CLARITAS A JOURNAL OF CHRISTIAN THOUGHT
FLOURISHING
FEATURING You’ve Got a Friend in Me Leave the Grind Behind Liturgy of the Frat Party
SPRING 2022 | ISSUE 14
CLARITAS is the Latin word for “clarity,” “vividness,” or “renown.” For us, Claritas represents a life-giving truth that can only be found through God.
WHO ARE WE? The Cornell Claritas is a Christian thought journal that reviews ideas and cultural commentary. Launched in the spring semester of 2015, it is written and produced by students attending Cornell University. The Cornell Claritas is ecumenical, drawing writers and editors from all denominations around a common creedal vision. Its vision is to articulate and connect the truth of Christ to every person and every study, and it strives to begin conversations that involve faith, reason, and vocation.
Letter from the Editor One of my earliest childhood memories lingers in my mind as an image. Between my family’s 19th century farmhouse and my grandmother’s house next door there once belonged a garden. My family grew many different foods in the garden—string beans, snap peas, tomatoes, watermelon, you name it. Yet the photograph in my memory frames one lone sunflower, which towered above the rest with golden majesty. In the background the sun slowly set over the cow pasture in the distance, enveloping the sunflower with a gorgeous orange glow. When I think of the term flourishing, a word based on the Latin word for flower and blossom, my mind returns to this image, and I can’t help but feel a deep longing for home. [1] My family consistently gardened for many years, and this image of a sunflower brings back many fond memories of youthful innocence and peace. When we think of flourishing, we might think of the modern idea of “thriving” or “living our best life.” But in my experience, flourishing means something more—it evokes a deep nostalgia, where the pains of the world were far away and the beauty of the garden brought me joy. Maybe you feel this nostalgia as well when you think of the “good old days,” where we played and dreamed freely without the crushing pressures of careers, politics, or painful losses. With such a deep sense of longing for a good life, how can we find a deeper definition of true flourishing? The story of the Bible points us in this direction and offers clues to what flourishing means. In the beginning, humans were created out of delighted love and placed in a garden both nourishing to the body and beautiful to the eye (Genesis 1-2). Here humanity communed perfectly with God, and fulfilled their purpose in the work of cultivating and tending the garden. Intrinsic to the Creation narrative is God’s desire to create a home for humanity to flourish and glorify God completely in heart, soul, mind, and strength (Mark 12:30). Yet while we were created to flourish with God, we decided to try to flourish on our own merits, rejecting God’s blessings to seize our own autonomy (Genesis 3). The pursuit of flourishing quickly became muddled, revealed in the flood of Genesis 7 and the Tower of Babel narrative of Genesis 11. To this day, humanity has sought to attain a state of flourishing through our own means, but has fallen short. This is what we explore in this issue of Claritas: how can followers of Christ flourish in a fallen world? How can we show forth the spirit of God in our disciplines, relationships, and studies? Specifically we look at the environment of Cornell, where we seek flourishing but often find burnout instead. What wisdom does our faith offer to tend the beauty of the world around us in our daily lives, loving one another and glorifying God? As beings created by God, we’re called to become like him in becoming fruitful creators ourselves (Genesis 1:28, Deuteronomy 6:4-5). Humanity has been commanded to cultivate flourishing communities—to be fruitful and multiply as procreators and co-creators in God’s kingdom. John Mark Comer, in his book Garden City, states that Christians can create spaces “where the glass wall between earth and heaven is so thin and clear and translucent that you don’t even remember it’s there.” [2] By seeking flourishing in every discipline, we want to see God’s will done “on earth as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10). Over the spring of 2022, our writers and artists explored what flourishing can look like at Cornell and in our world today. We ask how flourishing is truly attained in community, brought about by friendship and a deep desire to love our neighbor. We connect flourishing to our specific fields of study, including engineering, medieval studies, and business. Finally, we look inward and contemplate how we can make decisions about our food habits, activities of self-care, and social activities that lead towards deeper flourishing. Seeking true flourishing in Christ points us to the way things ought to be; it leads us back to our truest garden home, reminiscent of Genesis One. Christians believe that someday, this home will once again become reality in the New Heaven and New Earth, where the garden is surrounded by a flourishing city (Revelation 21). It is fitting that the term flourishing sparks my nostalgic memory of a sunflower in my family’s old garden, but the Christian faith beckons us to look forward to a future flourishing reality to come. I invite you to come along with us on this journey, and I pray that you will be inspired to seek flourishing in your own garden as well. In Christ, Seth Bollinger Editor-in-Chief
[1] https://www.etymonline.com/word/flourishing [2] John Mark Comer, Garden City: Work, Rest, and the Art of Being Human. Zondervan, 2015.
Staff
Seth Bollinger Editor-in-Chief
Amy Crouch Production Manager
Chloe Cropper Managing Editor
Estelle Hooper Design Manager
Jack Kubinec Blog Editor
Contributors
Joe Dill
Savannah Caldwell
Clayton Lee
Alexander Burnett
Dara Gonzalez
Joaquin Rivera
Special Thanks To Chesterton House Advisors Paola Mendez-Garcia & Zachary Lee
Table of Contents You’ve Got a Friend in Me Dara Gonzalez
It Takes a Village why flourishing isn’t just about us Joaquin Rivera
Redemptive Technology honoring Genesis One and Two as an engineer Joe Dill
Leave the Grind Behind is work meaningless? Clayton Lee
The Cloud of Unknowing what can a medieval mystic writer teach us about prayer? Savannah Caldwell
The Growth Chapter: Rebirth Dara Gonzalez
A Flowering of Being Dara Gonzalez
God’s (Unlimited Meal) Plan how can we cultivate virtue at each meal? Alexander Burnett
Liturgy of the Frat Party what party culture reveals about our innermost desires Jack Kubinec
A Rest that Lasts beyond self-care Amy Crouch
You’ve Got a Friend in Me Dara Gonzalez
Trees have always been admired for their strength and beauty. The largest ones often precede us by hundreds of generations. We revere these trees for their ability to continue growing despite natural disasters; in the wake of destruction, it is not uncommon to find trees standing strong and tall with their roots tangled within each other. One of the most notable tree types— characterized by their tangled roots— are the mangrove trees. These trees flourish in aquatic environments, grow close together, and have been known to withstand devastating tropical storms. People are just as admirable as these trees, prospering despite hardships (Psalm 1:3). It is in our nature to seek out relationships and community and continue to love and grow together. When faced with a question of what truly fuels us to continue a path of personal growth, my first thoughts were answers with quantitative data, like academic success that can easily be measured. After further reflection, I realized there my greatest blessing were the meaningful friendships I’ve gained along the course of my life.
