The nature of acedia

Like a frog slowly boiling in butter, acedia's victim sits, slowly churning in place. I ponder the metaphor, wondering if I've been too clever with phrasing, because I can't get past the imagery.

Acedia means, at root, lack of care. (The a-prefix means "not" , in Greek.) It explains to my satisfaction why depressed people "forget" to bathe. It's not that it takes too much energy (it does, sometimes), but that it is too hard to muster up the energy to care. Sometimes the kindest thing to do is to stand upwind.

I am trying, with only moderate success, to describe the experience of acedia. It is often translated "listlessness", but the restlessness happens first. You run in place, going nowhere, until you are exhausted. What does it matter? Entropy wins in the end, despite all this talk of resurrection, like a day forever a-dawning in the future. Right now, it is rainy, dismal night and anything else seems, at best, unrealistic and at worst, cruel.

Forever a day late, the dollar crumbles and public confidence erodes. What does it all mean? You see the difficulty I am in? You do? I can't see anything because my eyes are closed because of the futility of it all.

The visitor from Porlock has arrived at my door and I'm not sure where I was going, other than a Joycian discourse.

Indifferently attached

There are two things I've taken away from my experience with Ignatian spirituality: the concepts of indifference and the concept of disordered affections/attachments.

Indifference is quite similar to the classical pagan Stoic saying (Seneca?): I'd be equally happy on the rack. Ignatius says that one should be equally content to be rich or poor. Despite the alleged problem with the rich man (or woman) having difficulty with the needle's eye, I think it is better to have money. Now if I can only avoid pissing it away. If only I had made different choices with the money I have. Similar thoughts occur when you are balancing to the penny.

That leads to the next concept - disordered affections. I am unduly attached to, addicted to - not only to the substance but the thought of - the little pleasures that add up. Just one more snack: I could stand to lose a few. Actually, as I exercise my self-denial muscles, it does get easier, until I slip again. Perhaps it's a calculus (cute concept) of gradual debt-reduction.

I empathize with John Climachus (I am A, but then I am not A: oh what am I going to do with myself). St Paul said something similar. Maybe that's where grace comes in.

Post-retreat

I sit on the couch, drinking my first cup of press pot coffee, struggling against acedia. I realize that I've been absent, but my experiences do not lend themselves to easy description, which probably says more about my ability to talk about my inner life than it does about the experiences.

The two key elements of Ignatian spirituality are the daily examination of your actions (the Examen) and imaginative prayer (projecting yourself into the story). I got fairly adept at spending my time this way. Whether I was doing it correctly or just goofing off is a good question. I did my best to be real. Those of you who receive my Facebook rambling feed probably know how silly I often appear. This is a mask I wear, I realize now. Like many, I struggle with depression. Another day older; one day closer to death. Life appears pointless, the goal to accumulate things and fret about not having enough. Are we just trying to distract ourselves from the awful truth, from life's finite. My way to distract myself is to take pictures and be clever in online fora.

I thought this just a phase experienced during Holy Week, but it's something I seem to return to. Is there more to life than distracting ourselves with people and activities?

This spiritual discomfort is what I need resurrection from.