulta-
tions with the autism community revealed significant gaps between commu-
nity priorities and the original consortium goals (Russell et al., 2018).
As well as attempts to identify meaningful sub-groups within the spec-
trum, the notion of the broader autism phenotype (BAP) has also been exten-
sively studied. This term is used to capture the pattern of autistic-like traits
found in the general population. The BAP is generally measured via self-
report of a range of behaviours such as, I would rather go to a library than a
party, or I find it easy to “read between the lines” when someone is talking to me
(Baron-Cohen et al., 2001). BAP traits are normally distributed in the general
population and found in higher rates among the biological relatives of people
with autism (e.g. Bishop et al., 2004). BAP traits have been correlated with
diverse features, including sensory sensitivity (Robertson & Simmons, 2013),
studying science and technology subjects (Stewart & Austin, 2009) and ability
to read non-verbal communication cues (Ingersoll, 2010). However, it remains
somewhat debated how much can be said about autism from studies exploring
Chapter 3 Autism at the behavioural level 41
social difficulties, they may think social anxiety, eating disorder or depression:
diagnostic overshadowing occurs when clinicians stop at one presenting prob-
lem and don’t go on to consider, for example, eating disorder and autism.
Many questions about the female presentation of autism remain to be
answered, and there are some fundamental challenges for the field. For exam-
ple, one concern is that the instruments used to standardise elements of the
diagnostic process for autism may be skewed towards the expected male pre-
sentation. Do new assessments need to be constructed in order to capture the
female profile? And if so, how do we go about creating such instruments at a
time when every diagnosed female has been identified using the old ones?
A further challenge comes from the fact that a large proportion of autis-
tic people identify outside the male/female gender binary (Cooper et al., 2018).
The increasing focus on diagnosing and understanding autism in females risks
overlooking the complex interplay of gender expectations and autistic features
in those who don’t fall neatly into a binary gender category. For example, how
might autism be manifest in natal males who later identify as non-binary,
female or another gender identity? What modifications need to be made to
diagnostic instruments to capture their autism accurately? And, conversely,
how can we improve the process of transition for autistic transgender people?
As yet, research on autism and gender identity is in its infancy but readers
would do well to take this crucial consideration into account when consider-
ing research that invokes simplistic gender differences in autism.
2 https://angryautie.wordpress.com/2013/06/24/the-institute-for-the-study-of-
the-neurologically-typical/
Chapter 3 Autism at the behavioural level 45
notion took hold. First, many studies used standardised measures, such as IQ
tests. These have usually been developed with data from very large samples.
Such samples tend more and more towards a normal distribution, emphasis-
ing average performance and causing variability to be downplayed. The data
are used to provide age-norms and it is easy to jump to the, clearly false, con-
clusion that any non-autistic individual would score right on the nose for
their age.
Second, many studies that provide the foundation for our understand-
ing of ‘typical’ development and behaviour rely on very narrowly defined sam-
ples. Published data disproportionately draw on university undergraduates, or
the children of university staff and their friends, often in the UK or USA, or
other developed nations. These samples are often largely white and in middle
to high socio-economic brackets. Control groups are often screened for any
kind of mental health problem, resulting in ‘super controls’, who are not at all
population representative. In contrast, when recruiting an autistic group to a
research project, because of the relative rarity of autism, researchers cast their
net far and wide, often ending up with a more variable group than in the com-
parison data. That said, we should also note that white, middle-class partici-
pants are over-represented in research generally. Furthermore, in some kinds
of studies – especially randomised controlled trials (RCTs) – inclusion crite-
ria may be extremely strict, limiting external validity and clinical relevance
(Jonsson et al., 2016).
Another way in which societal norms infiltrate supposedly objective
autism research is by application of a normative lens to the study questions,
design and especially interpretation of data. When the average performance
of an autistic group differs from that of a comparison group, all too often, the
immediate conclusion is that the autistic response pattern is inferior. This is
particularly unjustified in the case when the developmental function or out-
come of the behaviour is not well understood. For example, one recent study
observed a reduced ‘ownership effect’ in the toy choices of autistic relative to
non-autistic children. Children with autism judged toys purely on their merits,
showing no bias contingent on randomly assigned ownership (i.e. having been
given the toy by an experimenter). Despite the autistic group showing more
rational behaviour, the authors concluded that “deficits in self-understanding
may diminish ownership effects in ASD” (Hartley & Fisher, 2018, p. 26).
In neuroimaging research, differences in blood flow during a task are
interpreted to show problems in the autistic group, regardless of the direction
of difference from control data. If the autism group shows greater brain activity
they are ‘having to work harder to solve the task’, but if they show reduced acti-
vation, they lack the expected neural specialisation of dedicated brain regions
for the key computations! Researchers would do well to reflect on the norma-
tive perceptions they bring to their work and consider whether it is appro-
priate to take a more neutral stance when differences between autistic and
non-autistic groups are uncovered. In both examples, of course, differences
might truly be disadvantageous, even outside our laboratory settings. If so, it
46 Chapter 3 Autism at the behavioural level
Big questions
Investigating so-called core domains is the main focus of psychological
research, but these may not present the biggest challenges for the autistic per-
son. Psychologists focus on these, partly because of our beliefs about the causal
pathways from a ‘core’ challenge to a ‘surface’ behaviour. Do these beliefs hold
up under scrutiny, and are they data-driven? Is a focus on ‘underlying’ features
(e.g. executive functions) preventing us from investigating questions that are
priorities for the community (e.g. potty training, seizure management, how to
get a good night’s sleep)?
What is the role of diagnosis in the life of an autistic person? The experi-
ence of diagnosis can be positive for the individual and their family members –
but why does it have this effect? Are positive experiences related to becom-
ing part of a community, or simply increased self-knowledge? Are there cases
where a diagnosis has a negative impact, and how should we respond to this?
Given the rise in self-identification by autistic people, will the clinical diag-
nosis of autism continue to be of value to the community in the future? After all,
the diagnostic category of autism is ultimately no more than a social construct,
used to try to describe a pattern of phenomena that may be very different when
externally observed versus internally lived. If the diagnostic category were to disap-
pear altogether, what would be the implications for research and service provision?
How can we understand heterogeneity within autism? Is autism a single
thing, manifest differently depending on factors such as socialisation, envi-
ronment, lived experience, and personal resilience? Or are there separate and
different ‘autisms’? How can we discover the answer while we are reliant on
behavioural diagnosis?
Chapter 3 Autism at the behavioural level 47
The change to specify only one category for autism in the most recent revision of
diagnostic criteria was widely welcomed by many autistic people. From the point
of view of autistic activists, those fighting for autistic people’s rights, we had always
referred to autistic people in an inclusive way, fighting for the rights of all autistic
people rather than just certain kinds of autistic people with the firm belief that we
are all equal and that no-one should be left behind in the fight for equality.
Most autistic people recognise that the divisions were artificial, in practical
terms of little use to us and quite often damaging. A person’s diagnostic label
often had little to do with who they were and could often become a source of
disablement.
For example, my own son was diagnosed at a young age; he went to a
mainstream school where he was described as ‘unteachable’. Teachers said that
they had ‘taught him all that they could’; they made predictions that he would
leave school with no qualifications, that we should feel grateful that he was good
at sports but give up on him ever learning to read. I found out that he was sitting
at the back of the class, mostly ignored and given colouring sheets to pass time.
At this point, as parents, we decided to shift our priorities; we decided that
learning to read and be happy were the most important goals for our son. We
wanted him to get through education with as little damage to his mental health
as possible. As autistic parents, we had a deep understanding of living life as a
minority group within a mostly neurotypical world. We knew that learning can be
lifelong, but damage done by others can also last a lifetime.
My son now is at university studying a degree that suits his interests and
getting good marks. His journey involved finding teachers who believed in him
and understood him, including an autistic teacher who understood how to teach
him, how to harness his ability and accept that his way of learning and speed of
learning may differ from a neurotypical child.
I have heard similar stories to this from many autistic people, people who
struggled to master basic self-care skills but went on to be successful academ-
ics or hold important positions within their chosen field of work but were still
seen as failing neurotypicals rather than as fully rounded successful autistic
people. Grading people, ignoring spiky profiles (including variability day to day,
week to week, etc.), predicting what the future holds for people is extremely
unreliable. Myself, my family and friends’ trajectories as well as those of autistic
people in general aren’t based on ‘off the peg’ stereotypes; we often don’t turn
out as non-autistic people expect. Yet there seems to be an increasing drive, a
need almost, to the extent of being obsessional to classify us, put us into neat
categories, to view us in a similar way as bugs under a microscope and all of
48 Chapter 3 Autism at the behavioural level
Recommended reading
W
HEN THE ORIGINAL version of this book was written, it was
still necessary to say that autism is not caused by psychogenic fac-
tors and to directly refute the ‘refrigerator mother’ myth by giv-
ing evidence (then still limited) of the biological basis of autism – e.g. high
rates of epilepsy. Thankfully, this no longer needs to be argued for. There is
now good awareness, in most places, that autism is a strongly genetic condi-
tion arising from a complex interaction of genetic and environmental fac-
tors. Nonetheless, huge efforts have gone into finding the genetic and neural
bases of autism, with what some might consider a disappointing lack of major
breakthroughs. Research has identified plenty of biological features that differ
between people with and without autism, and also features that vary dimen-
sionally with a specific behaviour. But at the time of writing there are no bio-
logical features that provide a distinctive marker, or specific cause, of autism
(Muhle et al., 2018).
Heterogeneity of etiology may be one reason why progress has been
slow; many people now talk of ‘the autisms’ to reflect the belief that differ-
ent individuals have different biological paths to autism. The research funds
spent on finding the etiology of autism are also a matter of controversy and
debate, with many stakeholders concerned that biological research is focused
on finding a ‘cure’ and arguing for greater funding towards more imme-
diately improving the lives of people on the spectrum. We recognise the
strength of feeling among the community and reject the notion that autism
might be something to be cured. But it is wrong to suppose that biological
research, even that focused on ‘causes’, cannot align with community priori-
ties. Through a better understanding of biology, we can develop meaningful
opportunities for intervention for difficulties that commonly co-occur with
autism and that autistic individuals might choose to address. An example
might be developing drugs to modulate how the brain responds to sensory
input, to allow an individual to choose to dampen down sensory experiences
which they find overwhelming. We will return to these debates at the end of
this chapter, after briefly reviewing the current state of understanding of the
genetics and neural bases of autism, and how cognitive theory can inform
studies of the biology of autism.
