I was recently asked the question: what form of technology has had a detrimental impact on your life? And while I am sure I answered in a rather boring and predictable way with “my phone” (and while it is boring and predictable it is no less true), another answer that circled in my head, but that I did not have the courage to admit, was the mirror. We live in an age obsessed with personal appearance, and it seems that around every corner there is a mirror waiting to shine our reflection back to us, awaiting our scrutiny and judgment. Every time we log onto a Zoom meeting or a FaceTime call we have our own little Narcissus’ pool to stare into. I am afraid that I at least have grown far too comfortable with my own proximity to this incredibly relevant myth.
St. Basil the Great addresses the issue of mirrors and personal physical reflection (which should be separated from personal spiritual reflection) in his book, On the Human Condition, where he states that
our mind does not see itself otherwise than by examining Scriptures. For the light reflected there becomes the cause of vision for each of us. Since we are without understanding, we do not scrutinize our own structure; we are ignorant of what we are and why we are. For we are settled in the greatest indifference to ourselves, not possessing things within reach of our knowledge, a knowledge of the smallest aspects of what is in us.
Basil acknowledges man’s inability to truly see himself, no matter how many mirrors are presented to him, and how many reflective screens he carries around in his pocket. Rather, he posits that true vision of the self comes from examination of the Scriptures. These Scriptures are what illumine our view, and show us who we truly are. This idea is examined in the book of James, which says that “if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like” (James 1:23-24). This requires a fresh look at where we see our reflection. The power of manmade mirrors pales in comparison to the power of Scripture as the true reflective surface in which we glimpse our souls. Why do we keep returning to mirrors, and why are they positioned around every corner, and in the recesses of every purse and pocket? Because we cannot remember what we look like, and this constant forgetting keeps drawing us back in the hopes that we will be greeted with a face that is as beautiful as we imagine and wish for.
The Danish philosopher Soren Kierkegaard addresses this issue with his comparison of different types of mirrors, and the results that they bring. In his book For Self-Examination, he states that
A woman who looks at herself in a mirror very much becomes vain and vainly loquacious. And a woman who looks at herself in the mirror of time becomes stridently noisy! Ah, but a woman who looks at herself in the mirror of the Word becomes silent! And if she becomes silent, this perhaps is the strongest indication that she is not a forgetful reader or hearer.
Here, Kierkegaard, drawing on the James passage, argues that while constant physical reflection in mirrors breeds vice and sinful conceit, as well as chaos and noise, constant physical reflection in the mirror of Scripture results in a certain kind of peace and assurance. The individual who turns to the Word of God to see herself clearly finds a deeper peace and assurance, because it is through the grace of God that she can see herself at all. Without Him she would have no concept of her true self and her true appearance.
Our mirror obsessed age breeds discontentment and despair. We are constantly looking for some sort of assurance that we really are beautiful, and that we really do look like we have it all together. However, constantly gazing into our own Narcissus’ pool can only cause deeper pain and uncertainty. Kierkegaard, in his work Upbuilding Discourses in Various Spirits, reflects on the lilies of the field and the birds of the air, found in Matthew 6, and offers a parable describing the lily’s fall from deep contentment and happiness, into a state of worry brought about by a concern and obsession with physical appearance. He does however offer the content lily, not worried about her physical appearance and her place as a recommendation for us, stating that
if a human being, like the lily, is contented with being a human being, he does not become sick with temporal worries; and if he does not become worried about temporal things, he remains in the place assigned to him; and if he remains there, then it is true that he, by being a human being, is more glorious than Solomon’s glory.
Kierkegaard here is exhorting us to an outward focus. In a culture deeply entrenched in concerns over physical appearance, true fulfillment and joy is not found by turning again to the mirrors on our walls and in our pockets, but instead by turning to the Word of God, as well as to the beauty that surrounds us. There is so much glory outside our windows, and so much for us to focus on outside of ourselves. This outward gaze will help with our own physical contentment.
Though we live in a world where our reflection is often far too readily available to us, gleaming back from the windows of downtown stores, and mirrors hung in restaurants and shopping centers, we have not been left high and dry with no way of escape. God has given his children a beautiful world to look at and be enchanted by, and through this a beautiful way to escape self-focused reflection and obsession. He has also given his Word as a true mirror and way to see who and Whose we really are. In quietly and faithfully turning our backs on the onslaught of false mirrors offering false messages of security and confidence, we can turn instead to a God who knows us more deeply and intimately than we could ever possibly know ourselves. In trusting God with our appearance and our image (and really why should we ever have to worry about our image if we reflect and bear His?) we can wage a quiet but violent war against the mirrors of this age and the spiritual death that they bring.
