The legacy of Hans Asperger, a man whose groundbreaking research on autism spectrum disorder (ASD) has been both celebrated and vilified in recent years. The discrepancy between the sympathetic portrayals of him as a compassionate and original thinker, as depicted in nonfiction books like NeuroTribes: The Legacy of Autism and How to Think Smarter About People Who Think Differently by Steve Silberman, and the far more sinister depiction of him as an enthusiastic supporter of Hitler, raises fundamental questions about how we understand historical figures and the complexities of human nature.
Asperger's work, which has been hailed as a pioneering contribution to our understanding of ASD, was also intimately entangled with the Nazi regime. It appears that he was involved in the transfer of children from the Vienna Children's Hospital to Am Spiegelgrund, a notorious concentration camp where many children were brutally murdered. This connection highlights the need for nuance in our evaluation of Asperger and his work.
The notion that collaboration is inherently aberrant and that those who resisted are exceptional has been widely debunked by historians like Prof Herwig Czech, who has spent years researching Austria's involvement in the medical crimes of the Third Reich. It becomes increasingly clear that a simplistic narrative about "good" vs. "evil" does not do justice to the complexities of human history.
The novel form, with its ability to mine those seams of human nature that we would rather ignore, offers a unique opportunity to explore these complexities in depth. Asperger's own story is told through the fictional account of 12-year-old Adelheid Brunner, whose experiences at the children's hospital are both accurate and unreliable.
By shedding light on the story of Dr Josef Feldner, one of Asperger's colleagues who risked his life to hide a young Jewish man in plain sight, we are reminded that even those who were not directly complicit with the Nazis could be forced to make difficult choices. The legacy of Hans Asperger is thus multifaceted and ambiguous, reflecting both the brilliance of his original ideas and the darkness of his involvement with the Nazi regime.
Ultimately, it is our task as storytellers to confront these complexities head-on, rather than resorting to simplistic narratives that reassure us of our own moral superiority. By embracing our shared humanity, we can work towards a more nuanced understanding of historical figures like Asperger and the difficult choices they faced in the face of unimaginable evil.
Asperger's work, which has been hailed as a pioneering contribution to our understanding of ASD, was also intimately entangled with the Nazi regime. It appears that he was involved in the transfer of children from the Vienna Children's Hospital to Am Spiegelgrund, a notorious concentration camp where many children were brutally murdered. This connection highlights the need for nuance in our evaluation of Asperger and his work.
The notion that collaboration is inherently aberrant and that those who resisted are exceptional has been widely debunked by historians like Prof Herwig Czech, who has spent years researching Austria's involvement in the medical crimes of the Third Reich. It becomes increasingly clear that a simplistic narrative about "good" vs. "evil" does not do justice to the complexities of human history.
The novel form, with its ability to mine those seams of human nature that we would rather ignore, offers a unique opportunity to explore these complexities in depth. Asperger's own story is told through the fictional account of 12-year-old Adelheid Brunner, whose experiences at the children's hospital are both accurate and unreliable.
By shedding light on the story of Dr Josef Feldner, one of Asperger's colleagues who risked his life to hide a young Jewish man in plain sight, we are reminded that even those who were not directly complicit with the Nazis could be forced to make difficult choices. The legacy of Hans Asperger is thus multifaceted and ambiguous, reflecting both the brilliance of his original ideas and the darkness of his involvement with the Nazi regime.
Ultimately, it is our task as storytellers to confront these complexities head-on, rather than resorting to simplistic narratives that reassure us of our own moral superiority. By embracing our shared humanity, we can work towards a more nuanced understanding of historical figures like Asperger and the difficult choices they faced in the face of unimaginable evil.
. The fact that his work on autism has been widely celebrated, but also linked to his involvement with the Nazi regime, is just mind-blowing. I mean, can't we appreciate the genius of his ideas while also acknowledging the dark truth about his past? It's not a zero-sum game where you have to choose between celebrating him as a pioneer or condemning him for his ties to Hitler 
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. Like, I get it, we need to acknowledge the atrocities committed by the Nazis and all that... but do we have to forget that even those who were "good" or "evil" were human beings with messy lives? 
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It's not that simple, you know? The more I read about Asperger, the more I feel like we need to look at history with a grain of salt. 
Like, yeah, his work on autism was groundbreaking, but come on, he was also involved in some pretty dark stuff. 
And it's not just Asperger, it's all of us - we're all complex and messy, right? 
So let's try to understand that, instead of trying to fit people into neat little boxes. 
. It's wild how complex human nature is. I need to see some source material on this before I can even begin to form an opinion about him. I'm not buying into just one side of the story without some solid evidence 
A autism researcher who helped Nazis murder kids? 
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That's some messed up stuff right there... 
. And what's up with all these books trying to rewrite history and make him seem like this saintly figure? Give me a break 
. I think it's time we started telling the real story, one that acknowledges the complexities and nuances of human nature, you know? The whole "good vs evil" thing is so overrated 
. We need to be having these kinds of conversations about how our historical figures were all just humans trying to make sense of things, flaws and all 
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The fact that his colleague risked life to hide a Jewish kid is mind-blowing, it shows us that even in the darkest times, there were people who cared 
I think this whole story is giving me major food for thought... how do we really know what's true and what's not? 