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“To find a friend you have to be a friend,” is a piece of wisdom my mother bestowed to me at the tender age of three. At the time, I was struggling with making friends due to a language barrier and was frustrated that I was so lonely. I’ve found that these words still ring true, fifteen years later. For someone who doesn’t like change, I’ve gone through a lot of it, and with these changes have come fluctuations in my values for friendship. Of course, as a toddler, my definition of a friend was vague: friends were people who would play with me on the playground and act out the stories I’d begun to write in my head. A few years later, friends were people whom I could share my fancy colored pencils with and watch silly animated movies together. Then came our family’s sudden move to Houston. I had left all my childhood friends behind without so much as a goodbye and became anxious about how I would fit in. At that point, I just wanted an anchor to keep me from being alone. Thankfully, I didn’t have to push myself out of my comfort zone and ask to become someone’s friend.
Although it’s never worked for romance, something about me quietly sitting in a corner reading books caught the interest of those around me. I have lost count of how many people I’ve called “friends” over the years— and lost contact with most of them. Time, distance, personality, drama, and growing apart are all pieces to the puzzle of my relationships. I’ve lost friends through things as meaningless as, but not limited to: a middle school crush, “getting in the middle of a relationship,” rumors, and popularity or lack thereof. Whatever could potentially cause a friendship to end, I’ve probably experienced it at least twice. Friendships don’t always last, but their impact on our lives always stays. When Covid first hit, my world—just like everyone else’s—flipped upside down. I came to realize the importance of friendship and how lonely I truly was. As much as I loved to isolate myself and unwind alone, I missed the experience of having fun with my friends. With no return to normalcy in sight, we resigned ourselves to regular Zoom meetings
where we goofed off and watched corny movies together. Even with all the free time to call each other and virtually hang out, we all grew restless and eventually tired of the video calls. It just didn’t compare to being together in person.
CHRISTIANITY IS A FAITH THAT CANNOT BE PRACTICED ALONE; IT WAS MADE TO SEEK COMMUNITY AND BE SPREAD TO THE WORLD. Human nature is social; we need intimacy and interpersonal relationships to be able to thrive. It’s because we were created this way that Christianity is a faith that cannot be practiced alone; it was made to seek community and be spread to the world. Though I knew the importance of this principle, it slipped my mind as soon as I came to college. I was overwhelmed by the way my peers easily socialized, and became one of the anxious freshmen who needed the security of their parents during orientation week. Because the idea of socializing petrified me, I thought I would be perfectly content with being alone. I was, of course, terribly wrong. When both parents flew back home, I would call them every night crying about how much I missed them, how I had made the wrong choice, how I had no friends—and our calls always ended in prayer. I prayed for God to show up in my life, now more than ever. At my mom’s insistence, I started to attend events hosted by Cru, a Christian ministry group on campus who defines itself as a “caring community passionate about connecting people to Jesus Christ.” I craved connections, and even more so the godly ones, so I agreed. I attended a worship night outside the Cornell House of Prayer, the first Real Life service of the semester, and a trip to the Ithaca farmer’s market. Every activity sparked joy in my heart, as I felt I had finally found a place of belonging.
My happy days at Cornell had just begun, but were just as quickly shut down. I called my mom after returning from the farmer’s market trip buzzing with excitement and invigorated with a newfound love for Christian community, and was met with bad news. My immediate family was all sick with Covid, and were suffering through physically debilitating symptoms. I flew back with two of my aunts under the pretense that my mom wanted me home to feel at ease and recover sooner. This was not the entire truth. When I arrived at my house, as opposed to my aunt’s house full of sick family, I was met by all my friends and a cousin who had also flown in. I had just gotten settled with pleasant surprise when my mom called and told me the worst news of my life. The morning I had awoken to expect convocation speeches, my dad hadn’t. He had passed away in his sleep on a business trip, and now I was the last one in my family to know. I was unconsolable, even in the midst of my friends’ warm embrace. The following three weeks, they were with me more often than not, even with the business of school and work shifts. They went out of their way to always be there with me, on restless nights, through non-stop panic attacks and hallucinations, through two days of funeral services, a burial and wake, and the days leading up to my departure. I had always appreciated their friendship, but grew to love them even more and thank God for placing such caring people in my path. They truly reflected the biblical principle of becoming family amidst the toughest times. [2] Perhaps it was this outpouring of pure love that kept me from ever feeling anger towards God.
PERHAPS IT WAS THIS OUTPOURING OF PURE LOVE THAT KEPT ME FROM EVER FEELING ANGER TOWARDS GOD.
With the loss of my dad, the weeks I spent at home grieving were hard enough, and the anguish I felt multiplied tenfold when I returned to campus. I retreated within the depths of my dorm most days, refusing to go to class due to the anxiety and the depression that chained me to my bed. My friends texted often and FaceTimed me almost daily, showing their concern and keeping me company as I admitted how lonely I felt. The time I spent away severed any possibility for connections I could have established. My peers in class never tried to extend a hand of friendship. I would sit quietly in back corners of classrooms and never spoke until prompted by my professors. An introverted but talkative person by nature, I felt my soul being crushed. Regardless of whether I had discussion points or not, the lack of support from my classmates blocked all thoughts of speaking up. Soon I became physically unable to speak in class, overwhelmed with suppressing panic attacks and feeling words fade in my throat. My saving grace, literally, was Cru. From Real Life services every Friday, Bible study, and plenty of opportunities to branch out into different activities, I had established safe spaces. I later joined a women’s community group and Claritas through the connections and relationships I found at Real Life. Although I don’t have the huge friend group I once thought I needed, I have plenty of people who I know I can rely on and be vulnerable with. I would like to acknowledge the impact of my community group (CG) leaders, Maria and Jiarui. At my lowest points in the semester, our weekly dinners and discussions were what kept me going. Throughout this past year, I have found that our CG has allowed us all to grow together, to strengthen each other as iron sharpens iron (Proverbs 27:14). While I was fragile and reserved, they always reached out to me. Maria texted me during the three weeks off campus, checking in on me and offering prayer though we had not yet physically met.
