We live in a world of mirrors. As an article by Alexandra Kleeman for The New Yorker points out, mirrors are fundamentally narcissistic devices. They create insecurities. They complicate more than they clarify. They create questions in our mind. How long has that imperfection been there? Do people really see me like that? These questions, left unchecked by healthy apathy, lead to far more fundamental ones. Who am I? Why am I here?
Our sense of identity is intuitively focused inward, shown by the reflection of ourselves in the mirror. It makes sense that our identities, specific to each of us, are found inside of this, or related to something about us. I’m six foot. I enjoy reading and writing. I’m a Christian. I’m a conservative. I’m a student. I enjoy a nice smoked brisket and a glass of sweet tea. Through the lens of modernity, these attributes make me who I am. It is about the I. The rise of social media only propagates the idea that our identity is subject to manipulation––and separate from our created purpose.
Our divine purpose is not a uniquely human trait; every form of life is marked with a desire to fulfill a high purpose, even the birds, St. Francis of Assisi spoke to them. As the story goes, St. Francis rushed into a field of birds, engaging in a cosmic dialogue with the feathered creatures.
“Oh birds, my brothers and sisters,” shouted the Saint, “you have a great obligation to praise your Creator.” He continued, “the birds showed their joy in a remarkable fashion: They began to stretch their necks, extend their wings, open their beaks and gaze at him attentively.” The story, according to St. Bonaventure continues, “He went through their midst with amazing fervor of spirit, brushing against them with his tunic. Yet none of them moved from the spot until the man of God made the sign of the cross and gave them permission to leave; then they all flew away together. His companions waiting on the road saw all these things. When he returned to them, that pure and simple man began to accuse himself of negligence because he had not preached to the birds before.” The birds knew their very existence was predicated on their Creator, God.
Thus, they were not afraid when a man came in their midst on behalf of their Creator. They were birds. They exist to glorify the true God. Their identities were found in their relation to their Creator. And so are ours.
As much as Hobbes would protest, not everything is a machine. Humans are not government-powered robots. Nor are we mechanical organisms that are entirely predictable. Yet in the enlightened technological world, it’s easy to question why you exist. Who am I? Why am I here?
To the Christian, these answers are simple. Human beings exist to know and love our Creator, God, intimately, glorifying Him in everything. After all, we are His image bearers––Imago Dei. In Genesis 1:26-28, we read of the first blessing:
“And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. So God created man in his own image, in the image of God created He him; male and female created He them. And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth.”
The Imago Dei is immediately given birthrights and responsibilities. We are to have dominion over the Earth. Our purpose is to fulfill His command. Our identity is found in Imago Dei.
This reality, that everything exists to glorify the triune Christian God, is understood by all creation––humans and birds alike. Scripture has numerous examples of this. Isaiah 55:12 speaks of mountains singing and trees dancing, leading the way for those who come to the Lord Jesus Christ. Psalm 19:1-4 speaks of the Heavens doing the same. They “declare the Glory of God” and, in verse three, “There is no speech nor language, where [the voice of the Heavens] is not heard.” When Christ Jesus speaks in the nineteenth chapter of St. Luke’s gospel, He says that even rocks shall cry out in worship. Indeed, the created world is much more magical and aligned with its Creator than we may often think. They merely fulfill the task assigned to them. Look at St. Francis and the birds.
The famous sixteenth-century Anglican divine and political philosopher, Richard Hooker, expounded on this very idea in Divine Law and Human Nature. When explaining the necessity of the Created world obeying God, he observes that creation has no choice. Nature is only given decrees. They are given their identity. They are given their purpose. They must obey. Man is no different. Hooker wrote,
“If nature even for a little while were to leave off following her course and obeying her laws…if the celestial spheres were to forget their usual motion and by irregular turnings to go wherever they happened to go; if the prince of lights in the heavens, who like a giant runs his unwearied course, were to stand and rest as if about to faint; if the moon were to wander from her beaten path, or the times and seasons of the years blend themselves in a disordered and confused mixture, the winds to breathe out their last gasp, the clouds to yield no rain, the earth to be bereft of all heavenly gifts, the fruits of the earth to pine away like children at the breasts of a mother who could no longer feed them; if, I say, all this were to take place, what would become of man, whom all these things serve?”