Chapter 4 Autism at the biological level 53
within the constellation; the ‘fractionated triad’ idea would suggest, for exam-
ple, that searching for genes affecting one dimension of autism, such as an
individual’s social interaction profile, will be more productive than search-
ing for genes predisposing to autism as a whole. Less contentious reasons for
slow progress include low statistical power. Compared to many other clinical
groups, studies of autism genetics are at an early stage, with relatively small
sample sizes. Hundreds of thousands of DNA samples may be needed, espe-
cially if each genetic variant has a tiny effect and hence a weak signal. In addi-
tion, genes may interact with one another and be turned on or off by genetic
or environmental factors throughout development. Research into epigenetic
factors that moderate the action of genes is at an early stage, partly because,
unlike our DNA – which is the same in every cell of our bodies – epigenetic
signatures will differ in different tissues and over the lifespan. Getting DNA
samples from saliva or even blood is relatively easy compared to getting brain
tissue for epigenetic analysis!
The ultimate aim of all this work is to find biomarkers that would aid
in so-called personalised or ‘precision medicine’ instead of a one-size-fits-
all approach, understanding the different possible biological bases of autism
should in principle lead to better individualised therapies (Geschwind & Staite,
2015). One example might be a drug to improve synaptic function, ultimately
giving a person with a learning disability more capacity to learn new infor-
mation. Of course, it will be vital that this work is informed by stakeholder
views, helping to identify drug targets that are acceptable and important to the
autism community, and avoid mere ‘normalisation’ as an end in itself. One risk
is that some biomedical researchers may feel that their work, being relatively
far-removed from the everyday experience of autistic people and their allies,
doesn’t require significant stakeholder input. However, we might also note that
basic biomedical research takes many years – sometimes decades – to deliver
results with a practical application. In which case, there is a particularly press-
ing reason to work with stakeholders from the very outset. Basic scientists
must stay abreast of the latest thinking about autism to avoid their hard work
and scientific innovations producing a treatment that nobody wants.
this pattern of accelerated early growth of head circumference (Ecker, 2017). There
are also important contextual factors to consider: are head circumference norms
up to date, applicable to different regions or populations and is overall growth and
body size taken into account? Nevertheless, this finding has been interpreted as
important and researchers have speculated that perhaps the normal pruning of the
brain (by programmed cell death: apoptosis) and the ‘use it or lose it’ principle of
synaptic competition are disrupted in toddlers with autism.
Reproduced from Amaral et al., 2008, with kind permission of the author
56 Chapter 4 Autism at the biological level
volunteers engaging with the same ToM tasks, typically show reduced and/or
less coordinated activation across this ‘mentalising network’. Interestingly, this
network overlaps with the so-called default mode network: the functionally
interconnected set of brain regions (posterior cingulate cortex, praecuneus,
medial prefrontal cortex, temporoparietal junction and hippocampus) that
are less active when volunteers engage in any task and most active when vol-
unteers are ‘at rest’. Differences in the intrinsic functional connectivity of the
default mode network have been reported in autism, with the suggestion of a
developmental shift from hyperconnectivity between default mode network
nodes in childhood to hypoconnectivity in adolescence and adulthood (Pad-
manabhan et al., 2017).
Other forms of neuroimaging are also being used to explore brain func-
tion in autism, including electroencephalography (EEG), magnetoencepha-
lography (MEG) and near infrared spectroscopy (NIRS). A recent systematic
review of autism research using EEG and MEG (O’Reilly et al., 2017) found “a
general trend toward an under-expression of lower-band wide-spread integrative
processes compensated by more focal, higher-frequency, locally specialized, and
segregated processes” as well as fairly consistent reports of atypical lateralisa-
tion (increased left>right functional connectivity ratio). Beyond imaging the
active brain, techniques such as transcranial magnetic stimulation (TMS) and
transcranial direct current stimulation (tDCS) can be used to modulate the
functioning of specific brain regions. These methods are being used to inter-
rogate brain functions and test cognitive theories in neurotypical volunteers.
Experimental therapeutic uses are also being explored in a range of clinical
groups, including autism, although too few properly controlled trials exist to
draw conclusions at this time.
First, they can be used to debunk myths about the causes of autism. Twin
studies in the 70’s put an end to the, then-dominant, psychogenic models of
autism that placed responsibility for autism on parent behaviour. Findings of
brain changes that date to the first trimester of pregnancy suggest that later
environmental exposures cannot be sole causes of autism.
Second, they can be used to identify treatments with potential to impact
epilepsy and possibly intellectual disability. If biomarkers for these could be
found, early or even preventative treatment might be possible.
Third, they can potentially inform our psychological theories, since some
psychological theories make specific biological predictions. One example is
the ‘broken mirror’ theory of autism, which locates the origin of social and
communication difficulties in a faulty ‘mirror neuron system’ (Williams et al.,
2001). Mirror neurons, first discovered in monkeys, are neurons that fire when
the animal performs or sees a specific action performed. The broken mirror
hypothesis proposed that a ‘faulty’ mirror neuron system in autism impedes
imitation and social cognition. This psychological theory, therefore, makes
predictions testable through neuroimaging, as well as through psychological
experiments (e.g. reduced interference of observed movements on own move-
ments). However, robust evidence that autistic and neurotypical groups differ
in the functioning of the mirror neuron system has not, ultimately, been forth-
coming (Hamilton, 2013).
It is also worth highlighting that the link between psychological and
biological research is a two-way street: our cognitive theories can also help
direct research into the biology of autism. Perhaps the most obvious example
is the use of theory and well-designed cognitive tasks in functional neuroim-
aging (Philip et al., 2012). Psychological theory can also aid in genetic studies,
for example helping us rethink who is ‘affected’ in a family pedigree. Based
on the hypothesis that unusual eye for detail may underlie specific talents in
autism, overlapping genetic influences were found on parent-reported autis-
tic traits and special skills (in music, maths, art or memory) in 8-year-old
twins in the Twins Early Development Study (Vital et al., 2009). If you wanted
to explore genetic influences in a family with an autistic child, you might
therefore want to note who has talents, as well as who has autism (or both).
Fourthly, animal models need to be informed by psychological theories
of the behaviours concerned. For example, if you are interested in whether
knocking out a specific gene might contribute to face recognition deficits seen
in autism, you need to think about your theory for face processing differences.
If your theory is that people with autism do not become face experts, due to
looking less at eyes and faces, you might want to test identity recognition in
your knock-out mouse; this is best done through olfactory recognition tests,
since mice use smell more than sight to identify other mice. However, if your
theory is that face processing is different in autism because of detail-focused
cognitive style, you wouldn’t test your mouse’s olfactory skills – you can’t sepa-
rate global and local processing in smell – instead you’d use a visual task where
responding to either parts or wholes was rewarded.
60 Chapter 4 Autism at the biological level
A key focus for the pursuit of early biomarkers for autism, agreed upon
by researchers and many in the autism community, is earlier diagnosis. This
leads to our second issue for the field: can we uncritically accept earlier diagno-
sis as an important target? On the one hand, families are keen to reduce waiting
times from first concerns to confirmed diagnosis. If a biomarker were iden-
tified it could streamline the process and produce economic savings if fewer
professionals were involved, compared with the multi-disciplinary assessment
that is currently considered best practice. However, replacing the current sys-
tem with a single blood test or brain scan would take away the rich and com-
plex appraisal of strengths and needs that is a key feature of the diagnostic
pathway. Diagnosis should be more than just a label, ideally, it’s about families
working with an expert team to understand the individual and make a plan for
their future support needs. So even if a biomarker were identified, we would
still want to accompany this with a series of assessments and many aspects of
today’s, slow, laborious, but thorough, diagnostic pathway should be retained.
What about earlier diagnosis in the sense of “earlier in the child’s life”, as
opposed to “more rapidly after concerns are raised”? Would this be a positive
outcome for autistic people and their allies? Again, this might be a mixed bless-
ing at best. One worry is that diagnosis that precedes parents raising their own
concerns could have a negative impact on the family, compared with a diag-
nosis that offers an explanation for a difference that has already been noticed.
While we’re not aware of research directly addressing this question, it easy
to imagine that a diagnosis that provides a helpful explanation of something
which is already apparent to the family would be received more positively than
a label applied out of the blue.
But wouldn’t earlier diagnosis allow earlier intervention? And that would
be beneficial for families? Indeed, support during periods of developmental
plasticity in infancy and toddlerhood could target the fundamental skills that
psychological theory and research say underpin later language, cognitive, social
and learning outcomes. This is true, but we should also note that there are no
robust evidence-based interventions for very early life. As it stands, parents
might receive a diagnosis in infancy but then be left without suitable support
for months or years. Although work is being done to develop options for use
in infancy (Green et al., 2015, 2017; Rogers et al., 2014), we know from other
areas of the autism literature how gradual progress is when creating new inter-
ventions and especially translating these into practice (Dingfelder & Mandell,
2011). Huge swathes of the autistic population still do not receive any special-
ist support even at older ages (Salomone et al., 2016) and non-conventional
approaches without supporting evidence are rife (Salomone et al., 2015).
This is a chicken-and-egg problem to some degree: we can’t develop
the interventions until we have a diagnosed population, and we ought not to
diagnose the population until we have the interventions. Furthermore, in any
intervention we have a responsibility to look for possible harms, and to seek
the involvement and endorsement of the autism community. This is especially
challenging and important when intervening in infancy: participants cannot
62 Chapter 4 Autism at the biological level
advocate for themselves and the long-term effects of modifying the early envi-
ronment are not known, and could be profound. Autistic advocates have raised
serious concerns about some practices, for example, which they point out system-
atically train autistic children to comply with adult instructions, and extinguish
behaviours (such as hand-flapping) which are part of the child’s self-expression
and self-calming repertoire (Bascom, 2012). We ought not to recommend inter-
ventions for infancy without a deep understanding of the long-term and interac-
tional effects of the change – and this will take many years to describe accurately.
Big questions
In pursuit of a model of the many autisms, which are the promising routes to
take: genetic? neurological? psychological? behavioural? Which methodolo-
gies are more likely to arrive at a place where we can meaningfully and usefully
identify sub-groups?
