Autism theology ‘from the outside in’: mapping the journey of autism theology from the margins to the centre

ABSTRACT

‘Autism’ is a word which can sometimes raise more questions than it answers within practical theology. While autism has existed as a diagnostic category for almost a century, the meanings we attach to it remain complex, multi-varied, and ambiguous. What do we mean when we speak of autism in theological contexts, and of whom do we speak? Most importantly, who exactly is doing the speaking? In this article, two authors, one neurotypical and one neurodiverse, explore contemporary theological approaches to autism, mapping the epistemological turn from theologies of autism on the margins to theologies of autism from the centre.

KEYWORDS:

• Autism
• autism theology
• co-production
• spirituality

Introduction

Today, autism is increasingly accepted as having existed as long as humanity itself (Houston and Frith 2000). Yet, the history of research into autism as it is currently defined is short, with Bonnie Evans (2017), Mitzi Waltz (2013) and others describing its emergence as a distinctive diagnostic term only in the mid-twentieth century. Since that time, our understanding of autism has been through what Evans calls a process of ‘metamorphosis,’ and is still developing (2017, 26). This conceptual volatility, together with the nature of autism as something that manifests itself within the context of normally-seen-as-neurotypical human relationality, presents theologians with significant challenges. We are, therefore, still seeking to develop a coherent approach to autism. There are however grounds for optimism. As this article will demonstrate, we are starting to see the emergence of autistic theologians and researchers and of autistic testimony to spiritual experience (Barber 2011; Macaskill 2021; Rapley 2021).

As a result, this moment provides a good opportunity to pause, stand back, and chart the evolution of theological thinking about autism. This is the task that we undertake in this article. We look first at the historical context within which thinking about autism has developed, together with other factors shaping and driving theological responses to autism. We then summarise the journey from generalised theological models of disability through the developing field of ‘autism theology’ into a more holistic theological approach. In surveying this landscape, we observe the current and emerging work developing within the discipline, highlighting potential areas for further research and greater understanding.

The Autism Context: Emergence and Development. Our theological thinking about autism has undergone numerous evolutions and transformations since it began to emerge as a subject of enquiry. Before we examine these developments, it is helpful to sketch out contextual factors that have helped and continue to shape that process. The first aspect to consider is the articulation and definition of autism itself. At a broad level, this can be understood in five phases: phases which, as we explore, can be shown to frame our available theological models.

Phase 1: Pre-autism. Prior to the 1940s, there was no recognition of autism as a distinct ‘condition’, or way of being. What we would call ‘autism’ today was simply included by clinicians in one of several broad child-development diagnostic categories: ‘childhood psychosis’, ‘childhood schizophrenia’ or ‘mental deficiency’ (Evans 2017, 4).

Phase 2: First autism. Concurrently documented by Kanner (1943) and Asperger (1946), it was argued that autism was a rare childhood developmental condition. Perceived to affect boys almost exclusively, it was considered to involve excessive withdrawal from social contact and separation from reality. Heavily influenced by the context of schizophrenia within which it had previously been situated, it was considered that this ‘withdrawal from reality’ was the result of ‘extreme hallucinatory thought’ (Evans 2013, 9). This implied that the autistic world was unreachable to those outside.

Phase 3: New Autism. However, during the 1960s-1980s the definition of autism changed to one which depicted a complete lack of hallucinatory thought, imagination, and creativity; precisely opposite to the previous conceptualisation (Evans 2013, 18). These parameters can still be shown to influence diagnostic definitions today. In its ‘official’ diagnostic criteria (DSM 5), autism is currently defined by,

‘Persistent difficulties with social communication and social interaction’ and ‘restricted and repetitive patterns of behaviours, activities or interests’ (this includes sensory behaviour), present since early childhood, to the extent that these ‘limit and impair’ everyday functioning.¹

Here, we can observe the way in which language forms our perception of the autistic person. Terms such as ‘persistent difficulties’ and ‘limit and impair’ do not merely imply a differential ability to relate to others but an impaired ability to relate to others. When defined within a medical model characterised by deficits in particular areas of ‘normal’ functioning, autism becomes situated within a disability paradigm.

