Quakers recommend that, in our relations with each other, we should strive to respond to "that of God within everyone." In my own thinking, I have always related this to a supreme principle of respect. At least part of respect includes believing that everyone is capable of goodness. And at least part of the recommendation to look for and respond to "that of God" within everyone is also to assume that everyone is capable of goodness.
Immanuel Kant proposes something similar in his moral theory. One formulation of his "categorical imperative" is "Act in such a way that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of another, always at the same time as an end and never simply as a means" (Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals, 429, trans. James W. Ellington, Hackett Publishing Company, [1785] 1981).
For Kant, understanding people as "ends" is the same as understanding them as "rational agents." By this, he means that people set their own goals, and thus are sources of new activity in the world. Kant then connects human rationality to the concept of "goodness" in the following way. Ultimately, the "true function" of our rational nature "must be to produce a will which is not merely good as a means to some further end, but is good in itself" (396). He makes this comment on the heels of just having argued that rationality is not for the purpose of survival alone--instinct can and does aid in the survival of many other living organisms. Nor is the purpose of rationality to ensure happiness--it doesn't do a very good job at that! We cannot really plan for our own happiness (even if we do all desire it). So there is some other purpose for our having rationality: producing a will that is good in itself (that wills good for the sake of goodness alone).
When our will is thus purified, the goals that we set and the activity that results from our trying to fulfill these goals brings new goodness into the world. By treating people "as ends," we respect them as potential sources of new goodness for the world. And by "responding to that of God within everyone," we try, in our relations with others, to encourage them to bring that potential goodness forth.
The early Quakers believed that humans can reach a kind of perfection in life, and they too connected this notion with a kind of purification of will (see for example Barclay's Proposition VIII, in his Apology [1675/1678]). Barclay believed that it is an insult to God to think that God created us so badly that a kind of human perfection is impossible. He also worries that a doctrine that human perfectibility is impossible can make us all too willing to accept our shortcomings.
"What is the purpose of such a strange doctrine? The imperfection of Christians comes either from God or from themselves. If it is of their own doing, it must be because they fall short of using the power of obedience that was given them. In that case, they were capable of achieving God's will with his aid. But our opponents deny this, so they are not to be blamed for continuing in sin since they are incapable of doing otherwise" (Barclay's Apology in Modern English, edited by Dean Freiday, p. 158).
Barclay does not believe that reaching a kind of perfection makes us invulnerable to future sin or error. "If [those who have attained a measure of perfection] are not watchful they may fall into iniquity and lose it. Many good and holy men have had their ups and downs of this kind" but sin "does not destroy him altogether or make it impossible to rise again" (156). He goes on to argue that, "nevertheless a state can be attained in this life in which it becomes so natural to act righteously that a condition of stability is achieved in which sin is impossible" (157).
Do Quakers today still believe that this kind of perfectibility is possible?
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9 comments:
Laura,
Short comic answer: You wanna see perfection? Look at me!
Short serious answer: yes.
Longer serious answer: By calling Quakerism an experimental religion this is exactly what Fox meant. He meant that we could put his claim to the test and the observable consequences we look for are transformed lives. If you hear someone claiming to be a
Christian and you don't see a person who actually loves his enemies, turns the other cheek, conducts his outward affairs with the highest integrity, etc. then you have a mere "professor" (one who talks the talk) and not a real Friend of God.
What makes this a little tricky is that individual Friends are hesitant to claim that they have personally been completely transformed in this way. (As in my comic answer.) This is because we have been warned against the beam in our own eye that we cannot see. So Friends are much more likely to point seasoned Friends as examples of the effectiveness of God's transforming power.
To get more philosophical for a moment, my favorite philosopher of religion, John Hick claims that there is evidence of the existence of God (not necessarily a being who possesses all the attributes of God as enumerated in traditional theism) and that this evidence is found within all the major religious traditions of the world (because they all worship the same God differently conceptualized in their respective theologies). This evidence is the "salvific efficacy" (Hick's rather tedious phrase) of the traditions. What this means is that we can actually see cases of moral perfectibility of human beings present in those who follow any of these religious paths deeply and sincerely.
Laura,
Your entry sets us out on a complex and fascinating set of issues and problems, bringing into association the Quaker idea of “that of God” and Kant’s “respect,” Kant’s notion of “the good will” and the traditional Quaker doctrine of “perfectibility.” These are worthwhile inquiries, in my opinion, and I’d be interested to see what kind of fruit could eventually be picked based on this project of cross-pollination. Hopefully we can explore your work/thoughts on this more thoroughly some time. For now, I briefly address your closing question.
