How I Found Out I was an Aspie

During my childhood, my parents often commented that I was ‘born awkward, and awkward ever since’. I was a firstborn, so they had no prior experience of raising a son. I wasn’t failing so badly in school that I ever had to see a psychologist, although my Mum despaired of ever persuading me to play with other children. They never thought I might have a condition with a clinical label, though Asperger’s wasn’t so well known in the 1980s.

Looking back, it explains a lot. School playtimes were a nightmare in primary school. Often I would just walk forlornly around the edges of the yard, kicking up the dirt; sometimes I would go and tell appalling puns to the teacher on yard duty. I simply didn’t know what to do during playtime, and didn’t particularly want to join in any schoolyard games that seemed remotely rough.

Secondary School was a little less taxing, since I could volunteer to work as a Library Monitor during break times. But in my pre-teens I was so sensitive to other pupils using foul language, that quite a few made a point of coming and using it just to wind me up. I had no inhibitions about reporting bad behaviour to staff members, and on those occasions when a class teacher let the pupils go in order of good behaviour, I would always be among the first cohort. And being bright, teachers quite often prefaced their questions to the class with “Does anyone apart from (my name) know the answer?” That didn’t bother me then, but in hindsight I see that being both a goody-goody and a swot doesn’t make you many friends!

When I entered seminary, I received some puzzling feedback. My end of-first-year appraisal went something like this: “You are a great student, you seem to be faithful to your prayers and you do your chores. There’s just one thing we, the formation staff, are worried about – your being.”

“My what?”

“Your being.”

“Oh. I’m not sure I understand. Can you explain that in other words?”

“Errm, no.”

“What would you like me to do about it?”

“We don’t know.”

“Is this a significant issue for my onward formation?”

“Yes.”

“So you are telling I have a significant issue, you can’t articulate what it is or what I should do about it, but I need to sort it out?”

“Yes.”

This was a puzzle. The only sensible action I could formulate for my Second Year Plan was: “To be.” I hesitate to call this an action plan, since being implies something other than doing. Nevertheless, I framed an action of spending time in reflective silence. But I knew this wasn’t touching the heart of the issue.

Half-way through my seminary formation, I went on a pilgrimage with a group of young adults. I got chatting to one of them and it quickly emerged that we had a great deal in common. At our respective schools, we had each been the most intelligent and best behaved child, the one who found playtimes a bore. (Why waste time playing when there were more things to study? And no other child invited us to play, still less explained the rules, anyway!)

At the end of the conversation, she said to me: “I’ve just been diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome. I think you may have it too – you should get it checked out.”

So when I got back to seminary, I went to see the chief counsellor and asked if she had considered the possibility that I was autistic. She hadn’t, but thought it was a good idea. I was sent off for the relevant tests, and the diagnosis was confirmed. Finally, it helped me and the staff put a clearer label on this mysterious “problem with being”. It concerned the subtle exchange of signals through body language which typical humans send and receive all the time without being fully aware of it. (Later, I came to appreciate that reading the emotions in other peoples’ eyes is a key part of this.)

Divine providence arranged that meeting on a pilgrimage in another continent. Because of it, I reached the root of something the seminary might otherwise have failed to diagnose. Thanks be to God!

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What Do You Care What Other People Think?

When I was a child, Mum was constantly trying to teach me to be mindful of what other people would think of me. “You can’t wear THAT! Tuck your shirt in! Clean your shoes!”

I couldn’t see what the big deal was about. I never noticed whether anyone else had cleaned their shoes or not, and so what if another person’s shirt was half out? That in itself tells me nothing about the person (except that they haven’t checked their waistline in the last few minutes).

Further, I hated branded goods. I would be the last person to choose a polo shirt or a pair of jeans with some big name embossed on it. No, give me plain every time! I found the idea of wearing some big brand name prominently, quite repellent.

What I didn’t understand at the time was that most human beings have a constant nagging voice in their head reminding them to care about what other people think of them, and most human beings make judgments about other people based on their appearance – cleanliness, tidyness and chosen brands. All of this passed me by and seemed most mysterious. What do dirty shoes tell me except that a person hasn’t cleaned them recently – how on earth could I know what their reasons for not cleaning were? Busyness? Poverty? Lack of care? And why do people want to pay more to have a big name on their jeans, jacket or handbag? This makes no sense to me!

