Introduction
The Empathy Quotient (EQ) test was designed by Simon Baron-Cohen and Sally Wheelwright, and is included in their 2004 paper The Empathy Quotient: An Investigation of Adults with Asperger’s Syndrome or High-Functioning Autism, and Normal Sex Differences. It is frequently used as one of the primary measures of empathy in autistic people, and is often brought forward to support the twin contentions that a) autistic people have below-average levels of empathy and that b) autism is, by definition, a low-empathy condition.
The test consists of a series of 60 statements, to which the respondent must answer one of the following:
- Definitely agree
- Slightly agree
- Slightly disagree
- Definitely disagree
The resulting test scores are interpreted in the following ways:
- 0 – 32 = low (most people with Asperger Syndrome or high-functioning autism score about 20)
- 33 – 52 = average (most women score about 47 and most men score about 42)
- 53 – 63 is above average
- 64 – 80 is very high
- 80 is maximum
As is standard for questionnaires and psychological tests, there are a number of “filler statements” that have nothing to do with the purpose of the test. On the EQ test, twenty filler statements are inserted, in the words of the authors, “to distract the participant from a relentless focus on empathy.” (Baron-Cohen and Wheelwright, 166)
I’ve gone through all 60 statements on the EQ test and attempted to categorize them under the following headings:
- Filler statements
- Statements regarding cognitive empathy
- Statements regarding emotional/affective empathy
As far as I can tell, statements 2, 3, 5, 7, 9, 13, 16, 17, 20, 23, 24, 30, 31, 33, 40, 45, 47, 51, 53, and 56 are the filler statements. I won’t be critiquing them, since they have no impact on the EQ score.
Regarding the other two categories, the authors are quick to point out that, when setting up the test, they attempted to make a distinction between statements designed to measure cognitive empathy and statements designed to measure emotional/affective empathy, but gave up on the effort because there is so much overlap. I am very cognizant of the complex nature of the overlap, but I’ve separated these statements out, mainly for the purpose organizing my critique. In the category of cognitive empathy, I have also separated the statements about reading nonverbal cues from the statements about perspective taking.
The critique consists of these components:
The Introduction provide a discussion of the basics of the EQ test.
Part 1 provides a definition of cognitive empathy, along with a critique of the statements on the EQ test concerning cognitive empathy and nonverbal cues.
Part 2 examines the statements on the EQ test that cover cognitive empathy and perspective taking.
Part 3 provides a definition of emotional/affective empathy and includes a consideration of the statements on the EQ test that speak to this form of empathy
The Conclusion brings together my thoughts about the general nature of the test and its implications for autistic people.
Part 1
Definitions
Of the 40 statements geared toward measuring empathy on the EQ test, the vast majority – 27 – have primarily to do with cognitive empathy. Of course, some of these statements encompass both cognitive and emotional components, but in them, a lack of cognitive empathy is an implicit explanation for the lack of a normative emotional response, so I have included them under the cognitive empathy heading.
In The Empathy Quotient, Baron-Cohen and Wheelwright draw on a definition of cognitive empathy as “using a ‘theory of mind’ (Astington, Harris, & Olson, 1988; Wellman, 1990) or ‘mindreading’ (Baron-Cohen, 1995; Whiten, 1991).” According to the authors, cognitive empathy encompasses “setting aside one’s own current perspective, attributing a mental state (or ‘attitude’) to the other person (Leslie, 1987), and then inferring the likely content of their mental state, given the experience of that person.” (Baron-Cohen and Wheelwright, 164)
For those not familiar with the term “theory of mind (ToM),” Baron-Cohen defines it in the following way in his 2001 paper Theory of mind in normal development and autism:
A theory of mind remains one of the quintessential abilities that makes us human (Whiten, 1993). By theory of mind we mean being able to infer the full range of mental states (beliefs, desires, intentions, imagination, emotions, etc.) that cause action. In brief, having a theory of mind is to be able to reflect on the contents of one’s own and other’s minds. Difficulty in understanding other minds is a core cognitive feature of autism spectrum conditions. The theory of mind difficulties seem to be universal among such individuals.” (Baron-Cohen, 3)
I’m including the preceding paragraph not only for purposes of definition, but also to illustrate a) Baron-Cohen’s assumption that autistic people lack a ToM, and b) to make clear the rather dire consequences of this conclusion for autistic people — that is, that we lack one of the essential qualities of full humanity. Because the definition of cognitive empathy in use on the EQ test is based on an equivalence with ToM, and because Baron-Cohen considers ToM a quintessential component of humanity, it’s vitally important to critique the sections of the EQ test that contribute to his conclusions about cognitive empathy and autism.
I want to point out that the definition of cognitive empathy being used in Baron-Cohen and Wheelwright’s paper is quite different from the one that I have been using for some time. In my understanding, cognitive empathy has to do with being able to read nonverbal cues (body language, facial expressions, the expressions in the eyes, and so on) in order to intuitively “tune in” to what another person is thinking or feeling. I have not been using it simply to cover being able to see things from another person’s perspective or to understand the other person’s mental state.
