Self-Perfection?

“The only possibility to live within the spirit of the living God is to accept the truth that we cannot resolve, we cannot fix, we cannot eliminate the imperfections of our life. If we could we would not need a Messiah. And so many people think “I’ll take on a spiritual life and then my life will be perfected.” No it won’t. You’ll just be busy with yourself...and that’s hell.”
-Father Gary Caster, Williams Catholic Chaplain, Jan. 2008

I also wanted to comment more about Tolstoy's idea of "perfecting" oneself, (specifically one's morality). It seems an idea that starts off like a bucket full of holes. Person A, being imperfect, wants to make himself perfect, but really-- how? How is a finite being truly able to reach such an infinite standard without the aid of something, someone equally infinite-- God? Tolstoy does not look to God for help. Rather, he reasons that once he perfects himself, faith in God will come, a faith and understanding greater than that of the Russian Orthodox Church. But this seems more of a self-obsessive gesture-- its underlying purpose is to seek a reward-- an end to suffering. This leads us back to his short story, "The Death of Ivan Ilych," his first fictional work written after the "Confessions". What does Ivan Ilych want? "To live and not to suffer..."(294). It's a desire we all share, united by a connecting sympathy that makes pain, especially that suffered by innocents, resonate deep inside us. And as Ilych lies in bed, tormented by "his helplessness, his terrible loneliness, the cruelty of man, the cruelty of God, and the absence of God," he cannot help but ask "Why has Thou done all this?"-- what is the purpose of his suffering? I can only make sense of this through my experiences and those come solely out my life as a Catholic. It is difficult not to fall into thinking that God is a God of affliction, tormenting the short breath of the lives we have with an anguish and suffering He himself seems immune to. But really, it's more like we're joined with God in suffering-- how is He immune? He underwent the same agony as us-- the pain of suffering though innocent, of feeling abandoned-- "My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?" And though He possessed the power to "perfect" Himself, (Christ easily could have taken himself off of that cross), but instead, remitted that power to God, His Father... There is no such submission in Tolstoy. Instead, I feel that his own intellectual/spiritual struggles hardened, stiffened him in such a way, that if he were ever made to bow to anything, his back would snap.

Then, if human perfection is impossible on our own, why are we instructed to "be perfect like [God] is perfect?" I am not a theologian, so I cannot adequately address this question. But I do think it has something to do with one's ability to be humble, because love is ultimately self-sacrificial and humble. It's a simplistic answer, but the best I can do without increasing the risk of misspeaking...

“A spiritual life is a life lived listening. To listen, we cannot be distracted by our desire to be perfected...”

-Father Caster Jan.2007

The Problem of Humility

Humility is a beautiful, transcendent disposition of the human spirit towards knowing yourself-- towards understanding yourself to the very heart of your soul in a way that serves not only to raise you up, but also those around you. The caricature of humility as a person without a spine, cowering to any figure above them, unrestrainedly self-deprecating, is simply incorrect. Life becomes disturbed by a constant, gnawing anxiety for exterior affirmation, and unlike the true virtue of humility, such falsity leads a person to become more buried within themselves, suffering from a lack of true human connection. That is what I gathered from Tolstoy's Confessions-- he is a man suffering from an inability to truly connect with the world and its people. "Ambition, love of power, covetousness, lasciviousness, pride, anger, and revenge"-- these are only temporary distractions and never serve to console for long. It was right that Tolstoy rejected these things... but the idea of "self-perfection" that he replaced them with seems to have been more damaging.
The basic confessional-esque structure is typical for religious works, (yes, sorry, it's an obvious point, but just needed to put it out there). It is usually written, first and foremost, out of love of God, and submission to God, in order to edify others-- to teach through one's experiences. It is a inherent understanding in the Catholic Church that one of the most genuine, authentic ways to share one's faith is to speak through one's experiences, one's actions, first. People can use all the rhetoric they want, but if we can't see any physical, positive evidence of that faith in the life of a person, then really, what good is it? Tolstoy's earnest desire to understand life, to learn its meaning so as not to be mislead by fleeting distractions is good. It's what moves all of us. But somehow, he transforms his desire to know, to quantify, and possess the "mystery" of life-- specifically our disposition towards the spiritual-- into a towering edifice that overshadows his whole life, especially his faith.

I say this because Tolstoy's Confessions reads not as a heartfelt revelation of love or devotion to God, but more like something that circulates back into itself. There really is no progress, but the semblance of movement... a self-seeking cycle. His conclusion attempts to persuade us that his questionings finally resulted in an epiphany about God and life, but the final result seems lacking. In class, I drew comparisons between Tolstoy and St.Augustine, as men who suffered through the beginnings of their lives, aching to fill their hearts with substantive truths. But St.Augustine looked to God for direction, and through his faith, found peace. Tolstoy, on the other hand, rose himself and these questions to such a height that they became almost god-like, supplanting the place of the Christian God. But even after realizing that he could not attain all he wanted through reason, he still chooses to evade confession-- the true confession that he did not possess the answers. And this obsession to be not only Thinker but Possessor of all intangible knowledge, (and what is more mysterious than the meaning of life?), is destructively indulgent.

Every man and woman desires to understand why it is they are here, what the purpose of their lives are. To say that not knowing what one is supposed to be breeds little anxiety is an understatement. But in the Catholic faith, the purpose of one's life is described in words so small that it seems oversimplified, but they're true. The purpose of one's life is to love, to love God in whatever capacity/way we are called to. And to love God is to love ourselves and all those around us in the way He loves-- humbly. Fully. Completely. Tolstoy's anxiety prevents himself from ever being capable of giving himself fully to others. He desires to be part of the collective heart of peoples, the pulsing mass, alive and circulating throughout the world. But his own conceptions about himself, as this great man not really meant to be pupil but Teacher of all reminds me of Ivan Ilych. The judge cannot really see himself among others as an equal, but always as an authority. The same occurs with Levin, despite how much he wants to break down barriers between himself and the muzhiks. Consequently, all of what he does to know God is distorted by a desire to capture God. "[His] heart is restless O God," until God "rests in him."

For Tolstoy, humility is a problem because he doesn't know what it is. He understands the idea of it but cannot get himself to truly believe and encapsulate it. And his Confessions definitely reveal this misunderstanding for in bringing you back towards him and not God, Tolstoy ruptures the meaning of "confession" which is the very essence of humility.

Letter to Darius (A.D. 429)- St.Augustine

Thus, my son, take the books of my Confessions and use them as a good man should--not superficially, but as a Christian in Christian charity. Here see me as I am and do not praise me for more than I am. Here believe nothing else about me than my own testimony. Here observe what I have been in myself and through myself. And if something in me pleases you, here praise Him with me--him whom I desire to be praised on my account and not myself. "For it is he that hath made us and not we ourselves."[5] Indeed, we were ourselves quite lost; but he who made us, remade us [sed qui fecit, refecit]. As, then, you find me in these pages, pray for me that I shall not fail but that I may go on to be perfected. Pray for me, my son, pray for me! (Epist. CCXXXI, PL, 33, c. 1025).