Now I have to accept that most humans are hardwired to care about these things whether they want to or not, and that’s the world I have to live in and interact with.

A Nobel physics laureate, the American Richard Feynman, was a colourful and curious character who played bongo drums and published two volumes of personal anecdotes. Significantly, the second volume was entitled, “What do you care what other people think? Further adventures of a curious character.” The titular episode concerned discussions between Feynman and his wife about how formal (or intimate) messages on their greetings cards and embossed pencils should be.

I do not share all of Feynman’s traits – he used his lack of social restraint to become a pick-up artist, for instance – but I admire how he was determined to let the American public know why the Space Shuttle Challenger crashed (it was launched in conditions too cold for a critical component in its booster rockets) without allowing the truth to get buried under bureaucratic obfuscation.

Feynman’s writings provide fascinating insights into how people think. He could count either by ‘hearing’ numbers or ‘seeing’ them – I can only ‘hear’ them. He could imagine physics equations as graphical constructs – I could only mentalise them as algebraic symbols to be manipulated according to certain rules. He helped me to understand the kind of intuitive mind that a great scientist has, and therefore why some scientists can see their way directly to solutions when others (like myself) have to go the long way round. I recommend his two volumes to anyone interested in further exploring a mind not entirely unlike mine.

Pathways of Prayer

“If in my life I fail completely to heed others, solely out of a desire to be ‘devout’ and to perform my ‘religious duties’, then my relationship with God will also grow arid. It becomes merely ‘proper’, but loveless.” (Benedict XVI)

How does being an Aspie shape the ways I do, or don’t, pray?

When I was a very new Catholic, I was keen on praying the Rosary. Why? Because it was an explicit request of Our Lady of Fatima that we should do so daily (and if Medjugorje was genuine, three times a day). I don’t think I was ever particularly good at meditating while saying the Hail Marys – I have a one-track mind and it doesn’t do well at sustaining meditations while saying Hail Marys in “inner speech” (though I am quite capable of daydreaming during Hail Marys).

Now, 30 years on, I pray the rosary more as a duty than as a pleasure, and always conscious that Blessed Paul VI wrote that the rosary without meditations is like a body without a soul. Usually I just do the set prayers and use the rosary structure to make a sacrifice of time to the Lord (God, I am going to pray for 20 minutes and to stop my mind wandering, I am going to make you an offering of 20 minutes of prayers said). Less often, I will set aside the Hail Marys and spend the period just meditating on the mysteries.

Lectio Divina doesn’t come easily, either. The first time I read a passage of Scripture, I will suck it dry of the different perspectives that can be seen by an educated theologian without recourse to a Commentary. After the first pass, there is rarely more to be gained. I can read in vain waiting for one line to jump out at me. And I dread the kind of a group exercise where participants are encouraged at a certain point to ‘speak out the line which spoke to you’ – what is the point of that? If each person gave a quick summary of what the line was saying to them, that would be enriching for me. But to know that a line means something to someone without knowing what it means – that’s an exercise in prolonging the agony, especially when I have no ‘anointed’ line to throw into the mix.

The Divine Office is mostly poetry, but not the sort that rhymes or scans. I suppose a Catholic with an active ‘feeling centre’ will make an emotional journey as they pray the Office, being drawn into the highs and lows of the psalmist . But for this Aspie, they are words to be said, words to be said every month on a repeating cycle. Most fresh meanings were sucked out of them many years ago and so, like the Rosary, saying these words becomes mostly a means of dedicating a chunk of time for the worship of God.

I enjoy saying Mass. Probably the technical performance aspects appeal most – am I making the best use of the variety of options in the Missal? Am I singing the parts that should be sung? Above all, there’s the satisfaction of doing the thing Jesus told us specifically to do. Even when travelling, I find myself strongly motivated to say Mass every day, even when other forms of prayer feel tedious.

My favourite way to pray (the Office, Rosary or informally) is in a small group of two or three, where the accountability stops you getting distracted but recitation by a single voice can add emotional weight to the words spoken, without resorting to the drone needed when multiple voices are saying a Psalm or a decade of Hail Marys. I also enjoy charismatic worship, both singing worship songs which rhyme and scan, and singing in tongues (a spiritual gift God granted me more than 20 years ago).