To me, these are two separate, albeit related, processes. I have difficulty reading the nonverbal cues of non-autistic people, but I can’t remember a time in my life that I didn’t ask numerous questions or make numerous observations in order to understand the perspectives of other people; and I certainly can’t recall ever making the assumption other people’s thoughts and feelings were exactly like my own in every instance. In fact, my perception that my family members had values, and perspectives, and thoughts, and feelings that were altogether different from my own engendered a deep sense of aloneness in me from the time I was very young. Feeling like a stranger in a strange land is common for autistic people; the sense of being an anthropologist from Mars is a reflection of the fact that we are often keenly aware that other people perceive the world in ways vastly different from our own, and that we seek to make sense of it.
Given that I consider the reading of nonverbal cues and the ability to understand the perspective of others two separate processes, I will speak to the statements concerning them separately.
Statements that measure being able to read nonverbal cues
Here are the 15 statements on the EQ test that measure the respondent’s ability to pick up nonverbal cues:
1. I can easily tell if someone else wants to enter a conversation.
8. I find it hard to know what to do in a social situation.
10. People often tell me that I went too far in driving my point home in a discussion.
14. I often find it difficult to judge if something is rude or polite.
19. I can pick up quickly if someone says one thing but means another.
26. I am quick to spot when someone in a group is feeling awkward or uncomfortable.
35. I don’t tend to find social situations confusing.
41. I can easily tell if someone else is interested or bored with what I am saying.
44. I can sense if I am intruding, even if the other person doesn’t tell me.
46. People sometimes tell me that I have gone too far with teasing.
52. I can tune in to how someone else feels rapidly and intuitively.
54. I can easily work out what another person might want to talk about.
55. I can tell if someone is masking their true emotion.
57. I don’t consciously work out the rules of social situations.
58. I am good at predicting what someone will do.
I’ll begin by pointing out the inherent biases of these statements. They were clearly written by non-autistic people, with the assumption that the person being observed by the respondent is non-autistic, and that the social settings to which they refer are composed mainly of non-autistic people. (For example, the statement “I find it hard to know what to do in a social situation,” assumes a conventional social situation in which most, if not all, of the other people are non-autistic.) In other words, the statements are created by “normal” people, to measure responses to “normal” people, in “normal” settings.
When it comes to measuring empathy, this bias is a significantly troubling one — not just for autistic people, but for disabled people in general. The statements do not come from the perspective of autistic/disabled experience, they do not measure the respondent’s ability to read the nonverbal expression of autistic/disabled people, they do not consider the social position of autistic/disabled people in conventional social settings, and they do not consider any settings in which autistic/disabled people are the majority members.
To understand the implications of this bias, consider the first statement: “I can easily tell if someone else wants to enter a conversation.” As an autistic person, when I am in a “normal” social situation, I have great difficulty knowing when to jump into a conversation, and I am mystified by the fact that others seem to be reading one another’s signals and knowing when to let one another in. (In settings with autistic people, I do not have similar difficulties, as I understand both the cues and the social norms much better.) So, I would likely answer “Strongly disagree” to the first statement, simply because most situations in which I find myself involve “normal” people, who put out cues I do not understand; my answer, based solely on my minority status, would contribute to a lower empathy score. (I could skew the results by imagining myself only in situations with autistic people, but since the test is clearly measuring what happens in normative situations, I would respond to the statement based on the totality of my experience.)
Because the people writing the test are non-autistic, they have no idea of the methods that I use to work around the problem of being unable to read “normal” social cues. In instances in which I cannot intuitively tell when someone wants to enter a conversation, I tend to consciously look for people who aren’t able to get a word in edgewise, and I attempt to make room for them. In terms of perspective taking, this approach shows a significant level of cognitive empathy: I observe process, I see who is being excluded, and I identify with the experience of exclusion to such a degree that I attempt to ease the discomfort of other people. The fact that the authors of the test do not understand my adaptive mechanisms is quite problematic, because while my inability to tell when “normal” people want to enter a conversation would contribute to a low score, my adaptive mechanisms reflect a high level of cognitive empathy that the test does not pick up.
The statement about knowing when to include others in a conversation also fails to address the issue of what happens to autistic or otherwise disabled people in “normal” social settings. Given the social roles in which disabled people tend to be cast, this omission is a serious one. Disabled people often find ourselves wanting to enter a conversation in a social setting, only to have other people exclude us completely. I have been in a number of situations in which I’ve had this experience. “Normal” people were unable to read my nonverbal signals sufficiently to bring me in; in fact, they rendered me socially invisible. I always hesitate to talk in universals, but this experience is about as close to a universal one as you can find for disabled people, and anyone familiar with both the experience and the sociology of disability easily understands it.
I’m certain that if you asked most “normal” people whether they chronically fail to notice when disabled people want to enter a conversation, they’d deny it. For the most part, they pay so little attention to us that they probably don’t even realize what they’re doing. But these are the very same people who would very likely answer “Strongly agree” in response to the statement that they can easily tell if a person wants to enter a conversation. And the only reason that, according to the test, such a response is valid is because, in most instances, such people actually do notice other people sufficiently to read their signals. Thus, all the response indicates is that people in the majority are attentive to other people in the majority. It does not address a bias against disabled people, in the same setting, that is based on anything but empathy.
