Acedia — the Noonday Demon, and a societal drift into hopelessness
“He looks about anxiously this way and that, and sighs that none of the brethren come to see him, and often goes in and out of his cell, and frequently gazes up at the sun, as if it was too slow in setting, and so a kind of unreasonable confusion of mind takes possession of him like some foul darkness.”
The Desert Father John Cassian writes this dark comment about the apathetic restlessness of Acedia, “the noonday demon,” in the Coenobitic monk:
Coenobitic monks came after the eremitic, which were more hermetical.
They found that kind of life too lonely and challenging, and if one was not spiritually prepared for that life, it could lead to mental breakdowns. For this reason, organized monastic communities were established so monks could have more support in their spiritual struggle.
Even amidst companionship, many monks continued to grapple with Acedia in their spiritual pursuits, a battle that persists for us in the modern era.
In Ancient Greece, Acedia originally meant indifference or carelessness along the lines of its etymological meaning of lack of care.
Yet, in early Christianity, the demon of Acedia holds an important place, especially in early monastic demonology and proto-psychology. In the late fourth century, Evagrius of Pontus, for example, characterizes it as “the most troublesome of all” of the eight genera of evil thoughts.
It was so widespread that in the final decade of the fourth century, a monk named Loukios wrote to Evagrius, calling him an “honored father,” Loukios asked Evagrius to compose for him a treatise that would explain the tactics of fighting demons while living the monastic life; Loukios believed that such a work would help him and others to resist the evil suggestions that the demons made.
In response, Evagrius sent Loukios a letter, now known as his fourth, and a copy of the work translated here: Antirrhetikos, literally “Talking Back.”
The book provides verses for situations monks may face, but it’s helpful for anyone who believes in God and may need a prayer resource, and it’s still available.
Here are some of his statements:
“Give thought to working with your hands, if possible both night and day, so that you will not be a burden to anyone, and further that you may be able to offer donations, as the holy apostle Paul advised (I Thess. 2:9; 2 Thess. 3:8). In this way you can also overcome the demon of Acedia and eliminate all the other desires inspired by the enemy. The demon of Acedia lies in wait for laziness and ‘is full of desires,’ as scripture says (Prov. 13:4).32”
Elsewhere Evagrius also says:
“Perseverance is the cure for Acedia, along with the execution of all tasks with great attention and the fear of God.”
“Set a measure for yourself in every work and do not let up until you have completed it. (Eight Thoughts, 6, 17–18)”
Reading the Oxford Concise Dictionary of the Christian Church, we will find that by the early 5th century, the word had become a technical term in Christian asceticism, signifying a state of restlessness and inability to work or to pray. Not only did monks and theologians speak of the vice, but it also appeared in the writings of laymen. It even appears in Dante’s Divine Comedy as a sin to be punished in the damned and as the sin that leads Dante to the edge of Hell.
The start of it all begins with his indifference and sloth in religious matters.
Dante thought he was “okay” since he wasn’t doing anything wrong but was not paying attention to his life. He was careless and “drugged and loose with” sleep. In short, Dante was not watching where he was going; he was apathetic and did not appreciate his life.
In the medieval Latin tradition of the seven deadly sins, Acedia has generally been folded into the sin of sloth. Sloth gets us to the edge. The Benedictine Rule directed that a monk displaying the outward signs of Acedia that he should:
“be reproved a first and a second time. If he does not amend this, he must be subjected to the punishment of the rule so that the others may have fear.”
Sometimes, it may be so severe that the only correction to alleviate through the physical. Tormenting our actual flesh may be a reprieve from mental anguish. This kind of reaction sounds similar to modern-day “self-harm. “Ut ceteri timeant: The Rule of Benedict 48: 19 20 advises:
“The symptoms of psychic pain would be driven out with physical pain.”
We see the seriousness of Acedia even early in history, and it is identified in Western civilization and Christianity as something that affects humanity. It is part of our human condition.
This “noonday demon” already affected men from the beginning; with this, it would evolve into different names and coping mechanisms.
Chaucer’s parson includes Acedia in his list of vices. It follows anger and envy in the list, and the parson connects the three vices:
“For Envye blindeth the herte of a man, and Ire troubleth a man; and Accidie maketh him hevy, thoghtful, and wrawe. Envye and Ire maken bitternese in herte; which bitternesse is moder of Accidie, and binimeth him the love of alle goodnesse.”
Pieter Jalhea Furnius, Luiheid, from Zeven doodzonden, 1550–1625
Encapsulated within “The Summa Theologiae or Summa Theologica,” Thomas Aquinas’ renowned masterpiece, lies a comprehensive collection of the fundamental theological doctrines of the Catholic Church. Crafted as a pedagogical tool for theology scholars, encompassing both seminarians and the educated laity, it meticulously elucidates the rationale behind virtually every facet of Christian theology in the Western tradition. Undoubtedly, it stands as one of the cornerstones of Christian literature.
In this work, Aquinas identifies Acedia with “the sorrow of the world” that “worketh death” and contrasts it with that sorrow “according to God” described by St. Paul in 2 Cor. 7:10. For Aquinas, Acedia is “sorrow about spiritual good in as much as it is a Divine good.”