I am well aware that there is a common pattern of lifelong development faced by people who pray, going through dark nights of the senses and of the soul, where prayer brings no consolation. For me, since about the time I was ordained, prayer has felt like sharing a house with a Dad who works nights – I know he is around but we tend not to bump into each other, he just leaves me the occasional post-it to find on the fridge door!

I don’t want to be the kind of rigid priest who performs devotions out of duty and experiences only aridity. Yet in this state of darkness the options seem to be a choice between arid prayer and no prayer at all. I’ve written already about how I prize principles over consequences,  and for that reason I will be drawn to practice forms of prayer ‘required’ by ordination promises or private revelation. Yet if I were trying to go by consequences, I am hard pressed to find a form of prayer with positive consequences right now. I wonder how prayer works for other Aspies?

Baptism in the Spirit

Friends are often surprised to find I am actively involved in the Catholic Charismatic Renewal. “Surely that’s about emotions, and you are an unemotional person?”

Many testimonies of those now involved in charismatic renewal will tell of how that person invited God’s Holy Spirit into their life, and they received an overwhelming sense of God’s loving presence, after which they lost their inhibitions about raising their hands and expressing themselves freely during public prayer. Some call this experience of release a “baptism in the Holy Spirit“, though the same terminology might also be applied to the moment a person gets the Gift of Tongues for the first time, or to the act of laying on hands and praying for a person in the hope that such an experience will follow.

As an Aspie, I was already free of those “What will other people think?” inhibitions. I was always quite comfortable singing loudly and lifting my hands during prayer. I received the Gift of Tongues on a day when I handed over a personal obsession* to the Lord – but I did not receive, and to this day have never experienced, the overwhelming sense of God’s loving presence which so many charismatics speak about.

It seems to me quite fitting and proper that we make a joyful noise to the Lord (as Scripture tells us to) and we use the kind of music that may stir in many people strong positive emotions. Doesn’t God deserve that? Pope Francis does not want us to leave church with a vinegar face!

* For some months, the only topic of my prayers had been pleading with God to call back to faith a certain friend who was going through severe doubts about God’s existence. I had recently fallen in love with this friend, and although the discovery she already had a boyfriend was painful, her loss of faith was even more devastating. But one night I reached the point of saying to God “This is too much for me – my whole prayer life cannot be about pleading for her faith to be restored – I am just going to place her in your hands, Lord.” That’s when my burden was lifted, and I prayed in tongues for the first time.

Aspie Becoming Catholic

I read my way in to the Catholic Church.

When I was in my pre-teens, I encountered Jesus through a moment of deep prayer. This set me on a journey of reading both the New Testament, and a bunch of literature about the different kinds of Christian Church.

The Catholic Faith had a coherent body of teaching. That appealed to my Aspie tidy-mindedness.

The Catholic Faith said that Jesus really meant what he said at the Last Supper – “This is My Body”. This appealed to my Aspie literalism.

The Catholic Faith held that the Virgin Mary had appeared at certain places in recent history. As an Aspie, I am quite willing to trust authoritative assertions even when they aren’t borne out by my lived experience of how the world around me usually works. (I haven’t seen an apparition – but I’ve never seen a black hole, either.)

The Catholic Faith included a charismatic renewal wing. The Bible says that speaking in tongues and other charismatic gifts will be manifested by believers. This appealed to my Aspie sense that what the Bible says should come to pass in the world around us.

Of course, I didn’t know I was an Aspie at the time I decided to become a Catholic. But with hindsight I can see that many things about the Catholic way of being Christian will appeal to Aspies – or at least to Aspies like me. I wonder if there are proportionally more of us in the Catholic Church than among Episcopalians or liberal Evangelicals? (For similar reasons, might disproportionately many Aspies become Muslims?)

Once I became a Catholic, I discovered (to my horror) that the majority of Catholics didn’t seem to be living out the values the textbooks said they should hold. Perhaps a typical human being would have allowed themselves to be reconfigured to conform to the behaviour of surrounding Catholics. Not me! I trust the official teaching of the Church way beyond the watered-down examples around me. After all, the Old Testament gives ample evidence that God’s first set of Chosen People were pretty poor at obeying the commandments they were covenanted into, and human nature hasn’t changed much.

However, there’s one important caveat. In Evangelii Gaudium, Pope Francis warns us to put human reality before theoretical abstractions. I am not wrong to trust the Magisterium to define principles, but I must have regard to the lived experience of Catholics to show me realistic ways of putting those principles into practice.

