Using the below writings as a point of reference, reflect on the contrast between God's will and free will, and the idea that some people are born at a disadvantage based on the environments they are born into, as well as how we have the power to be captains of our own vessels, and create different outcomes for ourselves based on choices we make:

As I recently sat across from a friend of mine in the gentle hum of her moving car, we found ourselves wading into the profound and often treacherous waters of a discussion about the nature of sin and peace in our world. I confided in her a deeply held belief that as we inch closer to finding perfect peace, we must brace ourselves for a fiercer fight with the Devil, or—to speak in broader terms—the forces of evil. I could not shake the sentiment that these malicious entities lay in wait to ensnare us in disharmony, just as we are approaching our sanctum of serenity.

I told her of the myriad temptations strewn across the path of any peace seeker: the allure of pornography that panders to the basest of our instincts; the deceitful warmth in the numbness offered by liquor; the false prophets of fortune in the shape of a gamble. I spoke of a belief that forces of darkness orchestrate these vices, and many others, to lure the soul away from its quest for purity.

She, in her always calm and measured tone, differed in her perspective. She proposed the stark idea that we alone are the architects of our fate. Apart from the harrowing moments life thrusts upon us, be they deaths, crimes, turmoil in domestic life or anything else in between, everything is but a consequence of our own doing. She maintained a conviction that once peace is achieved within, it becomes an unassailable fortress, unbreachable by the tantalizing calls of sin; a belief that attributing our faults to external forces belies an excuse to shirk accountability for our actions.

This dialogue led me to ponder more deeply about the kaleidoscope of sin that exists in our world. The subtler sins of pride and envy, as corrosive as any visible vice, gnaw at our being, often unnoticed. And is it fair to say that our lives are strictly a product of our choices? If so, how do we account for the child born into war, famine, or neglect? What do we say to the young man growing up in the ghetto who is surrounded by gangsters, prostitutes, and drug dealers, who has the sound of gunshots burned into his brain? Surely, we cannot deny how such stark realities collide with the narrative of personal responsibility.

And we must speak of temptation not as an abstract concept, but as a living, breathing force, leading us at times down roads that could end in our own self-destruction. My journey has taught me that not all that befalls us is of our own making. There are powers beyond our own control that push and pull at our will, extracting from us choices we might not willingly make in moments of tranquility.

Despite these musings, I respected the argument she made about personal responsibility. It was an empowering testament to human will. Yet, my experience whispered to me a cautionary tale: we cannot overlook the ways in which we are tempted, seduced into stepping off the path of our own volition but not without the gentle coaxing of sinister whispers on the winds of our world.

As our conversation waned with our arrival at our destination, I realized that this was not a debate to be won, but a dialogue to be cherished. The truths we expressed to one another, divergent as they were, gave us a greater understanding that the journey towards perfect peace would forever remain personal and punctuated with challenges—internal or external, chosen or imposed. In embracing this complexity, perhaps we can better navigate the balance between weakness and willpower, between sin and salvation.

Delving deeper into our conversation, the flow of thoughts that traveled through my mind after it had ended brought me to a contemplation of my own life, a life marked by the lens through which I see the world as an autistic man. The tapestry of my experiences is woven with threads that are both poignantly unique and universally human. I would like to share with you, the reader, a little bit of introspection on how sin takes shape for those of us on the autism spectrum.

The brushstrokes of autism paint a varied picture of perception, with colors that might not align with neurotypical hues. For me, the concept of sin can sometimes find itself permeated by a literal, spiritual interpretation of right and wrong. My cognitive wiring, while often affording me clarity in matters of principle, can oscillate between rigidly structured ideals and a deep disdain for societal norms that seem arbitrary. A humanist perspective, or an existentialist view, while pure in its logic, may not always carry empathy in its equation.

In my heart, I have a space that still grieves profoundly when I remember the loss of both my parents in a nine-day span. Their passing has tested my understanding of the world, of sin, and of peace. The yawning chasm of loss was not a result of my choices, but rather, the laying of a heavy hand by a universe indifferent to my will—a striking contrast to the structure and predictability that are so often sought by the autistic mind.

Being autistic, I have noticed how my autism yields a lens that can focus intently on obsession or specialization, sometimes eclipsing broader societal sins and the temptations that snag others. While I am far from immune to vices, the traditional sirens of sin like addiction or lust may not beckon with the same fervor. Instead, my battle might be with the overwhelming intensity of certain sounds and lights, with the frustration of a routine being disrupted, or the sting of social misunderstanding.

Such a focused mind, which others might perceive as a fortress of solitude, has the dual capacity to repel the lures of conventional temptations while being acutely susceptible to the derailing effects of overwhelming sensory input or unexpected change.

As an individual with Asperger’s, my approach to finding peace might differ fundamentally from those who are neurotypical. Perhaps because of our experiences feeling out of step, we might seek solace in the quiet predictability of solitude, or the unwavering loyalty to a chosen interest, rather than in broader social constructs or spiritual doctrines.

Yet, in evoking the specter of evil forces, we highlight a profound universality. The human journey towards peace, regardless of our neurological makeup, is fraught with internal and external trials. In recognizing this shared humanity, we might find common ground, not only in our vulnerabilities but in our resilience as we face the trials that lie before us.