Even as a youth being raised an Evangelical Quaker, I have been suspicious of claims to perfectibility (in the language of that way of thinking: of “sanctification” as a second act of grace following that of “justification”). Not only did there seem to me to be a contradiction born of the fact that any claim to “perfection” would already be a violation of a humility that would have to be constitutive of any real perfection, but if “sin” (as I was taught, and as the Greek suggests) is a “missing of the mark,” and not a matter of “will” (desiring to do the good, but failing, despite every good intention, is still “sin” in the Biblical sense), perfection seemed to me an immense and ridiculous pretension. The non-programmed Friends with whom I currently worship are, for the most part, so far from concerns about “personal sin and salvation” that these terms would hardly make sense to most of them, unless they could be converted into some or other psycho-social dialect.
Still, if there is to be some genuine change in ourselves, if our Quakerism is to be “salvifically efficacious” (thanks Richard and John Hick), then this “perfectibility” must mean something. Is it to be interpreted eschatologically (as opposed to actual or even teleological, i.e., as something we are to aim at without ever hoping to actually attain), or allowed to be a matter of “will” that is “careless” of results (as in Kant, at least on this side of the “realities” forced upon our credulity by means of regulative ideals), or is it a way that earlier (and many current) Quakers tried to understand and articulate what they took as Biblical revelation, or ... ? I am a long way from working this out to my own satisfaction.
Briefly, however, with respect to Barclay’s claim that abandoning a doctrine of perfectibility makes us all too willing to accept our shortcomings, I think the opposite case could also be made: it is our willingness to recognize our shortcomings that keeps us on the path to perfection, whereas the belief that we have arrived would correlate with a lack of vigilance that could not fail to be its own form of imperfection. I wonder if part of the issue here arising around the meaning of the word “accept,” which is here dual: it could mean “recognize,” where I “accept” that I have shortcomings as a matter of fact, and it could mean “resign myself to,” where I “accept” my shortcoming, conclude that that’s just the way it is and I can do nothing about it. It seems to me that to be at our most “perfect” we need to simultaneously accept the first mean meaning of accept (in order to stay vigilant and self-aware, i.e., honest about our finitude) but we must reject the second (so that we do not become complacent with what is the case). Barclay’s argument seems to me to blur this distinction, and make the fact that I should not “resign myself” to my imperfections the reason to believe that I must be able to entirely overcome them (i.e., must be able to attain to a state where they are no longer there to be “recognized” at all). My intuition is rather that the acceptance of the first is the condition of the rejection of the second; a rejection of the second is not a legitimate alibi for not accepting the first (for pretending to have overcome my imperfections). Perhaps the “perfect” human being is the one who recognizes, repents of and seeks to humbly work through his or her imperfections, rather than the one that overcomes (note triumphalistic metaphor) them. But this is just the thought of a moment, ... very far from being perfected!
Thanks, Laura, for getting me thinking.
Thanks, Richard and Jafe, for sharing your thoughts. Yes, this is a difficult and challenging question!
Interestingly, Barclay himself explicitly claims not to have attained this perfection himself. He says this just after one of the passages I originally quoted.
I find that my students generally do not want to claim that perfection is possible. There are two moves they quickly make: one is to claim that a perfect person would be boring and insufferable, and therefore not really perfect. The other move is to claim that we could not collectively agree upon what constitutes perfection, and therefore perfection could only be relativistic and self-proclaimed and so at best still never universally validated and therefore not real perfection.
The first objection is easy to respond to. It points to the need to think more carefully about what perfection might look like. Is morally upright behavior necessarily boring? Is the only way to be interesting to be immoral? Or are there forms of interesting creativity that are fully harmonious with the moral standards implicitly required by "perfection"? Also: is it possible to be morally good without being insufferable about it? Why think that goodness requires gloating about it and pointing out the flaws of others?
Virtue theory does offer models of what human virtue looks like, and so offers suggestions about what perfection might look like. It might not be as hard as some people think to come up with some universally acceptable standards.
I find myself personally very attracted to the quest to become a fine human being; and yet I worry a lot that striving for virtue or perfection tempts one to regard others in terms of virtue or perfection, and regarding others in these terms all too easily invites problematic comparisons and judgments. The danger of falling into self-righteousness looms large, even though self-righteousness undermines perfection. My response is to include compassion and forgiveness among the virtues I strive to develop!
