“All the points in which men differ, health and strength, high or low estate, happiness or misery, vanish before this common lot, mortality.” (John Henry Newman. Parochial and Plain Sermons,)
Why do we think of ourselves and others as being equally, more, or less able, intelligent, gifted, significant or worthy than anyone else? Other than within an academic or sporting context or when ensuring that a person is sufficiently and relevantly qualified for a specific form of employment, we have little or no reason to think about such things and no cause to consider anything in that way. Newman’s quoted words are from a sermon entitled ‘The Greatness and littleness of Human Life’. Our lives are both great and little, but not in the ways we habitually think, and not in the sense that one person is great while another is not. Thinking in those terms will have faded to nothing for some of us within a few years of leaving school or university, leaving us with the knowledge that nearly all such comparisons, while not being meaningless, are devoid of significant meaning for us in our daily lives. For many, however, such means of dividing individuals are perceived as essential to the advancement of themselves and thus to an imagined improvement of mankind.
All that really does matter is knowing that we have the intelligence and other attributes needed to be the persons we are supposed to be: the mental capacity and the ability to appreciate and think about who we are, where we are going, and our place within our local community and as part of the global family that is mankind.
Using the words, ‘mental capacity’, immediately takes my mind into my world of work, where the Mental Capacity Act 2005 Deprivation of Liberty Safeguards came into force on 1st April 2009. These safeguards are to protect the rights of people who are not able to make their own decisions, particularly where, in their own best interests, there is a perceived need to restrict the extent of their liberty. That liberty, which can include but does not necessarily mean the freedom to come and go whenever they choose, is something we all take for granted. For some, however, that freedom does not exist, and the deprivation may encompass anything that is not in the best interests of the individual, or that may be the cause of unacceptable outcomes or risks for others.
Over the years I have come to know many people with ‘learning disabilities’, some of them very well, and it is only through knowing them that I have become fully aware that this coverall expression refers to something which only has meaning when considered in relation to something else: something with which it can logically be compared. It is purely relative, and in that way is much the same as our usual understanding of ‘intelligence’ or ‘cleverness’. Compared with some people, I could be assessed as having learning disabilities and, in the right context, you or anyone else could describe me in that way without giving any offence – occasionally I have done so myself as a way of highlighting points relating to aspects of my work – but, in general we do not differentiate between ourselves in that way.
For those, however, who are, for mental capacity reasons, unable to live independent lives and who always need some degree of support, the world has been, and to a lesser extent still is, a very different place. The medical profession, and in particular the field of psychiatric assessment, based the classification of such people on a system which gave us words we still hear being used both lightly and offensively in everyday conversation: words which once described particular individuals and groups of people – those assessed and then forever regarded as being within the range of that classification, as follows:
MORON. An adult whose mental development corresponds to that of a normal average child between the ages of 8 and 12.
IMBECILE. An adult person whose intelligence is equal to that of the average normal child between the ages of 3 and 7 years, or between 25 and 50 per cent of that of the average normal adult; person of weak intellect.
IDIOT. A person so deficient in mind as to be permanently incapable of rational conduct and having a mental development not exceeding that of an average normal child of two years old; utter fool.
These definitions are taken from a 1963 edition of the Oxford Dictionary, and recognition of changes that began taking place in the following years can be found in the fact that they are not to be found in my 1979 OED.
This terminology was part of a fixed system that left little room for anything other than a basic categorization based on comparisons and preset criteria. The recognition and valuing of each life as being that of an individual and unique human being was not part of the system.
It is only through getting to know someone that we are able to find, recognize and appreciate the person before us.
Why do we think of ourselves and others as being equally, more, or less able, intelligent, gifted, significant or worthy than anyone else? Other than within an academic or sporting context or when ensuring that a person is sufficiently and relevantly qualified for a specific form of employment, we have little or no reason to think about such things and no cause to consider anything in that way. Newman’s quoted words are from a sermon entitled ‘The Greatness and littleness of Human Life’. Our lives are both great and little, but not in the ways we habitually think, and not in the sense that one person is great while another is not. Thinking in those terms will have faded to nothing for some of us within a few years of leaving school or university, leaving us with the knowledge that nearly all such comparisons, while not being meaningless, are devoid of significant meaning for us in our daily lives. For many, however, such means of dividing individuals are perceived as essential to the advancement of themselves and thus to an imagined improvement of mankind.
