Rollo May on totalitarianism

An interesting quotation from Rollo May’s Man’s Search for Himself (1953):

Fascist and Nazi totalitarianism, for example, do not occur because a Hitler or Mussolini decides to seize power. When a nation, rather, is prey to insupportable economic want and is psychologically and spiritually empty, totalitarianism comes in to fill the vacuum; and the people sell their freedom as a necessity for getting rid of the anxiety which is too great for them to bear any longer. (p. 35f.)

This suggests that blaming the emergence of totalitarianism on bad actors is a cop out. The rise of Nazism in 1920s’ Germany cannot simply be laid at the door of Hitler and his cronies. Rather, it was the product of the psychological (moral?) and spiritual bankruptcy of the Weimar Republic.

It follows that Democrats are deluding themselves if they think that by voting Trump out of office, the USA will have dodged the totalitarian bullet. Rather, the phenomenon of Trump and MAGA is a symptom that American society is rotten.

Another thing that follows from May’s thought is that it is never enough to oppose the false ideas of Trump, or Farage, or Le Pen, or Bolsonaro, or Erdogan, or any other of the would be strong men and women of twenty-first century politics. What is required is the much more demanding task of creating and sustaining forms of life in which people can experience freedom and meaningful and bearable, rather than as a burden from which they desperately need release.

Exposure One Awards: update

I was pleasantly surprised to discover that one of my photographs achieved a bronze in the Architecture category of the Exposure One B&W Photography Awards. And, for the sake of completeness, here is the one that achieved a nomination in their Conceptual category:

Exposure One Awards

At Shawlands Cross

Uprooted

Two of my photographs (see above) have been nominated for awards in Exposure One’s Photographer of the Year contest – in the Architecture and Conceptual categories. There is also a People’s Vote Award. If you would like to vote for me, please go to the People’s Vote Award Gallery and search for ‘Lawrence Osborn’.

The essence of capitalism

A striking quotation from Michael Parenti from Against Empire (1995):

The essence of capitalism is to turn nature into commodities and commodities into capital. The live green earth is transformed into dead gold bricks, with luxury items for the few and toxic slag heaps for the many. The glittering mansion overlooks a sprawl of shanty towns, wherein a desperate humanity is kept in line with drugs, television, and force.

St Sergius of Radonezh: A memory not made for war

St Sergius of Radonezh, whose feast day it is today, was one of the great monastic figures of the Christian East: a man of prayer, humility, hospitality, reconciliation, and patient spiritual renewal. He lived in Rus’ in the fourteenth century, a time of division, violence, and oppression. And the tradition remembers him as an ascetic who sought peace, rebuilt common life around prayer and labour, and called people towards unity rooted in love.

Sadly, today the real Sergius is in danger of being supplanted by a Sergius reinvented to serve the purposes of the Russian state. The famous saying attributed to him, ‘By love and unity we shall be saved’, which invokes our union in the body of Christ relativizing all ethnic differences, has been weaponized to justify the forced reunion of Ukraine with Russia (or perhaps we should think of it as Moskovia). The later story of Sergius’s blessing of Dmitry Donskoy before the Battle of Kulikovo has been transformed from a blessing on a defensive campaign after all avenues of peace had been exhausted into a precedent for a war of aggression against Ukraine. 

To invoke Sergius should mean recalling the spiritual discipline required to resist hatred, falsehood, and the intoxication of power. It should mean praying for all who suffer in this war: for the Ukrainians living under attack and occupation, for displaced families, for the Russians drawn into violence or silenced when they speak truth, and for the bereaved on both sides. It should mean refusing the suggestion that any nation possesses a divine mandate to dominate another. Contrary to the poisonous ideology of Russkii mir, a shared Orthodox inheritance, language, or historical memory does not give one people the right to subsume another. Christian communion is not empire. Rather, it is freely received fellowship in Christ. 

May the memory of St Sergius call Christians not to the consecration of war, but to the difficult work of peace: truthful remembrance, solidarity with the vulnerable, repentance where the Church has blessed injustice, and unity formed by love rather than force.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (37)

Hopko’s 37th maxim is ‘Flee imagination, fantasy, analysis, figuring things out’. For autistic Orthodox Christians, this is not a command to stop thinking, drop theology, or shut down your rich inner world. Rather, it is a warning about a specific pattern: when imagination, analysis, and fantasy stop serving love and start spiralling into anxiety, scrupulosity, daydreams, escapism, or endless ‘what‑if’ scenarios that keep you from praying, acting, or resting. Many autistic people know this pattern very well: replaying conversations for hours, mentally running every possible outcome of a simple task, building elaborate fantasy scenarios to escape overwhelming reality, or over‑analysing every feeling until you are paralysed. Fleeing, here, means gently stepping out of that loop – not rejecting your mind itself, but refusing to let the loop rule you. 