It becomes a mortal sin when reason consents to man’s “flight” from the Divine good “on account of the flesh utterly prevailing over the spirit.”.
Acedia is a flight from the divine that leads to not caring about anything. The ultimate expression of this is despair, which can end in suicide.
Here, we see a more humane, sympathetic, and moderate view of this condition in Aquinas.
He sees it not so much as a sinful matter unless the individual lets himself become overwhelmed with it. Letting the “flesh utterly prevail over the spirit.” So, indeed, there may be a way to deviate from this path before it is too late with the ultimate expression, suicide.
As a term, Acedia all but died out in common usage by the beginning of the 20th century. In the 1933 Oxford English Dictionary, accidie was declared obsolete, with references dating from 1520 to 1730.
But considering what would happen in the 20th century, with the mass devastation and genocide, “accidie” would revive in the writings of authors such as Aldous Huxley and Ian Fleming, no longer the exclusive property of theologians.
In a world that brought on such unneeded tragedies as the “Great War” decimating a generation while both sides were fighting for God, it is no wonder society would question their humanity, and terms like Acedia would reappear. Out of that came a people, religious, with questions as to why this could happen.
Wasn’t God on our side? Where is he?
Aldous Huxley wrote an essay on Acedia called “Accidie.” As a non-Christian, he examines “the noonday demons” as the original delineation by the Desert Fathers. He concludes that it is one of the primary diseases of the modern age.
Could it still be today?
We could have just renamed it as we have done many words in our vocabulary over time.
Depression, anxiety, listlessness, and overall demoralization.
Does this sound familiar in our “modern age,” as Huxley identified in his examination?
Acedia, a state of spiritual apathy or listlessness, has persisted through time.
But is it truly a sin?
I’m uncertain, except when it’s indulged excessively or deliberately exploited.
If we’re truthful and observe our nation, it might resemble an epidemic.
In “Democracy in America” by De Tocqueville, penned 160 years ago, his assessment of our country as a Frenchman remains quite apt:
“In America, I saw the freest and most enlightened men placed in the happiest condition that exists in the world; it seemed to me that a sort of cloud habitually covered their features; they appeared to me grave and almost sad even in their pleasures.
The principal reason is that the first do not think of the evils they endure, whereas the others constantly dream of the goods they do not have.
It is strange to see with what sort of feverish ardor Americans pursue well-being and how they show themselves constantly tormented by a vague fear of not having chosen the shortest route that can lead to it.”
How does one deal with this today?
Many of us take prescriptions, abuse drugs, go to therapy, etc. Some deal with and accept it and live miserable lives, sometimes to the detriment of others.
In the more severe cases, men and women will make the ultimate sacrifice to escape this “demon” and escape the feeling of hopelessness that won’t go away.
Without hope, one has nothing.
This could feel like disconnection and abandonment for someone spiritual and a believer. It was being adrift or lost in a desert far from the faith that you once knew. Ultimately, this could lead to the abandonment of religion altogether.
William James, the father of American philosophy, was a spiritual man.
He was active well before the advent of the horrors of the 20th century. In his book “Varieties of Religious Experiences,” he could identify, at least in his experience, two different kinds of living and engaging. The “Sick Souls” and the “Healthy Minds” are two different make-ups.
John Kaag writes, “James’s entire philosophy, from beginning to end, was geared to save a life, his life.” His “Will to Believe” essay is designed to be a defense of religious faith in the absence of conclusive logical argumentation or scientific evidence.
“Faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.” Hebrews 11:1.
Kierkegaard states:
“In order to swim one takes off all one’s clothes–in order to aspire to the truth one must undress in a far more inward sense, divest oneself of all one’s inward clothes, of thoughts, conceptions, selfishness etc., before one is sufficiently naked.”
Absurdity and the Leap of Faith Kierkegaard suggests here may be the importance of such a journey.
Kierkegaard wisely implies that the “truth” we so adamantly search for lies outside the ready-made conceptions of our understanding of the world in which we exist.
James defends his rational and logical arguments as best he can and does well. Throughout his life, Kierkegaard did the same and concluded that faith itself, for some, may seem absurd, but it is our best choice, something I, as a believer, agree with.
I support the philosophies of both James and Kierkegaard.
There can be rational and absurd reasons for having faith. This is a paradox, but life is a paradox, and all of us must find meaning in something. The absurd becomes reasonable when I see goodness exemplified.
I find goodness exemplified when I look for it.
Not in the news, the “Christians” the media shows, but the followers of Jesus in action, the ones that we don’t often see or hear, because that is not what they are, not how they live.
“Let another praise you, not your own mouth; a stranger, and not your own lips.”
“Jesus replied: “ ‘Love the Lord your God with all your hand with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.”
While it might seem irrational to some, prioritizing love for God above all else provides one with purpose. Subsequently, loving your neighbor as yourself serves as a remedy for despair, countering afflictions like Acedia or its contemporary equivalents.