If a biomarker for autism was found, but was (as is likely) not 100%
reliable – how would we handle mismatch between people who have the bio-
marker, and people who show high levels of autistic traits but don’t have the
biomarker? Would people with real needs be denied help because they don’t
meet this new biological criterion for autism?
Biology in itself doesn’t tell us how to make the world more autism-
enabling, or what tack a teacher should take. Taking the example of Down
syndrome, knowing the genetic cause hasn’t yet resulted in bespoke supports
Chapter 4 Autism at the biological level 63
In 2008, a local charity forwarded a letter from Brighton and Sussex Medical
Schools, inviting people with a diagnosis of Asperger’s to take part in a study
looking at why some people showed differences in social behaviour. I was curious
to find out more and to have the experience of being a participant in a study
whose topic interested me, and that I hoped would also be a learning opportunity.
I strongly oppose a coercive ‘cure’ for autism and am deeply perturbed by
the idea that one day a pre-natal test for autism could exist. My first email to one
of the researchers was to enquire as to whether their research would in any way
be used to contribute to these. I was assured that this would not be the case
and that the researcher himself was supportive of autism rights.
Having completed some psychological questionnaires, I was ready for the
MRI scan. A friendly assistant gave me a gown to change into and reminded me to
remove anything of metal from my person. I lay down on the flat ‘bed’ that would
slide me into the scanner and was given four buttons to press with my dominant
hand, correlating to available answers to questions I would be asked once in
position.
The ‘bed’ moved into the MRI ‘tunnel’. To begin with, I was to lie still
and then shortly afterwards, look up towards a mirror on which was reflected a
screen displaying images accompanied by multiple choice questions.
The only thing I had known about having an MRI was that it was a very
noisy process. I was quite anxious about this as I’ve always had very sensitive
hearing. Once the scanner started making its noises, I was pleasantly surprised.
The rhythmic repetition, the deep bass pitch and textural density, accompanied
by occasional gentle juddering sensations, were beautiful. Then suddenly the
sounds changed to something reminiscent of a ’60s science fiction weapon, or
firing a spaceship’s guns on an old DOS game! I felt sonically immersed; this
was ‘surround sound’ in the most literal sense I could imagine.
After over an hour in the scanner, the researchers had the data they
needed and the process was complete. I asked if I could have a picture of my
brain (shown in Figure 4.2) and if I could be emailed a copy of the study’s find-
ings once they were ready. Both requests were kindly granted.
Since this experience, I have taken part in many other studies, two of
which involved MRI scans. I continue to enjoy both the scans and the opportu-
nity to learn from these opportunities and hope that I might, in some small way,
be contributing to helping others.
64 Chapter 4 Autism at the biological level
FIGURE 4.2 Images of Anya’s brain from the MRI this writing describes
Recommended reading
A
T THE START of this book, we framed our approach in terms of dif-
ferent levels of explanation. We have so far attempted to give a fairly
concise, descriptive account of the behavioural and biological features
of autism as currently conceived. However, the bulk of the book focuses on
the intermediate level – the cognitive level. Cognitive theories are the explan-
atory models that attempt to link biological heterogeneity with behavioural
heterogeneity via cognitive simplicity (if only!). Given the vast complexity and
variability in the autism constellation at both biological and behavioural levels,
the cognitive level may be our best bet for encapsulating autism in a mean-
ingful and concise manner. For example, differences in social interaction can
manifest very differently depending on age, presence of intellectual disability
(or not), environment, personality, gender and so on. And yet we may attempt
to explain all these multiple presentations via shared cognitive roots.
Here we will consider three, key, observable domains of autism, explor-
ing how these have been represented at a cognitive level, in order to introduce
key terms, methods and concepts. Later chapters will interrogate the evidence
for and against different theories, but here we focus merely on defining and
describing the cognitive level of explanation. We will also provide an over-
view of the potential value of cognitive models and a framework for critical
appraisal of psychological theory. Note that we use ‘cognitive’ and ‘psycholog-
ical’ virtually interchangeably – cognitive here encompasses the processing of
emotional information as well as learning processes and skills such as execu-
tive functions, memory and language.
emotional cues like conflicting facial expression and speech (e.g. “I really detest
this cake” while raising one eyebrow, smiling and reaching for another slice), or
ambiguous emotional signals might be elucidated using meta-representational
information about what the person thinks or believes.
Underneath emotional states we find emotional drives, which can be fur-
ther sub-divided into simple (e.g. wanting a coffee) and complex (e.g. wanting
that the next café serves a good espresso). Again, interpreting others’ emo-
tional drives might involve meta-representation (e.g. “she is walking that way
because she thinks there is a coffee shop there, but I know that there isn’t”).
Emotional drives overlap with emotional states but are more closely tethered
to specific behaviours. They, in turn, are often founded on the most basic type
of internal state – an interoceptive state, or physical sensation, such as hun-
ger, pain or tiredness. It is important to remember that the psychological term
‘ToM’ in its original sense refers only to those mental states that require meta-
representation. As we can see, this involves only one category of inner state,
though in the real world understanding propositional attitudes interfaces with
our interpretation of a much wider range of behaviours and feelings.
Chapter 6 includes a more detailed examination of how difficulties
understanding mental states may explain a range of social communication
differences in autism. In brief, one possibility is that difficulty spontaneously
constructing or holding meta-representations in mind prevents autistic peo-
ple from readily understanding other people’s beliefs and intentions. We will
see how this might in turn interfere with a range of social interactive skills –
pretending during play, understanding referential aspects of language (e.g. the
difference between “my cup” and “your cup”) or telling a story.
Reproduced from Uta Frith, 1989 with kind permission of the author and of the artist, Axel
Scheffler.
has to hold in mind the dual representation of a doll’s clothes now (red dress)
and in a photo taken earlier (green dress). For older children there are second-
order false-belief tasks. These involve stories where one character has a false
belief about another character’s belief – e.g. Mary thinks that Jon doesn’t know
where the ice-cream van has gone (but actually Jon does know). For adults, tasks
like the Strange Stories present realistic scenarios (in written vignettes, Happé,
1994, or more recently short films; Murray et al., 2017) which require mentalising
to interpret the non-literal utterance or ambiguous action of the characters, such
as telling a white lie about an unflattering haircut or using sarcasm.
the selected method is a good match with the question being asked. For many
questions, qualitative research methods are the most appropriate and can pro-
vide unique opportunities to probe, for example, the nature of the social con-
struct of autism (O’Reilly et al., 2017) or practical ways to make a community
setting more autism-friendly (Fletcher-Watson & May, 2018). In other cases,
qualitative research offers rich complementary information about phenomena
identified experimentally, or raises new questions for quantitative investiga-
tion (e.g. Losh & Capps, 2006 on experiences of emotion in autism). How-
ever, when quantitative techniques are required, it is right to expect the highest
standard of evidence. Anything less risks selling the autistic community short,
by providing a wobbly foundation for policy and practice.
In 1994, when this book was first published, adequate sample sizes,
comparisons across syndromes and high-quality methods, such as RCTs and
longitudinal studies, were few and far between. Now that the research field
has grown-up, we will be focusing on high-quality studies and especially sys-
tematic reviews and meta-analyses wherever these are available. At the same
time, we recognise that new ideas are coming up in autism research all the
time. These are often initially tested in small experimental studies, which
can be strengthened by the use of clever experimental methods, including
well-designed control tasks, and measurement of potential confounders.
Where good quality evidence is available to support a robust theory, this
can influence both behavioural and biological levels of understanding, and in
turn shape best practice in schools, clinics and communities. Psychological
theories can provide a supporting framework for the interpretation of biolog-
ical data (neuroimaging, genetic profiles) and help develop translational mea-
sures that increase the impact of research with animal models. A strong theory
can flag what behavioural features are distinctive to autism and important for
diagnosis or measurement over time. Where there are challenges, psychology
directs our attention to the underlying problem (e.g. anxiety) rather than plac-
ing the emphasis on the surface behaviour (e.g. head-banging). If we move
towards comprehension of the deep underpinnings of autism this can lead to
greater empathy, patience and understanding from would-be allies. In addi-
tion, good quality research can highlight what’s not different in autism – what’s
common to all of us and how we can use this information to develop shared
understanding and opportunities?
A key part of the quest for a psychological theory is robust and unbi-
ased examination of assumptions. It is instructive to ask yourself (if, like us,
you are a neurotypical Brit), is life for an autistic person a bit like life for me
if I found myself plonked down in rural Japan? What would I do there that
would be typically autistic? Probably fail in your attempts to communicate
and misunderstand people a lot, sometimes cause offence, be highly stressed,
struggle to make friends or get a job, adopt fixed routines and copy others, as
coping strategies. And if you also look obviously different, you would have
it relatively easy. The Japanese folk around you would realise you haven’t
Chapter 5 What makes a good theory? 79
a clue, forgive your faux pas as due to ignorance rather than bad intentions
and adapt their behaviour to accommodate your needs. Autism, as a hidden
disability, confers no such opportunity. Throughout this book, we try to adopt
neutral terminology, emphasising difference rather than deficit – while recognis-
ing the disadvantages that being autistic may bring in a neurotypical world. In
any attempt to explain autism that follows, we ask readers to bear in mind that
we work within a paradigm defined by a non-autistic majority who have devel-
oped social rules and traditions that work for them. Reflecting on this position
is an essential part of ensuring that we are not too quick to translate an autistic
difference into an autistic deficit, simply because it doesn’t fit with those norms.
Big questions
There has been, historically, an overwhelming focus on the social and com-
munication domain in psychological literature. Is it warranted? Does this cor-
respond with the primary needs of people with autism? Or is it more aligned
with researcher interests – for example, using autism as a ‘window on typical
development’?
How can we link cognitive research more clearly to community prior-
ities? Are the connections we might write about in academic papers likely
to come to fruition? How can we ensure that psychological research follows
through, by delivering theoretically informed and evidence-based supports for
the community?
What are the causal relationships between different features of autism?
Is it possible, or desirable, to identify features that are drivers versus conse-
quences of autistic development? For example, are RRBIs a typical response to
living in a social world that is confusing and stressful? Or a fundamental part
of a uniquely autistic experience?
80 Chapter 5 What makes a good theory?
There are more things in heaven and earth Horatio, than are dreamt of
in your philosophy.
