I’m a bit of a perfectionist. For those who know me, this might come as a surprise. I can imagine them asking, “How can you justifiably call yourself a perfectionist when your room looks like that?” It’s a fair point, well made, so perhaps I should be a little more specific. While I’m not the neatest freak out there, I am, as it happens, something of a moral perfectionist. For those who know me, this would not come as a surprise. I have a reputation for being hard on myself over my mistakes, and dismissive of my successes. Oddly enough, this is probably why I sought out the Christian religion at all since it places a strong emphasis on grace and forgiveness, albeit a forgiveness coming from God and not from myself. I’ve written a great deal about this: confession, as I’ve repeatedly said, can be incredibly cathartic. However, at the same time, there has been little in the Christian message that has meaningfully changed my view about myself. I have left certain memories of guilt in the confessional, but that’s not to say that I have walked out feeling like a good or redeemed person. For those who know me, particularly my therapist, this is quite obvious; but why?

When you break them down, at their core, you can think of many religions as a proposed solution to some perceived problem in the world. For example, in Buddhism, the perceived problem is suffering, and the solution is a life centred around the four noble truths and the eight-fold path—essentially, the path to enlightenment. Christianity, on the other hand, is quite different: the problem it perceives in the world is human sin; that is, humanity’s separation from God. This is not a separation caused by one’s actions per se, though there is that. No; rather, this separation, according to most orthodox Christian traditions, is also caused by original sin, hence the necessity of baptism, which restores one’s communion with God. Of course, I’m breaking down a very complicated theological issue into a bite-sized chunk—there is a lot more to be said about what Christians believe about how one attains salvation and the doctrine of original sin, particularly from a historical perspective—but at their core, one must essentially believe that Christ died for their sins. Their sins are essentially a debt to God that they cannot pay themselves, and this was the purpose of Christ’s death and resurrection on the cross. In other words, it is God’s action that saves them, and without that, there is nothing one can do. For if one believes that they could earn their salvation, they’d be falling into the heresy of pelagianism.

At the root of this is the idea that human beings are sinners in need of a redemption that cannot come from themselves. They can do things to merit it, but they will never truly earn it. Without this external grace, they are doomed to Hell, regardless of the fact that they may have lived relatively moral lives on earth. No one lives a perfectly moral life, of course, but even then, they would be consigned to Hell if were not for divine action. Regardless of whatever improvements you make yourself, then, you will never not be a sinner, and this is a damnable part of you.

Are there any issues with this view? Plenty. For a start, it is said that Heaven must be perfectly holy, but one might wonder why it is that damnation is eternal, even if there is a punishment or purgation due for the remittance of sins? In other words, what makes the stakes so high? Would it not be possible for atonement after death to be temporal as it is on earth? In other words, why are there eternal stakes for temporal actions? We read in scripture that the path is narrow, but why should grace not abound to include even more people? To be quite honest, I struggle with the idea that a loving God could damn anyone at all: if you know everything about everyone, and you understand the circumstances and conditions that cause or otherwise invite people to make immoral choices, would it not also be possible to salvage even the minute aspects of a person that suggest that they could have been otherwise? We are free, it is said, but God is impassable, and to tell you the truth, I am not convinced that we are totally free. Philosophers have long suggested that all actions aim at some good, and so even if someone is mistaken, what suggests that this was a dishonest mistake? When you get into the doctrine of Hell and eternal damnation, you discover a slew of questions to tackle about the nature of human action, human freedom and divine impassibility, the proportionality of justice, and what it means to say that God is loving and merciful; because even though sin is a separation of man from God, it’s unclear why this separation must be forever. It’s frankly impossible for me to imagine that there is anyone who is completely beyond redemption, even if that redemption is not found in this life.

But those questions are not the most interesting things I could ask. I suppose what’s more interesting is this fundamental problem: are human beings sinners, and because they are sinners, is eternal damnation what they naturally deserve? I mean, it’s obvious that human beings are not perfect moral beings, so it is safe to say that they are sinners sometimes. But that leaves the question of whether they deserve forgiveness, or even better: whether they are at all capable of saving themselves, so to speak? After all, there is no prize for most improved. There is no proportionate judgement described as such in the Bible. From the surface, it would appear simply as though you’re either in or you’re out (or you’re in purgatory, soon to be “in”). So, even though there’s an option made for salvation, though not through your own effort, I can’t help but wonder if there is “better” news still. After all, none of what Christ did nor do the answers to any of these questions negate the fact that without him, you would be a sinner doomed to Hell. For me, with my moral perfectionism, this was is like music to my ears: in many ways, it confirmed my worst suspicions about myself. Is it possible to strike a more balanced view?

Those who know me would know how highly I speak of the therapeutic process. This is not to say that I’m at all without problems, naturally, however it has helped me to deal with some of them. One of these problems that has come up is this tendency I’ve mentioned to view myself in a negative light. As I’ve said, the Christian message (at least by one interpretation) can in fact confirm this. Frankly, even if one believes that God loves everyone, it does nothing to change the fire and brimstone preaching that seems to dominate certain corners of this religion. If I am loved, it is always in spite of my imperfections, and this raises plenty of questions about the self.

Am I the sum total of my actions? Not exactly. I suppose that God would agree. If God loves anyone at all, it could not make sense to view people in this way since the Bible clearly seems to indicate that no one is good enough for him based on their actions alone. So, there must be some part of us, deep beneath the profanity of our actions and experiences that is worth loving. If that is the imago dei, then perhaps in God’s case this would be a vain love, but I digress. Whatever it is, there is something about human beings that transcends the sum total of their life as they have lived it, and it is deserving of love.

Of course, this does not remove people from accountability, and so one must hold themselves accountable. If you believe in Christianity, God does as well, though you might think the concept of eternal torment is disproportionate. In many ways, I do, and I think this way because I have held myself accountable in a similar way. When I began seeing my therapist, I was in the worst state of my life. Nevertheless, I wrote an awful lot. I wrote so much that despite the fires of a depression that I seemed unable to kick, I cranked out ten thousand words to the only thing I could possibly compare it to: Hell. This feeling, frankly, came from one of the worst parts of myself: it was a moral monster of darkness that knew no grace at all, and this is precisely the point. Grace towards yourself and grace from God are imperative in both instances; or else, I believe it is obvious, both stories are completely monstrous.

Love and accountability, then, are the two concepts I believe are most essential to the moral life, and although I still deal with this moralising fiend inside of me from time to time, I have grown to recognise the things that are, in my opinion, more important than moral perfection, and so I’ll end with this story:

I have two friends, engaged to be married, and one of them once questioned how she could be loved when she was less than perfect. If she was, for example, 75% of the way there, she would only be 75% lovable. But to this, my friend explained that she wasn’t loved in spite of her imperfections. She is loved even with them, and in many ways because of them. If you can imagine dating the perfect person, you might quickly imagine someone either less than perfect or completely insufferable. Rather, I think that while we pursue perfection in life, we are not enamoured with it. It is the right kind of imperfection that catches our eye more often than not, and if that is all we ask from others, what makes us think we should ask anymore of ourselves? I should love myself, just as I should love you, and as we should love each other. It may not be perfect love, but it is a love nonetheless.