Bill Stillman's book, Autism and the God Connection, is largely a collection of anecdotes from parents who feel that their children with autism have a special connection with the spiritual world. The book has received very positive reviews -- and a great deal of parental interest. Bill kindly agreed to answer a series of questions, some posed by me and others sent to him directly by About.com readers. As a member of the autism community himself (he is diagnosed with Asperger Syndrome), Bill brings an unusual perspective to the conversation.
Question: How do you decide whether a reported event is legitimate, a fraud, or the result of an hallucination or other health problem?
Answer: In discerning the truth of what’s being reported, I use a couple of criteria. First, is there a ring of truth to what someone is reporting? In other words, it doesn’t wash with me that someone reporting would completely sugar-coat and glorify the autistic experience as “God’s little angels” because that’s not real life; and I think it can be an extremely challenging lifestyle for the individual on the spectrum as well as her parents, caregivers, and educators. That doesn’t mean that spiritual giftedness can’t manifest, but when it does it’s amidst daily trials and travails of mutual learning and living.
And, second, does what someone’s reporting “fit” within the themes that have already emerged in my work, or that correspond with the research of other spiritual authors? Being in the mental health-mental retardation field for nearly twenty years, I know enough about the inner workings of mental illness to spot “red flags” or symptoms of grandiosity in what someone is telling me; where my research is concerned, this has only occurred very rarely, a couple instances. Most often, people just feel relieved to know that they’re not crazy, not alone in the experience, and have found someone who understands.
Question:Is there any research that supports the idea that people without verbal skills may be more attuned to other types of input?
Answer: Only my own research, but, to me, it makes total sense. This whole “God connection” concept is still very, very new, and, as your readers are well aware, persons with developmental disabilities including autism, have historically been marginalized, devalued, degraded, and abused. As a Western culture, we’re not “there” yet in terms of our perception that such individuals have value in their “beingness”, and may hold intimate insights, wisdom, and giftedness; though Native American culture does subscribe to this concept.
To me, existing in silence, as a number of autistics do, isn’t any different than the person of high religious standing who takes a deliberate vow of silence—why would it be? So there’s a double standard in who and what we value: people who meditate, pray, practice yoga want to reach the same spiritual plateau that some autistics attain naturally by living in silence, focusing on a repetitive movement or a perseverative vocalization (a mantra), and perceiving all things seen and unseen. And there is scientific research to support this, as I write in Autism and the God Connection.
In addition, we know that the sensory sensitivities of many autistics can be acute and extremely painful to endure; but this may also lend itself to a multisensory perceptive ability in the way that the person who is blind has finely-sharpened, compensatory senses. Spiritual giftedness relates to how we receive information on a high-frequency, vibratory level corresponding with our sense; not all input is verbal and plain to us. Oftentimes symbolic communication requires some decoding, like the autistic man who played with a blue toy truck; some thought it was because of stereotypes—that he was autistic, retarded, and mute. But deciphering the hieroglyphics of the communication, and presuming the man’s intelligence, I discovered that he was very close to his deceased father and had spent many happy times riding with dad in his truck—a truck identical to the man’s toy. As the man was without any other tangible reminders of his father (like photographs or personal mementoes), clearly the toy truck was the catalyst for triggering visual mind-movies of those happy days.
