Hopko’s eighth maxim advises us to,
Practise silence, inner and outer.
This means learning to be present to God without constant noise, words, or inner commentary. In other words, it is about finding ways for your whole being to rest in Christ. Inner silence may mean gently stepping back from repetitive mental loops, over-analysis, or replaying conversations, and simply sitting before God with the Jesus Prayer, a short psalm verse, or even a single word like ‘Lord’. Outer silence may mean deliberately stepping away from devices, notifications, and information for a short time, so that your nervous system and your heart can become a little less overloaded and a little more able to notice God’s presence.
Because autistic sensory systems are often either overwhelmed or under-stimulated, silence needs to be adapted, not romanticized. For some, ‘silence’ will actually include gentle sensory supports: soft lighting, noise-cancelling headphones, a weighted blanket, or quiet music that helps your nervous system settle enough for prayer. You might schedule very small, predictable amounts of silence – five minutes after morning prayers, ten minutes after work, a brief pause before entering church – rather than aiming immediately at long periods that leave you distressed or dissociative. If your mind races or scripts conversations during these times, you are not failing at silence; you are simply noticing what is already there, and you can keep returning, gently and without self-hatred, to a short prayer or to simple awareness of your breathing before God.
This maxim also has a social dimension that can be particularly complex for autistic people, who may either talk very little or ‘infodump’ at length. Practising silence here does not mean masking your autism, but allowing space to truly listen when others speak and to recognize when continuing to argue, explain, or correct will not bring peace. It can be an act of asceticism to hold back from online debates, from constantly checking for messages, or from continually rehearsing conversations in advance (or, for that matter, after the fact), and instead to entrust misunderstandings and unfinished dialogues to Christ. In all these ways, ‘inner and outer’ silence becomes a merciful, structured practice that honours your autistic neurology while slowly teaching your heart to stand quietly before God, without fear and without shame.
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