Finally, all of the statements that cover one’s ability to decipher the nonverbal cues of “normal” people rest on the assumption that everyone should be able to intuitively do so, and that an inability to do so is evidence of a lack of empathy. For example, the statement “I am quick to spot when someone in a group is feeling awkward or uncomfortable,” assumes that the respondent is looking at a non-autistic person. In this instance, I can certainly see how it might be difficult for an autistic person to quickly spot whether a non-autistic feels awkward or uncomfortable, because of difficulties in reading the person’s cues. I can also see how it might be easy for a non-autistic person to quickly spot whether another non-autistic person feels awkward or uncomfortable, because of an understanding of those same cues.
But of course, the test does not assume that the person being observed is autistic, that everyone should intuitively be able to read the nonverbal cues of the autistic person, and that an inability to do so is evidence of a lack of empathy. After all, if the statement about intuitively reading awkwardness or discomfort assumed that the respondent were looking at an autistic person, the results would come out quite differently, for two reasons: a) autistic people stand a better chance of reading one another’s signals properly, and b) non-autistic people usually find it very difficult to read autistic people’s signals properly.
For example, when I am in a store in which very loud music is playing, I have never had the experience of a non-autistic person being able to read my discomfort or note my awkwardness. Not once. Not ever. And yet, for me (and for a great many other autistic people), being in a store with very loud music is the hell-realm, and the question of whether to stay or go, whether to ask the store manager to turn down the music or not, whether to cry with frustration or put my fingers in my ears, places me in an extremely awkward position. My experience surpasses “normal” social awkwardness and “normal” social discomfort by several orders of magnitude, and yet non-autistic people fail to intuitively recognize that I’m having any kind of aversive experience at all. In every such situation I enter, I have to explain my experience, in detail, if I am to stand a chance of someone responding appropriately.
In general, when it comes to their relationships with autistic people, most non-autistics cannot, in the language of statement 52, “tune in to how someone else feels rapidly and intuitively.” And yet, of course, no one considers neurotypicality to be, by definition, a low-empathy condition.
Next: In Part 2, I will turn to the issue of perspective taking.
© 2011 by Rachel Cohen-Rottenberg
I’m so glad you have the brains and the language to analyze things that pose the most difficulty for me. Thanks!
Looking forward to part 2.
As always, Ben, thank you for your friendship and support. They are both much appreciated.
[quote]The statement about knowing when to include others in a conversation also fails to address the issue of what happens to autistic or otherwise disabled people in “normal” social settings.[/quote]
That one jumped out at me for similar reasons. How the hell can I know when to include others in a conversation when I can’t get into the conversation myself in the first place?!?!?! (My husband tries to help, which I appreciate, but it still means I’m unable to enter a conversation by myself–I need him to create the opening for me. Argh!) I’ve gotten to the point where I won’t say anything more than once because I figure if they gave a damn they’d listen in the first place (I am sick. and. tired. of people talking over me all the time! Shut up and let me speak dammit!) Owls doesn’t like it, but I shouldn’t have to fuskin’ repeat myself!
(Um, yeah, if you haven’t noticed, this is a big flashing red button for me…)
Jayn, I hear you. I have had exactly the same experience, which is why this particular question jumped out at me, too. I have spent so many hours of my life with my NT husband in social situations while “normal” people talk in non-stop monologues to him, never even glancing in my direction, and never allowing him to get a word in edgewise. I usually stand there thinking, “Surely, any minute now, this person is going to stop being so rude.” Often, it doesn’t happen.
My husband and I have spent a great deal of time debriefing from these kinds of situations, and he feels just as I do in those moments. When I ask him why he doesn’t jump in and say, “You know, my wife is standing right there, and you’re acting as though she doesn’t exist,” he’ll say, “I know I should, but whenever we run into these things, I’m standing there in such a state of sheer disbelief that I find myself operating on the assumption that, at any moment, surely, the person is going to come to their senses.”
Great critique, looking forward to the next parts. Although I’m aware of the distinction between cognitive and affective empathy and how they may be differentially affected in autism, I hadn’t thought about how much the thinking about these things is derived from the majority, neurotypical point of view. Disability rights in general is a new topic for me, and it’s been very enlightening to think about disability and neuro-atypicality from a “social model” perspective.
I must admit, though, that I am inclined to simply toss out anything Simon Baron-Cohen thinks up, not to engage in constructive criticism. His “extreme male brain” theory is lousy, but could perhaps be put in the category of “inaccurate theories” (hey, it happens), but now that he’s written “The Science of Evil”, I am way past detached disagreement. I’ve had the borderline diagnosis considered, and it is outrageous that Baron-Cohen would’ve labelled me or anyone evil because of that diagnosis. Certainly people suffering from BPD (and as much as loved ones can suffer due to BPD behaviors, the borderline undoubtedly suffers worse — not for nothing is it one of the most lethal psychiatric disorders out there) deserve more empathy, not even less than they’re already getting.
