Or else we read it carefully and perhaps fear we will never achieve a "constant and unflagging" need to perfect ourselves in the Sense of Being.
Because we can't be perfect. Of course not. None of us is. How can we possibly think that we could one day perfect ourselves, in the way in which Gurdjieff means it here, that is to attain an increase in our level of Being?
We are so very far from that state.
Beginners in the Work may start to lose heart here, because we all know that there is not one single area of our life or our personal Work in which we've reached anything approaching perfection.
We take snapshots of ourselves throughout the day, and what we see - when we are being honest - is how very often we fail. How faulty our centres are, and how they interfere with one another. How we forget our aim at every moment, and miss the task we've been set. And what a long way we have to go before we become even a reasonably well functioning machine, let alone a man or woman of real Being.
Perfectionism is one of the traits we need to overcome, anyway. It's part of False Personality for many of us, and a very harmful part. It can cause us to want to hide our mistakes, to pretend to be better than we are, to exaggerate our achievements to ourselves and in Work groups, and perhaps even to God.
Gurdjieff calls this sort of attempt making a "hot air pie". And what a wonderful image that is! I visualize this large, literally flaky creation, based on nothing at all but air, collapsing at the first puff of reality - and then I see the futility of my attempts to hide from myself, to put on a mask of good behaviour or understanding that is so easily destroyed by a blast of the truth.
For me personally, perfectionism was one of my pitfalls, and I'd like to share my story with you here to illustrate how overcoming perfectionism as a trait is important to seeking "perfection, in the sense of Being".
Often belittled as a child, I had no confidence in my ability to write, and yet my Essence loved to create, and I would spend every moment of my free time writing, painting or composing music. I couldn't see the point of much of my schoolwork, and instead was often told off for dreaming when I was mulling over my next poem.
When one day I was offered the chance to become a cub reporter on an American newspaper, I grabbed it with both hands. Despite my father's warnings that I was useless as a writer and would never make it to publication, I was determined that I would give it my best shot. In those early days, I believed it was what I had been created to do, and that even if I failed I owed it to myself and to God to at least try.
Every day I worked painstakingly on my news stories and features, making sure I used reliable sources for my facts, backed them up with suitable quotations, gave both sides of a story, and presented the information in an interesting, readable style.
I never felt my stories were ready to publish, but at five every afternoon, ready or not, off they went to the editor. I would wait with trepidation, fearing I would be told to rewrite, be scolded for my inadequacy, or even given my notice.
But it didn't happen! Though very far from perfect, my work was good enough. And seeing that I could, after all, be useful while imperfect, I began to let the super-critical, negative, perfectionist I's die away until eventually they barely ever surfaced.
My teacher explained that to silence these and other useless I's in False Personality I had to draw the feeling of "I" out of them. To do this with attention was the only way to avoid being dominated by them. I found that when I did so I seemed to have more room within myself, as it were, more freedom. When I observed myself and eventually began to remember myself I came under fewer laws. I was living more like a three-brained being, and less like a malfunctioning machine.
As, over the years, I became better at my craft, my aim gradually changed and became linked to my work on myself. I realized that sometimes - perhaps only seldom, it was true - my talent could be used by something higher.
For along with my enjoyment of writing I had, like many reporters, a strongly idealistic streak. I wanted my work to do some good, to help people, to increase the amount of truth and understanding in the world. Gradually I began to apply these ideals to every story I wrote, but I knew I often failed to achieve them.
And yet it was just this sense of inadequacy, of failure to meet my aim, that most helped me to grow in Being.
When I began to read St. Therese of Lisieux, she showed me how important it was to offer all I had done, along with all my failures, imperfections and mistakes, to God - Conscious Humanity - at the end of each day.
The acknowledgment of my own littleness was sometimes all I did have to offer. But that itself - a form of humility - is often the most pleasing thing we can offer God, because it is the start of becoming teachable, of being able one day to really work on oneself,
Looking at this Second Striving, then, it's clear to me today that it doesn't mean what I initially mistook it to be - a demand to become quite perfect in every way. We can't do this, and we're not expected to. Jesus tells us to be perfect, just as our Heavenly Father is perfect, but again, like Gurdjieff, He is talking about our quest for spiritual perfection, not perfection in the sense of doing everything supremely well.
Spiritual perfection grows from humility, from just this acknowledgment of my creaturely nature, that I will never attain great heights but that I can accept my failures, continue to struggle, and make work efforts.
The call to make such efforts comes from within, and the longer we are in the Work, really in it as opposed to just turning up for meetings and reading the books, the stronger and more persistent is the call.
Sometimes it's called a "taste". We acquire a taste for truth, for honesty, for humility. Our Buried Conscience begins to awaken, and it slowly and benignly starts to overcome our sleep. We know when we have gone too long without working, and we start to sense when we need to make greater efforts.