Phase 4: Autism as a Spectrum condition. From the 1980s to the present saw the development of the ‘autism spectrum’ model. Emerging from the work of psychologist Lorna Wing (herself a parent of an autistic child), this positioned presentation of autism as a ‘spectrum’, ranging from ‘severe’ to ‘high functioning’ (Wing 1996). This had the effect of broadening the diagnostic criteria and embracing adults in addition to children, refuting earlier claims of autism’s particularity as a childhood condition (Silberman 2015, 14). However, these criteria, even now, remain largely deficit-based, and are criticised for the language used in differentiating those who appear ‘on the autism spectrum’.

Phase 5: Neurodiversity and the Social Model. One of the consequences of the autism spectrum concept has been a challenge to the hegemony of the clinicians and the medical model, with many autistic people advocating autism through the lens of the ‘Social Model’ – which sees the locus of ‘the problem’ and the root cause of any disablement as being the structures of society, rather than the autistic person (Waltz 2013, 71–72). Additionally, the development of the neurodiversity paradigm asserts that there is not just a single neurological construction that can be seen as non-pathological; there are several, including autism (O’Dell et al. 2016, 172).

Running through these phases have been significant debates and disagreements: notably over the possible causes of autism (genetic vs environmental²) and whether autism is rare, with a narrow focus (Kanner 1943) or more common with a broad ‘spectrum’ of manifestations (Wing 1996). Indeed, even the language we use to describe autism is hotly contested (Kenny et al. 2016). Whilst some advocate a ‘person first’ language, i.e. person with autism, others contend that this pathologizes autism, perpetuating unhelpful disability tropes.³ With so much misunderstanding, ambiguity, and conflict surrounding autism, it is important what we say, how we say it, and, indeed, who says it.

Factors shaping theological thought on autism

The ways in which autism is lived and experienced are infinitely varied and complex, and reveal that autism is experienced not only physically but socially, culturally, and theologically. Thus, autism is inherently resistant to categorisation. As a result, theology has, until recent years, been peculiarly reluctant to engage with autism as a site of theological inquiry (Campbell 2021, xv). In fact, until the past three decades, autism’s most notable theological contribution has been its absence. This provokes the question, what is it about autism that presents as so theologically problematic? Or rather, what is it about our theological thinking that is problematic to the way we think about autism?

Since we are, as Grant Macaskill explains, unable to appeal to Scripture (or to church history) for any normative definitional material on autism, we have to build our theological response from a starting point of the available and contemporary facts (Macaskill 2019, 2). As there is currently no single understanding of autism which commands a consensus of support, the theological task is made complex. If there is no available Normative Theology (following the four-theologies model of Cameron et al. 2010) in the case of autism, then the state of our Formal Theology requires some investigation.

Another significant factor in framing our theologising of autism is the current state of our Espoused and Operant theologies within Christian communities. The current position is that understanding of autism within churches is very variable. Whilst there are signs of concern to progress matters of ‘inclusion⁴’ in some cases, there are also examples of both lack of understanding and dangerous myths or misunderstandings. Macaskill attests to the persistence of extreme, and incorrect, assessments of autism still being in the public (and church) domain (2019, 43–69). At an anecdotal level, the authors have heard church leaders advancing both the view that ‘autism is a disability and a burden’, that ‘vaccination can make children autistic’ and that ‘whilst accepting an autistic person, I still pray for them to be healed’. Such beliefs do not only continue to be held informally but continue to permeate research.