I suppose it is nice that he does not declare autistic people evil, but personally (being currently in evaluation for a possible ASD diagnosis) I am still quite offended that he so clearly considers autistic people not fully human. No-one ought to be publishing papers simultaneously declaring a given capacity to be “what makes us human” and attempting to show how some people don’t have this capacity. Certainly if you are writing a book on evil you ought to be aware of the disastrous consequences that often occur once you start painting a group of people as less-than-human. We need better (and, dare I say it, more empathic) scientists writing our pop sci books. And doing our science!
Anna, research has shown that people with BPD actually have an extreme amount of empathy and an inability to regulate their emotions, they are massively sensitive and their emotions are like burnt flesh. I know this because I have spent months researching it myself and also have it as a co-morbid alongside AS. The problem is that BPD is a trashcan diagnosis with a huge amount of stigma attached to it and many professionals misdiagnose people with it so anyone with various presentations of anxiety, depression, self harm etc often gets labelled with it.
Some people believe it is a form of PTSD, others believe it is part of the Bipolar spectrum, some say it is caused by abuse and others say you are born that way with different neurological wiring. Also, many sociopaths and dangerous people get labelled with it. It is also a common misdiagnosis given to women who actually have Asperger’s Syndrome. What i know for sure is that most people with BPD are not evil, far from it, they are incredibly sensitive, hurting people. Simon Baron-Cohen and other “professionals” like him have a lot to answer for.
Nikki, I quite agree with everything you’ve said. BPD is very much used as a trashcan diagnosis for anyone that a psychiatrist or therapist doesn’t like very much. Even professionals seem to have forgotten that there are actual criteria for the BPD. For instance, although “some borderline traits” was always noted on axis II for me (alongside far more prominent avoidant traits), the full diagnosis was suddenly considered when I was “being difficult” and not improving in therapy. I think one big reason why Marsha Linehan’s work on BPD is so much better than the usual is because she’s been there herself and knows exactly what it is like.
Hi Anna,
I well understand your feelings. I write fairly dispassionately about Baron-Cohen’s work, but I do so because I feel it’s necessary to counter his ideas with as much intellectual discipline as possible. It can be very, very difficult on my mind and heart to engage his work, but I am so concerned about its potential impact on the lives of autistic people that I feel a strong need to speak to it.
I’ve also heard a lot about the response of people in the BPD community to his latest book. I don’t know a lot about BPD, but from what I understand, people in the BPD community are as troubled by his characterizations of them as we are about his characterizations of us.
I am thankful you are doing this “heavy lifting” in countering Baron-Cohen’s work, it is really necessary. I think scientists often forget that, although science as a method is value-free, the scientists themselves very much bring their own experiences, prejudices and paradigms along. There really is no such thing as an “objective observer”.
I so identify with: “I have difficulty reading the nonverbal cues of non-autistic people, but I can’t remember a time in my life that I didn’t ask numerous questions or make numerous observations in order to understand the perspectives of other people; and I certainly can’t recall ever making the assumption other people’s thoughts and feelings were always exactly like my own.” Normal people’s hearts go out to people but then pop right back into their chest. Let’s say someone says they have a migraine. A normal response may be instantly sympathetic but unless the migraine person keeps grimacing, the normal response may ignore the true state of the migraine person. A spectrummer in that situation would continue to attend to the migraine (keeping quiet around the person,not attempting to engage)regardless of body language. Surely that counts for something. Looking forward to your continued writings.
Hi Jean,
I can very much relate to what you’re saying. Because I understand the need for quiet and non-engagement, I do a very good job of perceiving when other people need that, even in the absence of obvious physical cues, and if I’m unsure, I err on the side of caution. My sensitivity to the sensory and emotional worlds make me more empathetic rather than less, because I feel things so keenly.
The people with the lowest levels of empathy I have ever met were all extroverted neurotypicals and as insensitive as a rhinoceros skin. (I know they are not all like that BTW) Simon Baron-Cohen’s “theories” for that is all they are really need to be discredited, he himself displays a shocking lack of sensitivity.
Wonderful post and cannot wait for parts 2&3.
Yup, ditto. Not just most lacking in compassion (which I think is a learned identification with others’ pain, as opposed to empathy, which I think is a natural instinct for most people), but the most cruel and callous people I’ve ever known have all been the most “normal” and even desirable by conventional social standards.
Yes. This.
I wish I had the words right now to respond to this post and pretty much all of Rachel’s posts. They all make me think so much and I have so much to say in response that it takes me a while to articulate and organize it all. So for now I’ll just agree with these comments. I’m also looking forward to parts 2 and 3!
I score really low on the EQ…15, which apparently is low even for people with AS. And I do consider it accurate insofar as it measures what we’re calling cognitive empathy or inability to read nonverbal social cues. It’s not the test I have an issue with, only that it’s called something it isn’t. Call it a test of social ease or something, if that’s what it’s actually measuring.
There’s also a gap in the test’s ability to distinguish between ability to gather emotional information, and what you do with it when you have it. Unlike what you and many other autistic people report, Rachel, I actually do have a lot of trouble picking up emotional states from other people…at least when I know nothing about the person or the context of their situation. I can’t walk into a room and feel what everyone’s feeling. But given enough information, or the ability to get it, I think that I can empathize deeply with someone in a situation that I can understand. I can easily identify with other people if I can draw some kind of analogy between their situation and something I’ve experienced. When my ability to get the information I need is jeopardized, is when I do have trouble making an empathic link. But if I can have the information, I regularly find that I empathize far more with people different from myself than most NT people do.