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When I returned, I was initially hesitant to share how I felt, but soon found that everyone in our group came from a place without judgment. I would feel ashamed about my shortcomings, but was met with smiles, prayer, and words of encouragement. The phenomenon of what I’ve come to call “Ivy Isolation,” or a feeling of perpetual loneliness, isn’t something limited to my own experience. It’s a common occurrence, especially at Cornell. From advertisements for clubs to seeing other large friend groups laughing together at dining halls, it’s easy to succumb to the feeling of being left out and alone. That’s why relationships we cultivate are precisely the factor that ground us. Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 says, “Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble. Likewise, two people lying close together can keep each other warm. But how can one be warm alone? A person standing alone can be attacked and defeated, but two can stand backto-back and conquer. Three are even better, for a triple-braided cord is not easily broken.” These verses can be interpreted as placing importance on the quantity of friends, but that is not the case. Friendship should not be measured by quantity, but by the support that comes from a unique bond. I know the friendships I have formed will sustain me in the future because of the godly nature of those I have chosen to surround myself with. Hannah, easily the person I’d call my closest friend on this large campus, has shown me time and time again how God’s love is present in our hearts. What began as a casual lunch buddy agreement became a lifeline for me. We saw each other at least twice per week, growing closer over conversations and dinner. Though we could talk about things like music and family, we always ended up talking about God, and how He was truly blessing us in ways we have yet
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to understand. Hannah and I have discussed the idea of friendship many times over the course of several pre-Real Life dinners. Recently, she told me, “In a friendship, what I value most is being able to share the ups and downs of life together through developing strong senses of trust and loyalty. I love seeing how different friendships develop over time in different ways. Building strong and lasting friendships can be difficult, but I like how it’s working through challenges, disagreements, tough times, and more, that grow friends closer together.” She saw me at my worst early on, and still chose to seek out my companionship. I know we have so many more trials to brave together, but if this past year has proven anything, we’ll get through them with strength from God. Arborists recommend planting trees within ten feet of each other, to give them enough space to grow but also to allow them to entwine their roots together. If overplanted, the trees will fail to receive proper nutrients and moisture, then shrivel up and die. Similarly, people need their figurative distance in relationships. During one otherwise casual discipleship meeting with Jiarui and Hannah, I understood what made our bonds to each other so strong. Based on our previous suggestions, Jiarui had chosen to discuss the nature of friendships based on God. As we read and discussed the articles and verses together, I mentally checked off each bullet point for each friend that fit. Some of the points that particularly stuck out to me involved centering our friendships around God.
WHAT I HAVE REALIZED ENDURES THE TEST OF TIME IS KEEPING CHRIST AT THE CENTER OF THE FRIENDSHIP. WHEN WE ARE BOTH POINTED TOWARD THE SAME GOAL OF GLORIFYING GOD, WE INEVITABLY GROW CLOSER IN OUR RELATIONSHIPS TO EACH OTHER.
“I think the thing I value most in a friendship is intentionality—making time for each other, encouraging one another, and in all things pointing each other to Jesus. In grade school, I relied a lot on friendship as a means of bringing happiness, without fully recognizing that true joy is found in Christ. Since coming to college, my idea of friendship has been completely redefined,” Jiarui told us. Distance serves not to keep us apart, but is space reserved for our relationship with God. Jesus is said to be our greatest friend, and his love is what allows us to branch out and find fellowship with one another (Proverbs 18:24). Maria, in a later discussion, agreed with me on this point, admitting, “I don’t care so much about feeling comfortable or happy; these things are transient and are always fluctuating. What I have realized endures the test of time is keeping Christ at the center of the friendship. When we are both pointed toward the same goal of glorifying God, we inevitably grow closer in our relationship to each other.” Even without religion, relationships with clear goals or similar mindsets cultivate deeper connections. If you’re like me, it’s difficult to reach out and find friends. It might be easier to succumb to the idea that being alone is easier, but that belief can only be true to some extent. God has promised to do what’s best for us, and though He can place the right people in our path, it’s also our job to seek them just as we seek Him ( Jeremiah 29:11). Take that chance to join that club, compliment that person whose style you admire from afar, join that Bible study, knock on that neighbor’s door. Never pass up the opportunity to find a lifelong friend. Dara Gonzalez is a freshman from Laredo, Texas studying English. She enjoys reading more than writing, cultivating playlists for fictional characters, watching animated shows to appease her inner child, making silly photoshop edits at 3 am, and learning Kpop choreography. [1] “That person is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither—whatever they do prospers.” — Psalm 1:3 [2] “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for a time of adversity.” — Proverbs 17:17 [3] “As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another.” — Proverbs 27:17 4) “One who has unreliable friends soon comes to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.” — Proverbs 18:24 [5] “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” — Jeremiah 29:11
It Takes a Village
Joaquin Rivera | why flourishing isn’t just about us I will never forget the culture shock I felt when shuffling into Lynah Rink for my first Cornell hockey game. In sports games at my classical Christian high school in Texas, there were very clear unwritten rules that our crowds and teams were to be loving and honorable in all circumstances. We would not heckle opposing teams, use any profanity, or get angry at results. On this chilly winter evening in Ithaca, I was standing in the Cornell student section amidst a crowd that was mocking opposing players when they fell or insulting the opposing goalie when he took off his mask to drink water. I felt a world away from the place I grew up. The Cornell Class of 2025 is roughly 418 times the size of my high school graduating class. Along with the staggering difference in size, my college environment is different from my high school environment in almost every way imaginable— from the people I meet to the classes I take to all the activities happening around me. No longer am I in a community populated for the most part by fellow believers; I am now in a much more ideologically diverse environment. As I was making my decision to attend Cornell, I was aware of many of these differences, and was a bit scared of how I would fit in. When I first arrived on campus I felt stifled in many ways, and thus, the question of how to flourish in my time at Cornell has been very present in the months that I have been here. However, as time has passed, I have realized that personal flourishing is not achieved by centering my life around myself, but by intentionally seeking the flourishing of my community. This idea of bringing flourishing into a community was drilled into me throughout my high school experience. The head of my school would often give an analogy that I found particularly compelling: the idea that the process of education is like the flight of an arrow. The head of school would say that students were the arrow shaft, or the main component of the arrow, and that the school’s job was to equip us with skills that would make up the other parts of our “arrow” and help us fly well when we graduated and were sent out into the world. On a personal level, this analogy has allowed me to discern my strengths and think deeply about how I can use them. But, the more I have thought about the arrow, the more I have been able to use it to see others in a new light; I now see people as different “arrows” shaped by