(Shakespeare, 1603)
Upon completion of this chapter, the prudent reader may engage in a critical
reflection on the merits and short-fallings of Autism theory. In so doing, one
should consider the ubiquitous challenges and limitations associated with
theorising about human cognition, emotion and behaviour. Not only do human
beings abound with rich diversity in culture, language and belief systems, we
are, by our very nature, inherently (biologically, psychologically and socially)
complex. A conclusion may be that it is not advantageous to presume the
essence of Autistic-ness can be captured and reduced to a single unitary psy-
chological theory.
Theory can offer useful definition, structure and fixed boundaries of
categorisation. By all means, let us profess that (the access to, and knowledge
of) theory can be a convenient pragmatic tool and a comforting lynchpin when
systematising large chunks of complex information. In my everyday professional
practice, theoretical models of Autism can, for example, enable identification of
thresholds of cognitive states, which can simplify the process(es) of universal
recognition, and communication in both clinical practice and research settings.
However, the narrow and finite dimensions of psychological theory cannot speak
to the magnitude of autistic heterogeneity. There is a real threat to the fidelity
of autism research and practice if we blindly subscribe to theory. For instance,
expressed beliefs such as “autistic people can’t feel empathy”, or “autistic
people don’t have the ability to mentalise” and “it’s impossible to be in a caring
profession if you’re autistic” are damaging to the autistic community and likely
derived from out-dated autism theory.
A rudimentary glance over the past 70 years of autism research uncovers
a history that can be labelled as progressive at best, and turbulent at worst.
Our collective knowledge and understanding of autism, as expressed through
current psychological theory, is perhaps most sensibly categorised as transient,
momentary and imperfect. The authors wisely highlight “new ideas are coming
up in Autism research all the time” and so, amidst the frequent evolution of
novel research hypotheses, experimental paradigms, and theoretical perspec-
tives there is but only one certainty of which we can be sure: The human-ness
of autistic people (their families, friends and carers) transcends anything a
theory has to offer. Only by opening up to the lived experiences and lifelong
narratives of autistic people may we achieve an understanding of what it means
to be autistic.
Chapter 5 What makes a good theory? 81
Recommended reading
T
HE FIRST ATTEMPTS to understand autism within a modern psy-
chological framework came in the 1980s. Autism was more narrowly
defined at that time (in the DSM-III) and still considered a relatively
rare condition. Research was framed by Wing’s “triad of impairments” frame-
work – social interaction, communication and imagination – which was rep-
resented in the DSM-III as a triad of social interaction, communication and
RRBIs. Nevertheless, psychologists aimed to determine a single, underlying
difference that could explain all the diverse features used to diagnose autism.
Three commonly accepted criteria for assessing the primacy of a specific fea-
ture are universality among people with the condition, specificity to that con-
dition and causal precedence in development. In addition, any such theories
of autism must steer a course between explaining too little – in effect merely
describing features – and explaining too much. Autistic people show a strik-
ingly uneven profile of abilities, with superior skills which require explanation
just as much as do areas of difficulty. The challenge was to pinpoint pivotal psy-
chological skills, significant enough to explain the differences between people
with and without autism, but nuanced enough to allow for uneven profiles of
ability.
Today, we do not characterise autism in terms of deficit or impairments,
but as a pattern of differences which present advantages and disadvantages in
relation to neurotypical social norms and expectations. However, these early,
primary deficit models were formulated in a context where autism was almost
universally seen as an impairment. Rather than whitewash this historical
fact, we choose to use the term ‘primary deficit’ to describe these explanatory
frameworks (though their more modern iterations could be characterised as
‘primary difference’ models). It should be noted that they represented a sig-
nificant advance on earlier notions that autistic children were fundamentally
uninterested in others and/or suffering from childhood psychosis. They were
also formulated based on work mainly with children with autism and intel-
lectual disability, often with additional language impairments – young peo-
ple with a clear and significant need for support. Another key fact about this
time in psychology is that we tended to adopt a modular view of brain-
behaviour relationships when attempting to explain developmental phenom-
ena. Many psychologists were looking for some discrete ability which was
‘switched off ’ in autism but switched on in everyone else. This notion now
Chapter 6 Primary deficit models 85
1 It seems important to reiterate here that an “inability to represent mental states” for
an individual, or an entire population, should not be taken to imply that an autistic
person does not care about or have an interest in other people. We simply mean that
the underlying, automatic representational mechanism used by the non-autistic
population for ‘mind-reading’ may not be ‘wired in’ for autistic people.
88 Chapter 6 Primary deficit models
ToM problems. While we know that some delay in ToM seems inevitable
(there is no evidence to date of pre-schoolers with autism passing ToM tasks),
so far there is no evidence available that can categorically distinguish between
the “different strategy” and the “developmental delay” interpretation. Both
accounts predict that autistic people should be able to solve ToM tasks when
they are simple, but that a dis-fluency in application of mentalising should
be apparent in more complex tasks and everyday life. One way to disentangle
these accounts is to use longitudinal data which can tell us whether ToM task
performance is predicted by age or intellectual ability. If ToM task success
comes with age, that suggests a developmental delay account, but if ToM task
success is more closely related to IQ then we might lean more towards an
alternative strategy account. That said, delayed and different are not strictly
alternatives – for example, early delays in ToM might lead to the development
of different strategies later in life.
When there is evidence that IQ influences ToM scores, this also invites
a third interpretation – that mentalising is hard for autistic people because
of an additional processing difficulty. We know that the intellectual capacity
90 Chapter 6 Primary deficit models
the penny-hiding game – where a child gets to guess which hand an adult is
hiding a coin in and then has a go at being the hider – also show that ToM
operates more typically in those with intellectual disability but not autism,
compared with those with both (San José Cáceres et al., 2015).
The originators of the ToM account set themselves a high bar by setting
out to identify a primary deficit. Even if mentalising is universally challenging
for autistic people, is this really the primary difference? One challenge is that
for ToM to have a primary role in explaining autism, it needs to explain other
features as well as social and communication differences. Some authors have
proposed that RRBIs infiltrate the cognitive space that would otherwise be
occupied by a rich database of social knowledge, built on early mentalising
abilities. Keen interests in, say, Finnish architecture or bicycle maintenance
simply absorb the resources that most non-autistic people give over to record-
ing and processing details about other people. Another possibility, reviewed
already in Chapter 3, is that RRBIs are a way to manage the anxiety that results
from having to operate in a hard-to-comprehend social world. One predic-
tion that results from these proposals is that RRBIs should be at their most
intense when ToM difficulties are most profound. While some papers do find
associations between ToM and RRBIs (e.g. Jones et al., 2018), the general lack
of association offers further support for the ‘fractionated triad’ approach to
understanding autism at the cognitive level (Brunsdon & Happé, 2014).
Another challenge for ToM models is to determine the point in the
developmental process at which the autistic and non-autistic pathways divide.
As the ToM model was extrapolated – both in the study of autism and in
investigations of typical development – a richer developmental sequence
was revealed, making it harder to determine this point (see Figure 6.3).
FIGURE 6.3
An approximate developmental sequence of milestones relating to
Theory of Mind
Chapter 6 Primary deficit models 93
sequence in autism will be explored in more detail in the next chapter, where
developmental models of autism are considered.
there was no observer. The authors conclude that some behaviours that have
been considered characteristic of autism may derive from a lack susceptibility
to audience effects rather than an underlying difficulty with the task itself.
Further, indirect evidence for this interpretation comes from paral-
lels between patterns of data derived from studies with autistic children, and
studies of in-group and out-group effects in typical development. For exam-
ple, multiple studies find evidence that autistic children show less sponta-
neous imitation, and less fidelity in imitation, than children without autism
(Williams et al., 2004). However, the same effect is seen when typically devel-
oping children are organised into two arbitrary groups (a “minimal group
paradigm”) – children as young as 14 months old are less likely to imitate peers from
the other group (e.g. Buttelman et al., 2013). When we use this result to frame our
interpretation of autism research, suddenly we can see that a lot of autistic behaviour
could potentially be understood in the context of feeling separate from, or different to,
the experimenter. And of course, because experimenters in the field are rarely autistic
themselves, this is a perfectly accurate and reasonable judgement of the situation.
Big questions
What is next for ToM? This construct is still used widely in research, often to
explore connections with other variables – ToM and gender, ToM and employ-
ment, theory of mind and quality of life. Given the limitations of the con-
struct as an explanation for the wide range of experiences within the autistic
98 Chapter 6 Primary deficit models
problems. When I was at school I raised a potentially very serious child protec-
tion issue with a teacher; I was later told that I had overreacted to the informa-
tion I had heard because I was autistic and that it was not being followed up
because of this. Now, I don’t know if there was anything behind the ‘banter’
I had heard in the common room, but I do know that my instincts were being
questioned because of my diagnosis.
I welcome the idea of neurotypical ToM being taught by autistic individ-
uals who have already mastered it. I think I would have gained a lot more from
someone sitting me down at nine years old and telling me: there’s nothing wrong
with you; you’re just different. These are the problems you are going to face, but
it will get better.
Recommended reading
A
S WE HAVE seen, Theory of Mind (ToM) was originally conceptu-
alised in a fairly modular fashion: as a skill which appeared at a spe-
cific developmental time point (ultimately marked by the ability to
pass false-belief tasks) and that could either be present or absent. However,
updated accounts of social cognitive development situate false-belief task suc-
cess within a more complex developmental trajectory. This incorporates both
early examples of ToM, such as implicit belief tracking and desire reasoning,
and related behaviours such as joint attention and emotion recognition.
Rather than focus on a single deficit (failure to switch on ToM) marked
out by a simple test (false-belief comprehension) developmental theories of
autism posit that early, subtle differences in the child’s relationship with their
environment place them on an unusual developmental pathway that leads to a
pattern that makes up the diagnostic features of autism (Happé, 2015).
with a robust positive predictive value for autism. Instead, there exists a
range of early, parent-report screening tools (e.g. the Checklist for Autism
in Toddlers, the Early Screening for Autism and Communication Disorders
and the Autism Parent Screen for Infants) or direct observational protocols
(e.g. the Autism Observation Scale for Infants, the Autism Diagnostic Obser-
vation Schedule – Toddler Module) to facilitate early screening. These tools
rely on so-called ‘red flags’, which are lists of behaviours such as following a
point or responding to their name being called, that are reduced (or, for some
behaviours, e.g. spinning objects, increased) in children who later receive an
autism diagnosis relative to the general population.
