Photograph of Lincoln Memorial Youth March for Integrated Schools.
Photograph/National Archives Catalog.
Department of the Interior. National Park Service.
National Capital Parks. (10/9/1933 - 1/22/1962).

" … toward MorePerfect but not perfection …"

I admire Abraham Lincoln's facility with English. He could really turn a phrase. His most memorable moment came in his first inaugural where he spoke of our responsibility to create "a MorePerfect union." He cleverly avoided proposing perfection as a target yet deeply implied that it might lurk somewhere out there where we might move in its general direction. He managed to remain realistic while projecting an idealistic glow over the proceedings, producing one memorably masterful phrase.

MorePerfect probably describes much of my iOlogue. I constantly compare whatever I have to whatever it might become, as if gauging whether I'm still on the path toward greater perfection. I inquire more than pass harsh judgment, for I fully expect to learn that I have once again fallen short of perfection. Since perfection was never my objective, discovering my shortfall produces no problem, just information. It's like balancing. I'm never in balance as much as I'm constantly trending toward balancing, actually continually out of balance. If I were not assessing and adjusting, I would be unable to claim that I was working toward MorePerfect results. Should I declare, "Perfect," as I notice so many young people doing as a matter of course, I could only be sure that some delusion had overtaken me. Heading toward a perfection I never expected to achieve suits me. I do not aspire to perfect MorePerfect; I just want the ordinary kind.

More or less merrily, I roll along, aided by cleaver phrases that ennoble my mediocrity. Few acts produce more evil than the pedestrian pursuit of perfection. I happily pursue MorePerfect but grow suspicious when I sense someone, even myself, seeking some Utopian outcome. It's a presidential election year so the airwaves sparkle with recipes for perfection, Repuglican promises destined to damn us should they ever be implemented. The absolutists have already started creeping out of their closets, insisting they can no longer consider good enough to be anywhere close to good enough. They demand a new deal, a fresh start, a greatness never once experienced in the history of this universe so far. They damn what's worked to insist upon worse, promising not merely incrementally better but the long-elusive Perfection we always deserved. Charlatans and worse!

I have grown satisfied with more modest forms of perfection. Fruit featuring a few blemishes won't put me off. A dent or two never materially affected performance. I seek factory seconds and shop at The Dented Can Store, for their stock's plenty good enough for my intents and purposes. I expect a line of gristle through my steak and won't let its presence spoil my supper, but I will notice and not to feed my grudges. I'll notice because I consider myself on a journey, heading in the general direction of some notional perfection while praying that I might never arrive. I'll notice because noticing will inform me whether I'm still heading in the right and proper direction or I've perhaps already died and gone to Heaven. If I'd already died and gone to Heaven, I could be certain I'd been dreaming, for gristle seems incompatible with any steak served in Heaven. If I'm alive, I should probably remain grateful that I noticed that slight imperfection because it reassures me that I'm still headed in the right direction toward MorePerfect but not perfection; thank Heaven!

©2024 by David A. Schmaltz - all rights reserved

Tags: #iAlogue , #PureSchmaltz