Whilst not coming from a strictly theological academic discipline, a relevant contribution from the field of science and religion highlights the pervasiveness of such attitudes towards autism and religiosity. This research was prompted by cognitive theories of autism that suggested, for example, that autistic people lacked any Theory of Mind – a theory first proposed in the late 1970s, but influential in the field of autism from the 1980s and still in evidence today (Baron-Cohen, Leslie, and Frith 1985). The study utilised functional Magnetic Resonance Imaging (fMRI) techniques to scan brain activity, observing that when ‘neurotypical’ (or non-autistic) participants were asked to think about God and pray, their ‘mentalising processes’ (the pathways in the brain used when we are interacting with another person) were activated. However, they found that this effect was much reduced, or absent, when autistic participants completed the same tasks. In their 2012 article, Norenzayan, Gervais and Trzesniewski used this outcome to support the hypothesis that autistic people are innately less religious than neurotypical people.

In a later article, however, Reddish, Tok, and Kundt (2016) proposed that the effect might also be explained on the basis that autistic people were simply thinking differently about God and prayer. These opposing perspectives highlight the hazards of framing ‘autistic’ spirituality against what is perceived to be ‘normative’ spirituality. In considering autism from a theological perspective, face the challenge of addressing a modern-day topic for which there is no explicit analogue in Scripture, then scrutinising the accepted approaches of our theological disciplines within the context of a Christian community that has been influenced by a smorgasbord of legacy beliefs and assumptions about autism. The task has only just begun!

The journey so far: fragments to coherence

The story of theological thinking about autism is one which can be described broadly as a journey that is moving us from fragmentation to coherence. We suggest five themes: (1) legacy constructs; (2) disability theology; (3) emergence of autism spirituality narratives; (4) the drive for a holistic approach and (5) autistic theology. We refer to these as ‘themes’, rather than phases.

Although there is an approximate timeline, as we will indicate below, these themes are not mutually exclusive and may run concurrently rather than strictly sequentially. It is worth noting that, at times, these ‘themes’ can also be seen to run parallel with, or at the least, be strongly informed by, the phases of autism outlined above. Whilst this is perhaps useful for contextualising the evolution of our thinking on autism, this congruence may, in places, perpetuate some of the same problems in understanding.

1. Legacy constructs: ‘pre and first autism’

In the absence of a scriptural theological blueprint, the theological starting point of our thinking about autism has tended to be measured against what is considered to be formative, or normative, within theology. In this sense, we could consider early autism theologies as emerging from a ‘pre-autism’ theological context.

Much of our traditional theology is framed by the analogous conception of ‘God-as-person’. In a trinitarian perspective, God exists as a community of persons. The perichoretic nature of the Trinity therefore establishes relationship as central to the Christian understanding of God (Kilby 2000, 432). Not only is God held to be relational in nature, but it is assumed that relationality is both an essential dimension of human anthropology and a precondition for any human communion with the Divine. Karl Barth defines this reciprocal relationality as the ‘I-Thou’; Man created as a thou that can be addressed by God, but also an ‘I’ responsible to God.

German Philosopher Martin Buber, in establishing the philosophical underpinnings of the ‘I-Thou’, defines human capacity for relationship as an ‘either or’; the ‘I-Thou’ way of being and relating, or the ‘I-It’ (1923). Within this diametric archetype, the ‘I-Thou’ refers to genuine communication and connection between one being to another. It is in this ‘I-Thou’ connection, Buber believes, that we become ‘whole persons.’ In contrast, the ‘I-It’ is defined as one-sided – while still relational, this connection is established between the ‘I’, and the ‘It’ (‘It’ as being, or object) which serves our needs, but from which we remain separate. This diametric pairing can arguably be shown to have significant implications for theological constructions of autism.

Hans Asperger, writing in a ‘first autism’ context, asserted that,

Human beings normally live in constant interaction with their environment, and react to it continually. However … the autist is only himself (cf. the Greek word autos) and is not an active member of a greater organism which he is influenced by and which he influences constantly. (1946, 37)

On the surface, if we are to consider autism within the parameters of this definition, then autism would seem incongruent with a faith tradition which is itself defined by the very thing autism is not. If God is relational, and autism is defined by its capacity (or lack thereof) to be in relation, how does the autistic person relate to God? Furthermore, how does someone who is perceived to want to be alone, join the community of the church, with all of the reciprocal action expected within such a community? These such questions have dogged the theological response to autism. Perhaps as a consequence, there is little, if any, in the way of recognised theological research on autism published in this period. However, as we will witness in the developing theological landscape of autism, it is the questions themselves, rather than autism, which reveal the tensions and limitations in ‘pre-autism’ theological thinking.

