Is “perfection” attainable conformity to some hypothetical ideal? Or is it impossible to reach
but nonetheless worth striving for?
What is perfection? That’s a really good question, one with no universally satisfying answer. Maybe some famous quotes will help–
“If you look for perfection, you’ll never attain it.” (Leo Tolstoy)
Okay... but does that mean we can find it if we're NOT looking?
“Perfection is achieved not when there is nothing more to add, but rather when there is nothing left to take away.” (Antoine de St. Exupéry)
Might this be the basis for ME AND BOBBY MCGEE? After all, songwriter Kris Kristofferson was a highly-educated man of letters.
Let's check in with Coach Lombardi–
Coach Lombardi winning the first Super Bowl in January of 1967. Paul Hornung (#5) and Jim Taylor (#31) comprised one of the most perfect backfield combos in NFL history.
“Perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection we can reach excellence.”
(Vince Lombardi)
Sounds reasonable; HOWEVER…
“Excellence does not require perfection.” (Henry Joyce)
“Have no fear of perfection– you’ll never reach it.” (Salvador Dali)
Good thing these fellas never played for Lombardi.
"Practice makes perfect… but nobody’s perfect, so why practice?” (Kurt Cobain)
Good thing he never played FOOTBALL.
(BTW, “nirvana” means “a state of perfect happiness.” Go figure.)
Okay, football is one thing, but what about us human beings?
“Perhaps it is our imperfections that make us so perfect for one another.” (Jane Austen)
That gets me off the hook for a lot. Furthermore–
“The more perfect a person is on the outside, the more demons they have on the inside." (Sigmund Freud)
If this were true, then our prison population would probably look a lot different. And don’t we all know of plenty of people who are messed up inside AND out?
And finally,
If a picture is worth a thousand words, a video tribute is worth a million. Behold, ye fellow fallible mortals… an extremely rare example of human perfection from my lifetime–
14 year-old Romanian gymnast Nadia Comaneci earned SEVEN perfect
scores at the 1976 Olympics. When you’re the greatest, you win gold medals;
but when you’re freaking perfect, you get your own theme song.
Alright, alright… if perfection is so hard to define, then why even bother tackling the issue? Because I’ve come to realize as I write essays for DANNY’S TABLE that I am searching for perfection (in my writing and much more so in my subject matter) even if it doesn’t actually exist. In the coming months I’ll be writing a lot about perfection– the perfect little winery, the perfect hibachi grill, and much more.
However, if I can’t define it and it might not even exist, how will I know if I’ve found it? Perhaps I should just defer to former Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart’s famous threshold test for obscenity– “I know it when I see it.” (See Jacobellis v. Ohio, 1964.)
And if I don’t actually see perfection, I have a back-up plan– maybe I can feel it?
An old acquaintance back in the Berkshires was writing a book about the red wines of Burgundy. For his day job he was a photographer for the Boston Symphony Orchestra (a.k.a. the BSO) and accordingly he appreciated great classical musicianship as much as great wine. In describing his two worlds to me one night, he gave me a memorable quote about the comparative costs of live music and wine– “It takes a thousand dollars for a great Burgundy to make me cry, but the BSO can do it for only fifty bucks.”
That struck a chord with me… because if something can arouse a powerful emotional reaction– be it a brilliantly composed and performed passage of music, a fabulous Pinot Noir, or just a poignant turn of phrase– I consider it especially great... maybe even perfect.
* * * * * * *
Perfection… so many definitions, so many perspectives... could I possibly distill all of this down to a useful definition… if not for my readers, at least for myself? I was beginning to think not...
But then fate intervened.
Andrea and I had planned a road trip on my one full day off this week to the Abbey of the Genesee, and for two reasons– to purchase a few loaves of their utterly fabulous Monk’s Bread for friends and family, and also to bid farewell to a resident monk named Father Aelred who had served as Andrea’s spiritual adviser when she converted to Catholicism in her early twenties, and thereafter remained a very dear friend. (He was about to be transferred to a monastery in Virginia, and he and Andrea really needed a proper goodbye.)
Father Aelred generously gave us over an hour of his time. Toward the end, I felt comfortable posing the question that had been vexing me all week– “What is perfection?” After ascertaining the unspoken specificity of my inquiry and referencing his undergraduate major in philosophy, Father Aelred answered forcefully–
“Balance,” he declared. “All things that are perfect are perfect because they are in perfect BALANCE.” I reared back in my chair awestruck. Of course! This was the missing piece! This is why a $10 Zinfandel can be perfect, and a $100 Cabernet Sauvignon can be bigger, stronger, and even BETTER… and yet NOT be perfect.
What a day. On the way home we stopped to buy a package of Rochester's (in)famous white hots to grill up, smother with condiments, and thereby satisfy a sudden and frankly primitive mutual craving. They weren't nearly as sophisticated or drop-dead delicious as, say, jumbo dry-pack diver-harvested sea scallops, or rosy-pink American rack of lamb... but by God, they were freaking perfect.
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