Theoretical accounts of autism reviewed in this chapter interpret these
early, small disruptions to the typical developmental process as having larger
downstream effects, which are eventually recognisable as autism. Wadding-
ton’s epigenetic landscape, shown in Figure 7.1, is a useful visual metaphor
for this process. Although the landscape was initially put forward as a way
to understand the actions of genes across the lifespan, it can also be used to
conceptualise how early subtle differences can result, over time, in a radically
different approach to the world, such as found in autism. In the image, the
ball can represent the child and his or her development, which unfolds like
a slow, downhill roll. Small differences in the starting position, direction or
speed of the ball, or tiny bumps along the way, could result in the ball following
paths that diverge over time to become radically differentiated. The hills which
separate each path can represent the significant effort required if one were to
attempt to move, later in life, from one path to another.
years, and gathered home video footage of children who had later received an
autism diagnosis. Attempts were made to standardise the samples, for exam-
ple, by focusing on videos of a child’s first birthday party. The method was
far from perfect, but despite the lack of control and objectivity, retrospective
analysis produced some important findings about early features of autism,
including reduced smiling and orienting to name around 12 months (Palomo
et al., 2006). Other studies focused on clinical records, finding higher levels of
reported concerns in routine infant and toddler screening tests, specifically in
the social domain, for children who later received an autism diagnosis (John-
son et al., 1992).
More recently, the focus has switched to prospective studies, which
permit the use of experimental methods and uniform classification of all
participants. The most established method of prospective research is to recruit
parents who already have an autistic child, who are now having a new baby.
These younger siblings have about a 20% chance of receiving an autism diag-
nosis, meaning that researchers can recruit, for example, 100 families and reli-
ably gather early years data from a sample of 20 children with autism. Given an
estimated prevalence of 1% in the general population, it would require recruit-
ment of 2,000 families to achieve the same group size if recruiting from the
general population. The first of these autism-sibling studies began to yield data
in 2005, when Lonnie Zwaigenbaum and colleagues reported on 65 younger
siblings who had been – at that point – followed up to 24 months (Zwaigen-
baum et al., 2005). More recently, the field has begun to be augmented by work
with other high-likelihood groups, including children of autistic mothers and
infants born premature. Specific findings from these studies will be mentioned
next, as we consider a range of theoretical models in turn, but a recent review
of results suggests that while many group differences have been found, the field
requires more replications before any test could begin to achieve candidate
marker status (Jones et al., 2014).
Although sibling studies, and work with other high-likelihood infant
groups, represent a significant methodological improvement on the retro-
spective work that went before, this literature remains beset by limitations.
One key issue is the potential generalisability of findings. It is unclear to what
extent findings from an infant-sibling group would generalise to autistic chil-
dren born into families without existing autism experience, or this pattern
of genetic predisposition. The specificity of results is also a problem. To date,
no published sibling studies have recruited a relevant control group, such as
children with a learning disability or a genetic susceptibility to (for example)
dyslexia or ADHD (although this latter group is currently being recruited and
studied as we write). While some of the cohort may follow neurodivergent
pathways without being autistic, permitting some comparison to be made
between atypical outcomes, larger numbers are needed to determine the spec-
ificity of findings to later autism diagnosis. At the time of writing, when long-
term infant cohort studies are still relatively few and far between, this issue is
compounded by the drive to publish early – many papers report merely on
106 Chapter 7 Developmental trajectory models
Panel A shows results of one attempt to identify autism using markers of early brain develop-
ment (Hazlett et al., 2017). Here the data look like they have fairly good levels of precision. In
Panel B, we see how different the data look when the number of incomplete scans are taken
into account – this gives us a lot less confidence in the practical potential of the marker. Panel C
extrapolates the data according to the population base rate. We can see that, if applied in prac-
tice, this test would result in unacceptably high numbers of false positives: infants diagnosed
with autism who are not autistic. Provided by kind permission of Jon Brock.
sounds – their name being called and clapping (Dawson et al., 1998). In the
visual domain, Klin used eye-tracking with a small group of autistic adults to
demonstrate that autism was associated with differences in looking patterns
(Klin et al., 2002). Specifically, the autistic group showed less fixation on the
social regions (e.g. face, eyes) of a complex stimulus (excerpts from a movie).
What about data from infancy? It is uncontested that infants (including
non-human infants, even chicks!) show a preference for looking at faces, or
face-like stimuli, from birth. In fact, recent data have revealed that this may
even be in evidence pre-natally, as infants in the womb orient to face-like light
patterns projected onto the mother’s body (Reid et al., 2017) – though rep-
lications are needed to confirm this preliminary finding. Turning to autism,
108 Chapter 7 Developmental trajectory models
Klin and colleagues have replicated their adult finding with toddlers, showing
less attentional bias towards faces compared with typical and learning disabled
groups (Chawarska et al., 2010; Jones et al., 2008). In a study with typically
developing twins, they also demonstrated that such looking patterns appear to
be under genetic control (Constantino et al., 2017).
So far, so good, but there are complications. There are a number of
findings that suggest intact social attention and orienting among adults and
children in the autism constellation, casting doubt on the social orienting
hypothesis (see Guillon et al., 2014 for a review). Indeed, the British Autism
Study of Infant Siblings found no differences associated with later autism diag-
nosis in looking patterns to social and non-social content in a static image
array (Elsabbagh et al., 2013). There are a number of ways we might probe the
apparent disparities in the literature. Sue and colleagues found subtle differ-
ences in the timing of eye-movements when viewing naturalistic, but static,
social stimuli (Fletcher-Watson et al., 2009). Other studies have suggested
that the looking preferences of autistic toddlers are dictated by episodes of
audio-visual synchrony rather than social content (Klin et al., 2009), though
this finding, too, is contested (Falck-Ytter et al., 2017). A problem with much
of this literature is that stimulus complexity is not well captured or controlled.
There is evidence that the greatest group differences arise when more ecologi-
cally valid stimuli are used (Frazier et al., 2017), but this raises the question of
whether the ultimate cause of different looking patterns is specific to the social
domain, or rather an information-processing difficulty. The use of video stim-
uli that feature cuts between camera angles may be particularly problematic
when it comes to interpretation of data, since a delay in oculomotor move-
ments or in information processing could be mistaken for a difference in top-
down attentional preference (Ames & Fletcher-Watson, 2010).
One way to attempt to resolve these equivocal findings is to probe
differences in attention developmentally, rather than cross-sectionally –
mapping the timeline of specific behavioural patterns and their effects. One
recent high-profile paper charted looking patterns in an infant-sibling group
with repeated testing, using eye-tracking, over the first six months of life
(Jones & Klin, 2013). The authors reported significant differences between
children who were, and were not, later diagnosed with autism in the trajec-
tory of looking patterns over time. However, taking each data collection point
independently, there were no group differences in looking times. Moreover, at
the earliest time points, infants who later received an autism diagnosis actu-
ally showed higher proportions of looking time to social content – though
this pattern was non-significant. This finding, combined with evidence that
domain-general attentional differences are predictive of autism outcome, led
Mark Johnson to argue that it was time to reject the social orienting hypothesis
of autism (Johnson, 2014).
Chapter 7 Developmental trajectory models 109
with some new social theories of autism, as well as with reports from autistic
people, and we will return to this theme in more depth in Chapter 9.
attention skills. Alternatively, the causal direction could be the opposite. A child
without an efficient attentional switching system might find that impedes their
social interactions, leading over time to a divergent path in terms of social
interactive behaviour. Another factor concerns the behaviour of the parent, of
course. In the example noted earlier, if the child looks at the rattle but not her
father’s face, how will her father react? His behaviour will be shaped by hers,
and vice versa. Both people in the dyad create a shared environment which
may promote certain types of skills and behaviours more than others.
A third explanation also exists – that both social interactive behaviours
and domain-general skills are subsumed by a shared mechanism or brain
region which is the source of the difference. Some have proposed that self-
other switching, that is switching between representations to do with the self
(own emotions, beliefs, motor intentions, etc.) and those to do with others,
might be a candidate mechanism in the development of autism (de Guzman
et al., 2016; Sowden & Shah, 2014). Bedford and colleagues have further shown
that a combination of markers of domain-general attention with social neuro-
response plus direct observation measures provide the most robust early iden-
tifier linked to later autism diagnosis at 7 years old (Bedford et al., 2017). Their
data are interpreted as reflecting an additive mechanism, resulting in a pre-
dictor of autism that relies on the presence of separately measured cognitive
capacities that combine to increase likelihood.
One final question is whether determining the early causal associations
between different features of autism is really necessary? If interactive scenarios,
like playing with a parent and a rattle, involve both social and non-social skills,
we can provide opportunities to develop both by simply creating more such
opportunities in a suitably enjoyable and motivating way. A recent attempt to
do just that found that early, parent-delivered, play-based intervention led to
increased attention to parents, with longer-term positive effects on parental
directiveness and child communication (Green et al., 2015, 2017). Crucially,
the authors emphasise “a strategy to mitigate developmental risks and mod-
ify prodromal symptom trajectories, rather than ‘eliminate’ a condition” (2017,
p. 1330, emphasis in original). Thus, while such early interventions require a
robust ethical framework, they may have the potential – by delivering support
in a critical window of development and enhancing key skills – to guide par-
ents to tailor their behaviour, creating an optimal environment for the autistic
child. This in turn could enable a higher proportion of autistic children to
achieve greater autonomy and self-determination in the future.
Big questions
The early autism research literature is beset by specific ethical issues (Fletcher-
Watson et al., 2017b). It is essential to embed early autism research in a frame-
work of engagement with community priorities. How will autistic children
enrolled in longitudinal or early intervention studies feel when they grow up?
If we find a reliable early marker of autism, what should we do with that infor-
mation? Are justifications for early intervention before diagnosis legitimate,
and if so, where do the boundaries lie between a support that enables autistic
children to achieve their goals and a support that serves merely to suppress or
‘normalise’ the autistic child?