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their own unique upbringings. In the same way that archers use different kinds of arrows for different circumstances, it is fascinating to think that God shapes each of our lives to be most effective in different ways. Yet, the arrow analogy begs the question: what does it mean to be “sent out into the world by God?” At Cornell, the majority of the people I interact with do not subscribe to Christian beliefs. I have found that it can then be more comfortable to not interact with those outside of Christian circles. When Christians do this, we link our personal flourishing to our feeling of safeness in a community of believers. This was certainly my view coming into Cornell at first. I thought that what I had to do was find those who shared my faith and minimize my interaction with non-believers. But I think this passivity towards my community is not what God intends for me at Cornell. An archer fires an arrow because he wants it to be impactful at his target of interest. In the same way, when God sends us on different life trajectories, into situations that are unfamiliar or even hostile to us, his intent is for us to make a positive and godly impact on the lives of those around us. And although arrows are typically used to cause death, we are sent out into the world to bring life into the areas where we land. The Cornell Daily Sun recently ran a frontpage story detailing Cornell’s mental health crisis. [1] The article begins with a story about a student at Stanford who seemed to have all the signs of outward flourishing—captain of a sports team, the Dean’s list, and seemingly happy—yet she took her own life. The article then cites information from Cornell’s 2020 Mental Health Review, saying that “within the past year, over forty percent of students were unable to function academically for at least a week due to depression, stress, or anxiety.” [2] The report calls on the Cornell administration to address this crisis, but as Christians, I believe it is our duty to also answer this call when there is a need in our community. In the Bible, the duty to serve one’s community is powerfully illustrated by
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the Jewish exile to Babylon. The prophet Jeremiah tells us that when the Jews were exiled, God gave them a charge: “Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare” (Jeremiah 29:4-7, ESV). The Jews were given this command after they had just endured a brutal siege at the hands of the Babylonians and watched their state that contained their homes, temple, and godly institutions get destroyed. But to God, that was not a justification for them to shun and despise the people who conquered them—God wants the well-being of even those who are hostile to him, and his people are his instruments to that end. God wants the Israelites to understand that as humans, our own flourishing is inextricably tied to our seeking of the flourishing of those around us.
GOD WANTS THE WELLBEING OF EVEN THOSE WHO ARE HOSTILE TO HIM, AND HIS PEOPLE ARE HIS INSTRUMENTS TO THAT END. In a way, I think this charge in Jeremiah can be analogous to our college lives. Although BRB’s (Big Red Bucks) seem akin to prison currency, we are not captives; God sent us here. Moreover, there is a tension between Christian beliefs and those of most Cornellians. On multiple occasions, I have been sitting in classes or amongst peers in clubs and have been told anti-Christian jokes or arguments. In these moments, I have been uncertain of how to respond, but the passage from Jeremiah demonstrates what our outlook towards others should be: our flourishing is found not in passively accepting what is going on around us nor in lashing out in anger, but in seeking the flourishing of all our neighbors.
Of course, that is not to say that we should neglect to use our skills for our own benefit. The prior verses tell the Jews to build houses, develop families and eat the produce of their labor. We shouldn’t deny using the skills God gave us, but should instead develop talents like intelligence and athleticism to glorify God in what we do; we can use our talents to actively help others or simply use them as a bridge to form more relationships with those around us. The verses from Jeremiah also imply that striving for flourishing is a community affair. Building a house, planting a garden, increasing as a population, and impacting the huge city of ancient Babylon were all things that required the work of a community. A biblical example that inspired me in this regard was the character of Daniel, who was one of the Jews sent into exile. He developed his gifts into tools that could benefit the Babylonian institutions he found himself in and benefit the spiritual good of the kings he served. In this service to Babylon, he was also unswerving in his godly path, standing up for his rights not confrontationally but by persisting in his actions of worship and using his skills to slowly gain the respect of the kings he served. “Flourishing” and “welfare” are words that often evoke images of monetary wealth or power and influence, but the Hebrew word used in the passage from Jeremiah is actually “shalom”. Often translated as peace, this word also has
around us that helps us achieve more “completeness.” There are a few things that are important to keep in mind in order to effectively pursue flourishing in this way. The first step of seeking the welfare of those around us lies in our attitudes. The Bible often warns against those whose good deeds are not aligned with their hearts. Sure, we can perform the actions of kindness and of seeking the flourishing of others, but if we don’t have a genuine attitude of love towards those around us, it will be a fruitless venture.
the deeper meaning of completeness. Peace or completeness that is found in God is much more fulfilling than wealth or power, and I think this was exactly the message the Jews needed after watching their city be destroyed—and it is exactly the message we need as students. Poor mental health at Cornell stems in part from a lack of peace caused by an endless striving for success and material wealth. We can achieve more of this “completeness” by striving to develop it in others. As we saw earlier, a flourishing that is tied to one’s own achievements is not always as fulfilling as we hope it to be. I have sometimes struggled with the stress of pushing myself to get every point in assignments to achieve some sense of accomplishment. This mindset has resulted in a loss of peace for myself on many occasions, but by seeking to be more focused on my relationships with others, I have felt more complete. Scientific research corroborates this vision of flourishing. A UC Berkeley study on the science of generosity found that those who intentionally engaged in acts of kindness and generosity experienced a remarkable increase in their well being compared to those who did not. [3] Through testing a variety of different groups, the study determined four specific areas in our lives that generosity improves—our physical health, our psychological health, workplace benefits, and relationship benefits. This paints a picture of a framework of flourishing built around our relationships with those
A great example of the right outlook is found in the writings of the ancient Roman emperor Marcus Aurelius. Aurelius is famous for writing Meditations, which are essentially daily sentences or paragraphs he would write to himself for empowerment throughout the day. In one especially provoking entry he writes: “Lift me up and hurl me. Wherever you will. My spirit will be gracious to me there—gracious and satisfied—as long as its existence and actions match its nature. Is there any reason why my soul should suffer and be degraded, miserable, tense, huddled, frightened? How could there be?” [4] This quote carries a powerful sentiment for how we should respond when God sends us out into the world. Wherever we end up, we should accept that we are exactly where God wants us, and it is our job for our hearts and deeds to follow what Aurelius refers to as our “nature”—in our case, God’s command to impact those around us for the better. As students, I would imagine most of us wake up and dread the classes, prelims, assignments, and meetings the day holds. But what difference would it make if we framed our morning attitude with the idea that we should be grateful for the day and see that every moment is an opportunity to bring flourishing to ourselves and to our communities? As I have settled into my life as a Cornell student, I have learned to maintain the God-centered parts of the lifestyle I cultivated in high school to reflect God’s light and love in my mostly-secular community. When the Israelites were taken from their old home, God told
them to still maintain their traditions but to acknowledge what their new surroundings were like and to use the godly truths they knew to change their new surroundings for the better. In the same way, I want to live out the ethics and mindset that I developed before college and use it as a way to be an example to others. My call to readers, then, would be to embrace the idea of seeking the welfare of others both individually and as a community. One arrow alone with its individual specifications cannot take down an entire army, but a shower of arrows, each with their own strengths, can ripple through many people. Our university in need of peace, and I think that peace is something that Christians can provide through our words and actions. So, to substitute some words into Jeremiah 29: “Thus says the Lord of Hosts, the God of Israel, to all the students whom I have sent to Cornell University from their homes. Study for your prelims and succeed. Go to dining halls and eat their produce. Multiply as a Christian community and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the university where I have sent you, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.” Joaquin is a freshman in the ILR school from Houston, Texas. He likes to play piano, read Classic literature, drink white chocolate steamers at Green Dragon, and cultivate an unhealthy obsession with Rome. [1] Sofia Chierchio, “Mental Health Concerns Spark Debate,” Cornell Daily Sun, March 24, 2022, 1. [2] Cornell University, Mental Health Review Final Report, April 2020, https://cpb-us-e1.wpmucdn. com/blogs.cornell.edu/dist/b/8750/files/2020/10/ Cornell_MHR-Final-Report_4-15-20_Final.pdf [3] Greater Good Science Center at UC Berkeley, The Science of Generosity, May 2018, 19-28, https:// ggsc.berkeley.edu/images/uploads/GGSC-JTF_ White_Paper-Generosity-FINAL.pdf [4] Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, tr. Gregory Hays (New York: Random House, 2003), 110.