In a theological context, ‘pre-autism’ questions such as these can be summarised as expressions of the Moral Model (Rapley 2021, 16). Such a conception assumes a negative aspect, often characterised by brokenness in the imago dei, and invites a variety of responses from compassion and charity to healing and even exorcism of demons. The task of ‘theologising autism’ therefore requires careful positioning within both the conceptual paradigms and the sub-disciplines of established Formal Theology. Do we frame autism as ‘disability’ by approaching it only from the perspective of ‘other’ to what is considered ‘normative theology’? Do we, for example, need to consider creating something such as ‘I-Mystery’ as a second alternative to ‘I-Thou’, rather than simply ‘I-It’⁵? Further, do we need to take greater care in noting the limitations of the ‘God-as-person’ analogy? Whilst such a construction is helpful in facilitating our discussion of God, establishing it as the foundational principle of our theology risks constructing a theology that, by definition, excludes autistic people from the possibility of engaging with God.

More recent researchers have sought to challenge and deconstruct these theological questions. Autistic researcher Christopher Barber declares, ‘People with autism make connection with God’ (2011, 201). He proposes, rather, that our communion with God is not simply constrained to the channels through which we communicate with the external world, as the ‘Thou-It’ diametric pairing suggests. More recently, systematic theologian Joanna Leidenhag has published on the need to deconstruct aspects of the theological ‘status quo’, which, she argues, militate against the interests of autistic people. She proposes that commonly held concepts of Christian anthropology (as outlined above) lead to devastating conclusions about the inability of autistic people to bear God’s image or experience the ministry of the Holy Spirit (2021a, 132). Further, she counters the notion that autistic people cannot be considered to be part of the ‘moral community’ (2021b, 12), arguing for the need to go beyond ‘inclusion’ (which she defines as an inadequate term that implies simply granting autistic people access to the status quo) (2022, 212).

The use of the term ‘status quo’ here highlights the marginality of autism as a subject of theological inquiry in ‘pre’ and ‘first’ autism contexts, in that it is situated ‘outside’, ‘distinct from’, or simply otherwise ignored in ‘formal theology’. The recentness of Barber and Leidenhag’s challenges to ‘traditional theology’ emphasise the paucity of theological research on autism prior to recent decades: where autism was referenced, it was done so peripherally, as merely parenthetical to a broader disability context.

2. Disability theology

Perhaps as a consequence of this, autism was, until recent years, positioned firmly within the parameters of ‘disability theology’. Emerging as a response to exclusionary church attitudes and practices towards difference, disability theologies called into question our ‘normative’ constructions of personhood, and the meanings these constructions attach to our image of God. We see the publication of ‘The Disabled God … ’ in 1994 as a turning point in challenging the pre and first-autism ‘Moral Model’ of counter-normative humanity. Although the book is not about autism as such, Eiesland argues against the prevailing use of the imago dei as holding up the notion of an ‘ideal human’ with disability representing some measure of tarnishing or defect against this ‘norm’ (1994, 92). Eiesland argues instead for a re-conceptualisation of the imago dei on the basis that God can also be seen to be ‘disabled’, in carrying the crucifixion wounds of the resurrected Christ (1994, 102). Whilst there are some challenges to this particular theological model,⁶ ‘The Disabled God … ’ nonetheless puts down a theological marker, asserting that disabled people are fully human and fully part of the Body of Christ and should be accepted and accommodated as such.

It must be noted, however, that by her own admission, Eisland believes the experience of individuals with ‘intellectual disabilities’ (as she defines autism) to be sufficiently different that she chooses not to include them in her analysis. While disability theologies marked a shift towards a recognition of different bodies as theologically valuable, the recognition of the different minds as spiritually incapable continues to colour theological thinking during this period.