Parallel with this debate is a concern regarding the ethics of intensive
monitoring or early interventions in high-likelihood populations for those
who do not go on to get an autism diagnosis. Are infant-sibling studies
inadvertently changing parenting in enrolled families, and if so, how? What
message do such studies send about the need to change the development of
autistic children, and the acceptable costs of doing so? Rather than aiming for
autism-specific early interventions, should we instead focus on ‘generic’ sup-
ports that empower parents, enrich the early years environment and focus on
global targets like school readiness and language?
The pressure for early findings from longitudinal studies may result in
results that reflect only part of the autism constellation; will infant-sibling
study results be very different once we know the outcome of the children at 8
Chapter 7 Developmental trajectory models 117
or 18 years? How far do any such findings generalise to the autism constella-
tion as a whole?
One final question for this field concerns the definition of “social” in the
context of social orienting, social motivation and so on. Frequently, studies
rely on looking patterns to static faces or videos of a single person talking or
singing. In particular, looking at the eye region is interpreted as social, while
looking at the mouth region is not. There is a risk here of a tautological argu-
ment, whereby any looking pattern exhibited by a child identified as autistic is
automatically characterised as non-social, or even inferior. Researchers in this
field need to be vigilant to ensure that results are interpreted without recourse
to such logical fallacies and that group differences are recognised as differ-
ences, rather than being automatically interpreted through a set of normative
values.
master’s level, run a company. And yet words are still not my natural language,
and I still fail to use them well in any stressful situation. Spoken words remain
exhausting, whereas technology has been hugely liberating. I’m the same per-
son. Am I ‘broken’ or not? I believe that autism is a difference and one that often
has significant strengths for society.
Recommended reading
S
O FAR, THE cognitive models reviewed in this book, whether taking
a developmental perspective or not, have largely focused on explaining
the social features of autism. While attempts have been made to extend
the explanatory power of these models to encompass non-social aspects of
the condition, as we have seen, these are rarely adequate. In addition, there are
open questions about the position of what we call “social cognition” within
development – are our social interactions with others a test-bed in which we
hone our domain-general skills, such as attention and executive functions? Or
do these domain-general skills come first and our social interactions draw on
these underlying processes?
In response to the incompleteness of social-focused theoretical accounts,
and in recognition of the prevalence and importance of non-social compo-
nents of autism, a number of theorists have proposed domain-general cog-
nitive interpretations. We group these under the umbrella term ‘information
processing’ because they all emphasise the different ways in which autistic peo-
ple seem to take in, organise and respond to input from the world. Crucially,
these models focus on aspects of input that are common to both social and
non-social contexts, often at the level of perceptual features of the environment.
In fact, Kanner also noticed the eye for detail in autism, writing in 1943
of the children’s
1 https://www.donnawilliams.net/
124 Chapter 8 Information
processing models
we automatically use the sentence context to identify the meaning; e.g. ‘In her
eye there was a big tear’ versus ‘In her dress there was a big tear’. Not using the
sentence context to determine the correct pronunciation of homographs has
been shown in autism, but importantly, this is a default only; if asked to read for
meaning or alerted to the ambiguous words, autistic people have no difficulty
integrating the sentence. This, and other evidence (reviewed in Happé & Frith,
2006), suggests weak coherence is a cognitive style and represents a bias not
a deficit. Just as neurotypical people can, if necessary, memorise unconnected
information without meaning (e.g. cramming for an exam, remembering a pin
number), so autistic people can, if necessary, integrate local details into global
meaning, but it seems neither comes naturally or without some effort.
Might an apparent local focus in autism just reflect difficulties with
executive functions? For example, when drawing, autistic people may begin
with details, which is unusual in neurotypical people; is this because of prob-
lems planning ahead? In line with the ‘fractionated triad’ account described in
Chapter 3, there is some evidence that detail focus and executive difficulties are
distinct (Brunsdon & Happé, 2014); for example, boys with ADHD who have
problems planning and inhibiting their actions don’t show detail focus, and
detailed drawing style doesn’t correlate with poor planning during drawing
(Booth et al., 2003).
A recent meta-analysis, albeit drawing on tasks that tend to conflate
global and local processing styles, demonstrated that slower global processing
was the only robust effect found across studies (van der Hallen et al., 2015).
More recently, Francesca and her colleague Rhonda Booth have suggested that
superior local processing on one hand and reduced global/integrative process-
ing on the other may be distinct and somewhat independent in autism, even
though most tasks used to date have conflated the two (Booth & Happé, 2018).
They report tasks designed to tap global and local processing independently,
and suggest that measuring these dimensions separately may help untangle
heterogeneity of cognitive style within autism.
At the behavioural level, specific differences have been found in the ten-
dency to integrate multiple sensory inputs – such as visual, auditory and tactile
information (Iarocci & McDonald, 2006). Relatedly, some studies have found
that autistic people need a larger quantity of motion cues to detect movement
(Milne et al., 2005) – though this finding is not consistent (Foss-Feig et al., 2013).
One interpretation of these data is that insensitivity to motion cues reflects a
difficulty combining the multiple sources of information – such as relative posi-
tion of foreground figure to background – required to detect movement. This
work has been used to interpret the finding, discussed in Chapter 7, that infants
who later receive an autism diagnosis attend more to areas of a stimulus that
display audio-visual synchrony (Klin et al., 2009). Applying an information pro-
cessing account here suggests that this attention to multi-modal synchrony is
a reflection of effortful processing of multi-sensory input, rather than a simple
attentional preference. The same interpretation can be used to frame findings
from the eye-tracking literature, which consistently show the greatest group dif-
ferences between participants with and without autism when stimuli are multi-
modal (i.e. audio and visual input) and moving (Chevallier et al., 2015).
Another theoretical account which might fall under the broad head-
ing of integration and complexity is the interest-based theory, monotropism
(Murray et al., 2005). This theory, developed by autistic academics, posits that
the defining feature of autism is atypical allocation of attention. The difference
between autistic and non-autistic people is characterised as follows: “It is the
difference between having few interests highly aroused, the monotropic tendency,
and having many interests less highly aroused, the polytropic tendency” (ibid.,
p. 140). Consequently, this model places causal primacy on the intense focus
apparent in the diagnostic domain of RRBIs, with other diagnostic features
following from this underlying difference. To the extent that social interaction
requires diffuse and distributed attention, autistic people are not well suited
to that activity. Monotropic theory, which awaits empirical testing, provides
a vivid description of the autistic experience of novelty and change, giving a
valuable insight into the autistic experience of a crisis, or “meltdown”:
All of the theoretical approaches listed in this section share a high level
of relevance to aspects of the lived experience of autistic people, not always
well captured by cognitive models. For example, difficulties integrating sen-
sory information could explain sensitivity to sensory input. Failure to inte-
grate could make separate sensory signals overwhelming (hyper-sensitivity)
or might cause some sensory input to be ignored because it is processed
Chapter 8 Information processing models 129
ability hasn’t been tested in autistic people. One study that tested ‘foraging’
found no evidence of a more systematic approach in children with autism
compared to children with typical development (Pellicano et al., 2011). Fur-
ther work, ideally presenting novel challenges that can be solved using either
systematic or non-systematic solutions, would push forward the evidence
base for this dimensional theory.
Turning to the Empathising Quotient, here the nomenclature of
“empathising” is highly problematic. The dictionary definition of empathising
is “to understand and share the feelings of another”, and in general discourse,
empathy is often used to mean simply caring about or resonantly responding
to other people’s feelings. We have seen in Chapter 6 that many social cogni-
tive models attempting to explain autism suggest that autistic people have a
difficulty representing other people’s mental states – but knowing what other
people are thinking (ToM) is not the same as caring what they are feeling
(emotional empathy). Whether emotional empathy is affected at all in autism
is hotly debated both by scientists (Bird & Viding, 2014) and self-advocates –
with the latter often remarking that their lived experience is of feeling too
much, rather than too little, of others’ emotions.
Many autistic advocates have pointed out the damage which has been
done to their community by the spread of the idea that autistic people are inca-
pable of empathy. In particular, this construct is offensive to a group of people
who may be working harder than most to work out others’ mental state and
to respond as expected by social norms. To label any mismatch between the
expected behaviour in a particular social context and what an autistic person
actually does, as resulting from a lack of empathy, betrays a significant lack of
empathy on the part of the non-autistic observer. In Chapter 9, we extend this
discussion of empathy and autism with reference to the double empathy prob-
lem proposed by Milton (2012).
interpretation comes from work arguing that atypical social attention is most
apparent when stimuli are complex (Birmingham et al., 2012).
On the other hand, there is no agreed, evidence-based way to deter-
mine objectively the complexity of a stimulus. Additionally, human brains
have evolved for certain types of task; we find easy and effortless what com-
puter systems find hard (e.g. extracting objects in a 3-D scene), and vice versa
(e.g. division of very large numbers). Therefore, it remains impossible to ver-
ify the statement that the social world is somehow uniquely or even particu-
larly ‘complex’ in relation to other types of information, despite the appeal of
this notion. Information-processing and perceptual theories are also hard to
apply to findings of ‘fine cuts’, – autism-specific differences between social and
closely matched non-social tasks. For example, can domain-general processing
differences explain why so many children with autism can conjure a meta-
representation in relation to an out-of-date photograph, but that the same task
in relation to an out-of-date belief proves impossible?
Big questions
What is the relation between the social features of autism and the basic infor-
mation processing style which (presumably, theoretically) governs all incom-
ing data? Have autistic people just been subject to a mysterious, coincidental
combination of differences in both social interaction and information pro-
cessing styles? Why should these two things have co-occurred in so many? Or
are there cohorts of un-identified people who experience each of these broad
symptom domains independently?
Chapter 8 Information processing models 133
How can these accounts, or any accounts, explain the sensory hyper-
and hypo-sensitivities apparent in autism? Bayesian models look promising in
this regard, but as yet no robust experimental tests have been developed, and
research pertaining to autism specifically is in its infancy.
Is it necessary to arrive at a single, accepted account of the information
processing style of autistic people? Might we simply allow all of the theoretical
accounts described earlier to co-exist, each providing a subtly different emphasis
or level of interpretation in relation to the shared question of how autistic people
(uniquely) take in and process information. This proposal relates to the practical
significance of the work covered in this chapter – perhaps it is enough to have
evidence-based models that legitimise the differing sensory experiences, percep-
tual skills and preferences of autistic people, by illustrating aspects of their fun-
damental underpinnings? Or is there benefit to autistic people to be gained by
having a more fine-grained understanding of the precise ways in which autistic
information processing differs from the mainstream norm?
