Photo by Jen Theodore on Unsplash

“You deserve to be happy,” my friends say.

Who disagrees?

“Maybe you are just depressed. See the doctor. Get some of those ‘happy pills’”

Depression was a frequent house guest when I was young, often visiting my mother for weeks, even months at a time. She would sit, almost immobilized at the kitchen table, scribbling on the cardboard dividers that came in the Muffets box and then crossing out whatever she had written. Many days, all she could do was heat some Swanson TV dinners for supper. I liked the chicken ones.

My spirit and soul are not locked in the confinement of depression, and even though nothing feels compelling, I can still do some things if I want.

To clarify, acedia shares some symptoms with depression, but, at root, they differ.

Acedia affects will, depression, capacity. Acedia is a malaise of the soul, not a chemical imbalance.

Getting out of bed – acedia mutters, “Why, I don’t want to. There is no point.” Depression states, “I cannot. I do not have the capacity, the energy, motivation or hope to force my feet over the side of the mattress.”

“I won’t” versus “I can’t.”

When the skies grow grey and murky, the distinction does not always remain clear.

Sometimes, with acedia, a little push might help; with depression, a push or “call to action” can add shame to the struggle.

Acedia carries a moral component usually absent in depression.

Rising early, eating well, exercising, feeding the mind and the soul – sounds like a lot of work to one wrestling with acedia. “Don’t interrupt me. I’ll get to it when I can!” The suggestions feel burdensome.

Depression would love to be able to do those things, but just cannot. Just leave me alone! The response carries a sense of hopelessness.

In considering these distinctions, I find that, in some ways, acedia reminds me of addiction.

I never could find the exact line between urging my son to seek help and recognizing the tremendous power of addiction, with its social, familial and neurochemical roots. Firmly grasped by the tentacles of addiction,  he simply did not have the capacity to forego the drugs.

Addictive behaviour is more complex than depression, but the interplay between moral will and emotional capacity feels similar. While these differences can be drawn conceptually, in life, things become more intertwined and complicated.

Building on these distinctions, one of the most telling differences between acedia and depression is the degree to which distractions work. Distraction can be a significant component of acedia, even if the effectiveness of work, busyness, scrolling, treats, games, and shopping wears off quickly. When depressed, nothing really helps; even the effort feels burdensome, often leading to greater exhaustion and despair.

To one depressed, effort seems pointless? Nothing will change. When God closes a door, there is only the sound of locks. The future, for one battling acedia, is not closed; it is merely postponed. “Sounds good, maybe later.” The tone of the reply can feel sharper than a Japanese kitchen knife, whereas the response of one depressed is seasoned with shame and hopelessness.

The fridge magnet summary is that in acedia, capacity exists, but consent is withheld, whereas in depression, capacity is damaged.

Although the distinction may sound academic, it is important and necessary because confusing acedia with depression either moralizes illness or medicalizes moral refusal. Both mistakes harm.