Because autistic cognition naturally tends toward depth, pattern‑spotting, and detailed internal simulation, this maxim needs to be applied with nuance. Some imagination and analysis are gifts: they help you understand Scripture, theology, other people, and your own sensory world; they fuel creative work and problem‑solving. You can keep those gifts by asking concrete questions like: ‘Is this helping me love God and neighbour right now, or is it only feeding fear, pride, anger, or avoidance?’; ‘Have I thought about this enough to choose a next step?’ When the answer is ‘No’ in the first case or ‘Yes’ in the second, fleeing the loop might look like: returning to a short prayer instead of running the scenario again; moving your body; doing a small task in the real world; or shifting to a grounded, creative use of your mind (writing, art, study, etc.) instead of unstructured rumination.

Practically, you might:

• Set time limits for analysis and problem‑solving, then deliberately hand unresolved pieces to Christ at the end of that time.
• Notice specific triggers – doomscrolling, certain kinds of theological argument, some fantasy worlds – that reliably send you into loops, and limit or reshape your engagement with them.
• When you catch yourself scripting a conversation for the tenth time, say, ‘I’ve done enough figuring out’, and choose one concrete action (send the email, ask for clarification, or consciously postpone the topic).

Lived this way, ‘Flee imagination, fantasy, analysis, figuring things out’ does not forbid you to be an intensely thinking, imaginative autistic person. Rather, it invites your mental powers to come back from the places where they trap you – catastrophic fantasy, endless self‑interrogation, escapist daydreams – and to stand, as you are, in the small, real moment where Christ is actually present and where even one simple act of trust or love is worth more than hours of brilliant but fruitless spinning.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (36)

Hopko’s 36th maxim, ‘Speak simply, clearly, firmly, directly’, fits many autistic communication strengths when it is understood rightly. For autistic Orthodox Christians, it means letting your words be truthful, minimally complicated, and as free as possible from passive–aggressive hints, double meanings, or performative piety. It is often more loving to say, ‘I’m tired and need quiet now’, ‘I can’t take on that task’, or ‘That noise hurts me’, than to hint, endure, resent, and then melt down later. 

Because autistic communication is frequently misread – ’too direct’, ‘too intense’, ‘too detailed’ – this maxim is best lived with a few gentle adjustments. You might aim for:

• Simple words and short sentences, especially when discussing conflicts or needs.
• Clear structure: say what happened, how it affected you, and what you are asking for, instead of circling the point.
• Firmness without hostility: using calm, declarative statements (‘I will need to leave by 9 p.m’.) rather than apologies for existing (‘Sorry, I’m difficult, but maybe I should go early?’).

Practically, you can prepare brief scripts for recurring situations – at church, at work, with family – so that in moments of overload you have simple, pre‑chosen phrases ready. Written or text communication can often help you keep things simple and clear when speech is hard; this still fulfils the maxim. Over time, ‘speak simply, clearly, firmly, directly’ becomes less about trying to sound like everyone else and more about allowing your God‑given autistic directness to be shaped by charity: words that are honest but not weaponized, straightforward but not contemptuous, so that those around you can actually understand you, and you can live in less confusion and resentment before God and neighbour.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (35)

Hopko’s 35th maxim, ‘Think and talk about things no more than necessary’, can sound impossible if your autistic brain naturally loops, analyses, and infodumps. But this maxim is not about the impossible task of switching off your thoughts or silencing your interests. rather, it is about noticing when thinking or talking has stopped serving love and has become rumination, anxiety, or self‑stimulation that wears you out. ‘No more than necessary’ might mean: enough thought to understand a situation and choose a next action; enough speech to be clear and truthful. After that point, the extra hours of rehashing conversations, rechecking decisions, or particularly arguing online usually do not add wisdom; they drain your energy and peace. 