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Redemptive Technology Joe Dill | honoring Genesis One and Two as an engineer Does technological development contribute to the Christian notion of human flourishing on Earth? My knee-jerk answer is, “I sure hope so!” I am currently a Ph.D. student in Applied Physics, pursuing a career as a professional researcher and engineer. But more importantly, I am a Christian; I believe that Jesus Christ is Lord. So I aim to live a life shaped by the story of the Christian scriptures, the story of God’s redemptive work on Earth. This story begins with the creation narrative of Genesis 1, a seven-day account in which God turns a watery void into an environment where life can grow and thrive. In days one through three (verses 3-13), God creates ordered spaces from the void, separating night from day, sky from water, and forming dry land from the water. During days four through six (verses 14-27), God makes inhabitants for these spaces in parallel with days 1-3. [1] He puts lights in the sky to mark the passage of time, makes fish and birds that fill the waters and the skies, then animals and humans to inhabit the land. Finally, on day seven (Genesis 2:1-3), God rests, taking up residence himself in his created world. So, we see that God creates the world (days one through) to be filled with life (days five through six) and that he can dwell with humans (day seven).
TO BE HUMAN IS TO BE TECHNOLOGICALLY MINDED. To these ends, God commissions the animals and the humans to “be fruitful and multiply” and fill the space they inhabit (verse 22, 28). However, God gives humans a higher calling. He creates them in His “image” and “likeness” (verse 27). Humans are like God in a way that animals are not and are then instructed to “subdue” the earth and “have dominion” over all the living things. To be human is to be technologically minded. Our furless skin, flat teeth, and dull nails do not equip us to stay warm
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or catch food. We can only survive by rationally “subduing” nature—growing crops, hunting with tools, building houses for shelter, et cetera. According to Genesis 1, we were created this way by God, even before the Fall. Further, who we are reflects who God is. Just as God subdued the chaotic waters, forming an ordered world from them, we too can rationally subdue nature by creating tools and machines. But what should humanity aim to accomplish with our creative abilities and God-given “dominion” of the earth? The Genesis 2 creation account addresses this question. In this story, the earth begins as a barren desert where there is no rain and no man to work the ground. So, God causes a mist to rise from the land, watering the soil, and forms a man from the dust. God then plants a garden called Eden and causes trees to “spring up” out of the ground. He places the man in the garden “to work it and keep it” (verses 5-15). This narrative differs significantly from our modern scientific understanding of human history, which asserts that the first life forms on earth emerged roughly 4.2 billion years ago, with humans evolving eons later, only 2 million years ago. [2] The earth, and many living creatures, existed long before humanity interfered, and some argue they were better off without us, given the way we pollute the oceans, distort the climate, threaten nuclear war, etc. Genesis 2, by contrast, presents humanity as essential to Earth, entrusted with the role of stewardship of all living things. God, so it seems, did not want to form life on the earth until He knew that humanity would be there to care for it. Now, I believe that both narratives can inspire stewardship. If humans are only emergent and not created, one can still argue, as physicist Brian Cox does, that because we appear to be the only sentient life in our galaxy, we should thus be motivated to preserve our planet, humanity, and the very existence of
Fig. 1, Zajkowski, Helen, “The Tower of Babel,” acrylic collage pop-up boo Patricia C. Pongracz, Wayne Roosa, pg. 128, N
meaning. [3] Genesis 2, however, gives humanity no choice. We were created in part because God wanted caretakers for His creation. And indeed, throughout the Biblical narrative, even after humanity’s tragic fall into sinfulness, human craft and industry remain a prominent means of preserving and restoring life on earth. For example, in Genesis 41, Joseph oversees warehouses to store grain for Egypt and its neighboring nations during seven years of drought. Although the land becomes so dry that no plants can grow (the pre-creation state of Genesis 2), life is preserved because there is a human who cares for the ground. This “care” is executed through a technological feat—constructing storage facilities and crunching numbers to ensure enough grain is stored for future years. Another example can be found in Exodus 31. When the children of Israel are banished to the desert, God desires that they build a tabernacle where He can dwell among them. God’s spirit enters a man named Bezalel, filling him “…
subjection. By formulating solutions to these problems, they strive to promote human flourishing across our world. But the Bible also shows how technology can mar the world, most obviously so at the tower of Babel in Genesis 11. As the story opens, the humans have just developed a new technology: the brick. They then say, “let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves, lest we be dispersed over the face of the whole earth” (verse 4 ESV). While this venture appears creative and cooperative, it is problematic for many reasons. For one, by building their tower to “the heavens,” they seek to breach the gap between earth and heaven through their technology. They try to “make a name for themselves,” elevating their technological achievements as the object of their worship rather than God.
ok, 2002, In The Next Generation: Contemporary Expressions of Faith, by New York, NY: Museum of Biblical Art, 2005.
