May 9th, 2006
So, have you ever tried to come up with one of those "perfect" definitions? I don't mean a perfect definition, I mean a definition of the perfect X (whatever X is)?
Some things are easy:
- The perfect circle: A curve which follows exactly the formula X^2 + Y^2 = 1
- The perfect number: A perfect number is a number that is equal to the sum of the numbers that divide equally into it.
- To make the perfect martini: In a mixing glass half-filled with ice cubes, combine 2 ounces of gin and 1 teaspoon of vermouth. Stir well. Strain into a cocktail glass. Garnish with a lemon twist or an olive.
But how do you define something (or, perhaps, someone) more complicated with a nice clear definition of its perfection? For example, what is "The Perfect Man"? Or what is "The Perfect Day?" And, once you think you've found it, does it stay perfect if there is more than one?
Think about it this way: My perfect day would be to rise late, have a nice leisurely brunch with my wife, ride my motorcycle for the warm sunny afternoon, come home and play badminton or go for a walk or run with my wife, then settle down to a movie or perhaps a hockey game. But if that is Monday, would doing the same thing on Tuesday be the perfect day? Well, no. In fact, it would be more of the same. Tuesday would be different. And if I had enough different days, maybe I would discover the perfect week. But imagine if I did that week over again: Not a perfect week after all!
And who is the perfect man? Or perfect woman? I will spare you the details of the perfect woman, since the moment I had her defined (in my mind, at least), I'd want to define her for Day 2. And then, I would want personality "quirks" because all Jane and no Susan makes Jane a dull girl.
And, when I try to come up with what is freedom, I hit the same wall: Freedom can be something today and something different tomorrow. So what am I to do about that? Well, you can use John Stoltenberg's argument about the perfect man: He doesn't really exist except as a smelly blubbery swamp creature that doesn't say much (though he farts frequently from too much beer). So by Stoltenberg's standards, there is no such thing as freedom.
Or you could adopt an "eye of the beholder" approach to freedom: Freedom is strictly in the mind. You can come and take my home, my sofa, my car, and my dog; you can imprison my body and subject it to all kinds of discomfort and/or torture. But you can never take my mind. I will always be free!
Well, great.
But somewhere shy of that extreme there must be a real freedom—even if it is just freedom for me. And I think I may have the answer. If you look at my list (above) of what is the perfect martini, or what is the perfect circle, the items on that list have something in common: They have a clear ideal definition. Once you know what a circle is and how to make one, you can make them until your fingers grow arthritic and your eyes grow dim. Once you know the secret to perfect numbers, you can calculate them until your pencil grows too short to write any more numbers.
But for those other, non-definable "perfect" things, the perfection comes in avoiding repetition of an ideal. The perfect man is like no other man, and not even the same person two days in a row! The perfect day is highly subjective to what you are like today, and so will never be the same for two different people, and never be the same again!
And, with that realisation:
Freedom is the embodiment of perfection.
What I mean is this: When we have the opportunity to live the perfect day, it means that we can change our day as we see fit. We can create the perfect day. That is freedom. Or if we want to eat the perfect meal, we can choose the dishes and the location, the ambience, even the cutlery and dining companion(s) if we want. And that means we can make the choices to create the perfect meal. That is freedom.
Freedom is an ideal, an impossibility to achieve, but we know what it looks like: It looks like the ability to create perfection in our lives. It is the opportunity to decide what our lives will look like, and how we will act in our own lives.
And, finally, freedom is also the desire to make something perfect in our lives. Maybe this is the most important part of the equation: Freedom is impossible if there is no will to create something meaningful. As long as we are content to take whatever life brings us at face value, and not extend ourselves, or adapt the lives we have to be better, we are no better than the political prisoner rotting away in a sunless damp cell—except that we had a choice to be better and didn't exercise it. Freedom is not just the ability and the space to make perfection in our lives, freedom is also the desire to do so.
It's not an exaggeration to say this at all: Freedom is life itself.
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