Jennifer Cox’s 2017 book ‘Autism, Humanity and Personhood’ explores the concept of personhood from anthropological, psychological and theological perspectives. In this volume, Cox considers that ‘the most profound theological question which arises from a discussion of the nature of autism is whether people with low-functioning autism are genuine human persons’ (2017, 37).

In answer to this question, she presents a deficit model of ‘severe’ autism as ‘lacking’ the core qualities of personhood as defined by a relational model of humanity. She rejects the inclusive model of personhood proposed by Eisland, arguing that this perspective redefines and consequently diminishes what we should consider ‘human’. ‘A deficit of relationality’, she states, ‘cannot be promoted as God's best hope for humanity’ (2017, 79).

Cox adheres to a creationist perspective, retroactively diagnosing Adam and Eve as neurotypical, and therefore evidence that autism was not present before the Fall, nor was it intended to be part of God’s creation. Rather, she argues, autism is the result of the Fall and sin’s entrance into the world. She proposes that persons with autism will be ‘healed’, ‘redeemed’, and ‘restored’ in the eschaton (2017, 159). She adopts an ‘extrinsic anthropological theology’ which asserts that the solution to the ‘fundamental question’ posed above is that none of us, in fact, are human – only Christ is, and it is through him that we will achieve our full personhood in the resurrection.

Whilst Cox stresses throughout her work that she does not perceive autistic individuals to be ‘sub-human’, her theological position strongly upholds unhelpful (if not damaging) constructions of the autistic person. Cynthia Tam, writing from a position of theological inclusion, is wary of such an ontology, cautioning that, ‘I am not convinced that Cox’s description of the humanness of people with severe autism could influence the actions of the church and wider society positively’ (2021, 136).

John Swinton, a critical writer in the field of disability theology, argues for a more compassionate and inclusive response. In 2012, Swinton wrote the article ‘Reflections on Autistic Love … ’, which was published in this journal. Here, Swinton notes that we are told that ‘God is Love’ (thus making love and relationship foundational concepts within Christian theological thinking) whilst also being informed that autistic people lack the capacity to demonstrate love. However, Swinton refutes the assumption that autistic people lack the relational characteristics of ‘full’ personhood. He asserts that autistic people do, indeed, have the capability to be loving and to express love – but may do so in ways that are different from their neurotypical counterparts (2012, 260). The issue, therefore, is not in the ‘difference’ of the autistic person, but rather, in attitudes towards difference.

Problematising social and theological attitudes towards difference, significant developments in autism theology can be found in the works of Tom Reynolds (2008), John Gillibrand (2010), and Brian Brock (2019). All fathers of autistic sons, these writers draw on their lived experience of autism to challenge attitudes of exclusion. In Vulnerable Communion: A theology of Disability and Hospitality, Reynolds offers a nuanced deconstruction of the ‘cult of normalcy’, challenging notions of the normative, or ‘ideal’ person as theologically valuable. Rather, he argues, it is our shared vulnerability as humans which affirms our mutual dependence. Gillibrand’s 2010 book Disabled Church – Disabled Society describes his efforts both as a church minister and as a father to a virtually non-verbal autistic son to integrate his son into church life. Gillibrand uses his experience to argue that the (transformed) church should be an ‘agent of change’, but laments that currently it ‘is not like that’ (2010, 189). Brock’s 2019 offering, ‘Wondrously Wounded … ’, describes and celebrates both the life and spirituality of his autistic (non-verbal) and Down’s son, advocating for a theological model of compassionate hospitality towards one another, irrespective of difference.

The examples highlighted in this section can be seen to relate to different models of autism, as outlined above. Swinton, Reynolds, Gillibrand and Brock seem to be embracing some of the more contemporary understandings (autism as a spectrum, neurodiversity, etc.) in promoting the view that autistic people are ‘different’ as opposed to ‘defective’. Cox’s (and arguably Eisland’s) contribution, on the other hand, appears to be rooted in the ‘Pre-autism/First autism’ paradigms with strong dependence on legacy theological constructs and the moral model. These divergencies emphasise the ‘fragmented’ nature of early theological thinking on autism.

