Battling the Noonday Demon - Part 3 of 3

Finding the will to write (with all my heart and mind) again

This post is part 3 of 3 in a series about acedia. You can read part 1 here and part 2 here.

In Chapter 24 of Book X of The Institutes, Cassian highlights a most unusual ritual of purification once practiced by a monk named Abbot Paul. Abbot Paul didn’t actually need to make or sell anything to support himself, but he committed himself to the daily work of weaving baskets anyway. Then, at the end of each year, he burned them all. This practice underscored the importance of the labor itself rather than the products his hands created or the potential profits to be gained by them. In this way, he purified his heart, disciplined his mind, developed endurance for menial tasks, and gained victory over the demon/vice/temptation of acedia.

Abbot Paul, one of the greatest of the Fathers, while he was living in a vast desert which is called the Porphyrian desert, and being relieved from anxiety by the date palms and a small garden, had plenty to support himself, and an ample supply of food, and could not find any other work to do… he collected the leaves of the palms, and regularly exacted of himself his daily task, as if he was to be supported by it. And when his cave had been filled with a whole year's work, each year he would burn with fire that at which he had so diligently laboured: thus proving that without manual labour a monk cannot stop in a place nor rise to the heights of perfection: so that, though the need for food did not require this to be done, yet he performed it simply for the sake of purifying his heart, and strengthening his thoughts, and persisting in his cell, and gaining a victory over accidie and driving it away.

This story really resonated with me because of what it reveals about the intrinsic value of work for the one who works. In our capitalist economy, work is often viewed as a means to some external end—namely profit. The value we assign to work and the very things we believe about work itself end up being tied primarily to the profit it generates. This way of viewing work tempts us to get hyper-focused on things like productivity, return on investment, return on assets, and impact. The reason I got stuck in a rut about writing is because I believed not only that my labor wouldn’t make any difference in the world or in the church but also that if it made no difference, then there wasn’t any point in doing it. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was operating under the logic of capitalism.

What if I knew for a fact that my labor would make no difference in the world or in the church but would nevertheless make all the difference in the formation of my soul and how I relate to my Creator, simply because I chose to do it? Would it be enough to convince me to keep my hand on the plow?

Climbing: a Metaphor for Persevering Through Acedia

I’ve labored with my mind for most of my adult life, often to the neglect of my body. But a year-and-a-half ago, right around the time I started struggling in my intellectual endeavors, I started rock climbing. I can’t exactly say I chose the sport. It’s more accurate to say I stumbled into it. My daughter drew me into this world when she joined a competitive youth climbing team two years ago. At first, I was just a chauffeur and a chaperone. But after accumulating many hours at the gym over the course of many team practices, I eventually got curious and decided to try it out. I ended up liking it a lot and started climbing during her practices.

It went pretty well for a few months. Until I broke my leg while bouldering. (This unfortunate incident happened while Peter was in Atlanta tending to the condo.) Then, a few months after I recovered from the fracture, I tore a meniscus in my knee and ended up having to undergo surgery. That, in a nutshell, sums up the first eight months of my climbing experience.

Despite the injuries and the prolonged rehab from mid-2021 through early 2022, I kept wanting to come back to the wall. I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something I needed there. So, in February 2022, I started from zero again. This time, I decided to forgo the riskier activity of bouldering and stick to rope climbs. The challenging thing about rope climbing, though, is that it requires a lot more endurance. In those early days, I had very little endurance. I would huff and puff with exertion when I was just halfway up the wall. After climbing only one or two full routes (40-55 feet each), I’d be completely exhausted. That first week, I was so sore that for days I couldn’t wring out a sponge without having painful muscle spasms in my forearm.

But I kept at it. It turned out to be every bit as challenging mentally as it was physically. I remember having to “coach” myself to the top. One more move. Now another. And another. As fatigue set it, a voice of resistance would chime in. Why are you torturing yourself? No one is making you do this. Just let go and ask to be lowered. Imagine the relief you’ll feel! Every time I persevered through the fatigue and that voice of resistance and made it to the top of the wall, I would feel not only like I had accomplished something incredible but also like I had conquered the demon of defeat.

These are the walls I climb several times a week.

I have never been tempted to quit climbing because it produces no social impact or marketable product. Those aren’t the reasons I climb. I do it because it disciplines my body and mind, and it makes a difference in the way I show up in the world. I’m now climbing about 300 vertical feet (5-8 rope routes) at the rock gym two to three times a week. I’m even lead climbing—a more advanced form of rope climbing than top roping—something I never imagined I would do.

Here’s a video of one of my recent climbs:

Since this video was taken, I’ve started lead climbing on steep overhanging walls, and that has me pushing through new levels of fear, fatigue, and resistance.

On Writing: Embracing Discipline and Letting Go of Impact

I’ve wondered lately about what a modern equivalent to Abbot Paul’s ritual would look like for me as a writer. I briefly pictured myself writing a bunch of essays or even a book over a period of a year and then deleting everything. Then I decided um, no, that’s not it. (Insert laughing crying emoji.) I do think it’s time for me to make an important shift in how I approach my writing, though. Instead of writing for impact, I’m going to write as a discipline — the same way I approach climbing. It doesn’t mean I’ll stop thinking about the most effective ways to communicate. After all, when I climb, I’m still constantly trying to improve technically. It does mean that I’ll focus on doing the work of my God-given vocation and leave the impact fully in God’s hands; that I’ll stop worrying about analytics, reach, algorithms, and metrics as well as what other people do or don’t do in response to what I write.

I’m reminded of this moment in Peter’s life following Jesus’ resurrection and before his ascension (John 21:20-22):

Peter turned and saw that the disciple whom Jesus loved was following them. (This was the one who had leaned back against Jesus at the supper and had said, “Lord, who is going to betray you?”) When Peter saw him, he asked, “Lord, what about him?”

Jesus answered, “If I want him to remain alive until I return, what is that to you? You must follow me.”

When I started writing this series, I felt very much the way I did when I first started rope climbing—like I was starting from zero. I spent seven enormously frustrating weeks writing, deleting, and re-writing the first two paragraphs. Two paragraphs! I thought I would never make progress. But sitting down to write for the sake of writing was my act of repentance from acedia, so even though I felt tortured by the effort, I persevered. Eventually, the mental clog broke up and thousands of words began to flow.

Going Forward

I’m not going to over-promise on delivering X amount of content to your inbox every week or anything, but I would like you all to know that I’m going to commit myself to the discipline of writing and will continue making every effort to write out of a place of love. I’m grateful for those of you who have continued to sponsor my work financially. I receive it as a divine grace because despite my original intentions when I launched this Substack newsletter/essay collection, I’ve been a real slacker this past year. Thank you as well to everyone who has remained subscribed to the free emails, even if you’ve done so through utter and complete passivity (i.e, you simply haven’t figured out how to actively unsubscribe). I’m still planning to keep Life Reconsidered free for anyone to read. I haven’t paywalled any of the content because I’ve chosen to operate here under a patronage model. As L.M. Sacasas (one of my favorite writers on here) explains it, “support the work if you are able, enjoy it in any case. No customers, only patrons. No paywall, only writing that is freely available to all.”

Talk to you again soon.