This morning, for instance, I was trying to get my brother and cousin to empathize with Japanese-Americans rounded up and imprisoned without evidence or trial during WWII. It was a losing battle.
I can easily tell when my best friend is upset and intuit something about the probable reasons, and what I can possibly do to be a comfort. I can’t do that for a random stranger when I have no information.
Also, I find that most accounts of autism, at least in my experience, insufficiently consider the role alexithymia in the appearance of lack of empathy or lack of emotional affect. I can feel something very keenly and clearly, but not be able to access the language for it…even that the intensity with which I experience something can directly inhibit my ability to describe it or do anything about it.
Chavisory, you’ve just touched on one of the main reasons I’ve always been a writer. My experience of life is so acute, and I can feel my emotions so intensely, that it’s sometimes difficult to go to the place of spoken language and find the right labels. I don’t think it’s an inability to define emotion, per se; I think it’s more a sense of being in the midst of a very intense experience for which words are only imperfect symbols. I sometimes feel as though there aren’t enough words to describe my experience; my feeling of happiness, for instance, isn’t just happiness. It’s also delight, and feeling thrilled, and feeling excited, and I experience these feelings with my whole body. If I don’t want to just be standing in the full power of the experience, I have to have some way of framing it and standing back from it. Written language works better than spoken language when I’m trying to express the power of how I feel.
Wonderful post. Thanks for pointing out that NT people never pick up on our (my) distress in certain situations, noisy rooms full of chatter, overwhelming perfumes etc. In those situations I am near tears or ready to howl in agony and NT people are utterly oblivious. I hadn’t considered that before. I look forward to your next post!
Thank you, Larry. Glad to help!
Fascinating and eye-opening critique, thank you for taking the time to examine the test and its assumptions, and for sharing your thoughts and insights in such a clear and structured manner. Excellent. Looking forward to reading the future parts.
Thank you, A&O. I’ll be posting Part 2 in the next few days.
The test also assumes that you are interacting with people from your own culture or one in which you’ve lived for some time. I’ve lived in a few different countries and know that when you first arrive in a new culture, you *have to* “consciously work out the rules of social situations.” The adjustment can actually be easier for folks on the spectrum because the way approach you have to approach socializing in a new culture is a lot like the way we approach socializing with NTs.
When I lived in France for a short time, I had just the experience you’re describing; I was very comfortable there, even though I showed up with a pretty shaky command of French. It was expected that I’d have a learning curve, and I was used to being the outsider trying to figure out the rules of engagement. There was the added bonus of being an American who always tried to speak French, and never assumed that other people should automatically speak English. Even though I was struggling at first, people would often encourage me by telling me that I was doing very well — mainly out of appreciation for the fact that I was showing them the respect of using their language.
I didn’t want to go too far afield in my critique, but it occurred to me that the test also fails to take into account differences of culture. To touch on one example among many, the issue of not being able to tell whether something is rude or polite could be a question of cross-cultural blundering, and not a question of empathy. Growing up in a Jewish family of die-hard atheists meant I could say certain things in my original family that I couldn’t say, for example, in the home of my first husband’s mother, who was an evangelical Christian. In my childhood home, saying “Oh my God!” was just a neutral interjection, like “Wow!” or “Oh, no!” In my former mother-in-law’s home, it was considered completely rude and disrespectful, and I learned not to do it, but only after being told that it wasn’t appropriate in that environment.
I like this critique. I’ve taken online versions of the EQ and scored around 16 or so, but the questions themselves felt rather odd to me, and I agree with what you say about them focusing on reading body language versus being able to take perspectives.
That said:
I have so many mixed feelings about this. I remember times when I actually believed everyone’s thoughts and feelings were exactly like my own. I remember very clearly when I learned (rather abruptly, but at least not violently) that not everyone was unhappy with their sex assigned at birth, for example. But it had to be chipped away one piece at a time, not something that hit me all at once.
I do recall as it became increasingly obvious wondering if other people perceived the same food as having the same flavors as I did, or if they perceived the same colors. But I still have difficulties with this. I know over the years that when people disagreed with me it could be shocking and disturbing.
I sometimes find it difficult to “attribute thoughts and feelings” to other people unless I know them really well, or they’re engaged in a particular pattern of behavior that I have experience with. If I have a lot of time to stop and think about it rather than react based on my perceptions, I can do a lot better, but in a social situation it’s more complex than that. I can pass the Sally-Anne test but in a real-time interaction I’ve managed to fail on similar real world points.
That said, I do think that Simon Baron-Cohen’s definitions are definitely off the mark, and I do not believe that – statistically speaking – marking cognitive empathy impairments as a core deficit in autism is supported by the research.
I am not sure if this is the same paper I read the last time I looked this up, but it has a good critique of the theory of mind hypothesis.
