Seeking Perfection

In The Book of the Courtier, Count Ludovico says:

“.. I will say that in all things it is so difficult to know what true perfection is that it is well-nigh impossible; and this is due to the diversity of our judgments…Still I do think that there is a perfection for everything, even though it be hidden, and I do not claim to have this knowledge, I can only praise the manner of Courtier that I most esteem, and can approve of what seems to me to be nearest the right, according to my poor judgment; (22)”

Perfection. A recurring theme, yet a different approach. Sir Thomas More showed us through Utopia the blueprint for a perfect society. But was it really perfection? Discussions in class and the posts we read in our classmates blogs show the varying reactions that More's ideal country has stirred up. Here, in The Book of the Courtier, Count Ludovico offers his opinion, which may be the key to unlocking both the perfection of Utopia and the perfection of our courtier. Ludovico obviously believes the adage "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" or "perfection is in the eyes of the admirer."

Why are we so concerned about perfection? Why is that we find ambitions and blueprints of the perfect human, the perfect city, the perfect kingdom scattered throughout our literary history?

Is it that our faults abound so much that we cannot help but dream of perfection?

Without faults, we would not know perfection, and through our faults we recognize the perfect attributes of others that we desire for ourselves. As the Count points out and as our class has demonstrated, it is nearly impossible to come up with one definition of a perfect kingdom, or even man. To even agree on the smallest details in a perfect description is difficult enough and to limit man to simply one model of perfection limits the possibilities that man and his intelligence can dream of.

Without an aim for perfection, we have no direction, no high mark to set our standards on. Although we know it is unattainable, perfection sets us on the path of success.

Confucius said “If you shoot for the stars and hit the moon, it's ok. But you've got to shoot for something. A lot of people don't even shoot."

Baldesar Castiglione agrees with Confucius, stating in his letter to the Bishop of Viseu,

“And if, for all that, they are unable to attain to that perfection, such as it is, that I have tried to express, the one who comes the nearest to it will be the most perfect; as when many archers shoot at a target and none of them hits the bull’s eye, the one who comes the closest is surely better than all the rest. (7)”

Even if we do not intend to reach this seemingly unattainable goal, the point is not whether or not we actually got there, the most important thing is that we tried. We aimed for the highest mark and though we fell short, the journey along the way has moved us beyond anything we could have imagined had we not at least shot for something.

From the desks of More and Castiglione

As I picked up The Book of the Courtier this weekend, I was interested to find a letter prefacing Book 1, titled "To the Reverend and Illustrious Signor Don Michel de Silva, Bishop of Viseau."

Clearly More, including a letter with his Utopia, was not the only author to see the benefits of using letters and verses to introduce a work. A quick search of google scholar will tell you that many authors in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries and beyond included similar letters in volumes of their work. But why?

Originally I believed that Sir Thomas More simply included his "Letter to Peter Giles" in an attempt to corroborate his story, to give it that appearance of actually having happened. While the letter to Peter Giles does serve a clever literary technique, playing in the reader's mind and hinting that Raphael may have existed, there are additional reasons for the inclusion of letters in volumes.

Consider this: A New York Times best seller of the 21st century will be featured in newspapers and magazines, will have summaries presented on sites such as "amazon.com", and will be the topic of talk shows featuring the author. Through the many medium we have available to us today, we have no trouble accessing summaries, reviews, and commentaries on popular works. In fact, many authors go on promotional tours and speak to fans, publishers, and television producers about their works and the intent of the pieces.

The people of More and Castiglione's time, however, did not have ready access to this type of information. Short of being close to the royal family, the common man of the Renaissance era would never have the chance to even set eyes on admired authors. The only way to see inside the mind of an author and to understand his or her intent, was to read a commentary that they wrote.

Yet, as Peter Allan points out in his article "Utopia and European Humanism: the Function of Prefatory Letters and Verses", these letters are more than commentaries and summaries. "This complicated machinery, I would suggest, is much more than an equivalent of the modern dust-jacket blurb, for it is deliberately designed to control the reader's interpretation of the text." [1]

By addressing letters to respected confidants rather than to the reader, an author can convey greater authority through the words. The reader feels as though he or she is listening in on a private conversation about the intent of the work, rather than an overstated summary intended to make the author and the work appear larger than life.

The letters included in volumes may also serve the purpose of recognizing important individuals and dedicating works, much as a page of thanks and dedication is included in modern novels. Castiglione, for example, creates a list of respected persons in his letter to the Bishop of Viseau, naming them and citing their examples as the inspiration for his book.

[1] Article by Peter Allan featured through JSTOR. Note: You must be logged on through the university to access the article.