Have you ever stood perfectly motionless for a moment and let the world slow down, as if you were trying to watch the seconds pass by in front of you?
Quieted your mind, stilled your heart, and embraced the sheer and utter magnitude of the universe? We are all infinitesimal beings, and we will only ever truly know our own selves.
There are many theories about our universe that great and curious minds have developed over the years. One in particular, despite a lot of dispute over its validity and admittedly far-fetched ideas, has stood the test of time.
Plato's Theory of Forms is, obviously enough, ridiculously complex. But its central point can be significantly simplified. Essentially, Plato proposed that there are actually a pair of worlds that exist simultaneously. One is the World of Materials; the other, the World of Forms, also commonly referred to as the World of Ideas. According to the theory, humanity is part of the World of Materials. "Materials" can refer to anything, from a person to a tree to a book to a bird, yet every single one of these things is flawed in some way. These imperfections, Plato states, are the result of their being modeled after their perfect counterparts, which are found in the World of Forms. The defects are imperceptible to us in the World of Materials, because we don't know anything else. Everything around and in us is constantly changing; therefore it can't ever be flawless.
Another famous mind of the past whose words still resonate today is that of William Shakespeare.
As a proudly stereotypical English major, I adore Shakespeare's writing and am familiar with his work the way only a fabulous fan of the badass bard could. However, there are a few speeches so famous that even the most anti-Avon's finest will know. One of these is Macbeth's "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow" speech from the eponymous play:
"She should have died hereafter./ There would have been a time for such a word./ Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,/ Creeps in this petty pace from day to day/ To the last syllable of recorded time,/ And all our yesterdays have lighted fools/ The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle/ Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player/ That struts and frets his hour upon the stage/ And then is heard no more. It is a tale/ Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,/ Signifying nothing" (Macbeth, Act V Scene V).
Again, this is something very confusing to consider, but that can too be simplified. The heart of the speech is the idea that life is nothing but a poor caricature of what people make it out to be, full of dreams and happiness and love. Instead, it's brief and insignificant despite the amount of emotion and thought in it. It's a colorless, fragile imitation of the vibrant, amazing journey we envision and hope it'll be before we truly have to fact the world.
It's nothing but "a walking shadow." And I'm completely aware of how nerdy this sounds, but it's the first thing I thought of when I read Plato's theory. In fact, Plato himself uses shadows to describe the World of Materials in his Allegory of the Cave.
When I was little, I was fascinated by my shadow. Like I'm sure most kids do, I would move around and watch it distort and morph into new shapes. My friends and I would even strike funny poses and have each other trace the outline of our shadows on the pavement in chalk, like some sort of cheesy crime scene investigation without the crime, then come back later to see how we could never make quite the same outline again.
So far, I've made life sound dull and sad. But I don't believe that at all. I think it is really full of dreams and happiness and love. Shadows may seem dark, but they're actually really beautiful. They follow us everywhere, no matter where we may be. We could go to the ends of the earth and back and they would still be there, except for when the sun is hidden. Then they rest just like we do, until a new day begins, and with it, a new, blank pages of our stories. And shadows are the ink with which our stories are written. Every single story will be unique and irreplaceable.
Our shadows will still with us right until the time comes for us to leave this world behind. And if you believe in Plato's Theory of Forms, then maybe, just maybe, that means we've made it to the World of Forms, where there is nothing but endless perfection.
So close your eyes and take a deep breath.
Bring your body and your shadow to a peaceful standstill. Let everything fall away except this very moment.
Because it will never happen again. No one will ever experience it in you. It is nobody's but your own.
And that, in a sense, is perfection.