Because autistic cognition often runs in detailed, repetitive tracks, you will probably need to develop concrete habits rather than be satisfied with vague intentions. You might:

• Set time limits for analysing a problem, using a timer, and then handing it to God in a brief prayer when the time ends.
• Agree with yourself or your confessor on ‘parking places’ for thoughts – writing them in a notebook to revisit at a set time, instead of carrying them all day.
• Before launching into a long explanation, ask, ‘What is actually necessary here?’ and offer the short version first, adding detail only if the other person asks.
• Notice triggers (certain topics, online spaces, theological disputes) where ‘talking more’ almost never helps, and gently avoid or limit them for the sake of your well-being.

This maxim also has a compassionate side for your special interests and emotions. You don’t need to be afraid of thinking or speaking; God often works through your focused attention and deep passions. The point is to let that attention be ordered – into prayer, study, creative work, concrete action – rather than letting it spin endlessly without fruit. When you realize you’re rehearsing the same argument for the tenth time, or explaining again to someone who clearly does not want to understand, you can say, ‘I’ve reached “no longer necessary”,’ stop, and turn to something life‑giving, e.g. a psalm, a walk, a photograph, a small task. Lived this way, ‘Think and talk about things no more than necessary’ does not demand a neurotypical brain; it gently trains your vivid autistic mind so that its strength is spent on what truly builds up you and your neighbour in Christ.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (34)

Hopko’s 34th maxim, ‘Be awake and attentive, fully present where you are’, is not a demand for constant hyper‑focus or sensory openness. For autistic Orthodox Christians, being ‘awake and attentive’ often begins with acknowledging how easily your attention is pulled away – by sensory overload, intrusive thoughts, special interests, or social anxiety – and then choosing one thing, one person, or one task to be with at a time. Fully present may mean focusing on the prayers during Liturgy (perhaps with your eyes shut if you find movement around you distracting); listening as best you can during a conversation; actually tasting what you are eating rather than ruminating over the past or speculating about the future.

Because autistic nervous systems are fragile and easily overwhelmed, this maxim should be kept together with the earlier ones about food, rest, exercise, and managing intrusive thoughts. You are more able to be present after you have eaten, taken a movement break, reduced painful stimuli, or allowed yourself some ‘special interest’ time, than when your body is in constant alarm. Concrete helps might include setting aside tech‑free periods during the day; using simple mindfulness exercises before prayer; giving yourself permission to stim quietly so your brain can stay online; or shrinking ‘fully present’ to short, manageable segments (five attentive minutes of prayer, ten attentive minutes with a person, one task done without multitasking). Lived this way, ‘Be awake and attentive’ becomes not another impossible standard, but a gentle training of your vivid, detail‑rich autistic mind to meet Christ and neighbour here, in this limited moment, rather than only in memory, fantasy, or fear.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (33)

Hopko’s 33rd maxim, ‘Listen when people talk to you’, can be hard when you are autistic – not because you do not care, but because auditory processing, sensory overload, and anxiety make listening costly. It is worth noting that this maxim does not require autistic Orthodox Christians to satisfy neurotypical expectations: it is not about making perfect eye contact, responding instantly, or decoding every social nuance. Rather, it is about doing what love makes possible so that, when someone speaks to you, you offer as much genuine attention as you can cope with at that time. Listening can become an ascetical act: you receive the other person as an icon of Christ, within your limits, instead of vanishing into your inner world or your special interest whenever interaction becomes uncomfortable.

Because your ability to listen changes with context, this maxim needs practical supports and honest communication. You might:

• Tell friends, ‘I listen better if I’m not looking at your face’, and allow yourself to look away or stim while they speak.
• Ask for one-to-one conversations in quieter places when something important is being discussed, rather than trying to follow talk in loud cafés or busy spaces.
• Use clarifying scripts: ‘I heard X; is that what you meant?’ ‘Can you repeat that more slowly?’ or ‘I’ve hit my listening limit; can we continue later, or can you put this in writing?’

Listening also includes noticing when your brain has already jumped ahead – to planning your reply, connecting the topic to a special interest, or defending yourself – and gently returning to what the other person is actually saying.

Beware of letting this maxim be weaponized to keep you in situations that are abusive, shaming, or sensory‑unsafe. You are not obliged to keep listening when someone is attacking you, denying your humanity, or ignoring clear boundaries. Sometimes the most truthful way to ‘listen’ to such behaviour is to recognize it as harmful and leave, or to say, ‘I can’t continue this conversation’. However, within healthy relationships, this maxim can shape small, realistic goals: letting the other person finish what they are saying without interrupting; staying with a friend’s story even when it is not your topic; listening carefully in confession or spiritual direction and asking for clearer, concrete guidance when you do not understand. Lived this way, ‘Listen when people talk to you’ becomes less a demand to perform neurotypical social skills and more a call to let your focused, detail‑attentive mind become a gift: offering others the rare experience of being truly heard, within the honest contours of your autistic life.

