I was sitting in my office this afternoon cleaning out a number of files off of my temporary thumb drive because it was full and I wanted to save some more important files. I can across a picture I had taken a month or so ago. It was of two of the most perfect persons in the whole world. Now don’t get me wrong here, I am not prejudiced just because these two little souls are my grandkids. I caught myself getting a little misty and my analytical side broke in. What is perfection?
One of the oldest definitions is the one from Aristotle:
Perfect is that
- which is complete — which contains all the requisite parts;
- which is so good that nothing of the kind could be better;
- which has attained its purpose.
The first of these definitions is a part of the second, but between the second and third there is a giant difference. Something or someone is perfect that could not be better and something that has attained the designed purpose.
I struggle with comparisons. And following Aristotle’s line of logic there is no comparison in perfection. It is not that one is better than the other. A grandson who would rather ride a little car is no less perfect than a granddaughter who prefers a tricycle. Blond long hair is no less perfect than short blond hair. A “I love you pop pop” filled with bravado is no less perfect than a little smile and two pointing fingers directed to the depths of my soul. Both of my grandkids are complete, nothing could be better and reaching their purpose.
What is perfect? Perfection is that which brings a teardrop to the eye.