Despite the dangers, the striving still seems important to me. In making music, we strive for a kind of mastery, and after a lot of practice can actually reach a kind of mastery. In music, the mastery is a kind of consistent "hitting the mark" (to borrow one of the helpful images Jafe offered). You know your instrument and have honed your abilities so well that you can reliably produce the effects you intend to produce.
Rather than being an end-point, this is a new beginning, because there is always further work in honing your musical perceptual aspirations more and more. Over time, you hear more and more in the music, and your own musical aspirations change. Once content with hitting the right notes at the right times, with intended loudness and softness, now you aspire to shape the quality of the notes with more subtlety and to be more precise and artistic in your timing.
Does this metaphor apply to life in general? Can we reach a certain mastery in our ability to generally hit the mark in doing the right thing? But then we become more sensitive to the subtle varieties of goodness that are possible within the basic moral parameters? Our attention shifts: no longer torn between right and wrong, or aiming for what is right but too often missing the mark, now we are skilled in regularly staying within the boundaries of the good but hone our perceptual abilities further and aim more precisely for specific forms of goodness?
Maybe this was what Barclay was getting at. It is still not impossible to make some big bad moral mistake, but it is not likely as one's attention has largely shifted to finer gradations within the general parameters of "goodness." One is no longer likely to be tempted to transgress these boundaries. Life's surprises could throw us into a situation we are not well-practiced in or prepared for and then we might fail to do the right thing, but, barring some extraordinary change that throws us off like this, it is no longer very hard to determine what is right or to control our actions effectively in generally doing the right thing.
I realize that I may be making it sound too easy in principle. Maybe real life is too full of moral dilemmas for this to be feasible in practice?
jafe and laura,
The original quaker worldview was and continues to be a powerful thing precisely because it is different. It is different from more traditional forms of Christianity and different from the secular ideals of the Enlightenment. As such it will always struggle with misunderstandings.
Two simple points that I think are relevant here are that Quakerism is both an experiential religion and a religious community. The first element makes it sound like it is in line with Enlightenment individualism but the second element highlights the way it is different.
Individuals should indeed be cautious about evaluating their own progress in the second work of the Holy Spirit, i.e. sanctification. To not be wary of the beam in your own eye would be proof of your own spiritual immaturity. But is the proper solution to this particular dilemma to adopt a pose of exaggerated fallibility? I think not. The solution is to rely on the community. Let others who you recognize as spiritually mature make the evaluation of how far you have come. Humility can consist of submitting to their judgement. When you look at Quaker practice in this light you see a lot of evidence that this is central. Individuals seeking to travel in the ministry would get travelling minutes from their monthly meeting and would usually arrange to travel with an elder. This wasn't just some pointless bit of rigamarole; it represents a very practical recognition that if we think sanctification possible and relevant we need to put the responsibility for recognizing it squarely on the community. In a word we need to take accountability seriously.
Such a corporate solution is far better, in my not-so-very humble opinion, than to stick with the individual's self-evaluation or to adopt some pose of artificial humility. I see evidence of such frequently in liberal meetings where there is much breast-beating about how "I'm not doing enough to a) combat global warming, b) stop militarism, c) promote universal justice, etc." As if the individual ought to actually feel guilty that the actions of one person out of 6 billion were not sufficient unto themselves to fix the world!
Of course people of limited experience (our students) will suppose that a person who has become a really better person must be an insufferable prig. That's because 1) they have most likely never met such a person and 2) have stereotypes from the mass media blaring in their brains.
When my wife and I moved to North Carolina over twenty years ago and met a number of seasoned Friends we were struck by the fact that these people were not "normal" and we were further struck by the desire to become more like them than we were. And knowing those folks over a period of twenty years we never were disillusioned. Our original perception of them as moral exemplars held up and was confirmed over and over. And far from Christian charity making someone unpleasant and sanctimonious, in reality it is quite pleasant to be in the company of such people. Mark Twain once joked "Do you believe in infant baptism? Believe in it? Heck, I've seen it!" I'd say the same about sanctification except I'm not joking.
Friends,
Thanks you for your continuing, and continually interesting, comments.