Christos Yannaras (10 April 1935 – 24 August 2024)

Today is the second anniversary of Christos Yannaras’s falling asleep. So, I thought I would remember him by quoting his very trenchant critique of contemporary institutional Christianity:

Increasingly,  Christian  life  seems  to  be  nothing  more  than  a particular  way  of  behaving,  a  code  of  good  conduct.  Christianity  is  increasingly  alienated,  becoming  a  social  attribute  adapted to  meet  the  least  worthy  of  human  demands – conformity,  sterile conservatism,  pusillanimity  and  timidity;  it  is  adapted  to  the trivial  moralizing  which  seeks  to  adorn  cowardice  and  individual  security  with  the  funerary  decoration  of  social  decorum. The  people  who  really  thirst  for  life,  who  stand  daily  on  the brink  of  every  kind  of  death,  who  struggle  desperately  to  distinguish  some  light  in  the  sealed  mystery  of  human  existence – these  are  the  people  to  whom  the  Gospel  of  salvation  is primarily  and  most  especially  addressed,  and  inevitably  they all  remain  far  removed  from  the  rationalistically  organized social  conventionalism  of  established  Christianity. (Freedom of Morality, p. 115)

With the saints give rest, O Christ, to the soul of Thy servant Christos, where there is neither sickness, nor sorrow, nor sighing, but life everlasting.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (32)

Hopko’s 32nd maxim, ‘Never bring attention to yourself’, does not mean ‘never speak of your needs’ or ‘always hide your autism’. It is about not seeking the spotlight – praise, drama, special status – rather than about disappearing. You are free, and sometimes obliged, to say ‘I’m autistic’, ‘I need less noise’, or ‘I can’t do that role’. What the maxim warns against is arranging conversations, piety, or suffering so that you are the centre of the story. For autistic Christians in church, it means seeking only those accommodations that are necessary with as little fuss as possible.

Because autistic people are often either ignored or singled out, this maxim can be painful if misunderstood. Living it well may look like explaining your needs once, clearly, and then letting people respond, rather than repeatedly restating them to force a particular reaction; sharing your gifts in ways that serve the community rather than showcase your brilliance; and noticing when you are tempted to turn every conversation back to your own experiences, and instead gently asking others about theirs. At the same time, you are not called to accept invisibility; you may need to insist, sometimes firmly, on basic respect and access. The inner question is, ‘Am I doing this to love God and neighbour, or mainly to be seen, praised, pitied, or declared special?’

Practically, you might apply this maxim by:

• Letting some good deeds and sacrifices stay wholly unmentioned, even online.
• Resisting the urge to post every spiritual thought, meltdown, or injustice for immediate public reaction.
• Choosing, when possible, to dress and behave in church in ways that do not add unnecessary sensory or visual noise for others, while still honouring your own sensory needs.

Lived this way, ‘Never bring attention to yourself’ becomes a protection, not an erasure. It guards you from the exhaustion of constantly managing how others see you, and it frees you to pay attention to Christ and the people and creatures he has given you to love.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (31)

Hopko’s 31st maxim, ‘Be simple, hidden, quiet, and small’, does not imply that you must erase your autistic personality; rather, it is a way of following Christ who ‘made Himself of no reputation’. For autistic Orthodox Christians, simplicity can mean reducing needless internal and external complication: fewer competing obligations, fewer social roles you can’t sustain, clear routines instead of constant reinvention. ‘Hidden, quiet, and small’ does not mean ashamed or invisible; it means letting most of your life be lived before God rather than the crowd – less driven by social media, arguments, or proving yourself; more anchored in prayer, ordinary work, and loving the few people actually given to you. 

Because the autistic life is already socially marginalized, this maxim must not be twisted into ‘accept neglect or abuse’ or ‘never ask for accommodations’. It does not forbid explaining your needs, advocating for accessibility, or seeking recognition where justice demands it. Instead, it speaks to the temptation – especially when you have been misunderstood – to build a large, defensive identity around being ‘the autistic one’, ‘the wounded one’, or ‘the genius’, and to measure everything by how much attention you receive. To be simple and small here might look like choosing depth with a few people instead of chasing every conversation; allowing whatever you do to be good and careful without obsessing over any audience; letting your special interests be real joys without needing everyone else to share them.

