It was a toga party. Men in their 20’s, wearing togas, discussing guy things. They discussed the Olympics, and the need for sacrificing. It was ancient Greece and they were philosophers. They had huge brains and thought amazing thoughts. They had the concept of zero but no name for it. All these guys were pretty content with just knowing it existed, who needs names.
Centuries later, Brahmagupta, around 650 AD, was the first to formalize arithmetic operations using zero. He had some fancy dots he would put under a letter as a place holder. Still no formal name for another 2 centuries.
Centuries dedicated to discovering the idea of nothing, the use of zero. All that work so that I can say, “I got nothing,” and other guys understand.
So how come so much time on zero and perfect seems to be accepted without question? Perhaps because they knew what I suspect, there is no such thing as perfect or 100%. Why bother with something that cant exist?
When God created the world, at the end of each day he announced, “It is good.” He did not announce, “It is perfect.” He knew it wasn’t. And good was what He was aiming for. Good was good enough. What God knew, and the Greeks might have discovered, is that perfect is completion. Perfect has no need to grow, no drive to change, no room to learn. It is perfect, it will never be better nor worse nor different in any way. There is no marveling at flowers, or birds or a rainbow. There is no giggling at a child, no jitters of anticipation. Perfect is complete. Perfect is not living, it is a death. If we aren’t growing and learning and marveling, we are dying.
I tried to live a perfect life for quite awhile. The problem is that the only way to do that is fake sincerity. As my Dad put it once, “Its like painting a turd.” Looking back, it is an odd deal to try so hard to upkeep an image that is stagnant. Perfect can’t change. The problem comes when the people that make up the perfect scenario change, it disrupts the system The false illusion of perfection begins to tear. Panic ensues as you rush around to repair the rent before prying eyes see in.
When perfect is exposed, the paint wears off the turd, or the rent wears thin, there are a few different reactions. One is to breathe a sigh of relief. It is being freed from a prison of stagnation. Another is to cringe like Frankenstein’s monster from the fire of watchful eyes. Some hide, some flee, some rejoice, some cry. IT is difficult to change, particularly after hiding from it for so long.
I think those guys in Togas had a great idea. If perfection didn’t have a name, we wouldn’t think of it as a goal. I have decided that I don’t believe in perfection in this lifetime, so I am no longer going to pursue it. When asked, I will answer, “I got nothing.”