with ability and intelligence, … to devise artistic designs, to work in gold, silver, and bronze, in cutting stones for setting, and in carving wood, to work in every craft” (verses 3-5 ESV). God grants Bezalel, and other men of Israel, both knowledge of the natural world and an ability to create that parallels Genesis 1. In a barren, lifeless place, God’s spirit moves (through a human), facilitating the creation of a beautiful space where He can dwell with His people. These stories illustrate that technology and biblical human flourishing are, in fact, compatible. In these and many other biblical stories, humans, directed by God, use their God-given ingenuity as agents of redemption, to preserve and promote a flourishing life on earth amidst its fallen tendency towards a barren, lifeless state (exile, a desert, or a watery abyss). Today, in a world laden with food and water shortages, a changing climate, a global pandemic, and other forces that threaten life, the likeness of God can similarly be seen in the scientist and the engineer who attempt to bring nature under rational
Additionally, this project would have stunted life. Diversity of life on earth emerges when species evolve and adapt to different environments. Because humans and animals are dispersed worldwide, we have today a beautiful plurality of ethnicities and cultures and an abundance of unique animal species. This may be why God instructed both humans and animals to “fill the earth” in Genesis 1—that the full potential of life could be revealed. However, those at Babel had a different vision for life than God. They sought to build a big city so that they would not be dispersed across the earth, which would have stunted this diversification of humankind. Consequently, God frustrated their plans by confusing their speech, causing them to abandon their project and disperse over the face of the earth. Because technological development is so central to what humans do, it serves as an expression of human values and desires, both virtuous and corrupted. The people’s endeavor to build “to the heavens” at Babel demonstrates their pride and the misalignment between their vision for life and God’s.
BECAUSE TECHNOLOGICAL DEVELOPMENT IS SO CENTRAL TO WHAT HUMANS DO, IT SERVES AS AN EXPRESSION OF HUMAN VALUES AND DESIRES, BOTH VIRTUOUS AND CORRUPTED. In The Culture of Technology, Arnold Pacey outlines three categories of values that enmesh any technological endeavor. [4] He calls the first category “virtuosity values,” which emphasize prowess, expertise, and the thrill of discovery. The second category is “economic values:” utility, production, profit, etc. The third category is “user values,” which prioritize care for people and nature. As William Stahl articulates in God and the Chip, user values “are more oriented towards appropriate use of technology than high-tech performance or continuous production and growth.” [5] Pacey’s “user values” category resonates most strongly with the Genesis 2 commitment to stewardship. However, the other two value types are also necessary for a successful technological project. Bezalel’s “virtuosity,” his God-given craftsmanship and skill in metallurgy, enabled him to construct a beautiful tabernacle. Likewise, Joseph’s level-headed economics enabled Egypt to handle its resources well and bless its neighboring nations during a drought. Hence, Pacey’s three value categories must be held in tension. The “tower to the heavens” at Babel pursued only virtuosic accomplishment, which came at the expense of diversified life on earth. Likewise, as Stahl articulates, “in the industrialized world today, virtuosity and economic values are far more powerful in most technology practice.” [6] He suggests that “user values” are the easiest to neglect because they provide the least tangible benefit to a technological industry. Whether or not this assessment is accurate, it should give the modernday engineer sufficient pause to ask how we should approach technological
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projects while upholding a commitment to stewardship. I believe that Ursula Franklin’s notion of “redemptive technology” provides an excellent basis for such discussions. Franklin was a German-Canadian professor of metallurgy at the University of Toronto and a pioneer in archaeometry, which applies modern materials analysis methods to archeology. [7] The daughter of a Jewish mother, she was sent to a forced labor camp during World War II. She later became a devout adherent to Quakerism and an outspoken pacifist and feminist.
HOW SHOULD WE APPROACH TECHNOLOGICAL PROJECTS WHILE UPHOLDING A COMMITMENT TO STEWARDSHIP? In her 1989 Massey lecture, The Real World of Technology, writing from a lifetime of firsthand experience with the complexities of technology, Franklin posits a checklist of criteria for all technological projects. She writes, “Should one not ask of any public project or loan whether it: (1) promotes justice; (2) restores reciprocity; (3) confers divisible or indivisible benefits; (4) favors people over machines; (5) whether its strategy maximizes gain or minimizes disaster; (6) whether conservation is favored over waste; and (7) whether the reversible is favored over the irreversible?” [8] The emerging “right to repair” movement provides an illustrative example of Franklin’s vision. This movement is a reaction against manufacturers that have made their products (sometimes intentionally) impossible for independent repair technicians to fix, leaving consumers with no option but to buy new. For example, some laptop manufacturers use proprietary screws or solder-down batteries and circuit boards, making repairing or upgrading their products unnecessarily complicated. [9] The Repair Association
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advocates for “a competitive repair market, as well as improvements to the quality and longevity of products.” [10] Making products easier to repair definitionally makes damage “reversible” (condition 7) and reduces waste (condition 6) since products can be fixed and used again rather than thrown out and replaced. Concerning condition 3, making irreparable products is profitable for an industry’s managers and shareholders (a “divisible benefit,” i.e., shared only by a few), but dumps excess waste into landfills (an “indivisible cost,” shared by all). Discussing condition 1, Stahl argues that “a Biblical standard of justice, in the context of modern information technology, would mean giving priority to the users” as those with less power in the manufacturer-customer relationship. [11] Franklin’s “redemptive technology,” as discussed here, may sound utopian. It is probably unreasonable to expect that any technological pursuit would satisfy her seven criteria entirely. However, they put our technological endeavors in proper tension with our shared commitments to stewardship and provide a solid basis for conversation. Our creative capacities and technological mindedness are entrusted to us by the God who created us and are core to who He has made us to be. He calls us to act as stewards of His creation and partner with Him as agents of restoration. Will we be Babel or Bezalel? Joe is a 1st-year graduate student in Applied Physics from St. Paul, MN. He works in the JenaXing lab at Cornell, researching semiconductor power electronics. Besides physics, he enjoys long-distance running, playing cello, and studying ancient biblical languages. [1] The Bible Project, “Genesis 1,” premiered November 4, 2020, YouTube video, www.youtube.com/watch?v=afVN-7vY0KA. [2] “Timeline of Human Evolution,” Wikipedia, accessed April 30, 2022, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timeline_of_human_evolution. [3] Tara Conlan, “Earth’s Demise Could Rid Galaxy of Meaning,” Guardian, October 19, 2021, www.theguardian.com/science/2021/oct/19/earths-demise-could-rid-galaxyof-meaning-warns-brian-cox-ahead-of-cop26. [4] Arnold Pacey, The Culture of Technology (Cambridge, Mass: MIT Press, 1983). [5] William A. Stahl, God and the Chip: Religion and the Culture of Technology (Ontario: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1999), 17. [6] Stahl, God and the Chip, 18. [7] “Ursula Franklin,” Wikipedia, accessed April 30, 2022, en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Ursula_Franklin. [8] Ursula Franklin, The Real World of Technology (Montreal: CBC Enterprises, 1990), 126. [9] “Laptop Repairability Scores,” iFixIt, accessed April 30, 2022, www.ifixit.com/ laptop-repairability. [10] “Learn About the Right to Repair,” The Repair Association, accessed April 30, 2022, www.repair.org/stand-up. [11] Stahl, God and the Chip, 161.