Hi Lisa,
You make a number of excellent points, all of which indicate to me that I need be clearer about what I mean by the sentence, “I certainly can’t recall ever making the assumption other people’s thoughts and feelings were always exactly like my own.” I think it’s important to differentiate between a belief that others experience themselves and the world as I do in general, and belief that others share my thoughts and feelings in every specific instance.
General belief: It’s very common for both non-autistic people and autistic people to believe, at some point, that everyone experiences themselves and the world in similar ways. For example, I used to believe that everyone experienced sound as I do — loudly and with almost no filtering. I accounted for the fact that most people could converse in rooms with loud music without getting irritable and exhausted by telling myself that they simply had greater discipline, willpower, and maturity than I did. A false belief? Certainly. But such false beliefs also run in the opposite direction. In the same situations, no one understood that I experienced sound differently than they did. Based on that assumption, they were unable to read my distress and respond appropriately to it.
Present research on autism and empathy is shot through with similar kinds of assumptions, such as the belief that autistic people withdraw from social situations because we’re not interested in other people. Certainly, this may be true for some, but there are a number of other reasons that we withdraw — overstimulation, sensory overload, difficulty parsing spoken language in real-time, empathic overload, exclusion, a history of bullying, and so forth. And yet, non-autistic people often make the assumption that you enter a social situation because you’re interested in other people, and that you therefore withdraw from a social situation because you’re not. They then project that false belief onto us, and make the assumption that we withdraw from these situations for the same reasons they do. They’re unable to understand that we perceive and experience the world differently. So, we’re all stuck in our own perspectives to one degree or another.
Specific beliefs: I think it’s quite common for people to believe that a specific idea that is obvious to them is obvious to everyone else. For example, when I was teaching freshman English, I had to constantly remind some of my students to back up their opinions with supporting arguments, because they often said to me, “But it’s so obvious!” They just couldn’t grok that others could see the same issue in different terms. But that is different from believing that other people’s thoughts and feelings are *always* the same as one’s own (which is why I put “always” in the sentence). After all, the first time one is misunderstood, or told off, or bullied, or abused, or told that one is wrong, or excluded, or dismissed, it becomes obvious that other people are coming from a perspective different from one’s own.
I really appreciate your comments here, Lisa. They help me see where I’m not being clear, and they help me think about these issues in a more detailed way. I’m going to revise this post a bit to be more clear, and I’ll likely incorporate some of this discussion into my post on perspective taking. Thank you!
“For example, when I was teaching freshman English, I had to constantly remind some of my students to back up their opinions with supporting arguments, because they often said to me, “But it’s so obvious!””
This, plus a general lack of patience, is why I stopped giving people help with their math homework. (It’s also why conservative arguments tend to piss me off. I understand the theory of, say, trickle-down economics–I just can’t grok why people think employers would actually behave the in the manner required for it to work.)
I’m glad this is helping you clarify. I am not sure I was able to get across what I was trying to say, but perhaps it’ll be easier when your later posts are up.
After all, if the statement about intuitively reading awkwardness or discomfort assumed that the respondent were looking at an autistic person, the results would come out quite differently, for two reasons: a) autistic people can often recognize one another’s signals quite well, and b) non-autistic people usually find it very difficult to read autistic people properly.
There is a slight caveat in that statement. Not all autists can perceive each others’ natural body language. Some responses and behaviors are unique to each person and their autistic dialect. An autist might misread my hand-flapping for joy or expressing elation when it could actually mean anxiety or confusion.
And that has happened before, a few times actually
Hi Nightstorm, you make an excellent point. I used “often” so as not to overgeneralize. I try to stay away from saying “all” or “none,” since there is always variation within a group. But I think I’m still running the risk of painting with too broad a brush. I’m going to change it to “autistic people stand a better chance of reading one another’s signals properly,” since we’re aware that the signals actually mean something about our emotional and sensory states. That is, if a person is hand-flapping, chances are that an autist is not going to assume that it’s just a meaningless and annoying behavior.
It’s very much like learning another language — and analogous to what non-autistic people need to do when they cross cultural boundaries. After all, if an American goes to a country in which making direct eye contact is considered aggressive, and in which not making eye contact is the norm, then that person will have to learn the social language of his or her fellow NTs. That process will not be intuitive, but will happen through observation, conversation, and trial and error.
Exactly, problem is there is a bit of arrogance with NT’s learning an autistic language is that it’s “Too hard” while it’s suppose to be “easy” for us to learn their language
Standardized tests are very dangerous to be used to pigeonhole people. Not everyone tests well. Unfortunately, that’s the trend.
Amen, brother.
I don’t test well, on standardized tests, because my anxiety level goes through the roof. I thank God I am not growing up now, with all these high stakes academic and psychological tests. I’d be tracked for menial labor, in all probability.
[...] Rachel at Journeys With Autism provides a brilliant analysis of how the tests that supposedly demonstrate low empathy in autistics are completely misguided: Because the people writing the test are non-autistic, they have no idea of the methods that I use to work around the problem of being unable to read “normal” social cues. In instances in which I cannot intuitively tell when someone wants to enter a conversation, I tend to consciously look for people who aren’t able to get a word in edgewise, and I attempt to make room for them. In terms of perspective taking, this approach shows a significant level of cognitive empathy: I observe process, I see who is being excluded, and I identify with the experience of exclusion to such a degree that I attempt to ease the discomfort of other people. The fact that the authors of the test do not understand my adaptive mechanisms is quite problematic, because while my inability to tell when “normal” people want to enter a conversation would contribute to a low score, my adaptive mechanisms reflect a high level of cognitive empathy that the test does not pick up. [...]