From Catholic Charismatic Renewal, I have read many stories of people whose behaviour is so attractive that others have become Catholics because of them. No-one has told me personally that they have become a Catholic because of me. Does that mean I am so literally obedient that my way of being Catholic is offputting to others? It’s implicit in what Pope Francis is warning us about. Yet I put my trust in the words of St Catherine of Siena: Be what you are called to be and you will set the world on fire!

 

The Language of the Law

In my last post, I began to explore the tension between the absolute nature of English Law and the suggestive format of Latin Law. Canon Lawyers say the law of the church is exhortative. How does that work?

An Italian friend invited me to go and stay in Italy with her husband and her sister. The two sisters generally spoke English together for my sake (and the husband’s). It sounded like they were arguing most of the time, “You should never have done so-and-so” – but it seems that rather than having a series of major disagreements, this was the normal way in that culture to express mild differences of opinion.

Wittgenstein, a philosopher of language, advised us to “Look for the use, not for the meaning“. As an Aspie, I find it hard to see beyond the literal meaning. Every professional field develops its own use of language, and jurisprudence includes case law teasing out the exact weight of what a law really means. But I do find it objectionable that a law might be drafted in words which are not literally intended. How, then can we know what it is supposed to mean? Scripture says: “Let your NO be NO and your YES be YES – anything else comes from the evil one.” And how can we understand God’s commands in the Bible, if they do not mean what they say? “Did God really say not to eat the fruit?” – that was the very first Temptation.

The whole Old Testament is a history of generations of God’s chosen people failing to live up to the Law they were covenanted into. There doesn’t seem to be much wiggle-room there for saying God wasn’t serious about avoiding the cult of Baal, paying tithes to the Jewish temple and seeking justice for the widow, orphan and honest trader. The Catholic interpretation of the New Testament holds that ‘This is My Body’ means just that in the context of the Eucharist. Yet God’s Word, like Christ, is fully human and fully divine. I cannot deny that there are human languages which thrive on exaggeration, as I have seen in Italian. To interpret that literally might be as alien to my Italian friend’s culture as to be non-literal would be to my own. When language itself carries such double meanings, have we any hope about pinning down what God wishes to communicate? And if so, can we express this in language which is itself unambiguous?

I once received an invitation to a wedding and said “I’ll come if I can”. I wasn’t going to know until a week before whether there would be room between other committment. In the event, I did go to the wedding. I didn’t let the couple know in advance because I couldn’t stay for the reception anyway, so there was no impact on catering. They were amazed that I had turned up. But I said “I’ll come if I can,” and in the event I could, so I came!  What should I have said?

And if “shall I come for coffee” means “let’s have sex”, how do I invite a person to spend an evening sharing a caffeinated beverage?

The Spirit of the Law

Last year, I visited a major pilgrim centre where a notice in the sacristy caught me eye. The text at the top was in Latin – an extract from the rules for Mass, stating that no priest may join a concelebration once the Mass had begun. It was repeated below in all the major European languages, including English. Yet ten minutes into the Mass, as the First Reading was being proclaimed, a side door opened and two vested priests walked into the sanctuary and took their seats.

If I were late for a concelebration, I would not dream of vesting and joining in – at least once the opening hymn has given way to the formal Sign of the Cross and Greeting. (I have once or twice scurried in during the hymn to tag on to a procession!) But as soon as the Sign of the Cross has been said, that’s it. I would, in such circumstances, take my place on the people’s pews.

I have often heard it said, especially by Canon Lawyers, that Latin Law is not like English Law. English Law is imperative. In England, cars wait at red lights even if all the roads are clear. Latin Law, by contrast, is exhortative. “It would be most fitting if you didn’t join a concelebration once it has begun, so please do your level best to get the the sanctuary in time.” Does that mean I am being too legalistic in excluding myself from doing what I have seen other priests do, when they slip into the sanctuary later than that?

In the Gospels, we see that Jesus was no stickler for the letter of the law. When his disciples plucked corn on the sabbath day, he defended them. He did not carry out the sentence of stoning due to an adulteress. He was accused of not observing precepts about ritual washing. Yet in these cases we can see the spirit of the law which was being honoured. The Sabbath Laws are about creating a day for rest and worship where scheduled work is to be avoided, not creating a day when it is forbidden to help a person in need, or indeed to help oneself to the fruits of the land. The adulteress was left in no doubt that she was a sinner who had experienced an act of mercy. The ritual washings were cultural baggage which tradition had added to the Law given by God.

