Describing Aschenbach's daily routine, the narrator uses a metaphor drawn from the language of religious sacrifice:
[He] began his day early with jets of cold water over his chest and back, and then, a pair of tall wax candles in silver sticks shining over his manuscript, for two or three fervently conscientious morning hours he would sacrifice upon the altar of art the strength he had garnered during his sleep. It was pardonable, in fact it signified the true victory of his morality, if those ignorant of his habits thought that the world of Maya, or the epic mass of copy in which Frederick’s heroic life unfolded, was the product of robust strength and an unlimited store of breath [...]
Until his fateful decision to travel to Venice, Aschenbach closely followed a routine that allowed him to write prolifically despite his own poor health and low strength. Waking up early despite a weak constitution, Aschenbach typically works for several hours in the morning, willing to "sacrifice upon the altar of art the strength he had garnered during his sleep." This metaphor, then, imagines Aschenbach as a worshiper who sacrifices his meager health at the altar of art, his god. Here, and elsewhere in the novel, Mann pits the demands of artistic production against those of life, suggesting that Aschenbach has spent most of his life dedicated to his literary career while neglecting to truly live.