I’ve always asked questions; ever since I can remember, I’ve asked about the
world around me. I picked up a stone aged five on a holiday in Wales and on
seeing fossils asked what they were. This one act set me on a quest for all the
rest of my life. I had to understand the world below me, around me and above.
Now I can see that this didn’t necessarily mean socially. I had a thirst for detail
but was also equally compelled to see where this fitted on the global scale, be
it in ‘time’ or positioning. I was always asking “Where did this fit?”, I needed the
bigger picture as the detail without this reference was useless.
For example, the fossils I’d found had a certain definable taxonomy and
age. I needed to know what they were and their positioning in the geological and
evolutionary timeline. I constructed this 3-D larger view quite naturally, made out
of these fragments both by reading widely and practical experience. It’s never
linear, always a cloud not a spectrum. I seemed to have no problem with time as
a concept, partly I think because being synaesthetic, I can reach out and touch
it. It wasn’t the same with people, as there seemed to be an unwritten rogue
element within their patterning I had to factor in. I couldn’t join them up in the
way I could in sciences or history.
When I was seven, reaching deep within me, I said I’d be an artist.
I coped at school for a few years until my ability to cover my differences failed.
Schooling in the late 1960s was not fun, and I soon fell afoul of the differing
demands and systems. I was rescued by my abilities with facts and drawing.
Then one of my pictures was torn up by the teacher in front of the class, as I’d
spelt my name wrong, and I decided to hide more of myself. I didn’t go to art
college but rather university to train to be a palaeontologist. I had the skills to
find, describe and recognise fossils’ positioning in the bigger picture of geologi-
cal time. I could apply these skills to other subjects, including contemporary arts
where I now create and direct socially engaged art projects.
134 Chapter 8 Information
processing models
Recommended reading
Gerland, G. (2003). A real person: Life on the outside. London: Souvenir Press.
Happé, F., & Frith, U. (2006). The weak coherence account: Detail-focused
cognitive style in autism spectrum disorders. Journal of Autism and
Developmental Disorders, 36, 5–25.
Murray, D., Lesser, M., & Lawson, W. (2005). Attention, monotropism and the
diagnostic criteria for autism. Autism, 9(2), 139–156.
Pellicano, E., & Burr, D. (2012). When the world becomes ‘too real’:
A Bayesian explanation of autistic perception. Trends in Cognitive
Sciences, 16(10), 504–510.
9 The impact of
cognitive models on
autism understanding
and practice
I
N THIS BOOK, we have focused on attempts to describe autism at the
cognitive level. This is the largely hidden, conceptual layer between directly
observable behaviour and biology. We have grouped psychological the-
ories of autism into primary deficit models, developmental accounts and cog-
nitive difference models. While each account has experimental evidence in its
favour, none of them is universally accepted as an adequate way to describe
how autism differs from the neurotypical cognitive experience.
There is another way to examine the validity of these psychological mod-
els, however, which is to consider to what extent they – individually or as a
collection – have had an impact on society. Here we consider the prevalence
and success of approaches to supporting autistic people, grounded in psycho-
logical theory. We also review how psychological theory has shifted attitudes
to autism, including the important question of autistic people’s perceptions of
these theoretical models.
Before launching into this investigation, it is crucial to make a state-
ment about the role that an evidence-based support might have in the life
of an autistic person. There is no doubt that large swathes of the literature
have described interventions with therapeutic goals that can be summed up
as a drive to make autistic people less autistic. In some cases, this amounts
to little more than rote training in behaving like a neurotypical person. This
isn’t to say, however, that evidence-based interventions (when used in psy-
chological research, the word ‘intervention’ merely describes anything that a
person doesn’t already routinely do) cannot align with a progressive agenda.
There are numerous ways in which psychological theory and robust scien-
tific methods can be leveraged to deliver genuine benefits to the autistic
community, without undermining an individual’s identity and self-esteem.
For example, an intervention might target specific aspects of common autis-
tic profiles which are agreed to be disadvantageous, like supporting chil-
dren with autism to develop their communication – whether this focuses on
speaking or alternative and augmented communication aids. We might also
create autism-enabling versions of generic mental health supports, like cog-
nitive behavioural therapy. Or drugs might be developed to allow an autis-
tic individual to dampen their sensory responses at will – in the same way
someone with allergies might take medication before visiting a friend with
a pet cat.
Chapter 9 The impact of cognitive models 139
TABLE 9.1 Common markers of pseudoscience – reproduced from Finn et al., 2005
space may be given over to a therapeutic system. If it does not deliver benefit,
or even enough benefit, this can be characterised as harmful. Parents can feel
under enormous pressure to try any new intervention, at great personal and
family cost, both economic and emotional. Another key factor, especially per-
tinent in the case of autism, is to consider how experiencing some kinds of spe-
cialist support might affect self-confidence and self-esteem. We must be sure
that any attempts to develop skills or provide opportunities to autistic people
are not at the expense of their self-belief and well-being.
Under the circumstances outlined earlier, decisions about the weight of
evidence and appropriateness of any particular approach to supporting people
with autism, must be made on a case by case basis. As well as considering the
issues described, it is also essential to be on the lookout for pseudoscience. Key
markers have been developed and published for this, and one example list is
reproduced in Table 9.1 (Finn et al., 2005). Sadly, pseudoscience is rife in the
autism intervention world and we advise readers to be alert to signs of pseu-
doscience and to exercise critical judgement when making decisions and rec-
ommendations. Parents, in particular, are often bombarded with interventions
that have little by way of evidence base; even the most discerning and sceptical
mum or dad may feel they have to try these, asking themselves ‘what if ’ this is
the thing that makes a real difference to their child’s well-being.
a notion that teachers and parents find helpful in thinking about how autis-
tic and neurotypical thinking styles may differ (Noens & Berckalaer-Onnes,
2005). However, few formal interventions have resulted from these theories as
yet, and they have no role in diagnosis at present. Instead, information process-
ing accounts may have had a greater impact on societal perceptions of autism,
and these will be considered next.
Bridge), on stage (e.g. Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time) and in
print (e.g. Rubbernecker, The Rosie Project). In addition, autistic characters are
starting to be played by autistic actors, as in the new BBC show for children,
Pablo. We look forward to this trend continuing, so that characterisations of
autism in entertainment can become more authentic to the enormous variabil-
ity of autistic experiences.
to the fore, though research on this aspect of autism remains lacking. Their
talents contrast with the predictions and assumptions from many information
processing models. For example, theoretical arguments about reduced gener-
ativity in autism are contradicted by the prolific and expansive nature of a lot
of autistic art. These contrasts remind us that, even if autism were to be defin-
itively characterised at a cognitive level, a wide variety of behavioural profiles
may result.
exacerb
core or ame ates
differences liorates
chan perceptions
ges observable
features and
judgements
hand shaking – to the autistic person’s interaction style. This observation, how-
ever, should not be construed as suggesting that those who work and live with
autistic people fail to accommodate their needs. There are myriad – formal
and informal – ways in which parents, siblings and other family members, as
well as many under-resourced professionals attempt to adjust their behaviour
to accommodate the needs of the autistic people in their lives. The existence
of a range of bespoke voice-output apps is just one case in point, where deep
understanding of autism and of the essential role of communication for auton-
omy has been enabling to many autistic people (Fletcher-Watson, 2016).
Although this model is not primarily a psychological theory, instead
describing autism at the behavioural level, it can be tested experimentally.
A number of pieces of evidence have recently emerged that support this model.
Sasson and colleagues showed neurotypical raters “thin slices” of informa-
tion – photographs and short video or audio clips – from autistic and non-au-
tistic contributors (Sasson et al., 2017). They rated autistic people as more
awkward and said they were less likely to become friends with them, despite
judging both groups as equally trustworthy and intelligent. These judgements
show how disadvantaged autistic people may be, as negative first impressions
take hold incredibly quickly. Importantly, there was no difference when raters
were given just a transcript of the original clips, showing that autistic peo-
ple were saying all the right things, but just presenting themselves differently.
More recently, Sasson has published follow-up work which reveals that disclos-
ing the diagnostic status of the autistic people, and especially increasing the
knowledge of autism in the rater, improves first impressions (Sasson & Mor-
rison, 2017). This indicates that interventions in the neurotypical community
could play a role in improving the social experiences of autistic people – and
that disclosing diagnostic status may be an important part of that.
At the same time, Heasman (Heasman & Gillespie, 2017) showed that
the self-ratings of people with autism for abilities like “handling criticism” and
“making decisions” were higher than ratings provided by their family members.
Autistic participants were well aware of these perceptions, correctly predicting
low-ratings from their family. Conversely, neurotypical family members were
less accurate at predicting how they would be rated by their autistic relatives.
Objective measures of the rated skills were not included, but the patterns of
disagreement between ratings of self, other and predicted-other reveal consid-
erable complexity in the relationships of autistic and non-autistic people even
within a family unit.
Further evidence comes from the finding (reported in Chapters 6 and 8)
that neurotypical judges (and sometimes autistic judges; Brewer et al., 2016)
struggle to identify the emotional expressions of autistic people, or interpret
their expressions of mental states (Edey et al., 2016; Sheppard et al., 2016).
Gernsbacher and colleagues modified a widely used measure of autism traits,
the Autism Quotient (AQ), creating versions which emphasised in-group or
out-group status (Gernsbacher et al., 2017). For example, items might say I
often understand what autistic people are thinking, or I often understand what
Chapter 9 The impact of cognitive models 147
non-autistic people are thinking rather than the original: I often understand
what other people are thinking. The authors found that for both autistic and
non-autistic respondents, their self-reported autism quotient increased when
given the version of the measure that emphasised their out-group and went
down for the in-group version. All of these studies, in different ways, high-
light that the neurotypical majority play a significant role in the interactive
experiences of the autistic minority. Given this insight, it may be time to
re-consider our three-level framework, which positioned environmental influ-
ences as a parallel ‘stream’ (Morton & Frith, 1995), and instead consider a four-
level model for investigating neurodevelopment and neurodivergence.