Perhaps where these contributions can be seen to be fairly consistent, however, is in regards to the particular ‘autistic’ person on which they are focused. Despite their various theological positions, early writing on autism almost exclusively focuses on autistic individuals with more ‘profound⁷’ needs, particularly those lacking in verbal language. Whilst these contributions undoubtedly offer insight into lives which might otherwise be occluded, there is the potential for furthering a one-dimensional portrayal of autism. Such portrayals bring sharply into question the issues of power and authority in research: who is doing the speaking, and indeed, why.

3. The emergence of autism spirituality narratives

As if to address these questions, our next theme sees the emergence of writers exploring the lived experiences of autistic people as the central, and not peripheral, concern. Standing against the trope that autistic people are incapable of belief in God or of authentic spiritual experience, we see starting in the early 2000s a new theme emerging; researchers and writers who document, either directly or vicariously, the nature and validity of the spiritual experiences of autistic people.

Jill Hershaw’s 2016 book ‘God Beyond Words … ’, whilst not explicitly addressing the topic of autism, does explore the issue of spirituality in those who are not able to communicate their thoughts and experiences to others, as problematised above. Whilst Henshaw acknowledges her personal interest as a parent of a woman with ‘profound intellectual difficulties’, her book is an academic treatment of her subject. As the tendency in research is, for understandable reasons related to data collection, to focus on those able to articulate and communicate their thoughts and experiences, this work brings to the conversation significant insights into the question of ‘voice’ within researcher.

Harshaw, arguing the ‘inherent unsoundness’ of frequently used qualitative research methods in practical theology, asserts that,

Having created an impossible situation for people with profound intellectual disabilities by asking them to communicate their experience when they clearly cannot do so, the research focus at times becomes blurred and, in the end, people with profound intellectual disabilities who are purported to be contributors to the conversation about their spiritual lives are forced into the position of having the spiritual experience recovered and articulated by others. (2016, 181)

Having dismissed traditional research methods as inappropriate, Henshaw argues in favour of a preference for assuming the existence of a genuine spiritual experience based not upon evidence provided by the individual concerned but rather upon evidence provided by the source of such an experience.

Also problematising traditional constructs of theological knowledge from a maternal perspective, Eilidh Campbell (now Galbraith) draws on her own and others experience of mothering an autistic child to challenge the theological compulsion to provide ‘answers’ to challenging theological questions (2021, 165). To do so, she argues, is to speak for, over, or against the complexity of lived experiences which defy incorporation into normative epistemological frameworks.

Moving beyond the particularity of ‘vicarious’ experience, this theme also sees the emergence of autistic writers articulating their experiences. Perhaps the first to do so is William Stillman, in his 2006 book ‘Autism and the God Connection … ’. In direct contrast to Cox’s position, Stillman draws on his own, and others’, experience to imagine autism as ‘spiritually evolutionary’. Countering the idea that some facets of autistic experience are detrimental to spirituality, he proposes that ‘in a journey towards spiritual perfection, it may be congruent that those individuals with the greatest life challenges are amongst the most advanced of souls’ (2006, 7). Stillman’s work challenges our theological pre-conceptions, daring us to confront a different way of being. That being said, Stillman himself recognises the danger in this approach of extolling ‘savant⁸’ portrayals of autistic traits (2006, 9).

More recently, authors using their own experience to make a case for the validity of autistic spiritual experience include Christopher Barber, and Daniel Bowman. Barber argues in his 2011 paper ‘On Connectedness: Spirituality and the Autism Spectrum’ (referenced above) that, as an autistic Christian, he experiences connectedness with himself, with others and with God. Exploring the importance of praxis in spiritual worship, he observes that ‘structured forms such as the Divine Office and the Rosary offer more scope in this context than extemporary and contemplative prayer’ (2011, 1756). Bowman similarly offers a moving account of his own spiritual journey in On the Spectrum: Autism, Faith and the Gifts of Neurodiversity (2021), narrating the ways in which he navigates the social and sensory challenges of church participation.

