This pandemic is hard on everyone. Many are feeling listless, sad or depressed. So much has been lost! It's hard to muster enthusiasm much care about anything. And now it appears the pandemic will drag on for many more months to come.
Thinking about the effects of the pandemic reminded me of my 2009 column about acedia, a spiritual affliction that means the absence of care. Acedia has been known for over a thousand years; it was the bane of early monastics. And it may well be back now for many during this time of COVID-19. Fortunately, there may also be a cure, as Kathleen Norris says.
Do you sometimes wonder whether your life
has amounted to much? Are there times when you just don't care what happens to
you, or the world?
You’ve worked hard, helped others, loved
God, gone to worship services on a regular basis, prayed, read the scriptures,
lived a decent life. But it all seems so pointless now—why bother trying to be
faithful, anyway?
It doesn’t seem to make any difference; the world is in as terrible a shape as it ever was, and nothing you can do will make it better.
It doesn’t seem to make any difference; the world is in as terrible a shape as it ever was, and nothing you can do will make it better.
I sometimes feel that way. Am I
depressed? Maybe not, says Kathleen Norris. Maybe what
I'm experiencing is acedia.
Acedia is an old spiritual affliction. At
its Greek root, it means the absence of care. In personal terms, it
means refusing to care, or even that you can't care.
Acedia was a bane to ancient monks
and hermits, who considered it one of the greatest threats to monastic
living. Once a monk succumbed to the notion that his efforts at daily
prayer and contemplation were futile, life loomed like a prison sentence, day
after day of nothingness.
Evagrius, who lived in the fourth century,
experienced acedia. It “makes it seem that the sun hardly moves, if at
all, and that the day is 50 hours long," he wrote.
I'm not a monk, but I can relate to times when God feels a million miles away and it's just too hard to keep
going. I want to pray, worship or just
carry on normal daily activities, but I am filled filled with apathy, torpor and
despair.
Life, it seems, just doesn’t feel worth living. Maybe I have acedia, too.
Life, it seems, just doesn’t feel worth living. Maybe I have acedia, too.
In her new book, Acedia& Me: A Marriage, Monks, and a Writer’s Life, Norris writes about her own struggles
with the affliction, which left her listless and apathetic.
“I think of acedia as the great
disconnector,” she says, adding that, for her, it was the “profound
indifference” that was really debilitating.
The
terrible thing about acedia is that even though you know you have it, you can’t
stop it.
“You
know the pain is there, yet can't rouse yourself to give a damn,” she says.
Acedia makes people feel disconnected
from people, relationships and communities.
"Anything that helps you connect with
the human race somehow is stripped away," says Norris. "Anything you
can think of to do to help you get out of it, you go, ‘Nah, I don’t want to do
that.’”
It’s not just religious people who can
suffer from acedia. “Anyone whose work is self-motivated, and that would be any
writer or artist,” can experience it, she says.
How can people overcome acedia? For
Norris, author of books such as The Cloister Walk, Dakota: A Spiritual Geography and Amazing
Grace: A Vocabulary of Faith, writing a book
about acedia was a way out.
She also turns to the Lord's Prayer when
she feels it approaching. It reminds her that “the life in which we ought to be
interested is daily life . . . our Lord tells us to pray for today, and
so he prevents us from tormenting ourselves about tomorrow."
Other ways to deal with it, she says,
include going to worship services, connecting with others, or just carrying on
with the normal things of life—even when those are the last things you really
want to do.
“The ancient remedies are prayer and
psalmody,” she says. “Prayer, fasting, tears. That sounds kind of weird to
modern people, but I think refusing to disconnect and maybe staying in this
place that you have chosen: your job, a marriage, a monastery, whatever it is.
“Saying, ‘No, I’m going to stay here. This
is where I’ve made my stand. The grass is not greener. I am going to remain
faithful to my commitments.’”
For a long time, the concept of acedia was
lost to western culture. But today the ancient
wisdom about acedia seems to be making a comeback.
For Norris, this is a welcome turn of
events; if people understand what is happening to them, they can identify it
and combat it.
"I am convinced that the word
returned to us because we needed it again," she says.
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