Moreover, many autistic adults who come across now as fluent and autonomous
describe having a very different presentation in childhood – Temple Grandin is
one famous case in point. Autistic people have been some of the most powerful
advocates for increased understanding of, and attention to, the viewpoints of
people with learning disabilities (e.g. Milton & Martin, 2016, 2017). Finally, it
is hard to imagine how someone who does not display respect towards autis-
tic people who are articulate self-advocates can claim to be respectful towards
other people in the autism constellation. Ultimately, regardless of differences in
presentation or lived experience, any attempt to understand and support autistic
people cannot pick and choose whose viewpoint we want to hear.
Big questions
What will be the role of psychological theory in the future, especially in rela-
tion to accounts grounded in a social model of disability? How can we leverage
the power of experimental methods to yield meaningful benefits to people on
the autism spectrum?
What should be the goals of psychology-derived supports for autism?
How can we translate perspectives from the autistic adult community into the
development of supports for young children? Can we develop measures that
reflect autistic lived experiences while also having robust psychometric prop-
erties and theoretical relevance? Is there a risk that by stepping in to change
Chapter 9 The impact of cognitive models 149
I have always found it odd how much about autistic experience is left untouched
by most theories about autism. Executive dysfunction is a useful term to
describe aspects of autistic thinking, but says nothing about perceptual differ-
ences and barely addresses social difficulties. Thinking in terms of ToM may
provide a useful handle for novices, but it does nothing to help people to under-
stand problems relating to inertia or, again, perceptual differences. The ‘extreme
male brain’ theory leaves similar gaps. The enhanced perceptual functioning
hypothesis, mentioned in Chapter 7, does deal with perceptual differences but
is less convincing in providing an account of differences in social interactions
and attentional control.
Scientific theories are useful to the extent they have explanatory and pre-
dictive power. From my perspective as an autistic adult and a science teacher,
none of the theories presented in this chapter are altogether satisfactory on
this front. Even within the domains of autistic experience that they do address,
I have misgivings.
Theory of Mind deficit does little to explain communication difficulties result-
ing from literal-mindedness, or from neurotypicals having just as much difficulty
understanding autistic minds as vice versa. As such, it is a weak explanation for
observed social difficulties; worse, focusing on social manifestations of autism has
evidently been a factor in the under-diagnosis of female autists, and others who
blend in better (Lai et al., 2017). It also backfires when people wrongly assume
autistics don’t understand other people’s perspectives (Heasman & Gillespie,
2018) and that problems in communication all stem from the autistic side.
The category of ‘executive functions’ includes several different cognitive
abilities, and many other conditions also affect some of these in different ways,
so distinguishing their role in autism requires considerable elaboration. The lack
of parsimony here limits the usefulness of the idea in understanding autism; it
needs breaking down into components before it really starts to explain anything.
150 Chapter 9 The impact of cognitive models
Recommended reading
T
HIS BOOK IS based on a volume written and published in the early
1990s. Writing this re-worked and updated account of psychological
theory in autism research has highlighted the vast quantity of new
information that has been accrued in that time. When Francesca began in
autism research 30 years ago, it was possible to read every paper ever written
about autism; in 1988, fewer than 200 papers on autism were published, and
the total literature amounted to well under 3,000 specialist publications. Now, a
search on PubMed for papers with “autism” in the title or abstract returns well
over 4,000 results published in 2017 alone – a rate of more than 80 new papers
per week. In total, the scientific literature on autism exceeds 60,000 papers as
we write, and it would be impossible for any student to read more than a small
fraction.
Over that time, we can see how things have changed for the better for
autistic people and their allies, at least in the UK and other high income
countries. Public awareness of autism has increased enormously, resulting in
better understanding in the community. Identification of autism has likewise
increased, reflected in higher diagnostic rates. Tailored educational provision
is available, including training for teachers in mainstream schools, resulting
in better further education and employment outcomes for autistic people. The
growing grasp in the academic community of the breadth and complexity of
the autistic spectrum has been beneficial in promoting a more sophisticated
approach to study design and interpretation.
However, if we take as our goal a world in which an autistic person expe-
riences no disadvantage as a result of their autism, we have a very long way
still to go. Autistic people still experience high rates of mental health problems
and have lower life expectancy, including high suicide rates. Quality of life is
often low, with autistic people reporting limited autonomy and low rates of
employment and independent living. Some groups remain very poorly under-
stood – we know very little about autistic women and girls, including their
experience of key life stages, such as puberty and the menopause. There is little
information about the ageing process for autistic adults, including whether
or not autism increases vulnerability to dementia, and how to care effectively
for autistic adults in old age. When suitable knowledge and support are avail-
able, access to services is far from universal, even within the UK. Dissemi-
nating current findings and practices globally remains difficult, and there is a
Chapter 10 Looking to the future 155
huge amount to learn about how autism is manifest in cultures beyond North
American and European societies.
Autistic people also experience profound disadvantage as a result of
commonly co-occurring conditions, including epilepsy, learning disability and
language disorder. Treatments and supports for these continue to have lim-
ited effectiveness, as well as frequently being created and evaluated without
autistic input. Moreover, many of the challenges experienced by autistic people
reverberate through the family and beyond – parents and siblings experience
stress and lower quality of life (Tint & Weiss, 2016), teachers of autistic chil-
dren report high rates of burn-out (Boujut, et al., 2017). Community awareness
of autism may be high, but Sue’s recent UK survey showed that perceptions of
understanding remain low (Macmillan et al., 2018). In this chapter, we explore
some of the ways to move forward from this position.
1 We note that there is discomfort among both academic and non-academic stake-
holders about the status of self-identification of autism. People mis-identifying
themselves as autistic (perhaps when they in fact are experiencing a different form
of neurodiversity) is a concern, as is the possibility that unscrupulous individuals
might set themselves up as autistic advocates illegitimately. However, we also recog-
nise the many reasons why an individual might want to identify as autistic without
seeking independent medical endorsement.
Chapter 10 Looking to the future 157
TABLE 10.1 Ideas for participation in research for each stage of the project cycle1
2 https://blogs.exeter.ac.uk/exploringdiagnosis/resources/spqr/
158 Chapter 10 Looking to the future
presume that most autistic collaborators are outside academia, but of course, this
doesn’t have to be the case. A key goal for the future should be to improve access
to research training, methods and resources for autistic people; encourage neu-
rodivergent individuals into undergraduate and post-graduate study; and ensure
that autistic-led research is a prominent part of the knowledge landscape.
TABLE 10.2 Community research priorities, Autistica and the James Lind Alliance
paid to representation and diversity in the sample. The topics proposed can be
addressed from a broad range of disciplinary perspectives and have relevance
to autistic people of all ages, abilities and background.
Identifying the goals of research is only half of the solution, however.
We also need to consider how research is carried out. In this chapter, we have
highlighted the importance of adopting an autistic rights framework, embrac-
ing heterogeneity and recognising diversity in the autistic community. These
things are easier said than done, especially when resources are scarce and pro-
fessional environments are competitive. So what needs to change?
First, the research establishment. The current emphasis on research impact –
the extent to which new findings can be shown to make a difference – must con-
tinue and expand. Training researchers to value impact and to understand how to
achieve it should be a core part of their professional development. Funders also
need to recognise that impact may take many years to unfold and find a way to
follow-up with researchers, holding them to their impact plans while accommo-
dating this slow process. Achieving impact includes collaboration and outreach,
but it is also linked to scientific quality. Reproducible results, consistent measure-
ment across studies and collaborations to share data and develop large samples
are all essential to build a strong evidence-based case for change.
Second, public understanding of science. A common concern within the
scientific community over partnership with stakeholder groups is that doing
so compromises the scientific integrity of the work; will ideas be ‘dumbed
down’ and findings simplified for public consumption? One solution is to nur-
ture a scientifically expert community of practitioners, parents and autistic
people. Of course, it still behoves academics to share jargon-free summaries of
their work and present it to general audiences – it is unrealistic to expect com-
munity members without specialist training to read the latest issue of Nature
Neuroscience or even Autism Research. But a degree of scientific understanding
can facilitate partnerships and, crucially, give members of the public the confi-
dence to question the headlines.
For practitioners, including clinicians and teachers, understanding the
limits of research is essential to permit translation of findings into practice.
Published studies in psychology are often very good at making generalised
statements about averages across groups, but the practitioner must translate
such generalisations into specific actions for their client or pupil. This is some-
where that the much-maligned medical approach should act as a beacon for
practitioners in fields such as education and social work. Medical undergradu-
ate training emphasises the changing nature of knowledge and the importance
of keeping in touch with the latest research findings in order to apply them in
practice. Medics are trained to understand basic science and to conduct eval-
uations in their services. In contrast, practitioners in social care and education
are given little or no support and resources to do this, both during their train-
ing and once qualified, with negative consequences for the quality of support
provided to autistic people and their families.
Chapter 10 Looking to the future 163
Big questions
Applying psychological theory to questions that matter is easier said than done.
How can we strike the right balance between ‘pure’ psychological enquiry to
develop theoretical models and delivering practice-relevant and community-
endorsed projects?
How can we – scientists and communities together – change standards
in the academic establishment to reward science that is rigorous and makes a
difference in people’s lives? Is there a way to develop science reporting in the
mainstream media to be more accurate and responsible?
How can we partner effectively with autistic people, including those with
learning disabilities, language disorder, or other barriers to communication?
How can we balance input from autistic adults, parents of autistic children and
those who fall into both categories? When there are disagreements within and
between these groups, how should we respond?
164 Chapter 10 Looking to the future
We have come a long way since the first edition of this book, and I am incred-
ibly hopeful for the future of autism research. I know by working together and
embracing the challenges we face, we can truly change lives. If we do that,
when the time comes for the next edition of this book, I’m sure we will be able
to look back on autism research and reflect on an era where autism research
delivered positive change.
Chapter 10 Looking to the future 165
Recommended reading
Cusack, J., & Sterry, R. (2016). Your questions: Shaping future autism research.
London, UK: Autistica.
Fletcher-Watson, S., Adams, J., Brook, K., Charman, T., Crane, L., Cusack, J.,
Leekam, S. R., Milton, D. E. M., Parr, J., & Pellicano, L. (2018). Making
the future together: Shaping autism research through meaningful
participation. Autism. doi: 10.1177/1362361318786721
Sinclair, J. (1993). Don’t mourn for us. Our Voice: The Autism Network
International, 1(3).
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Index
Note: Page numbers in italic indicate a figure and page numbers in bold indicate a table on
the corresponding page.