By Isaiah Lewis / Nonfiction / When I first read Simone Weil in seminary, I knew that she was autistic. Not in any formal diagnostic sense, of course—the term “autism” to describe a constellation of neurodevelopmental features was coined in 1943, the year Weil died. Nevertheless, the way she talks about attention as prayer, her fierce sense of justice, her hatred of being touched, her voice, her clumsiness, her fearless quests for purity and truth—I didn’t know that I wa