I'm afraid I'm still rather hung up on the term "perfection," which means complete, as if there were nothing left to accomplish, and this strikes me as problematic in a world where, frankly, there is much left to accomplish. (There seem to be two senses circulating here, and they are related: perfection vs. moral failure, perfection vs. finitude. Merely being finite [im-perfected] does not count as a moral failure, but its also hard to see how a finite being could be morally perfect.) “Perfection” (as complete) and “being alive” (still having life to live) therefore strike me as exclusive one of the other. (Kierkegaard, in the "Postscript," has this wonderful image of someone who finishes life’s task at the age of 20 and then looks around embarrassingly not knowing what to do with himself for the next 60 years!) The idea of being sanctified, if that is taken as a moral perfection (something I complete for myself, the completion of myself) also seems to me too individualistic, insufficiently communal. If morality has to do not with my personal condition, but with what I owe to others (and I think it does), then being moral is not a condition, but an ongoing task. To be morally “perfect” (my task complete) would be the height of irresponsibility, the end of accountability.
Still, I want to be open to considering what “perfection” might mean (despite the fact that I continue to find this choice of words unfortunate), both to honour the experiences of others (including many of those in my religious tradition), and not to let myself off a hook upon which I perhaps should be snagged, but I cannot help thinking that we might need think this more in terms of a process, of something like being on the right road, than as a goal, as a place at which me might “arrive,” or even hope to arrive. I am wondering in this context about Fox’s comment of being in a “condition that takes away the occasion for war” - which, as I understand it, had something to do with the idea of the second coming having occurred in an inner, as opposed to outer, way, and that participating in this new world, rather than being caught up in the old, was what sanctification (sometimes called “convincement”) meant. This might then be not so much a matter of having achieved a certain “perfection,” as it is a matter of coming at things in an entirely new (sanctified) way, one which has traded in “means” (what must be done while we await the kingdom) for “ends” (how we behave in the kingdom). What is “perfected” here, then, is not the individual, but time itself, but as the opening of a new “sanctified” time, in which “the sanctified” person participates. Does that help, or ... ?
Well, I continue to speculate here, and probe, and wonder. Thanks for allowing me to do this in a “less than perfect” way here.
Jafe,
I do think that probing this concept of perfection more deeply will bear fruit.
It seems to me that your sense of perfection implying completeness is much influenced by Plato. That whole tradition makes perfection into something necessarily static and eternal. There was a time when I looked at it that way myself but lately (perhaps because of the pragmatism I've been reading) I've come to see that static concept as dead not living. That sort of static "perfection" seems less good to me than a more dynamic perfection--perfect activity. If asked to choose between completeness and life; I think life is better. (I'm not suggesting you have to agree with my concept of perfection. I'm just trying to clarify what I mean.)
To my way of thinking the perfect person (or better "person approximating perfection")would welcome more work to do because their perfection would require continued activity. The perfection isn't a static state of being it is like Aristotle's happiness--virtuous activity. (Yes, I know that at the end of NE Aristotle backs away from the dynamic idea and adopts static contemplation as his ideal, but I like the earlier part of NE better.)
Can we, should we, demand perfection of ourselves? ("Be perfect, even as the Father in heaven is perfect.") I'd give an affirmative answer at the end of the day. Ought implies can so if we ought to be perfect then we can be perfect. What kind of perfection is possible? Not a perfection in power. We are finite beings who are not perfectly strong or knowing. But I think we can be morally perfect. To be morally perfect is to will what is good. One will naturally object that we all fall short. (Again, biblical verses can be cited to this effect.) Agreed but we can still be perfect in the moment.
The fact that I fell short of perfection and did not will the good yesterday does not prevent me from willing the good today. The fact that I may very well fall short tomorrow and not will the good does not prevent me from willing the good today. In every moment when I wholly and sincerely will what is good I am perfect. To demand less of myself is to "plead for sin" and make excuses for myself. Those who make progress in sanctification are those for whom these moments of perfect start to become longer and more common. The "new man" that Paul writes about starts to manifest more frequently and the selfish, arrogant, angry old self appears less and less.
Does what I'm saying sound like it makes any sense to you? I've never tried to explain this to another philosopher before but I have shared my views on perfection with other conservative Friends and it does seem to resonate with many of them I've talked to.