Practically, you could live this maxim by making your prayer corner, not your online presence, the centre of your day; by deliberately stepping back from some debates you could win; by leaving some good deeds entirely unmentioned; and by accepting that much of your faithfulness – managing sensory load to avoid hurting others, quietly enduring loneliness, showing up at Liturgy despite anxiety – will be known only to God. ‘Quiet’ may mean creating a little silence in your daily routine, not silencing your voice when it is needed; ‘small’ may mean taking on work that does not look impressive but is genuinely within your energy and gifts. Lived this way, ‘Be simple, hidden, quiet, and small’ becomes a deliberate choice to let your autistic life unfold on a human scale, where you can actually breathe and pray, instead of striving to meet what you imagine to be others’ expectations of you.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (30)

Hopko’s 30th maxim advises us to ‘Be cheerful’. But this does not imply appearing permanently happy or imitating a neurotypical social vibe. For autistic Orthodox Christians, cheerfulness may be closer to quiet trust than to visible exuberance: a small, steady ‘yes’ to God that can coexist with anxiety, shutdown, or low mood. It may look like a gentle tone rather than a sharp one; a small smile or nod when you greet someone; a willingness to notice and name good things; or simply refusing to let bitterness become your default inner narrative. You can pray for this kind of cheerfulness as a grace – ‘Lord, give me a kind and uncomplaining spirit’ – rather than trying to manufacture it as a performance. 

Because autistic communication and affect are often misread (‘flat’, ‘rude’, ‘too much’), this maxim should not be equated with masking or pretending to be fine. Real autistic cheerfulness might look like: keeping a short list of things that genuinely delight you (light, trees, certain colours, a favourite hymn, a science fiction series, photography) and deliberately giving thanks for one or two of them each day; choosing not to narrate every situation in catastrophizing language, even when anxious; or learning one or two simple, repeatable phrases of encouragement you can offer others without draining your social battery. On very hard days, ‘being cheerful’ may shrink to one or two small refusals: not snapping at someone when you easily could, not posting that angry comment, or quietly telling Christ, ‘I feel awful, but I still belong to You’.

This maxim becomes most healing when it is anchored in the previous ones: facing reality, being grateful, being faithful in little things. For an autistic person, that might mean accepting that you may never look outwardly ‘bubbly’ and that your version of cheerfulness may be calm, slightly awkward, gently humorous, or very low‑key – and that this is entirely acceptable to God. It can also mean allowing yourself to receive cheerfulness from others and from the Church’s worship: the brightness of feast days, the joy in Paschal hymns, the relief of a friend who understands your special interest. Lived this way, ‘Be cheerful’ is not a demand to overwrite your real emotions; it is an invitation to let a quiet, stubborn hope in Christ colour even an overstimulating, confusing day with a small but real light.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (29)

Hopko’s 29th maxim, ‘Be grateful in all things’, does not mean pretending everything feels good, or thanking God for abuse, injustice, or sensory agony. For autistic Orthodox Christians, it means daring to look for God’s gifts within a life that includes overload, shutdown, social misunderstanding, and executive dysfunction. Gratitude can be very concrete and very small: ‘Thank You for noise‑cancelling headphones; for this cup of tea; for the friend who texts clearly; for the priest who believes me; for the beauty of trees and light that my brain notices in detail’. It is less about a mood and more about a chosen habit of naming good things in the middle of mixed days, so that your attention is not swallowed entirely by what hurts. 

Because autistic perception often highlights what is intense, wrong, or out of place, this maxim is best practised as a gentle, structured exercise rather than a vague command to ‘feel thankful’. You might keep a short gratitude list, add one line of thanks to your rule of prayer (‘Glory to You for…’), or link gratitude to sensory grounding (‘I feel my feet on the floor; I thank You that I can stand’). On very bad days, ‘in all things’ may shrink to ‘in this breath’, ‘in this icon’, ‘in this safe corner of my room’. Gratitude here does not erase the need to lament or to seek justice; it simply insists that suffering does not have the final word about your reality.