Sadly, this is not like many Christians today, and they represent Christ and his mission badly.
Christians should reflect how Christ was, but they don’t do a good enough job, in my opinion, and it’s easy to tell by the hypocrisy and greed.
From reading Viktor Frankl’s “Man’s Search for Meaning,” a concentration camp survivor, a philosopher, and a psychotherapist, one passage always stood out to me:
“We who lived in concentration camps can remember the men who walked through the huts, comforting others, giving away their last piece of bread. They may have been few in number but they offer sufficient proof that everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.”
These seemed like the real Jesus’ followers, Christians, although they may not have been. But in my mind, in the essence of their actions and in what they did, I felt they acted in the way followers of Christ would act.
Frankl already, in 1970, when talking with students, coined the term “existential vacuum.”
Perhaps we had too much Freud and believed that our problems and lives resulted from repressed sexual frustrations returning to our mother.
If that was all our life was about, repressed sexual frustrations and our mother, maybe life was not worth much. Maslow referred to this as an abyss experience. Our core, our soul, our innermost being, was empty.
This is a real sense of meaninglessness, and again, I could go back to Acedia if I challenged this on a spiritual level. Frankl also writes at this time that the students he spoke with were acting out sexually. They were trying to fill a void. Much of this has stayed the same. It has just become more accessible and dangerous because of technology.
In my opinion, we are filling that “void,” whether sexually or in other ways related to the abyss experience. In the abyss, we have to latch onto something to give us some meaning. We choose what that is, healthy or not.
Frankl finds that their education enforces the way that the students feel. Education must equip man with the means to find meaning. Emptiness and meaninglessness are enforced by the education taught — in a scientific and reductionist manner — a mechanistic theory followed by relativism.
In my opinion, Frankl was ahead of his time. Who better to listen to than a man who lost his family and survived a concentration camp? How often do we take advice from people without experience or listen to those with motives? Wisdom often comes from failing and learning from those failures or those who went through dramatic events. Such as who we should listen to regarding some of the most determining parts of our lives.
If we are taught that we are mere objects that will one day oxidize or decay, then what is the point? William Irwin Thompson wrote:
“Humans are not objects that exist as chairs or tables; they live, and they find that their lives are reduced to the mere existence of chairs and tables, they commit suicide.”
Isn’t this more of evolutionary thinking and where our society is now?
And what happens when people believe they are just objects?
It is not just about them being objects but also about others treating people as objects, a means to an end. There may no longer be a sense of moral duty in this regard. If people have no meaning, then it doesn’t matter how they deal with them.
As an individual, so is society, and so they can also be assessed in many ways, psychologically and morally.
Acedia can push people, anyone, people once that were believers so far from God and grace to have their boredom/depression manifest into a hatred of morality. They will despise what God has given them, balk, and then proceed into the worldly belief that they are nothing, and with that, there are no rules; they are free to do what they want.
People will begin to hate creation as a whole.
I am not saying that only people of faith can be moral or just individuals, while they can be some of the worst. Finding meaning is a personal quest, and escaping something like Acedia is a spiritual battle.
There’s a famous passage from “The Grand Inquisitor” section of Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov where Ivan Karamazov claims that if God does not exist, everything is permitted.
“If there is no God, then there are no rules to live by”; no moral law we must follow; we can do whatever we want.
And it does seem that Dostoevsky, the moralist himself, was not much of a man to follow the law he wrote about, but perhaps we are all hypocrites.
“I can’t say that Dostoevsky was a good or a happy person… He was mean, corrupt, and full of jealousy. His entire life he was a victim of passion, which would have made him ridiculous and miserable, if he had been less intelligent and less mean. In Switzerland, right before my eyes, he treated his servant so badly that the man revolted and exclaimed ‘…but I too am a human being!’ I remember the impression that those words gave me… addressed to someone who always taught humane feelings to the rest of mankind”.
These words belong to Strachov, a man who knew Dostoevsky quite well.”
Acedia is a widespread condition of our time that could be remedied by sharing the words and the stories of the men and women who changed history and how they lived. The ones who did have a moral code, so we may understand them and follow their steps.
We must look back to people who overcame the “noonday demon” and understand how they did that.
Possibly the nameless ones in the camps, the ones Frankl reminds us of. Indeed, that was not boredom and melancholy, Acadia, but in Hell, and they lived uncompromisingly unfettered, genuine brotherly love.
These men did not live and die like those today, succumbing to the nihilistic ideal settling down over our civilization.
Some could say, who cares?
Indeed, I care, and the millions who read Frankl care and have taken those stories to heart.
I will always believe that giving is better than receiving. Getting out of yourself is one of the best remedies for feeling down. We will always face hardship, and Acedia may be one of the hardships that have been primarily forgotten, but I see it as an actual condition. We may face this condition but also may have techniques to overcome it. Remedies to get well may be over time, but it is possible as an individual and a society.
After all, Frankl also wrote that:
“In some ways suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning, such as the meaning of a sacrifice.”
Not just seeing Acadia or any hardship as something to endure, but something as a means to find significance could make us all better individuals and society.