Is it so serious to slip onto a sanctuary during a First Reading? Perhaps it depends on the reason you are late. If you were unavoidably delayed by an act of mercy (you had to hear a confession) or circumstances beyond your control (a traffic jam where there wouldn’t normally be one) then it is probably within the spirit of the law to join a Mass you would reasonably have expected to be on time for. But it would always be fitting to refrain from doing so out of respect for obedience to the law and the dignity of the celebration. Perhaps it is less a matter of sin, and more a counsel of perfection – as scripture says in a rather different context (whether to marry or not!), the one who takes part does well, but the one who sits out does better.

AspiePriest’s Three Laws of Humanics: (cf. Asmimov’s Three Laws of Robotics)

  1. A human being shall obey every commandment given by God (as proposed in Scripture or the formal teaching of the Catholic Church), following the Spirit of the Law where this can be clearly grasped, but the Letter of the Law otherwise.
  2. A human being shall seek the well-being of all human beings (especially their neighbour, themself, their enemy), but never in such a way as to contradict the First Law.
  3. A human being shall seek personal happiness and fulfilment, as long as this does not contradict the First Law or Second Law.

Ambushed by Affection

The British media have recently made a great stir about Pope (St) John Paul II having a close female friend to whom he gave his precious Brown Scapular and with whom he enjoyed a deeply emotional relationship – without any hint that he broke his vows of celibacy. Traditional Catholic wisdom is that one should avoid the “occasions of sin” – but very often, an occasion of sin is also an occasion of great good. If you cut yourself off from close relationships, you also cut off the possibility of experiencing affectionate friendships, and since God is love, God lives in such friendships. Nor can any absolute distinction be made – Pope Benedict XVI has acknowledged that there will always be a blurred line between the self-giving Christian love called agape and the base sexual instinct which is eros. There are two choices – avoid the possibility of close relationships at all; or walk the tightrope which seeks to give and receive affection without straying too far into arousal.

Last month, I wrote about how my way of being an Aspie means I can’t read the emotions in people’s eyes, and since facial expression conveys more than half the emotional content of a human interaction, that’s a pretty significant handicap. Another Aspie has said this:

Neurotypicals faces shine with “looks of love.” They show it with their eyes and tone of voice primarily. Neurotypicals are constantly saying nasty things to each other while at the same time shooting each other looks of love. It’s like saying, “You’re hair looks crazy today,” while their eyes and voice are saying “but I love you for it.” Talk about mixed messages! The same way that Aspies love to figure out riddles and solve puzzles, these are “social” puzzles for neurotypicals that they love playing with and figuring out. It’s considered “sophisticated” social interaction. Plus, the looks of love are very rewarding for them and make them feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Because I can’t sense these “looks of love”, they aren’t going to make me warm and fuzzy inside. But I do have close friends, and it is possible for my friends to communicate something that makes me feel warm and fuzzy. This only happens when someone unmistakeably and directly communicates to me that I am loved. It might be some words whose meaning is crystal clear. It might be an action that helps me with a project, when someone clearly understands what I am trying to achieve. But most commonly it will be because a friend has actually, physically, touched me.

A hand on my shoulder, a kiss on my cheek, an embrace that lingers longer than a perfunctory hug – all of these things can and do tell me that I am loved. But for me, they are not the crescendo in a symphony of love smouldering away in someone’s eyes – if one of my close and trusted friends does this, I find myself ambushed by affection, taking me from no awareness to strong awareness in a moment. This is a bittersweet experience, because it means for me there is only a very narrow gap between the kind of interaction which won’t communicate affection at all, and the kind I want to avoid as a celibate because it would move into sexual arousal.

It also means that I am not very good at using touch to show affection to others. Because what I experience in my life is being ambushed by affection at seemingly random moments, this is what I naturally reproduce in the way I have tried, in the past, to tell my most trusted friends that they are loved. When it is physically possible to offer a backrub or casually touch someone’s arm, I have done so – and until the last year or so, have been puzzled by feedback from friends who have asked me not to try so hard. Surely human beings want to be told that their friends love them, using the appropriate love languages?