He concluded by asking, “Do we not see plainly that the obedience of all things to the [Law of God] is the foundation of the world?”
Today we do not see plainly, for we choose not to.
We are the idols, whom the Psalmist abhors. We have eyes to see the beauty of reality. But we see not, for our eyes are veiled by virtual reality. We have ears to hear the choirs of angels. But we hear not, for our ears are filled with pods of temporal music.
Think for a second about why we’re calling this thing “Social media.” It is a form of media, a social institution, inasmuch as it is a means of digital community. We’re connected by digital friendships, followings, and social groups. Social media is but another medium by which humans engage in a digital reality. It is a kind of an electronic mirror. And unlike reality, we control how we look in the digital. In our pockets, we carry a kind of social mirror, one where we foolishly believe we’re without fault.
Social media operates in a universe of self-curation. I can control how I look. My identity is mine to create. Our identity then is found in what we do and what others perceive of us. This is the problem with intersectionality and identity politics, it exists in reality but only operates in digital reality.
Your income, race, and alleged sexuality ought to determine very little about you. When you believe in the Christian God and Imago Dei, this is logical. We are defined as viceregents of reality. Our life has clarity in relation to the Divine. When you reject God, however, anything is fair game.
Our identities can be entirely predicated on race and preferred pronouns, as progressives often tell us. I can control who I am, just like I do in the digital reality. Yet as we “set ourselves free” in the digital world, we lose who we really are. The once well-ordered reality begins to falter. Cosmos erodes into chaos as Silicon Valley monetizes the disaster.
Social media developers finance off our false identities. This is a classic marketing strategy: See the ideal, see the product. Want to be the ideal, want the product. Silicon Valley has taken this to a whole new level. Now, through social media, we have full access to determine who we are and how others perceive us. We choose what to post. We select only the best, praying that others find it and think of us better. It’s our identity. We want to make it a good one. The more time we spend on such endeavors, the more money the developers make. And what powers these apps? Algorithms upon algorithms of artificial intelligence–operating, I might add, from a worldview of identity politics. These algorithms have been trained to feed us images of those we so claim to be.
We’ve erected a house of mirrors. Now, everything is reflected back on us. Our age, height, grades, friends, all of it, they all are visible at a touch. We’ve become so focused on our reflection that we’ve completely misunderstood what humanity means. None of it is real.
We were not meant to see snapshots of people’s lives––albeit falsified, manipulated, censored –– from a long distance, with no context. We were meant to be personal, intimate, authentic beings. The number of “friends” or “followers” or “connections” you have is fake. You can’t say you are friends with all of them. When was the last time you shared a meal? Or talked in person? Or at least called each other? Or maybe even at least texted them?
Nor can we even rightly say that we control how they perceive us. That’s simply an impossible task. You cannot control how others see you. Just what you let them see of you. The digital mirror is dirty and deceptive. Nevertheless, we’re convinced that it defines our identity. This is the great tragedy of the modern age: we live in a world of mirrors, always seeing that which we were never meant to see. Yet nature doesn’t need a mirror.
We don’t live life in the third person. We don’t naturally look at ourselves. We naturally look at others, or rather, we naturally look at the Image of God in others. In the Sermon on the Mount, when Christ Jesus spoke to thousands, He told us to look to the created world. Our Lord was referring to birds. Look to the birds, He said, and trust in our Heavenly Father. Preach to the birds, for they abide peacefully in mirrorless skies.
When searching for our identities, we have no need to live according to the falsehoods of Silicon Valley. Regardless of their algorithmic mirrors, we are Imago Dei. God told you who you are and why you exist. He alone gave you your identity. Social media cannot strip you of this. And there is nothing you can do to alter it.
So stop computing your worth like a chatbot and instead pursue contentment. Stop curating your image on social media and go talk with a friend over coffee. Stop looking inward and start looking outward. Reject the digital identity and go birdwatching like St. Francis.
Shatter the mirror and look to Heaven.