My Friends,
The dictionary meanings of perfection of “without flaw” and “complete” (the latter as much simply “grammatical” as Platonic, I think) might be distinguishable in principle, but they come together again in any common use of the word, and it may be impossible to use the term, at least in any broad [non-technical, e.g., “religious”] context, in the first sense without the second being connoted. If we mean the first without meaning the second (which is what I take you both, Richard and Laura, to be doing, though I don’t think all Quakers do!), we could spend time making this distinction and trying to find ways to communicate that what me mean by perfection is not what others fear that we mean and resent (and would perhaps rightfully resent if we did in fact also mean the latter, as some Quakers do!), or we could decide that the word is misleading (for others as for ourselves) for the most part, that it is not worth trying to salvage, and we should choose another. The word is part of our tradition, and we have a desire to save it and live out of it, but that may not always be possible or prudent. (There is plenty of precedent for Quakers re-framing even some quite central ideas as the times demanded.) I don’t think there is a correct answer here, a right way to decide if the word (a misleading word in many, perhaps even most, contexts) is best “saved” or abandoned (I have the same struggle with “Christian” sometimes); rather, this requires discernment - and that across probably a long, communal conversation and process. If the word continues to speak to us, we will retain it, if not, we will let it go. We’re engaging in that process here, it seems to me. At this point it would appear that Laura and Richard are bent on saving it, and I am more willing to let it be replaced. I’m not sure that’s correct, and for myself will say that I am genuinely in more of a probing mode than an argumentative one, and am stating my concerns as much to be convinced as anything else (though I'm not there yet), despite appearances.
Having said that, I am myself still uncomfortable with even the “without flaw” side of perfection. It feels to me that both of you, Richard and Laura, while on the stump for perfection still tend, upon closer explanations, toward a kind of “perfection with room for improvement,” which, if the point is to pitch perfection, seems to me to be still a little “low and outside” (sorry, bad baseball image to complement “pitch”). Again, if we have to so qualify our terms such that “perfection” no longer really means “perfection,” I’m not sure why we’re insisting upon it. Because ought implies can? I’m not sure that “ought implies can,” but, even if it does, the “moral can” is not unrelated to the finitude of the rest of my powers. I “ought” to find housing for all of the homeless of my city (and when I finish that, there are lots of other cities), but I “can” not. Perhaps I am exaggerating my obligations, or underestimating my powers (or thinking them on too “individualistic” a basis here), but is there not an irrevocable relationship between this “ought” and this “can” that brings finitude (imperfection as incompleteness) back into a necessary commerce with being morally imperfect (imperfection as flaw)? If that is so, then having recourse to “the good will” as the site of moral perfection - even if this latter perfection were a possibility - doesn’t tell enough of the story to get morality right (or good!).
I am hesitant, in any case, to agree that “a good will” can count as moral perfection. (In part this is because, as per above, I don’t think of the will as something that I could isolate and speak about apart from its interrelationships with all of the other human faculties upon which it operates and which operate upon it - “if” this way of speaking, of “faculties,” etc., is really the best way of speaking of these things at all.) Perhaps I am wrong, but to me the parent who, even with the best of intentions, beats their child out of loving concern for their eternal welfare (the “inquisitional” model of parenting), or the person who loves the poor by bypassing them under a genuine, “well-meaning” conviction that by denying them aid they will learn to fend for themselves (a position advocated in some way or other by thinkers no less important than Kierkegaard and Heidegger), are not good examples of “moral perfection.” (That is why I spoke of sin as “missing the mark” in an earlier entry; “taking careful aim” is often a constituent of hitting the mark, but is not in itself a hitting of the mark.) Kant himself - to whom much of this talk of “good will,” “is and ought,” etc., is traceable - is not immune to this “washing of hands” with respect to consequences in the world, which I, at least, consider a most inadequate way of thinking about morality. That someone wills the good is certainly not unrelated to our ability to feed the starving and clothe the naked, but taking it as a substitute for the latter, and as a synonym for moral perfection, is, on my view, a scandalously imperfect (flawed and incomplete) version of morality.
In short, I continue to believe that the “notion” of moral perfection (perhaps I can at least be credited here with a consistent Quakerly suspicion of notions) is more of a barrier than it is a boon to “moral perfection.” On my current understanding, the closer we come to perfection, the deeper our sense of our imperfection should be. “Ought” implies “must,” not “can.”
Jafe
Wow, great discussion! There's lots I could say in response, but let me try just this for now.
Another way of looking at all of this is to ask whether all of our choices come down to deciding between a moral alternative and an immoral alternative. In such a world, moral perfection would seem to remain elusive, because there would be exactly one thin and narrow path of moral perfection through all of life's choices that is the true path of moral perfection.
