The majority of autists - as well as their parents - seem to be

Nikolaas Tinbergen, Nobel laureate and pioneer of ethology, once declared with deep concern: “The majority of autists—as well as their parents—seem to be genuine victims of environmental stress.” These words, spoken in his later years, were born of his lifelong study of human and animal behavior. Though framed in the language of his time, they reveal an ancient and enduring truth: that suffering is not always born within, but often pressed upon the spirit from without, shaped by the weight of the world and the burdens that surround us.

In speaking of autists and their parents, Tinbergen acknowledges not only the individual but also the circle of care, the family that bears the struggles together. He reminds us that hardship is rarely isolated; when one suffers, all who are bound to them suffer also. The child who struggles with communication, the parent who labors in confusion and worry—both are marked by the same unseen forces of environmental stress. His words speak of compassion, urging us to see not only the condition but the human hearts entangled within it.

The phrase environmental stress carries great weight. In Tinbergen’s era, he sought to understand how surroundings, pressures, and circumstances shape the mind and body. This insight stretches back to the ancients, who knew that the city, the household, and the land itself influence the soul. The Stoics taught that storms of fortune buffet the spirit, and only wisdom can shield it. Tinbergen’s reflection is a scientific echo of this timeless truth: that much of our suffering arises not from inner weakness, but from external forces pressing too heavily upon us.

History gives us vivid reminders of this. In times of famine, war, or plague, it was not only the body that faltered, but also the mind and spirit. Families crumbled under the weight of hunger, children were scarred by loss and fear, and entire generations bore invisible wounds. These were not flaws of the individual, but the crushing weight of environmental stress. In the same way, Tinbergen’s words remind us that when we see struggle, we must also look at the world that surrounds the struggler—the conditions that wound as deeply as any sword.

Yet there is also within his words a call to responsibility. If environmental stress can wound, then environment can also heal. Just as a garden withers under drought but thrives when watered and cared for, so too do human beings flourish when given safety, patience, and love. The task of society is not merely to judge those who struggle, but to reshape the conditions around them—so that parents are supported, children are nurtured, and burdens are shared.

The lesson, then, is clear: never see suffering as belonging only to the one who suffers. Look also to the world that presses upon them. Ask not, “What is wrong with this person?” but also, “What weight are they carrying, and how can we help lift it?” By doing this, we honor both science and compassion, and we walk in the footsteps of those who sought to heal not only bodies, but lives.

So let us take Tinbergen’s words as both wisdom and warning. Recognize that environmental stress is real, that it shapes the lives of the vulnerable and the strong alike. Act, then, to create spaces of gentleness rather than harshness, of understanding rather than judgment. Support families, strengthen communities, and cultivate environments where the fragile are not crushed but protected. For in easing the weight of the world upon even one soul, we may give breath to many, and we may find ourselves transformed into true stewards of one another’s well-being.