Hi, Rachel!
This is a terrific post; I’m really excited that you’re doing this series.
I have also had at least as much experience of non-autistic people being unable to read *my* body language, or intuit *my* state of mind, as I have had of being ignorant of theirs. And I say this as someone who is actually impaired at reading nonverbal cues, so that’s saying something.
Hi Lindsay, thanks for your support. I’ve enjoyed many of your analyses over the past couple of years, and I’m really glad to see you here and be able to return the favor.
I so appreciate your taking the time to go through this in so much detail – it is a wonderful post!
I had a very interesting experience recently when my husband invited an acquaintance of his to dinner at our house. This gentleman is about 10 years younger than us and has Asperger’s and Tourette’s. Most people probably wouldn’t be able to tell on a brief interaction.
Throughout the course of the evening, my husband was joking around with him and I had a strong sense that our friend was uncomfortable with it. He wasn’t showing cues that my husband could pick up on, however, and it almost seemed to me like he wasn’t confident enough to say anything about it.
I actually tried to get my husband to stop, but he ignored me. Later, when I talked to him about it, he admitted ignoring me because he thought that I was just joking or conjuring up a problem that didn’t really exist. Usually, my husband is the one explaining to me why people are reacting differently to me than I had expected them to, so he was really thrown by the experience of being in the opposite role and he couldn’t trust my instincts. Granted, his instincts are usually better than mine, but not in this case.
Let me say here that my husband did not have any ill will and did not even realize he was so far off base until I was able to talk frankly about it after our guest left. He was quite willing to learn and change his future behavior, but I could tell he was quite unsettled by the whole experience.
Hi AM,
I’ve had exactly the same kinds of experiences. I’m not sure exactly what’s at work, but I tend to be able to read the discomfort of people who are marginalized in some way, or who lack confidence, or who are shy, than I am at reading the discomfort of people who are closer to the center of things. I probably identify with the marginalization, and so I can see the signs of discomfort, because I recognize them in myself.
My NT husband and I had an interesting talk the other day along lines similar to the ones you raise. I asked him how he viewed me in terms of empathy. He said that I seem to have a lot of empathy for things that go right by him — and we’re talking here about a highly sensitive, very socially adept man. For example, there was a case in Atlanta recently about a single mom whose son ran out onto a highway and was killed; she was convicted of vehicular manslaughter, because she and her children weren’t using a crosswalk, but instead took a shortcut. (The sentencing judge gave her the option of a new trial, because he thought the verdict was so unjust, and she took it.) My husband said that when he heard about the case, he just thought, “Oh, that’s sad. The woman messed up and this is what happened.” And then he said to me, “You, on the other hand, thought about how tired she must have been shlepping her three kids from store to store, taking buses on a hot day, trying to avoid having to walk a half mile to get to a crosswalk, and how shortsighted the jurors were because they didn’t have the experience of being a single mother in Atlanta without a car. You definitely saw things from the mom’s point of view in a far more detailed way than I did.”
I think, in a lot of ways, my kind of empathy has to do with seeing detail and working out to the bigger picture. He starts with the bigger picture, so the details aren’t foregrounded, so he sometimes misses things that I pick up.
HI Rachel, another thought-provoking piece from you, as usual! I basically agree with what you are saying, with one additional point – that being able to ‘read’ other people’s non-verbal stuff is not the same as being willing to act on it. Take the statement “I can easily tell if someone else wants to enter a conversation.” Anyone who’s ever hovered on the edge of a clique, wanting to join in (as i have, all too often), can tell you that these people can see all too well that you want in to the conversation, but choose not to let you, instead snubbing you. Teenage girls are expert at this, but it’s not limited to them by any means. So someone could have good ‘non-verbal reading’ skills, but be about as ‘empathic’ as your average alligator!
My feeling is, that Baron-Cohen places too much emphasis on this type of (supposed) ‘empathy’. He confuses the two things – being able to read non-verbals, and the willingness/caring to act on them.
I did the SQ/EQ tests years ago. I got very high on SQ (which i’m happy with, as i consider my systemising abilities a strength), but i only scored 16 (the first time i did the test, and 7 the second time!) on the EQ test. I was surprised at this, as i consider myself to be a fairly ‘kind’ person, i’ve rarely if ever gone out of my way to harm another, i’ve always tried to be helpful and considerate (as soon as i perceive the need for it, which admittedly i can be slow on even now), i actively practise compassion, often feel sympathy, and yes empathy too, as *I* define it. I can ‘pick up’ negative vibes in a room, and take them all too much on board, and have had to learn to protect myself from this. So i don’t see the test as an accurate measure of my capacity for empathy, at all.
Baron-Cohen’s stuff sucks, to put it inelegantly!!!