But I think that this is not how our world is (nor how Kant assumed it to be). Even within the constraints of morality, there are lots of choices. In fact, in society as a whole, morality optimizes the freedom of everyone collectively (Kant's "Kingdom of Ends").
In a reasonably well-ordered society, it is maybe not so hard, really, to meet the basic standards of morality. Then, above and beyond that, we still have freedom to construct a unique and creative life.
In my own understanding of "perfection," I do not assume that a continued improvement is necessary. And so my view is compatible with a kind of completeness, I think. Referring back to an earlier example I mentioned, it is like mastery of a skill or an art. Once you are there, you are at a new kind of beginning, but it is that instead of seeking to master the skills, now you can begin to create a variety of well-constructed or well-performed pieces/works of art expressive of various dimensions of artistic goodness. You seek continued refinement of your skills in order to expand your expressive scope, but the state of mastery is still "complete" in that you are able consistently to create what you intend to create.
For example, once you have mastered the art of reading music, you can read any score placed in front of you. In this sense, your knowledge and skill are "complete." And yet, you still have a lot of choices and freedom in terms of how you wish to play a particular piece of music.
So, the value of this concept is in marking a certain kind of personal transformation that is in fact possible, and yet does not represent the end of our striving. It just changes the nature of that striving.
An excellent musician will consistently produce excellent music. That stage is not the end of their career but the beginning. Now they are truly worthy of performing, because, no longer struggling for technical mastery, their energy goes into expression, and they express something new with every performance.
Is an analogous form of moral mastery also possible? Is it possible to reach a stage of life in which you are no longer struggling to figure out, and hold yourself to, basic moral standards? Is it possible to reach a stage of life where you hold to basic morality pretty solidly so that now your aspirations shift to a different level? I think that this may have been what Barclay and others were suggesting.
Yes, this is exactly the sort of discussion I had envisioned us having when the blog was set up.
Let me say a bit more about my orientation towards ethical theory. I don't consider myself a Kantian. I do consider Kant's ethics deeply flawed. I'm much more influenced by Mill and Aristotle.
This discussion of what "perfection" really means and how revisionary we should get about it provides me with another opportunity to repeat my line on philosophical method. I think that we should be boldly revisionary with the criterion for what revisions to accept being pragmatic. For key philosophical concepts like perfection, or justice, or morally right, etc. I think that in fact the concepts as employed in both ordinary language and in the philosophical tradition are fuzzy concepts. In order to engage in philosophica argument we need to make the fuzzy concepts sharper and in doing so we always change them. I argue that it is a waste of everyone's time to worry about how much we have changed one of these central fuzzy concepts. "Damn the intuitions, full speed ahead!"
Completeness isn't really the issue. the issue is whether perfection is necessarily a static concept or whether it can be dynamic. I wouldn't favor trying to settle this by canvassing either the history of philosopy or ordinary language to determine how many instances of the static concept of perfection we can find and comparing that to how many instances of the more dynamic concept there are. I favor the dynamic concept because it is more useful. And I would argue that it is not a "notion" in the Quaker sense. The "notions" that Quakers attacked were not concepts at all; they were words that people used with no concept grounded in experience to give it meaning. Think of Locke's attack on the idea of substance. Locke is essentially claiming that the word "substance" is a mere "notion" and not a genuine concept.
Dynamic perfection is no notion. I contend that we can experience perfection in momentary acts. Now the essence of the act is a movement of the will (Here I take a page from the Stoics and side with the current "flicker of freedom" advocates in the current debate over free will.) I should also clarify that I do not subscribe to the theory that only the conscious surface of our mind is genuinely real. Instead I believe that there are depths to the soul which make even this momentary perfection a rare and difficult feat. For me to really will the good of the person in front of me there has to be no lurking feeling of smug superiority, no thinking at she is doing badly and in need of my help because she is a jerk, etc. The only thought is that there is a child of God in front of me whom I am called upon to help. When that thought is not just on the surface of my mind but instead goes all the way down, then my will is perfect in that moment. Since the depths of my own soul are not transparent to me I ought to be humble about claiming I've be perfectly faithful and obedient. But despite this I think we have fleeting experiences of really getting it right and confirmation by the Holy Spirit that once in a while at least we do get it right.
I could say a lot more but I've probably gone on too long already.
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