Leave the Grind Behind Clayton Lee | is work meaningless?
Like many undergraduate business students, I found myself busy searching for a full-time job this past summer. I remember scrolling through LinkedIn a couple of days before my summer internship began and seeing my classmates and peers landing great jobs left and right. As the “I’m excited to announce…” posts flooded my feed, my anxiety about my own job prospects began to build. After countless applications and multiple interviews, I landed a job that I thought was great, but quickly doubted. What if I chose the wrong job? Could I have gotten a better job if I had worked harder?
Baby Boomers to Gen Z are leaving their jobs behind. [3] Workers have used their free time from the pandemic to reevaluate their lives; they want higher pay, greater flexibility with their work’s location and hours, and better opportunities for advancement. [4]
THE CULMINATION OF MY ELITE AMERICAN EDUCATION WAS TO LAND SOME GREAT JOB AT SOME BULGE BRACKET INVESTMENT BANK OR FAANG COMPANY.
Take Melissa Williams, who talked about her experience in the same 60 Minutes segment. She decided to leave a marketing job in early 2021 after finding herself struggling to balance marriage, motherhood, and her career. Feeling overwhelmed and burnt out, Melissa started working at Worxbee, a platform that pairs remote assistants with company executives that need administrative assistance. She now assists three different managers from her home. Although she is just as busy as before, working virtually from home allows Melissa to care more for her family and teach English as a side job, which is her true passion.
I realized my whole life up until that point had revolved around the idea of work. The culmination of my elite American education was to land a great job at some bulge bracket investment bank or FAANG company. But somehow I had never really asked myself: what’s the right attitude I should have towards work, and can my work ever help me truly flourish? The wisdom of the biblical book Ecclesiastes provides a helpful perspective on a healthy relationship with work amidst the rising global dissatisfaction with careers.
Something strikingly similar is happening halfway across the world in China, where the Lying Flat (tǎng píng) movement is taking place. Like the Great Resignation, Lying Flat began in 2021 as a countercultural movement against traditional Chinese values such as working hard to achieve success, getting married, and having children. The movement has even caught the attention of the Chinese government, who restricted the use of the phrase across Chinese social media platforms.
Workers in the United States are increasingly unhappy with their careers, which economists have recently identified as “the Great Resignation.” A recent report by the US Bureau of Labor Statistics showed that there were 11.3 million job openings on the last day of January 2022, compared to 7.23 million during the same month in 2021. [1] [2] People are quitting their jobs at historically high rates and deciding to retire earlier. In a recent 60 Minutes segment, LinkedIn’s Chief Economist Karin Kimbrough stated that Americans are getting burnt out, and a diverse group of people from
More and more Chinese people are unplugging from their lives and, in a sense, “chilling.” Chinese citizen Luo Huazhong, for example, quit his factory job and is now getting by on odd jobs, living a very simple and austere life. [5] Huazhong now spends his free time reading philosophy and exercising. He even has social media followers who call him the “Master of Lying Down!” The similarities between the rising labor movements in America and China are striking. Even though the countries are very different in their political, economic,
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and social structures, there seems to be a common underlying problem: work is no longer a satisfying life purpose. Can we see a similar sentiment among Cornell students? Cornell University, with its elite Ivy League status, houses some of the brightest minds in the world. A quick LinkedIn search shows that many Cornellians compete for jobs in high-paying and highstress industries like investment banking, consulting, and technology. According to Cornell’s Class of 2019 Postgraduate Report, the top employers for Cornell graduates are all big-name companies like Google, Goldman Sachs, JPMorgan Chase, Amazon, Facebook, and many others. [6]
BUT UNFORTUNATELY, THIS “RISE-AND-GRIND” CULTURE HAS NEGATIVE EFFECTS ON THE MENTAL HEALTH OF MANY CORNELL STUDENTS. This desire for high-paying jobs indicates that there is no Great Resignation or Lying Flat movement happening at Cornell. But unfortunately, this “riseand-grind” culture has negative effects on the mental health of many Cornell students. Cornell seems to create a pressure-cooker environment, where competition is key and job status is the metric for success. One popular post on the Cornell subreddit from three years ago talks about this draining culture: “I hate the heavy air of depression and stress that floats around and the fact that everyone ignores it and pretends it isn’t there. I hate that everyone seems to care only about their grades or landing a 90k soulless financial analyst job at Goldman Sachs.” [7] These stories and social media posts of distressed students are backed up by real data. According to the 2019 Cornell Undergraduate Experience Survey, 40.5% of Cornellians reported being very often overwhelmed by all that they had to do, with 33.5% of Cornellians reporting being often overwhelmed. Interestingly enough, non-Ivy schools report similar numbers at 38.4% and 31.8% respectively. [8] The data seems to indicate that
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strained mental health is something that is being felt across all universities, not just at Cornell. The American “Great Resignation,” the “Lying Flat” movement in China, and the grind culture at Cornell all show that people across the world have a troubled relationship with work. In a search for an antidote, the biblical book of Ecclesiastes is a useful resource that provides wisdom and insight into a healthy relationship with work. Work is one of the central ideas explored in Ecclesiastes as the writer, who is referred to as the “Preacher” in the text, breaks down the different aspects of work. Before exploring these ideas, we must address one very common word that occurs throughout Ecclesiastes. The Hebrew word hevel is often translated to “meaningless” or “vanity” in English translations, and is used 38 times in the book. [9] In the opening verses of Ecclesiastes, the Preacher laments using this word: “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity” (Ecclesiastes 1:1 NKJV). However, this translation doesn’t capture the original meaning of the word hevel, which is more accurately translated as “vapor” or “smoke”. Think about the nature of smoke: it seems to be material, but when you reach out to grab it, it disappears. It’s fleeting, and ultimately, it is very temporary. The Preacher runs through several thought experiments on a variety of topics, including work. He paints a sobering picture of the repercussions of workaholism. Working all you want and gaining loads of riches is great, but the Preacher acknowledges that it will lead to more unrest and sleepless nights—especially when compared to the experience of a simple laborer (Ecc 5:12). The amount of stress, burden, and risk taken on by a work-a-holic can destroy you from the inside out. He further contends that there are some of those who are unable to enjoy the wealth they earn. They’ll just end up leaving it for someone else to enjoy (Ecc 6:2). The Preacher also writes about his own experiences. He lists all the worldly pleasures he’s ever had— riches, concubines, servants, and other
possessions. But he ultimately concludes that it is all hevel (Ecc 2:1). Why does he draw this conclusion? Because, the Preacher says, it doesn’t matter in the end. Sinner or righteous, clean or unclean, those who offer sacrifices to God and those who don’t, they all meet the same fate: death (9:2). This conclusion is especially striking, and one I would have never expected from a biblical text. Yet strangely enough, the Preacher also talks about the positive aspects of life. For example, the Preacher tells the reader to “eat and drink and enjoy the good of all his labor—it is the gift of God” (Ecc 3:13).He also says, “I perceived that nothing is better than that a man should rejoice in his own works, for that is his heritage.” Biblical scholar Dr. J. Daryl Charles addresses the dichotomy between the negativity and positivity found in Ecclesiastes, saying “…‘Meaninglessness’ is not applied to human work categorically. It applies, rather, to anything that stands outside of or apart from a theocentric outlook on life.” [10] As Dr. Charles notes, the Preacher makes it clear that life can have positive meaning and enjoyment only if viewed from the right perspective, where God is the center of everything.