These contributions all argue for a view of autism that, whilst acknowledging areas of brokenness, nevertheless asserts full humanity and the capacity for genuine spiritual experience of and communion with the divine – even if this is non-communicable in terms of human relationships and community. This aligns with more contemporary understandings of autism that we have described as ‘Autism as a Spectrum condition’ and ‘Neurodiversity and the Social Model’.

4. Autism from the centre – the drive for a holistic approach

Whilst the themes explored thus far demonstrate autism’s theological development as marginal, sporadic, and fragmented, since 2018 there has been an extraordinary surge of work emerging, primarily in the area of practical theology. This has the advantage of enabling a holistic approach to autism without pre-framing assumptions of autism as a disability. In this sense, we can see autism theology as moving from theory to practice.

In ‘Kinship in the Household of God … ’ (2021), Cynthia Tam explores both doctrine and praxis, looking at two ‘inclusive’ churches in Canada, comparing their models and policies for inclusion through qualitative interviews with both young autistic church members and their families. Tam takes a predominantly ‘social model’ stance, arguing that the experience of the autistic believers is valid, but represents distinctive requirements in terms of inclusion – requirements that the church leaders have not addressed.

A 2022 article published in this journal by Léon van Ommen similarly investigates practices of inclusion, utilising a case study of the Chapel of Christ our Hope in Singapore, a church that has set itself the task of making autistic people central to their community and worship. Van Ommen contends that the practical-theology-of-autism enterprise currently ‘lacks concrete examples . . .. This article fills that gap’ and he draws out several points ‘not . . . as a blueprint for churches to follow . . . [rather as] practical insights for churches that want to create places of belonging for autistic and non-autistic people alike’ (2022, 508).

What is perhaps the most notable development within this phase is that practical theological research has itself become a place of ‘belonging for autistic and non-autistic people’, with significant contributions emerging from autistic researchers themselves. A major contribution in this field was made by Grant Macaskill’s 2019 book Autism and the Church, which built on his 2018 article ‘Autism Spectrum Disorders and the New Testament: Preliminary Reflections’, published in the Journal of Disability and Religion. During 2020 and 2021, Macaskill (himself on the autistic spectrum) contributed a further three journal articles through the Journal of Disability and Religion.

Other contributions in this area by autistic researchers include Krysia Waldock’s 2020 article ‘An Exploratory Study of Attitudes towards Autism Amongst Church-going Christians in the South East of England’, and Erin R. Burnett’s 2020 article ‘Different, not less: pastoral care of autistic adults within Christian churches’, both offering nuanced explorations and critiques of the ways in which church attitudes towards autism can function to either nurture, or marginalise, the autistic congregant.

The exponential expansion of writing in this field can perhaps be seen to have been given focus and momentum by the formation in 2018 of the Centre for Autism and Theology (CAT) at Aberdeen University⁹, under the leadership of Macaskill and Léon van Ommen. CAT includes both Swinton and Brock as Associates and maintains links with theologians in other universities, such as Joanna Leidenhag and Krysia Waldock, in addition to providing a context for its own research projects.

5. Autistic theology

It is worth highlighting that, so far, this article has focussed largely on the way in which theology about autism has developed – where the nature and impact of autism is the subject under investigation through a theological lens. However, in recent years, authors have made contributions that open a new theme; theology developed from an autistic perspective – where the subject being explored (through an autistic lens) is theology itself.

Rapley’s 2021 book Autistic Thinking in the Life of the Church and the related 2022 article ‘Autistic Thinking, Scripture, and Church’ (published in this journal) posited the likelihood of differences in the way that autistic people conceptualised God (and therefore experience prayer), handle Scripture and relate to liturgy and hymns. His work offers practical, concrete recommendations for churches and engages with such differences in theologically generative ways.

Developing a creative, and poetic theological perspective, Ruth Dunster’s recent book The Autism of GXD: An atheological love story’ (2022) addresses the task of developing a systematic theology from an autistic perspective. In contrast to theologies which explore our construction of autistic personhood, Dunster instead draws on constructions of autism to creatively challenges our perceptions of God.

