The Freudian view seemed to be that people consist of Ids, ego's and superego's. People are supposedly also inhabited by something called a subconscious, a mysterious entity with a tendency to think naughty thoughts and keep them a secret from one's conscious self. When this naughty subconscious takes over and controls one's actions - without permission - people become neurotic. If the patient lies on a couch and talks, and a psychiatrist listens, the subconscious might be tricked into revealing itself. Once enticed out into the open by a therapist, the subconscious supposedly looses its power to cause neurosis.

A Few Impertinent Questions

About Autism, Freudianism and MaterialismBy Berthajane Vandegrift

AuthorHouse

Copyright © 2010 Berthajane Vandegrift
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4520-1645-0

Contents

Question 1......................1Question 2......................5Question 3......................11Question 4......................16Question 5......................22Question 6......................27Question 7......................35Question 8......................41Question 9......................45Question 10.....................50Question 11.....................59Question 12.....................66Question 13.....................70Question 14.....................76Question 15.....................80Question 16.....................88Question 17.....................98Question 18.....................104Question 19.....................108Question 20.....................113Question 21.....................123Question 22.....................130Question 23.....................136Question 24.....................144Question 25.....................150Question 26.....................157Question 27.....................162Question 28.....................166Question 29.....................168Question 30.....................171Question 31.....................179Question 32.....................182Question 33.....................187

Chapter One

Question 1

Is any segment of society immune from silly ideas?

"Tell me about yourself," the young paediatrician said.

Wearing a starched white coat over his Army uniform, the doctor sat behind his desk regarding me gravely through horn-rimmed glasses. I stared back, baffled. It sounded like something a psychiatrist might say, not a paediatrician! The silence became uncomfortable. The partitions of the Army clinic were flimsy, and I could hear a buzz of activity out in the crowded waiting room.

I always dreaded talking to doctors, those intimidating authority figureswithmysteriouspowerstocureobscure,life-threateningillnesses. Army clinics were busy, and in those days we didn't consult a doctor for colds and minor problems. I often felt the obligation to convince them my problem was sufficiently grave. However on this particular occasion no one was sick, and I hadn't arrived at the paediatrician's office in my usual state of anxiety. I'd brought my three-year-old son to the clinic, not because I thought something was wrong with him, but merely because a neighbour had suggested it. I would have felt foolish admitting I'd brought my child to a doctor just because a neighbour disapproved of him, so I explained Tony didn't talk much, was still in diapers, and maybe he should have a check-up. But instead of examining Tony, the doctor kept trying to initiate personal conversation.

"How do you like the new administration in Washington?" he asked.

"It's exciting, isn't it?"

"Society will be in trouble unless people start taking responsibility for their own lives," the doctor said disapprovingly. "People expect the government to do everything for them."

I was a political liberal, who believed some of mankind's most magnificent accomplishments have been achieved, collectively, through government action. The abolition of slavery and the end of segregation were bitterly contested at the time, but most of us are proud of such triumphs today. Establishment of an education system and social security were less controversial, but nostalgia for a more primitive society always ensures that creation of any new institution faces some opposition. So I admired Kennedy, our new liberal young president, but I also realized other people have different attitudes. Some people seem to feel a near religious reference for "private enterprise", and believe government should never interfere with the "survival of the fittest". (And the elimination of the unfit, I assume.) Apparently this doctor and I would disagree on politics, I decided, but this didn't seem an appropriate place for such a discussion. I sat silently waiting for him to begin examining Tony.

"So, tell me about yourself," the doctor said again.

Tony was busy examining the contents of the wastebasket. "Tony sometimes has a rather violent temper," I finally said, hoping to return the doctor's attention to his patient. Maybe one of Tony's glands needed adjusting or something.

"Does he understand what you say to him?"

"I'm never sure. He rarely does what I tell him, but he's very independent and stubborn."

Tony was on his knees, his little blue-jean-clad rear-end up in the air and his head on the floor, trying to see under a partition into the next office. If anyone were on the other side of that partition, they'd probably feel uncomfortable to see his bright, inquisitive little face peering up at them. I picked him up and held him on my lap.

"How does he get along with other children?"

I thought a moment. "I don't think I've noticed him play with other children."

"Does he have opportunities to be around them?"

"Off and on, I guess. Actually, he doesn't play with his brother and sister very much." I admitted.

"Where do you live?"

"In a big old house on a hill behind San Rafael."

"You own your home?" I nodded. "You are lucky to own property in such a valuable area," he continued.

He seemed to expect a response, so I tried to think of one. "The house is a hundred years old and has termites," I said. "In the coming depression, it probably won't be worth what we paid for it."

"We don't have depressions any more," the doctor scoffed.

Many of us who grew up during the thirties, sometimes accused of having depression mentalities, didn't really trust prosperity, but the doctor's comment seemed condescending. "You are probably too young to know what a depression is," I said.

The doctor frowned. I was startled by my own impertinence. Suffering from shyness, I was rarely rude or impudent. Perhaps the doctor was making an effort to be friendly. Army doctors were not known for a bedside manner, and I'd never before encountered one with either time or inclination for such personal conversation.

"Tell me about your husband," he suggested after a moment.

Tony slid off my lap to examine the scales. Again, I was baffled. I couldn't imagine why our personal lives might be of concern to this paediatrician. Surely he wasn't interested in Ike's vital statistics, such as height, weight or eye-colour. "He's stationed in Greenland at the moment," I said.

"Uh-oh! That's bad." Another strange comment for an Army doctor to make. There was nothing unusual about overseas duty in military families. I eyed the doctor silently, and he continued. "How do you feel about your husband's absence?"

"Well he'll be home in a couple of months."

The doctor glanced at Tony. After trying to turn the valves under the sink, Tony had crawled onto a bookcase. With a self-satisfied smile, he crouched on the bottom shelf like a life-sized bookend.

"Ever since you came, your little boy has been running around the office examining the equipment. He's paid no attention to me." The doctor watched as Tony left the bookcase to crawl under the desk.

"Why he's hardly aware I'm in the room!" the doctor exclaimed.

You haven't done anything but talk, I thought, and Tony doesn't understand much of that. However I wasn't accustomed to arguing with doctors, and I nodded.

"Your child is not normal," he said.

"You really think so?" I murmured.

His words seemed to have no impact upon me. After all, he...