51 pages • 1 hour read
John Elder RobisonA modern alternative to SparkNotes and CliffsNotes, SuperSummary offers high-quality Study Guides with detailed chapter summaries and analysis of major themes, characters, and more.
Look Me in the Eye asks a question that most societies struggle with: What do we do with those who don’t fit in? Is conformity necessary to keep society’s gears lubricated? While it may be essential to maintain some degree of order and to make society governable, it also stifles creativity and discourages difference. The 1950s in the United States was an era noted for its conformity. To ensure the smooth functioning of society, citizens were expected to do their part, and that usually meant graduating, getting a job, and raising a family. Conformity bred stability, and in the aftermath of World War II and the beginning of the Cold War, stability was highly valued. Difference equaled deviance, and deviance could disrupt the delicate pillars on which the West had built its superpower status.
Unfortunately, however, the 1950s was also an era rampant with stories of frustrated housewives, closeted gay men, and unhappy marriages. The conformity of the ’50s laid the groundwork for the rebellion of the ’60s. Growing up in the early ’60s (before the counterculture really took hold), Robison experiences that pressure to conform, on the playground, in school, and in the workplace. Despite his creative gifts, his school only sees a disruptive troublemaker, and he eventually drops out. It’s only when he discovers the world of music, a world full of other “misfits,” that he feels at home. It is perhaps no accident that he gravitates toward a band like KISS, a group that personifies the rebellion, excess, and destruction of rock music. In lamenting lost opportunities, Robison notes that he once turned down a job interview with Lucasfilm because he “was too afraid of going there, getting the job, and being found out as a fraud” (239). His fear of his own nonconformity robs him of an ideal job and Lucasfilm of a creative talent.
Ironically, as Robison matures, receives his diagnosis, and learns to conform, his creative abilities decline, as if the two cannot coexist. While it’s a tradeoff he’s happy to make, he admits that the innovative electronic circuits he designed in his 20s are beyond him now. In becoming a functioning member of society, one who conforms, he has lost part of the spark that once defined him.
For hundreds of years, scholars have tried to understand the nature of creativity. What separates creative thinkers from the rest of the population? Einstein perceived time and space as no one ever had before; Picasso envisioned the human form in a radically different way, one that revolutionized the art world. Is there a physiological or cognitive difference between truly creative thinkers and the vast majority of us? A study published in The Journal of Autism and Developmental Disorders offers a tentative “yes.” The study found “a strong link between autism and creativity.” (Cohen, Barb. “Autism and Creativity.” Psychology Today. Sussex Publishers, 18 Dec. 2016.) Creativity (or “divergent thinking”) is the ability to see familiar things in a new or different way, like taking the familiar concept of time and seeing it as a fourth dimension. Divergent thinkers see possibilities where most people cannot see beyond the limits of their own rote thinking. The cognitive differences that define people on the autism spectrum, which often make them the subject of ridicule, may be the very differences that define their distinctive abilities.
Robison’s creativity manifests in his problem-solving skills. When Ace Frehley wants an exploding guitar, Robison examines the problem methodically and, using his stock of prior knowledge, invents a solution. He does it repeatedly, across a variety of careers and disciplines. He does it with guitars, with toys, and with cars. When a musician describes a particular sound he wants from his amplifier, Robison visualizes the abstract concept of a sound and translates it into an electronic language that becomes physical hardware. He attributes his creativity to his precise focus and his diligent work ethic. Indeed, creative genius has sometimes been characterized as a small amount of insight plus hours of hard work. Robison is certainly willing to put in the time and effort others are not, but maybe it’s more than that. In the recesses of human consciousness, perhaps the cognitive glitch that results in autism also affords those minds a unique ability to see beyond the constraints that hamper “normal” minds.
The ability to forgive someone, especially someone guilty of severe abuse or neglect, is a quality often attributed to saints or self-help gurus. After all, it is human nature to hold on to resentment and anger in the absence of justice. When the victim is a child and the perpetrator is a parent, forgiveness becomes even more difficult. The abuse causes physical harm, but the abuse of trust can result in long-term emotional damage. How can a child learn to trust an adult when their life experience teaches them that adults are to be feared? Furthermore, when that childhood trauma evolves into a variety of future psychological problems, resentment has had decades to fester, making it even more difficult to forgive.
It's hard to imagine a more frightening environment than the one Robison describes. He is not only terrorized by his “nighttime” father who drinks and beats him, but he is further handicapped by his Asperger’s, which makes processing the abuse even more difficult. The victimization he suffers as a child makes him aggressive as an adult, and his inability to understand the consequences of his actions becomes an incentive to continue them. His behavior ranges from cruel (convincing his mother that his brother was abducted by a stranger) to criminal (staging a mock hanging over a flaming pentagram). Knowing the trauma Robison suffered as a child makes his behavior understandable if not forgivable.
Although Robison spends much of his life resenting his parents, he eventually finds the inner strength to forgive them. The catalyst is his father’s impending death. Some might hold on to their resentment and view their abuser’s death with a smug serves him right; but when his father reminds him of the good times, Robison sees him in a new light, not as an inhuman monster but as a damaged human being who tried, and frequently failed, to do his best. Forgiveness requires letting go of resentment, which can be difficult when resentment has become an intrinsic (and familiar) part of one’s identity. Robison is able to forgive because, as he releases so much of his damaged past, he jettisons his resentment alongside the rest of the baggage.
During Robison’s childhood, the most frequent reactions to his unusual behavior are anger or rejection. Both reactions stem from a fear of difference. Humans may be hardwired to respond this way. Hunter-gatherers living 500,000 years ago had to be suspicious of anything out of the ordinary if they were to survive; although those days are long gone, vestiges of those primal fears remain. Whether it’s fear of immigration or cultural inclusion or even fear of someone who lacks social skills, if left unchecked, it can turn into aggression and hate. Robison experiences these reactions throughout his early years. When he giggles at hearing about the death of a stranger, his mother shoots him a what-is-wrong-with-you look; with no outlet for his boredom at school, administrators choose to expel him rather than tailor a curriculum to his advanced level. He is told “You’re just a screwup” or “You belong in prison” (271). Robison internalizes these reactions and believes them to be true—and consequently, he behaves as if they are true. Granted, some of these reactions are justified, given the lack of understanding of Asperger’s and the destructiveness of Robison’s actions, but how many young lives are lost to suicide or prison because of a similar lack of understanding?
Despite its hereditary antecedents, much fear is learned behavior. Adults have the capability to unlearn those fears and learn tolerance instead. As awareness of autism spectrum disorder has entered the public consciousness, fear and misunderstanding have declined, and public institutions now have the resources to support those individuals. Fear, one of the most powerful human emotions, has its place, but when it results in marginalization and “othering” (treating people as inherently different and therefore inferior), it’s time for the rational brain to step in.