Forward direction

This article has charted the way in which theological research and thinking has developed in the light of our evolving understanding of autism. We have described this journey as one that has taken us from a place of fragmentation, with ad-hoc contributions being made by individual researchers in disparate theological disciplines to a position in which, with the support of CAT in the UK, we are starting to see a more coherent and holistic approach emerging. In addition, we are seeing an increasing number of autistic researchers starting to contribute to the discourse.

We conclude with pointers as to directions in which theological discourse on autism might profitably develop. First, it is clear that despite the recent surge in publications, the theological ‘task’ of autism is only getting started – there is a need for much more work in this space in order to establish a coherent and holistic body of theological understanding about autism.

Second, it is critical to the success of this venture that further encouragement of autistic researchers is undertaken – and particularly in the area of ‘autistic theology,’ as opposed to theological analysis of autism itself. The question arises here as to whether ‘autistic theology’ should be undertaken only by autistic researchers. This is a difficult question, which for many provokes deeply personal answers. The authors propose, however, that such a position risks simply inverting the current dangers of exclusion. Rather, we suggest an appropriate response might be found in paying attention to the so-called ‘double-empathy’ challenge highlighted by Damian Milton (2012). This position proposes that creating empathy between autistic and neurotypical people requires significant effort, on both parts, to reach mutual dialogue and understanding. Within such a mutually committed approach, there is no reason in principle why the process of creating ‘autistic theology’ should be subject to claims of territorial exclusivity by autistic theologians.

It is hoped that the collaborative endeavour of this article itself highlights the generative potential of such mutual dialogue. Given the potential that faith communities have as places for autistic people to flourish and contribute, there will be a great benefit in seeking to explore and work together on the attitudes and understanding of other faiths in relation to autism. Finally, it is clear that there is a major and urgent task ahead to take developing theological understanding into the culture and praxis of the church so that church communities become places of safety, belonging and flourishing for autistic members of the Body of Christ.

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No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Eilidh Galbraith

Dr Eilidh Galbraith, Leverhulme Early Career Fellow, Divinity, University of Aberdeen.

Stewart Rapley

Stewart Rapley, MA, PhD candidate University of Aberdeen.

Notes

1 Diagnostic Criteria: A Guide for all audiences https://www.autism.org.uk/advice-and-guidance/topics/diagnosis/diagnostic-criteria/all-audiences

Accessed 21/11/22 12.19

2 Despite claims linking autism to vaccinations and over-exposure to particular chemicals and minerals, it is now generally accepted that there is a level of clear, but complex, genetic inheritance present in autism (Silberman 2016, 511).

3 It is important to note that are contestations around appropriate terminology for describing persons with autism (see Kenny et al. (2016) ‘Which terms should be used to describe Autism? Perspectives from the UK Autism community.’). However, this remains largely personal preference.

4 Throughout this. article, we will use the term ‘inclusion’ to refer to the explicit task of seeking to adjust attitudes, behaviour and praxis in ways that enhance the sense of welcome, belonging and participation in church communities and ‘exclusion’ to indicate the presence (conscious or unconscious) of barriers to such ‘inclusion’

5 In addition to making use of the ‘I-Thou’ analogy, it is significant to note that Barth also describes God as ‘other’ and ‘hidden’ (Webster 2000, 78).

6 Rapley notes issues with the theological logic of Eiseland’s position (2020, 17), preferring Macaskill’s rendering of the imago dei as being participatory on the part of all humans, with Christ alone being ‘in the image of God’ (2019, 82).

7 The authors recognise the problematic use of such language, as emphasising the ‘spectrum of severity’, and consequently ableist, approaches to differences in autistic presentation.

8 ‘Savantism’ is said to be unique ‘type’ of autism which includes extraordinary or ‘genius’ type ability in a particular area.

9 https://www.abdn.ac.uk/sdhp/centre-for-the-study-of-autism-and-christian-community-1725.