Suffering to Sooth the Soul, or, Assedia & Me

Although I have long since come to terms with my fascination with and craving for the pain of a good hard spanking, in all its various forms and by means of all its various implements, I still ponder the reasons why I like what I like and why I want what I want. I've expounded on theories over the years - the need to relinquish control, the healing power of tears, the reversion of woman to child in order to fully embrace the identity of woman once again - but I haven't settled on any one reason. I don't think there is or can be such a thing. And yet, through my casual reading I've developed another theory. Let's add escape from spiritual ennui to the mix.

I'm currently reading Acedia & Me by Kathleen Norris, author of the monastic memoir The Cloister Walk. In Acedia & Me, she explores the concept of acedia, a sort of boredom of the soul that was once considered the eighth "bad thought" in the philosophy of the early Christian desert monks. The eight bad thoughts of the monks became the seven deadly sins of the church and acedia was subsumed by sloth, but sloth does not cover the greater meaning of acedia. Sloth, as we know, is the act of being lazy. Acedia, in contrast, describes the state of being detached from that which we once found meaningful because we have found it, or all things, to be meaningless. In suffering from acedia we might be lazy, yes, but it is because we can perceive no value in doing that which we are avoiding.

A simple example, for Norris as well as myself, is that of acedia and writing. A few years ago, I decided that every story has been told. I have never wanted to do anything but write. I call myself a writer. But having come to that decision, it's hard to find the motivation to write when I believe that all I am doing is regurgitating in text. I've been "working" on my collection of retold fairy tales for years. "Working" means I've started a few, thought about them, abandoned them. There are all ready so many retold fairy tales. Do I really have anything new to offer? A small piece of me knows that I do. The greater part of me has trouble finding the energy to waste on mimicry.

Early concepts of acedia were tied more closely to spiritual suffering and rejecting one's closeness to God. Essentially, it's the idea that God, or the Universe, or Life Itself, metaphorically comes to a person and says, "Here, have this gift. It is the gift of now and today and your presence in it." In response, the person says, "No thank you." It is Melville's Bartleby, having accepted a job and arrived to do it, proceeds to respond to each task with "I would prefer not to."

Early in the book, Norris considers acedia's etymology and word associations. In listing its synonyms, she lands on indolence and writes:

"Dolor is an ancient word for "pain," and indolence is the inability to feel it. We've now come close to the worst that acedia can do to us: not only does it make us unable to care, it takes away our ability to feel bad about that. If we can no longer weep, or desire, or feel pain or grief, well, that's all right; we'll settle for that, we'll get by." (p. 45)

From a masochist's perspective, what could be more terrifying than the inability to feel pain? Although the quote above refers moreso to internal pain and emotional suffering, I could not help but see the parallel between feeling pain and feeling alive, feeling as though I and my actions have purpose. I think my mental state after an experience of corporal punishment must be much like the feeling one has after sky diving or white-water rafting a dangerous river, or even after riding a particularly terrifying roller coaster. There is a life-affirming sensation of having survived. Is it too far-fetched to say that reaffirming the ability to feel pain can ease the spiritual suffering of acedia? If I accept pain, I accept feeling; if I accept feeling, I acknowledge presence; if I acknowledge presence, I accept implied purpose. If I accept implied purpose, I impart meaning.

In other words, if I am punished I will feel pain. Feeling pain grounds me in myself, a self I view first and foremost as a writer. Being present in myself, as a writer, I am meant to write, and if I am meant to write, then my writing, be it word or blog post or epic tome, cannot be meaningless. I am spanked therefore I am.

Of course, this entire theory does nothing to explain why I like the thought of others being spanked. I can honestly say that I have never watched a spanking video or read spanking erotica and thought to myself afterwards, "Well, my life now has purpose and my soul is no longer wretched and abject." Then again, reading and watching erotica does always make me want to write my own, so perhaps there is greater meaning in our dirty art forms after all.