Contentment

"When you are content to be simply yourself and don't compare or compete, everybody will respect you." -Lao Tzu

Blogger Leo Babauta of ZenHabits recently wrote a thought-provoking post entitled "Quashing the Self-Improvement Urge," in which he suggests that eventually the urge to improve, "only makes you feel inadequate."

I found the entry rather puzzling, even shocking, given the culture in which we live. In my experience, there seems to be something deeply ingrained in many people which finds the idea of improvement--particularly self-improvement--highly attractive. The idea of ambition itself seems premised on the notion that the good life is spent moving from one "place" to another, accomplished usually through practice, hierarchy-navigation, and the cultivation of particular skills and attitudes conducive to one's goal-state.

When I was in high school, two types of people seemed particularly valued: those who accomplished great things, and those who worked hard to someday accomplish great things. The field of endeavor never mattered, the values remained constant. In music, the skilled musicians took the highest place, and the young, ambitious players who practiced a lot, got private-lessons, and worked hard to improve took the next. In athletics, the top athletes who scored points and won matches took first honors, and the motivated and hard-working took second. In academics, the skilled students were valued most, and the less-skilled-but-hard-workers were valued second-most. The point is that in all fields, the skilled and the motivated were valued most.

On many levels, this makes to me a great deal of sense. A music teacher can do a lot with skilled and motivated  musicians, but almost nothing with the unambitious and apathetic. Skilled and motivated athletes give coaches the resources of which winning seasons--and even championships--are made. And it is the thoughtful and passionate students who make teaching a joy rather than a chore. In all cases, some combination of skill and motivation seems a prerequisite for doing anything which society deems worthwhile.

And yet I wonder, are we missing something here?

Mr. Babauta's argument against self-improvement is premised on the notion that self-improvement is goal without an end, urged on us by ourselves and others. "When does it end?" he asks. "When is anyone ever content with who they are? We are taught that we are not good enough yet, that we must improve, and so...we always feel a little inadequate."

There's something disturbingly-familiar about this line of thought that ends in constant inadequacy, and history furnishes an illustrative example. Reformation historian Carter Lindberg poignantly describes a similar adequacy-crisis within the context of pre-Reformation Christian theology, and consideration of his discussion seems warranted within the context of our question.

According to Lindberg, with regard to the achievement of salvation, a common invocation of medieval Christian theology says that one should "facere quod in se est," or "do what lies within you" (Lindberg 2006, 63). Lacking a precise measure of what exactly "lies within" people, a common answer to those who wondered if they were doing enough was simply, "try harder." So understood, salvation became an achievement for those who honestly "did their best" with what "lies within."  It's no surprise that the image of a ladder so often illustrates point. The good life, under these circumstances, becomes one of moving up from an inferior position to a superior one.

Sound familiar? It may, since the logic of the theology here described closely mirrors that of Mr. Babauta's description of the modern "Self-improvement urge." In fact, Carter Lindberg even points out the congruence, saying:

"No matter what is accomplished, one may think more could have been achieved with just some more effort. Whether you are an A student or an F student you can always do more. 'Do what lies within you,' 'do the best you can.' This approach is not uniquely medieval or Aristotelian; it is equally modern, certainly American. Realize your own potential; anyone can be a success if he or she only tries hard enough; you can better yourself" (Lindberg, 68).

Within the context of medieval theology, this "urge" is premised on Aristotelian philosophy. According to Lindberg, Aristotle claimed that "like is known by like." Since God is perfect, this was taken to mean that for a person to know God (and for God to know a person), then that person "must become 'like' God" (Lindberg, 68). This task was accomplished through another Aristotelian idea, which contended that any self-improvement is the result of "habitual activity." As described by Lindberg, "Through such habits or practices ethics becomes a kind of second nature" (Lindberg, 69).

Does that too sound familiar? "Just practice," and "do your best" still ring in my ears from those confusing days in high school when nothing I could do was ever enough to satisfy my teachers, coaches, or employers. "Only through much effort and great pains are great things accomplished."

This appears to be the credo of the "self-improvement urge." Its central expectation states that with enough effort and discipline, perfection can be achieved. When it's not, "you are simply not working hard enough."

What are we moderns ever to do? If the desired end of improvement is perfection, shall we never be content with who we are? Can you and me and everyone else never be enough? Is it our lot to always feel inadequate?

Let me tell you the next part of the theology story. It's by no means the "end," traditionally understood; far from it in fact. But the next part may offer insight into the dilemma of adequacy at which we've presently arrived.

According to Lindberg, "'do what lies within you'" means that salvation is a process that occurs within us as we perfect ourselves. Put another way, we become righteous before God as we do righteous acts, as we do good works" (Lindberg, 69). When Martin Luther (1483-1546), as a young man an Augustinian monk, tried to embody this theology in his monastic practice, he very nearly killed himself through fasting and exposure. Even then, "Luther could not believe that God was placated by his efforts to do his best for his salvation" (Lindberg, 69). Faced with the implication that imperfect humans could never be saved, Luther returned to scripture and had something of an epiphany, if the expression may be used.

What did Herr Luther see? In short, he concluded that piety is not about achievement, but about expressing a kind of contentment. As described by Lindberg, Luther concluded that "We do not do good works in order to become acceptable to God; rather, because God accepts us we do good works," shifting the relationship between man and God  from an "if...then"  to a "because...therefore" argument (Lindberg, 70). For Luther, it was not a matter of "If I do good, then God will love me," but rather, "Because God loves me, therefore I do good."

I think a lot of relationships in our lives are premised on an if...then basis. If you work hard and show enthusiasm, then most teachers will find you a good student. If you can help a team win the match, then the coach will usually be glad to have you. A musician who's willing to work hard, learn the music, and come to class prepared is what most band directors would likely consider a model student. It seems so common, and yet it's based entirely on conditions. "If you do what I want, then I will lavish you with praise," can just as easily become "If you don't do what I want, then I will lavish you with ridicule." In such cases, our good-will is conditional and revocable.

Perhaps this is simply the only way most people can be motivated, but, as I mentioned above, what if we're missing something important here?

What if we could simply be content with who we are? "I'm not a professional musician, but because I love music I make music." When people accept you for who you are, there's no pressure to do anything except what you love most to do.

A runner who loves to run will run regardless if he or she is ordered or not. A writer who loves to write will write no matter what.

The crazy thing about all this is that, in many ways, Aristotle's second idea from above is often proved in practice; people who do something a lot tend to get better at it. Put simply, they improve without feeling any pressure to improve. Their daily practice becomes an expression of their contentment, rather than an achievement for the pleasing of others. The difference is subtle, but the implications are possibly enormous.

Mr. Babauta's post remains shocking to me, but perhaps that is because of how deeply the notion of self-improvement is inscribed within my social context. Yet it seems entirely possible to learn, improve, and be happy without the constant pressure to get better...or else. Regardless of your religion (or lack thereof), perhaps Luther's interpretation has something valuable for all of us; that the good life, no matter your definition, is at its heart an expression and not an achievement. Something perhaps to consider.

Happy Friday :)