All that really does matter is knowing that we have the intelligence and other attributes needed to be the persons we are supposed to be: the mental capacity and the ability to appreciate and think about who we are, where we are going, and our place within our local community and as part of the global family that is mankind.
Using the words, ‘mental capacity’, immediately takes my mind into my world of work, where the Mental Capacity Act 2005 Deprivation of Liberty Safeguards came into force on 1st April 2009. These safeguards are to protect the rights of people who are not able to make their own decisions, particularly where, in their own best interests, there is a perceived need to restrict the extent of their liberty. That liberty, which can include but does not necessarily mean the freedom to come and go whenever they choose, is something we all take for granted. For some, however, that freedom does not exist, and the deprivation may encompass anything that is not in the best interests of the individual, or that may be the cause of unacceptable outcomes or risks for others.
Over the years I have come to know many people with ‘learning disabilities’, some of them very well, and it is only through knowing them that I have become fully aware that this coverall expression refers to something which only has meaning when considered in relation to something else: something with which it can logically be compared. It is purely relative, and in that way is much the same as our usual understanding of ‘intelligence’ or ‘cleverness’. Compared with some people, I could be assessed as having learning disabilities and, in the right context, you or anyone else could describe me in that way without giving any offence – occasionally I have done so myself as a way of highlighting points relating to aspects of my work – but, in general we do not differentiate between ourselves in that way.
For those, however, who are, for mental capacity reasons, unable to live independent lives and who always need some degree of support, the world has been, and to a lesser extent still is, a very different place. The medical profession, and in particular the field of psychiatric assessment, based the classification of such people on a system which gave us words we still hear being used both lightly and offensively in everyday conversation: words which once described particular individuals and groups of people – those assessed and then forever regarded as being within the range of that classification, as follows:
MORON. An adult whose mental development corresponds to that of a normal average child between the ages of 8 and 12.
IMBECILE. An adult person whose intelligence is equal to that of the average normal child between the ages of 3 and 7 years, or between 25 and 50 per cent of that of the average normal adult; person of weak intellect.
IDIOT. A person so deficient in mind as to be permanently incapable of rational conduct and having a mental development not exceeding that of an average normal child of two years old; utter fool.
These definitions are taken from a 1963 edition of the Oxford Dictionary, and recognition of changes that began taking place in the following years can be found in the fact that they are not to be found in my 1979 OED.
This terminology was part of a fixed system that left little room for anything other than a basic categorization based on comparisons and preset criteria. The recognition and valuing of each life as being that of an individual and unique human being was not part of the system.
It is only through getting to know someone that we are able to find, recognize and appreciate the person before us.
We cannot get to know others without communicating with them, and we cannot do that without spending time with them.
Among those with whom I have spent a great deal of time have been people who were both mentally and physically incapable, not just of living independently or of living a meaningful life with input from others, but, without continual care and support, of living at all. Such people are usually classified today as having ‘profound and multiple learning disabilities’, which condition is not infrequently accompanied by severely disabling physical problems. Becoming aware of the person hidden within even the most incapable and apparently unresponsive mind and body has been a real blessing for me. It has been a privilege to be given the opportunity to spend time with them, a pleasure to get to know them, and an honour to have gained their trust and their friendship.
The lifelong vulnerability of such people is emphasised in the minds of those who get to know them by an awareness that they are, in effect, acting as life support machines. But for anyone prepared to search for ways to make a real connection with a person with these extreme needs, the relationship can bear fruit that is as meaningful and life-changing as any experienced in friendships with the most able-bodied and ‘intelligent’ persons.
Two observations from Paula D’Arcy in her book, ‘Where The Wind Begins’, are relevant to this:
Two observations from Paula D’Arcy in her book, ‘Where The Wind Begins’, are relevant to this:
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‘... who we are changes the life around us. If we choose to be loving, involved, withdrawn, cold, critical, judgmental – we shape the world in some way.’ ..- ..‘... we were all changed by the shared moments, and carried away a bit of the other. That’s how love is.’
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