I’m only just beginning to understand that the love languages are the icing on the cake, where the sponge-base is the visual communication. That must be why some of my trusted friends have counselled me to “stop trying”, and why I can never seem to join in with “teasing” or adult “play fighting”. What I am trying to do only works when it’s orchestrated as part of the symphony of non-verbal communication, and I can’t hear the basic melody. My friend Chelsea does assure me, though, that my eyes do communicate – she knows that I feel comfortable in her home because she can see it in there.

Not understanding the underlying melody, until now I thought that touch was all about how comfortable am I with you as a person, and you with me. If you put a hand on my shoulder and I’m comfortable with that, I thought that meant “OK, now we are close enough we can put a hand on each other’s shoulder at random moments”. But obviously not – there are much more subtle indicators for context. The meta-golden-rule strikes again!

It’s not easy, learning this as a Catholic priest. There are very few safe relationships in which I can practice. In my professional relationships, I will always err on the side of not touching unless I am absolutely sure it’s OK (holding the hand of a dying person is generally OK). I will never have a wife or experience a dating relationship (I never had a girlfriend before becoming a priest). I’m aware that there are such things as cuddle parties where non-sexual cuddles are available, but I find the idea of being touched affectionately by someone who’s not already a trusted friend quite repellent. In my professional relationships, my constant awareness that I have a duty to keep appropriate boundaries means that unexpected touch from others is always slightly uncomfortable. And that leaves only a small handful of trusted friends who, though they aware of my Aspie diagnosis, do not go out of their way to communicate affection in direct ways which they themselves might find uncomfortable – nor can I talk to them about this often, because I get the impression that conversing about “how do we show love to each other” is uncomfortable in the context of anyone other than a current or future spouse.

Sadly, this means that every time I visit such a friend, I never know whether or not I am going to be ambushed by affection. On a good visit, if I spend 1-2 nights staying in the home of one of my closest friends, there is a 50:50 chance they will do something that effectively communicates affection. There are few things more lonely than driving home from a visit where I experienced no ambush, knowing that one of the few trusted people in my life who could communicate love has failed to do so (through no deliberate fault of their own) and it might now be several months before I next visit a friend by whom I might be ambushed. If I feel warm and fuzzy six times in a year because someone has effectively communicated love, it’s been a good year. That’s not much love to live on, but it looks like it’s all I’m ever going to experience.

Three Kinds of Priest

In the part of the world where I minister, most of the priests around me were trained in the 1960s or 1970s. The majority of these priests are what I call ‘humanitarians’ (some would call then liberals). Their emphasis is the Second Great Commandment. They are concerned first and foremost for the material and emotional wellbeing of people, and often seem keen to set aside those church rules which make life ‘difficult’ (about such things as remarriage, contraception and priestly celibacy). When a group of them get together, they often say rude things about other priests who seem excessively concerned about such things as good liturgy.

At the start of 2015, I attended the conference of the Confraternity of Catholic Clergy in Rome. The key speakers, as advertised, were key Vatican figures with interesting things to say. But the vast majority of priests I networked with at this conference seemed preoccupied with the restoration of the extraordinary form of the liturgy (a.k.a. Tridentine Mass) and how to save the Church from the terrible liberal errors Pope Francis was ‘likely’ to inflict on it around the forthcoming Synod on the Family. This group of clergy (‘conservatives’ or ‘traditionalists’) were just as rude about the liberals as my experience of vice versa. I got a definite sense that this group of priests first and foremost were seeking security of identity, expressed in terms of continuity with the lived experience of the church of the recent past. Any change was a threat not only to practice but to identity.

Some years ago a friend commented that it was easier to get liberals to build a consensus than to get conservatives to do so, because liberals would readily compromise on any solution which was generally good for human beings, while conservatives each had their own highly prized yet subtly different standard for what best expressions of liturgy and doctrine should be.

More recently, I realised there is a third kind of priest – the evangelical, or disciple. This kind of priest is most focussed on what Jesus commanded us to do. Such a priest is not afraid to innovate in those areas where the contemporary church is not currently doing some of the things Jesus commanded – such as evangelising or ministering the healing and prophetic gifts of the Holy Spirit. This is the rarest kind of priest, and I think you will find that they will speak sadly, but not rudely, about their colleagues who have allowed care for other human beings or their own security of identity to come before the First Great Commandment, to love God with all one’s heart, mind and strength.