	From the sun that shines on us during the day, to the moon that provides us illumination at night, I am surrounded by gentle reminders that in the vastness and complexity of life, there are as many paths to understanding sin and seeking peace as there are stars in the sky. On my path, shaped by the experiences of my Asperger’s-filled world, peace is not just an external state to achieve, but an internal harmony to embrace, despite the tempests of the sorrows of life and the particularities of my autistic perspective.

	Weaving the previous threads of this discourse into the fabric of my own being, my thoughts alight upon the often-singular experience of the varied obsessions of the autistic individual. My mind, like a diving falcon, plunges with fervor into one fascination, only to catch a thermal updraft and soar towards another. These cycles of deep dive and ascent shape not just my days, but the narrative of who I am. There have been and still are times where artists of all sorts—from voice actors to musicians to animators—will captivate my thoughts, people whose talents spark in me a buoyant enthusiasm. It is as though I somehow know them. Their voices become mine if just for a moment, their words a harmonious presence within my mind.  My fingers, with a mind of their own, will tirelessly search their names, look for their images, and leave no stone unturned in my quest for their artistic worlds. It is a disembodied kinship, one that does not cross into reality yet is profoundly felt all the same.

	With a knowing smile, I reflect simultaneously on my proclivity for older, lightweight versions of certain software, a preference steeped in the comfort of familiarity over the disquiet of change, in a desire to know that whenever I need to accomplish a task, the only bottleneck will be my computer’s hardware. The ritualistic precision with which I perform fresh installations of Windows, a rehearsed concerto of clicks and keystrokes, brings a quizzical arch to my brow. Even the meticulous way I organize the blankets and pillows on my bed reflects my inherent desire for order and predictability.

	As a child, I found solace in penning letters and emails to those who budged the needle of my world ever so slightly, people whose echoes had resounded through decades. Here I am, an adult, still reaching out across the void, seeking connections rooted in the fertile ground of inspiration. Many of the people I’ve written to did respond, and all of them have taught me lessons that I still carry with me now.

	Drawing these experiences into a coherent reflection, I reflect on the intricate mechanisms of the autistic mind, especially within the realm of high-functioning autism, and how they serve to dictate such poignant habits. These obsessions are double-edged swords, carving out caverns of delight with the same readiness with which they sculpt solitary enclaves.

	I am led to ponder the value and challenges of these implications. “Is it not curious,” I muse to myself, “how one person’s fervent interest in artists might shape their world differently than one who dedicates their energy to civil rights leaders or political activists?” The question settles on me, and I feel the weight of its implications. I explore different perspectives, refusing to confine myself to a linear sort of reasoning. While the passionate pursuit of artists might not directly change the geopolitical landscape, it provides a well of joy and perhaps an understanding of culture and expression that enriches my life. In contrast, an interest in the shapers of history, the champions of social justice, might carry a more visibly impactful resonance, influencing one’s engagement and activism in societal issues. Yesterday’s warriors have the power to forge tomorrow’s champions, not only through direct instruction but through the stories and legends built around them. Many of the heroes of my youth exist as auras and mythologies now. In some cases, I regret trying to get closer to certain individuals. In other cases, I am glad I made the effort.

	Yet, within the autistic experience, my passions and habits engender a structure that sustains and anchors us amidst a world that can seem chaotically unpredictable. Yes, my habits can pigeonhole me into patterns that seem eccentric, and they certainly shape my interactions with the broader world. However, I know now that living authentically with Asperger’s means honoring these aspects of my nature.

	In the embrace of my routines and the pursuit of my obsessions, I find peace, akin to the kind my friend and I had previously conversed about, a peace that is internally wrought and lovingly curated. The pros and cons of such habits are, perhaps, a matter of perspective and context; for in the end, it is not just the subject of one’s passion that defines their value, but the richness that passion brings to their life and the lives they touch. Through such richness, we can find new appreciation for the variegated tapestry of human interest, the profound interplay between obsession and the enchanting cadence of the autistic soul.

	Reflecting upon the conversations I have had with many people, and the books and articles I have read over the years, the intricate dance between the conceptual forces we label as sin and the pursuit of internal peace feels less like opposing factions and more like complementary elements of a much grander human experience. Considering my own Asperger’s lenses, the encoding of my morality and my passions speaks to a broader narrative that transcends me, the individual. Our choices and obsessions, whether they are seen as vices seeking to derail us or as interests guiding our very identities, are threads in the tapestry of what it means to be human.

	In the quiet aftermath of thoughtful dialogue, I am reminded that the autistic perspective, though distinct in its manifestations, joins a collective river of human consciousness. Yes, the ways in which we engage with our world and the things we hold dear can differ widely, but the essence of our pursuits is still anchored in the search for meaning, understanding, and connection. The world, with its cacophony of diversions and its ricochet of chaos, presents a myriad of challenges to anyone sailing towards tranquility. Yet perhaps it is in the navigation itself, equipped with our own compasses, that the true journey unfolds.

	As I ponder these themes, I am struck by the universality of struggle, the need for self-forgiveness and the extraordinary capacity for adaptation that characterizes our species. The pursuit of goodness, the resistance to temptation, the construction of habit—all these are not just yokes to bear but also serve as the instruments by which we sculpt our existence. To consider our attractions and the potential for their misdirection is not to chain ourselves to a pessimistic view of life but to engage with it fully, eyes wide open to the potential for both darkness and light within us.

	Ultimately, every conversation we will ever have as humans emerges as monologues extended to the cosmos, examinations of the self within the greater context of the world. They are meditative pauses in the relentless march of days, quiet acknowledgements of the beautiful mosaic that is human experience.