Honesty, the Best Policy?

People with autism are “incapable of dishonesty” according to Professor Simon Baron-Cohen in an essay in In Character. Noting that the ability to dissemble—to tell “white lies” and “fudge” the truth—in certain interpersonal contexts can be desirable, Baron-Cohen writes that the capacity to be dishonest may be a distinctly human trait:

It is not the only defining characteristic, but it does separate us from other animals. Some nonhuman species may have a limited capacity for deception, but humans have a flexible, unlimited capacity for deception. And since anything that is uniquely human is likely to be part of our genetic makeup, it stands to reason that we are, in a sense, built for dishonesty — and those incapable of dishonesty, like people with autism, have a uniquely human disability. [my emphasis] Beyond having deficits in social interaction, they live with a different relationship to morality. Their experience is a unique window into the typical human mind.

As autism is a neurological condition that “leads not only to difficulties socializing and chatting but also to difficulties recognizing [my emphasis] when someone might be deceiving them or understanding how to deceive others,” Baron-Cohen notes that “[m]any children with autism are perplexed by why someone would even want to deceive others, or why someone would think about fiction or pretense.” He describes a boy with Asperger’s who, when another boy on the playground asked to “‘have a look’” at his wallet, was “shocked” when the other boy ran off with it; a 27-year-old Ph.D. student who has Asperger’s recently said to him, “‘I’ve just discovered that people don’t always say what they mean. So how do you know how to trust language?’”

Baron-Cohen is careful to note that, far from suggesting that autistic persons are “less evolved” in than non-autistic people, the autistic brain has “evolved differently”:

People with autism, who can perceive patterns better and concentrate better than their peers, are also more honest. Rather than regarding autism as a “disease,” we should recognize it as a difference that deserves our respect. Some features of it, like a learning or language disability, may benefit from treatment. But other features, like remarkable attention to detail and utmost honesty, are valuable human qualities.

And not only are they valuable, but they are highly useful qualities—if for no other reason than to keep the rest of us white liars more honest than we might be. “So how do you know how to trust language?” is a question that we all must address, whether in the courtroom or on the web or when reading a work of literature or when blogging: Since I started writing online in June 2005, my own policy has been to try to write in full honesty about our lives with autism and about Charlie.

On which note, here is an honest story about listening to one’s autistic child: Say he tells you “stairs” and names some item (his blanket), meaning that he wants one (this would be me, his mother) to go up stairs and retrieve said item. However, my suspicion is that he does not want the item, but he has an eye on a bag of marshmallows and, as he has heard me say, in no indefinite terms, “We need to save the rest for later,” he is engaging in a bit of subterfuge to get me out of the kitchen—–or maybe I am reading too much into this.

Yes, Charlie keeps me very honest.