Those efforts must come from that inner call, that sensing. We can't impose effort from without, or at least not for very long. In the beginning this is necessary, but after a while we begin to feel for ourselves whenever we have gone a long time without working on ourselves, and we dislike the staleness that results.
Our Essence has come from God, and to God it longs to return. As St Augustine says, "Thou has made us for thyself, and our hearts are restless till they rest in thee".
And once we have begun the pilgrimage to the Sacred Centre, that urge may indeed become "constant and unflagging", just as the Second Striving describes.
And one day, with prayer and effort, we may actually reach a higher state of Being. That is the goal towards which we are all working, and Gurdjieff tells us here that it is attainable.
Often belittled as a child, I had no confidence in my ability to write, and yet my Essence loved to create, and I would spend every moment of my free time writing, painting or composing music. I couldn't see the point of much of my schoolwork, and instead was often told off for dreaming when I was mulling over my next poem.
When one day I was offered the chance to become a cub reporter on an American newspaper, I grabbed it with both hands. Despite my father's warnings that I was useless as a writer and would never make it to publication, I was determined that I would give it my best shot. In those early days, I believed it was what I had been created to do, and that even if I failed I owed it to myself and to God to at least try.
Every day I worked painstakingly on my news stories and features, making sure I used reliable sources for my facts, backed them up with suitable quotations, gave both sides of a story, and presented the information in an interesting, readable style.
I never felt my stories were ready to publish, but at five every afternoon, ready or not, off they went to the editor. I would wait with trepidation, fearing I would be told to rewrite, be scolded for my inadequacy, or even given my notice.
But it didn't happen! Though very far from perfect, my work was good enough. And seeing that I could, after all, be useful while imperfect, I began to let the super-critical, negative, perfectionist I's die away until eventually they barely ever surfaced.
My teacher explained that to silence these and other useless I's in False Personality I had to draw the feeling of "I" out of them. To do this with attention was the only way to avoid being dominated by them. I found that when I did so I seemed to have more room within myself, as it were, more freedom. When I observed myself and eventually began to remember myself I came under fewer laws. I was living more like a three-brained being, and less like a malfunctioning machine.
As, over the years, I became better at my craft, my aim gradually changed and became linked to my work on myself. I realized that sometimes - perhaps only seldom, it was true - my talent could be used by something higher.
For along with my enjoyment of writing I had, like many reporters, a strongly idealistic streak. I wanted my work to do some good, to help people, to increase the amount of truth and understanding in the world. Gradually I began to apply these ideals to every story I wrote, but I knew I often failed to achieve them.
And yet it was just this sense of inadequacy, of failure to meet my aim, that most helped me to grow in Being.
When I began to read St. Therese of Lisieux, she showed me how important it was to offer all I had done, along with all my failures, imperfections and mistakes, to God - Conscious Humanity - at the end of each day.
The acknowledgment of my own littleness was sometimes all I did have to offer. But that itself - a form of humility - is often the most pleasing thing we can offer God, because it is the start of becoming teachable, of being able one day to really work on oneself,
Looking at this Second Striving, then, it's clear to me today that it doesn't mean what I initially mistook it to be - a demand to become quite perfect in every way. We can't do this, and we're not expected to. Jesus tells us to be perfect, just as our Heavenly Father is perfect, but again, like Gurdjieff, He is talking about our quest for spiritual perfection, not perfection in the sense of doing everything supremely well.
Spiritual perfection grows from humility, from just this acknowledgment of my creaturely nature, that I will never attain great heights but that I can accept my failures, continue to struggle, and make work efforts.
The call to make such efforts comes from within, and the longer we are in the Work, really in it as opposed to just turning up for meetings and reading the books, the stronger and more persistent is the call.
Sometimes it's called a "taste". We acquire a taste for truth, for honesty, for humility. Our Buried Conscience begins to awaken, and it slowly and benignly starts to overcome our sleep. We know when we have gone too long without working, and we start to sense when we need to make greater efforts.
Those efforts must come from that inner call, that sensing. We can't impose effort from without, or at least not for very long. In the beginning this is necessary, but after a while we begin to feel for ourselves whenever we have gone a long time without working on ourselves, and we dislike the staleness that results.
Our Essence has come from God, and to God it longs to return. As St Augustine says, "Thou has made us for thyself, and our hearts are restless till they rest in thee".
And once we have begun the pilgrimage to the Sacred Centre, that urge may indeed become "constant and unflagging", just as the Second Striving describes.
And one day, with prayer and effort, we may actually reach a higher state of Being. That is the goal towards which we are all working, and Gurdjieff tells us here that it is attainable.
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