This maxim becomes particularly healing when turned directed at your own autistic life. You can begin to thank God, cautiously at first, for some of the things you once saw only as defects: for your ability to focus deeply, to notice patterns in theology or creation, to be loyal, to care passionately about truth, etc. You do not have to be grateful for every meltdown or exclusion, but you can thank God for sustaining you through them, for the people and practices that help you recover, and for the ways they have made you gentler to others who struggle. Lived this way, ‘Be grateful in all things’ is not a demand to overwrite your pain with pious language; it is an invitation to let your intensely observant mind also become intensely observant of grace, so that even in an overstimulating, confusing world, you regularly glimpse the quiet, particular ways God is already with you.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (28)

Hopko’s 28th maxim, ‘Face reality’, is not a command to ‘toughen up’ or ignore your autistic limits; it is an invitation to acknowledge before God how things really are, not how you wish or fear they might be. For autistic Orthodox Christians, reality includes at least three layers: who God is (merciful, present, not your intrusive inner critic), who you are (an autistic human being with particular strengths and vulnerabilities), and what your concrete circumstances are today (your energy, sensory load, finances, relationships, sins, traumas, responsibilities). Facing reality means rejecting both denial (‘I can do everything; I’m fine’) and catastrophic fantasy (‘I will never cope; everything is ruined’), and instead saying, as precisely as you can, ‘This is my situation before God, here and now’. 

Because autistic minds lean easily into detailed imagination, analysis, and what‑if scenarios, ‘face reality’ will often mean gently distinguishing facts from stories. Helpful questions include: ‘What actually happened?’ ‘What do I know versus what I am guessing?’ ‘What is my nervous system doing right now?’ You might try writing a short, factual description of a conflict or problem before interpreting it, check your impressions with a trusted person, or ask your priest or therapist to help you separate sin from disability and trauma. Facing reality also includes recognizing when something is genuinely unjust or harmful. For example, if a church environment, job, or relationship consistently ignores your needs or exposes you to abuse, facing reality does not mean simply praying more or trying to be ‘less autistic’; rather, it means recognizing that this situation may need to change, and that getting help is part of living in truth.

Spiritually, this maxim pairs with Hopko’s later counsel to be totally honest with yourself, to be merciful with yourself, and to get help without shame. For autistic Christians, that means accepting that autism is a lifelong condition; that meltdowns, shutdowns, and executive‑function crashes may still happen even when you are doing everything ‘right’; but that God will meet you there, not in some imagined neurotypical version of yourself. It also means recognizing the real gifts – your focused attention, pattern‑sensitivity, sense of justice, etc. – that God has entrusted to you are to be used in his service, and not suppressed as shameful quirks. Lived this way, ‘Face reality’ becomes a deeply hopeful maxim: you step out of fantasy, self‑gaslighting, and impossible ideals into the place where Christ stands with you, so that your next small act of obedience can begin from solid ground.

The wisdom of Brother Cadfael

Sometimes, important theological and spiritual truths are found in quite unexpected places. Here, for example, is Ellis Peters’s character Brother Cadfael reflecting on the pleasure he gets from tending the monastery's herb garden:

The manifold gifts of God are there to be delighted in, to fall short of joy would be ingratitude. (From St Peter’s Fair, chapter 1)

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (27)

Hopko’s 27th maxim, ‘Do the most difficult and painful things first’, can be both freeing and dangerous language for autistic Orthodox Christians. The danger lies in interpreting it as ‘ignore your sensory limits and push yourself into meltdown’, or ‘start every day with the thing you dread most, no matter what’. Rather, autistics should read it as ‘give priority to the necessary tasks you are most tempted to avoid within your real energy, sensory, and executive‑function capacity for a given day. As far as you are able, you should focus those tasks that are tied to love, repentance, or responsibility, rather than endlessly doing only easy, stimulating, or interest‑based things. For you, the ‘difficult and painful’ thing might include making a phone call, answering one email, beginning a piece of writing, taking a shower, or initiating a hard but needed conversation, rather than anything dramatic.

Because autistic nervous systems fatigue quickly and crash hard, this maxim needs to be paired with awareness of your personal ‘window’ of best functioning. For many, that will mean tackling one or two priority tasks early in the day or after a predictable regulation routine (e.g. quiet, stimming, tea, brief prayer), when your social and cognitive battery is as full as it will be. You can make a very short list each day: one ‘hard’ task, one ‘medium’ task, and one ‘easy’ task; do the hard one first if your body and brain are reasonably regulated; if not, start by regulating, then attempt the hard thing for a set time (for example, ten minutes) and stop. Tools like timers, written scripts for phone calls or emails, and breaking tasks into tiny steps (‘open document’, ‘write three sentences’, ‘send’) are not cheating; they are how you follow the maxim without harming yourself.