Of course, anyone who truly loves God must necessarily love their neighbour; but if we are confident that God has said, through the church, that artificial contraception, abortion, euthanasia and direct co-operation with weapons of mass destruction are wrong in all circumstances, we cannot invoke the ‘public good’ defence implicit in the Second Great Commandment, to justify them. Any priest who was sworn the ordination oath of fidelity to celebrate liturgy and teach doctrine according to the norms of the Church is duty bound not to innovate – but that still leaves room to explore the spirit of the law, and does not bind the senior officials of the church from adjusting liturgies and developing doctrines, for they have the authority to do so.

There are not only three kinds of priests, of course. There are three kinds of lay Catholics, three kinds of deacons and three kinds of bishops. I doubt we can have more than one kind of Pope at any one time, though!

The Incredible Truth

Allow me to introduce one of my friends, whom I will call ‘Chelsea’. She is a family doctor and we have known each other since we were university students.

One day I was trying to explain to her the principle of Quantum Physics which says empty space is filled with ‘virtual particles’. This means that a pair of particles can appear ‘out of nowhere’ as long as they vanish again within a split-second interval related to Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle. There would be no cause for this to happen in a particular place; it takes place randomly simply because it’s statistically possible for it to do so.

Chelsea found this idea simply impossible to believe. I don’t think her problem was with the words; she could probably picture the concept of something emerging out of nothing. What she couldn’t accept was that the physical universe could possibly behave that way; her brain was conditioned by many years of seeing effect follow cause. I think they call that cognitive dissonance. It was clear that although she trusted my science qualifications, she could not bring herself to believe what I was asserting.

Chelsea is one of those trusted friends well aware of my Asperger’s diagnosis who serve as sounding boards to help me explore the neurotypical world. A few days later, I asked her a question. Was it true that when I visited her house, that even before I said any word or performed any action deliberately intended to communicate affection, she would be consciously aware of being in the presence of someone who loved her very much? She affirmed that she would, and when I pressed her on how she would know, she said she could see it in my eyes.

Not long after this conversation, another friend, a deacon, made a passing remark – “You could really see God in that person.” It’s a common phrase, but one I’ve never understood, so I took the opportunity to ask what my deacon-friend really meant by seeing God in someone. Ultimately he decided: “I can see it in their eyes.”

I also recently took part in a psychology experiment. I was asked to look at pictures showing human expressions – just a ‘letterbox’ image of the two eyes without the rest of the face – and choose from multiple-choice lists to say what emotion I felt the eyes were expressing. I found it almost impossible! Coupled with what the deacon and Chelsea told me, it was good confirmation that while most humans can read emotions in the eyes, I cannot.

 I have great trouble accepting this, just as Chelsea has great trouble grasping the counter-intuitive truths of Quantum Physics. It is so alien to my experience that you can ‘just pick up’ on how someone else feels about you, that although I can just write what I have written, it is very difficult to live my life feeling confident that my friends don’t need me to tell them how much I care about them because they can already sense it!

When  it comes to the counter-intuitive proposals of the Special Theory of Relativity (if you try to accelerate close to the speed of light you get heavier rather than going faster) and of Quantum Mechanics, I am very ready to accept that I have no direct experience of these realms, and if the mathematics predicts it, and experiment verifies it, then it must be so. But when it comes to the question of being human, it’s harder for me. I have to learn that my own experience of being human is not a good guide to the experience of the typical human beings around me.

There’s an oft-repeated statistic that says that 93% of all communication is non-verbal. This is true, but only for a very specific kind of communication – knowing what emotion is meant to be communicated by the saying of a single word. Imagine trying to say the word ‘thanks’, or ‘maybe’, or ‘terrible’ while deliberately trying to convey a positive, neutral or negative emotion. Mehrabian’s studies showed that the emotion behind a single word spoken in this contrived situation was conveyed 7% by the word itself, 38% by the tone of voice, and 55% by the facial expression.

I know from experience that I can read tone of voice pretty well, and if I can see someone’s whole face I can get a general sense from what I see – but if the eyes are so important then, hard though it is for me to believe, I am missing out on a very significant channel of communication. For you, if you are a typical human being, you are probably shrugging your shoulders at the banality of what I have just said, but for me, I am fighting cognitive dissonance to embrace this incredible truth!

A useful resource in this regard may be the Mind Reading DVD tool.