If you’ve spent any time on ABC or Hulu lately, you’ve seen him. Dr. Shaun Murphy, the surgical resident with a memory like a supercomputer and a social filter that... well, it doesn't really exist. He’s the heart of the show. But the question everyone keeps typing into search bars is simple: does The Good Doctor have autism? Yes. He does. Specifically, the character is portrayed as having autism spectrum disorder (ASD) and savant syndrome.
It’s not just a plot point. It’s the entire engine of the series. Freddie Highmore, the actor who plays Shaun, isn't autistic himself, but he’s spent years trying to nail the nuances of a person living with a developmental disability in a high-pressure hospital environment. But here’s the thing. While the show is a massive hit, the "representation" part is complicated. Honestly, if you ask five different people in the autistic community how they feel about Shaun Murphy, you’re gonna get six different answers.
The Reality of Shaun Murphy’s Diagnosis
In the very first episode, we’re told Shaun has autism and savant syndrome. This is a pretty rare combo. Savant syndrome is a condition where someone with a significant mental disability demonstrates abilities far in excess of what is considered normal. We’re talking about "Rain Man" levels of genius.
Shaun has near-perfect photographic recall. He can visualize complex physiological systems in 3D while standing in the middle of a chaotic ER. It looks cool on TV with those floating digital graphics, doesn't it? But it’s important to realize that this isn't what autism looks like for most people.
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According to the CDC, about 1 in 36 children are identified with ASD. Out of those, only about 10% exhibit savant skills. By making Shaun a savant, the show chooses to highlight a "superpower" version of the condition. This creates a bit of a weird expectation in the real world. You’ve probably heard it before—the idea that if you’re autistic, you must be a secret math genius or a coding wizard.
Most people on the spectrum are just trying to get through the day without a sensory meltdown from the fluorescent lights in the grocery store.
Why Freddie Highmore’s Portrayal Matters
Highmore is a chameleon. You might remember him as the creepy Norman Bates in Bates Motel. Switching from a serial killer to a neurodivergent surgeon is a hell of a range. He’s gone on record many times, including interviews with The Los Angeles Times, explaining that he worked closely with consultant Melissa Reiner to ensure the portrayal wasn't just a collection of "quirks."
He nails the prosody—that specific way of speaking that can feel rhythmic or flat. He nails the lack of eye contact. He nails the "stimming" (self-stimulatory behaviors), like the way Shaun rubs his hands together when he’s stressed.
But it’s a TV show. Drama is the priority.
Because the show needs ratings, Shaun’s autism often becomes a "problem of the week" that he eventually solves. Or, his autism provides the "miracle cure" because he sees something nobody else can. This is great for a 42-minute episode of television, but some advocates argue it turns the condition into a plot device rather than a lived reality.
The "I Am a Surgeon" Viral Moment and Real Meltdowns
You’ve probably seen the meme. Shaun, eyes streaming with tears, screaming "I am a surgeon!" at Dr. Han (played by Daniel Dae Kim). It blew up on TikTok and Twitter recently, mostly because people were making fun of the intensity.
But if you look at that scene through a clinical lens, it’s actually one of the more accurate depictions of an autistic meltdown.
A meltdown isn't a "tantrum." It’s an involuntary loss of control when the brain is overloaded. In that scene, Shaun is being told he can’t be a surgeon—the one thing that defines his identity and provides him with a sense of order. His world is collapsing. The "I am a surgeon" line isn't just him being loud; it’s a desperate attempt to assert his reality when his sensory and emotional processing has completely fried.
What the Show Gets Right
- Sensory Overload: The show does a decent job showing how lights, sounds, and textures affect Shaun.
- Literal Thinking: The humor often comes from Shaun taking things way too literally. When someone says "break a leg," he’s genuinely confused. This is a hallmark of many people’s experience with ASD.
- Social Hurdles: Shaun’s struggle to navigate office politics and dating is relatable. His relationship with Lea isn't "magical"—it’s work. They have to communicate in ways that neurotypical couples usually take for granted.
What the Show Gets Wrong
Honestly, the "Savant" trope is a double-edged sword. It suggests that autistic people are only "valuable" to society if they have a genius-level skill. If Shaun were an average surgeon who struggled with his social life but was just "okay" at his job, would the show still exist? Probably not.
There’s also the issue of the "Cure" narrative. While the show doesn't explicitly try to "cure" Shaun, the early seasons lean heavily on the idea that he needs to "overcome" his autism to be a good doctor. In reality, many autistic people don't want to overcome their autism—they want the world to be more accessible to the way their brains already work.
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Breaking Down the Medical Accuracy
Is it realistic for a doctor with Shaun’s level of support needs to be a surgeon?
It’s possible, but incredibly difficult. The medical field is notoriously rigid. Medical schools and residency programs are just now starting to talk about neurodiversity. Real-life doctors on the spectrum, like Dr. Mary Doherty, have pointed out that the sensory environment of a hospital—the beeping monitors, the smells, the high-stakes shouting—is basically a nightmare for someone with certain sensory profiles.
Shaun’s success depends heavily on his mentors, like Dr. Glassman. Without that specific support system, a real-life Shaun might have been pushed out of the profession long before getting his MD.
Beyond the Screen: Actionable Insights for Understanding ASD
If you’re watching The Good Doctor because you want to understand autism better, you have to look beyond the fictional St. Bonaventure Hospital. Television is a mirror, but it’s often a funhouse mirror—slightly distorted for effect.
- Listen to actually autistic voices. If you want to know what it’s like to live with ASD, follow creators on YouTube or TikTok who actually have the diagnosis. Look for the hashtag #ActuallyAutistic.
- Don't expect the "Savant" skill. If you meet an autistic person, don't ask them what their "superpower" is. It’s a bit insulting. Most people on the spectrum are just people.
- Understand that "Spectrum" isn't a straight line. People think the spectrum goes from "a little autistic" to "very autistic." It’s more like a color wheel. Someone might be great at speaking but struggle with sensory issues. Someone else might be non-verbal but have zero sensory sensitivities.
- Watch other shows for comparison. Check out Atypical or Love on the Spectrum. They offer different flavors of representation. The Good Doctor is just one perspective, and it’s a highly stylized one.
The show is a conversation starter. That’s its biggest value. Whether you love Shaun Murphy or find him a bit "Hollywood," he’s forced millions of people to think about neurodiversity in a way they never did before. That’s a win, even if the "savant" graphics are a bit much.
To truly support the neurodivergent community, start by recognizing that the challenges Shaun faces—workplace discrimination, social isolation, and sensory barriers—are real hurdles faced by people who don't have the benefit of a TV script to save them in the final act. Education starts with the show, but it shouldn't end there. Learn the signs of sensory overload in your colleagues. Practice direct communication. Stop using "autistic" as a punchline. Those are the real-world moves that matter.