Hi Kiwipen,
Baron-Cohen does make the distinction between reading cues and the willingness to act in an empathetic way. The problem is that, on the EQ test, more than two-thirds of the questions are about cognitive empathy, so our capacity for affective empathy gets short shrift, and we come out looking unempathetic.
Baron-Cohen also generally assumes that reading subtle social cues is the way in which everyone figures out what’s going on with other people. Of course, this is not the case. If you can’t read the cues, and you have language, you can ask people what’s going on. I usually have a very good sense that something is up; I may not know exactly what it is, but I’m capable of asking, and people generally appreciate it when I do. It’s an adaptation that I’ve used all my life. And I’ve also spent a lot of time on the boundaries of social situations and scoping them out. Standing on the boundaries is one of the reasons that I’m so good at observing process. I may not be able to pick up on all the subtle cues from neurotypical people, but I’m perfectly capable of watching and analyzing social dynamics, seeing who is being excluded, who is in the center, who is talking, who is feeling talked at, who is being ignored, and so on. Once I’ve done that, I can go over to a person standing on the outside looking pummeled and help them feel that someone else in the room actually sees them.
And of course, if you don’t have language, or are unable to tolerate the sensory and empathic overload of group situations, it doesn’t reflect a lack of empathy. It reflects a physical limitation.
Baron-Cohen may, IRL, know the difference between ‘being able to read someone’ and true empathy/caring. But *in the actual test* he confuses them – he claims to be testing for empathy, but in fact he’s testing for non-verbal reading skills. If he was actually testing for *true* empathy/caring, the question would read something like “as soon as I realize someone wants to join in a conversation, I immediately include them.” And so on. So his test is invalid, in that respect.
And like you, i tend to look round, see who’s on the ‘outer’, not happy, etc, and do my best to include them. This is true empathy, in my view.
To be fair, on the test, Baron-Cohen does differentiate between cognitive empathy (reading someone’s nonverbal cues) and emotional empathy (having a caring or otherwise appropriate emotional response). The problems are that:
a) Empathy may not be the right word to use regarding whether one can read nonverbal cues, and
b) If it is the right word, then one would have to admit that there are huge cognitive empathy failures on the part of non-autistics regarding autistics. Thus, the idea that autism is a low-empathy condition, and that neurotypicality is not, doesn’t hold water. By Baron-Cohen’s own definition, the cognitive empathy of “normal” people regarding autistics is just as low as our cognitive empathy regarding them — perhaps lower, since autistic people can spend a lifetime trying to understand the “normals,” while “normal” people may spend no time at all trying to understand us.
[...] Journeys with Autism » A Critique of the Empathy Quotient (EQ) Test: Introduction and Part 1 [...]
hi Rachel
I added a link to your article in the Empathy Cafe Magazine.
http://scoop.it/t/empathy-and-compassion
warmly
Edwin
Thank you so much, Edwin.
Blessings,
Rachel
You’ve done an excellent job of raising attention on the bias inherent in this test. Your reasoning is spot on. If you assume your own superiority, as it seems Simon Baron-Cohen has done, and then create a test to prove your own superiority, the outcome is assured.
Well put, Stephanie.
“For example, when I am in a store in which very loud music is playing, I have never had the experience of a non-autistic person being able to read my discomfort or note my awkwardness.”
I have had NTs recognize auditory sensitivity issues without me telling them on two separate occasions. (My family also recognizes these issues, but they’re probably not NT.)
On one occasion, a friend of mine who has CP and uses a scooter was leading me through a part of the university that she knew and I didn’t, and as we were waiting for the elevator, she suddenly said: “You may want to cover your ears.” Surprised, I did so, and then the elevator let out a loud and annoying beep as it arrived at the floor. As we boarded that elevator, I asked her how she knew I’d have trouble with the noise, and she said she had a high school classmate with Asperger Syndrome and he had trouble with loud noises. I also commented that this was the first time anyone had recognized a potential barrier for me and warned me about it.
The second time was at a party my Mom’s law firm was hosting. One of the family members of a coworker of hers was a woman who works with autistic kids, and had been told that I was autistic. I was getting more and more jumpy and scattered from all the noise. She commented to me and my parents that I looked like I was getting overloaded, and my Dad went and helped me find a quiet place to calm down.
Both people really surprised and impressed me with that behavior.
Hi Ettina,
I have had similar experiences with people who knew me and understood my sensory sensitivities. But they responded in that way as a result of a conscious learning process, not intuitively. Those who don’t know me, and therefore don’t know that I’m autistic, have never just read my signals and picked up my distress. I think the same is true for what you’re describing — once the people knew that you’re autistic, they responded with learned knowledge, and could venture a guess as to how you might feel and what you might need. This response isn’t any different from what autistics do, which is to consciously learn about how NT people operate and then respond accordingly.
[...] over at Journeys with Autism is doing a very detailed critique of the Empathy Quotient test, a series of questions often used to help diagnose people with autism [...]
[...] A Critique of the Empathy Quotient (EQ) Test: Introduction and Part 1 appears here by permission. [...]
[...] Journeys with Autism » A Critique of the Empathy Quotient (EQ) Test: Introduction and Part 1 [...]