Kathleen Norris wrote a book called Acedia & Me: A Marriage, Monks and A Writer’s Life which I’m not going to read. I’m sure it’s an interesting book, though, if you like “There was something wrong with my life and God fixed it” stories.
What interests me is the term “acedia” and where that comes from. She’d never heard of the word until coming across it at a Benedictine monastery 21 years ago. I’ve never heard of the word either, but considering how many words have atrophied from lack of use in this language, it’s no big surprise. It’s a good word, though, and I promise I’ll find more opportunities for it.
It’s a Greek word and Wikipedia describes it as
a state of listlessness, of not caring or not being concerned with one’s position or condition in the world. It can lead to a state of being unable to perform one’s duties in life. It is distinct from depression. Acedia was originally noted as a problem among monks and other ascetics who maintained a solitary life.
The Oxford Concise Dictionary of the Christian Church [1] defines acedia as “a state of restlessness and inability either to work or to pray”. Some see it as the precursor to sloth – one of the seven deadly sins
Which is why Norris found mention of it in a monastery. Idle hands are the Devil’s tools, as the old old saying goes.
I think it’s ill-apt to credit idle hands as sinful, though, but it’s not ideal to be the grasshopper among the ants, either.
It seems to boil down to the fact that not only does a person lose interest in work and the monastery lifestyle, but loses interest in the people as well. Not wanting to pull weight and chip in and be useful. Quick to get annoyed, brooding over things said or unsaid. Starts thinking there might be something better. Of course, the moment that happens, it means some demon’s whispering in the monk’s ear to make him turn away from god..
Well, not quite. But if the aspects of the monastery are getting to him, leaving might look like a better alternative than trying to work through the issues that plague him. Sometimes the issue is simply not knowing how to be alone and still content in one’s skin.
younger hermits and solitaries are more likely to be troubled by acedia because of their immature concept of contentment, their impatience with non-virtue. Their acedia is evidence of an incomplete view of the nature of things. Acedia was historically a signal about maturity — but not a “sin.” By resolving the issue of good or evil in acedia and by “fine-tuning” one’s threshold for non-virtue, the individual could reach a functional state of equanimity that would dispel acedia.
Call it acedia or apathy or ennui, it all amounts to the same thing – loss of focus. Maybe more precisely, a loss of direction to focus on. But, that isn’t always a bad thing.
The use of power in the modern world is a far more telling capital sin than the familiar and sometimes buffoonish vices such as gluttony, anger, avarice, and pride. If Sartre’s character in the play Nausea has “the terrible impression of being turned into a block of ice enveloped in fire,” there is the worse sense in modern times of selling one’s soul for a respite from acedia.
Acedia can have a strong spiritual component in the life of the one who experiences it, and that very component makes acedia the sign of great potential for insight and wisdom. The solitary need not fear acedia. Acedia, at a minimum, signifies no complacency or superficial contentment with the contemporary cultural order. Acedia can be a tacit expectation that life can be better, or at least better understood.