This maxim is also a guard against the autistic avoidance that hides behind perfectionism or spirituality: ‘I can’t start until I know the perfect system / feel exactly calm / understand everything theologically’. For you, ‘doing the most difficult thing first’ may mean beginning while still imperfectly prepared, with a simple prayer such as, ‘Lord, I will take the first step; You carry me through the rest’. It also implies a limit: once you have done that priority hard thing, you are not required to keep seeking out more pain to prove your virtue; you can turn to easier tasks, rest, or wholesome hobbies without guilt, trusting that obedience in one concrete difficult step today is precious to God. Lived this way, Maxim 27 becomes a gentle nudge against paralysis and procrastination, not a command to self‑destruct: a way of honouring your autistic limits while still moving, one small step at a time, into the works of love and responsibility that you would otherwise postpone indefinitely.

Maxim for (autistic) Christian living (26)

Hopko’s 26th maxim is ‘Do your work, then forget it’. For autistic Orthodox Christians, this speaks directly into the tendency to replay tasks, conversations, and projects in your head long after they are finished – editing them, catastrophizing about them, or trying to ‘perfect’ them in imagination. Doing your work means giving the task your honest attention and effort within your real limits; forgetting it means entrusting the result to Christ instead of endlessly analysing what you ‘should’ have done differently. You are called to faithfulness, not to total control of outcomes or other people’s reactions. 

Because autistic cognition often loops and replays, ‘forgetting it’ will usually need intentional rituals rather than just a mental command. You might mark the end of a task with a short prayer (‘Lord, I place this in Your hands’), physically put away the tools you used, tick the task off a list, and then shift to a clearly different activity so your brain has a cue that the work is over. If you notice yourself mentally re‑doing a completed email, report, or conversation, you can name the loop (‘I’ve left the present’), briefly check if any concrete follow‑is up actually needed and, if so, do it, then deliberately to the next small thing. Over time, this maxim can become a gentle protection against perfectionism and scrupulosity: you still care about doing good work, but you refuse to let completed tasks colonize your thoughts, so that your autistic attention can be present to God, to your body, and to the people in front of you now.

After a year of AI

I’ve been dabbling with Perplexity AI for nearly a year now and decision time is looming. Should I renew my subscription. Or should I look elsewhere (e.g. Halomate)? Or should I swear off AI altogether?

At the moment, I feel no need to look elsewhere. I try to be circumspect in my use of AI, so I have not attempted to exploit the full potential of Perplexity. Therefore, in spite of occasionally being tempted by the latest bells and whistles offered elsewhere, I see no point in starting again with something else.

The question of whether I should abandon AI is less straightforward to answer. There is a real case to be made against its use. As far as I can see, that case boils down to two arguments:

• AI encourages mental laziness. We are tempted to accept what it tells us as true without critical engagement. Often, the output is so polished (at least superficially) that we are tempted to submit it as our own work – hence the deluge of AI slop on the Internet.
• The environmental argument. AI data centres put extreme demands on power and water supplies. They run so hot that they raise temperatures in their locales measurably above what would be expected (at the same time, overheating rivers with waste cooling water). Some have massive backup diesel generators which produce great quantities of air pollution. And these ills are growing exponentially with the AI bubble. On top of this, there is the psychological harm to the humans who are employed (often on low wages in developing countries) to monitor and censor inappropriate outputs.

I’m not terribly bothered about the threat of mental laziness. The crucial point is always to treat the output of AI in the same way as you treat any other secondary source – always insist on references (and always check them) and never plagiarize. In any case, unlike many chatbots, Perplexity AI is essentially an AI-powered search engine and that is how I use it (as a Google search on crystal meth).

But I remain conflicted on the environmental and wider social issues. Yes, AI speeds up my research at a time of life when I may not have very much time left. But does the improved efficiency of my research justify my implicit support for the damage that AI is doing on a global scale? If I were a rugged individualist like so many tech bros, the answer would be an unequivocal ‘yes’. But I’m an Orthodox Christian, so I have to balance the goods of AI (not just my vanishingly small contribution to the sum of human knowledge buts its role in pushing forward the bounds of our knowledge in so many fields) against the environmental and social ills. I’m unable to come to a clear view on this, so I suspect that I will continue to use Perplexity for the time being.