ECCLESIASTES SHOWS US THE BAD NEWS BEFORE THE GOOD NEWS, AND ALLOWS US TO VIEW WORK NOT AS A BURDEN, BUT AS A BEAUTIFUL GIFT FROM GOD. When we look at work from a godly perspective, we see it as a gift that we can enjoy. Quickly, life and work begin to seem less hevel than they once did. The Preacher is inviting us to enjoy the little things in life, like enjoying a good meal or drink (Ecclesiastes 9:7). It is a simple practice that helps us look past the big existential questions and lets God in the picture, which may be what the current definition of work is missing. Work should neither be a tool to gain power and status nor something to abandon and tailor to one’s own needs and desires—work is a gift from God. When you find yourself grinding away at
a problem set or pulling an all-nighter to study for your prelim, try to reframe your work as a gift. Working and striving can certainly seem meaningless, but when we invite God into the picture everything can change. We realize that the life we have on earth is not all that there is. It forces us to be present and genuinely interact with the world around us, while realizing that life is fleeting. We only have a short time left in this world, so let’s cherish what we have before the days of darkness arrive (Ecclesiastes 11:8). To quote American Christian minister Robert Short: “Within the larger context of the Bible, the teacher in Ecclesiastes is essentially a kind of negative theologian, asking questions that can be answered only by a future revelation of God, and clearing the road for this revelation by smashing any and all false hopes to pieces. Ecclesiastes is the Bible’s night before Christmas. He (the Preacher) shows us human self-sufficiency stretched to its absolute limit and found sadly wanting.” [11] And if this is where Ecclesiastes leaves us, it is where Jesus and the Gospel can take us. Ecclesiastes shows us the bad news before the good news, but it ultimately allows us to view work not as a burden, but as a beautiful gift from God. [12] Clayton is a senior studying Hotel Administration. He’ll be working in commercial real estate starting this summer. He enjoys playing basketball, watching anime, reading up on market news, and trying to reconcile concepts in Christianity and philosophy. [1] “Job Openings and Labor Turnover Summary,” U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, February 2022, https://www.bls.gov/news.release/jolts.nr0.htm. [2] Statista Research Department, “Monthly Job Openings in the United States from February 2021 to February 2022, Statista, April 2022, https://www.statista. com/statistics/217943/monthly-job-openings-in-the-united-states/. [3] 60 Minutes, “Why are Americans Choosing to Quit Their Jobs in Record Numbers?” January 9, 2022, YouTube video, https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=brw-jN9b-Sg. [4] Bryan Mena, “ Workers Quit Jobs at a Record Level in November,” Wall Street Journal, January 4, 2022, https://www.wsj.com/articles/job-openings-usgrowth-01-04-2022-11641256945. [5] Elsie Chen, “These Chinese Millennials Are ‘Chilling,’ and Beijing Isn’t Happy,” New York Times, July 3, 2021, https://www.nytimes.com/2021/07/03/ world/asia/china-slackers-tangping.html. [6] Cornell University Career Services, Class of 2019 Postgraduate Report, 2019, https://scl.cornell.edu/sites/scl/files/documents/2019_PostGradSurveyWeb-VD. pdf. [7] u/snarrkie, “I legitimately hate Cornell,” Reddit post, December 7, 2018, https://www.reddit.com/r/Cornell/comments/a45y4j/i_legitimately_hate_ cornell/. [8] Cornell University Division of Planning and Budget, 2019 Cornell Undergraduate Experience Survey, 2019, https://irp.dpb.cornell.edu/wpcontent/uploads/2019/10/2019-CUE-Survey-tables.pdf. [9] Joel K. T. Biwul, “The Use Of Hebel In Ecclesiastes: A Political And Economic Reading,” HTS Theological Studies (August 2017), http://www.scielo. org.za/pdf/hts/v73n3/57.pdf. [10] J. Daryl Charles, “Wisdom and Work: Perspectives on Human Labor from Ecclesiastes,” Journal of Markets & Morality 22, no. 1 (Spring 2019): 7-40. https:// www.marketsandmorality.com/index.php/mandm/article/view/1387. [11] Robert Short, A Time to Be Born—A Time to Die (New York: Harper Collins, 1973). [12] Tim Mackie, “Ecclesiastes Part 1,” in Exploring My Strange Bible, podcast, https://podcasts.apple.com/dk/podcast/ecclesiastes-part-1-hevel/ id1271147429?i=1000391533506.
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The Cloud of Unknowing
Savannah Caldwell | What can a medieval mystic writer teach us about prayer? As scholars at an Ivy League university, we have a desire to know, research, discover, and invent. Scholarly work involves the formulation of questions or the identification of significant problems within a field, in search of answers and solutions. As a PhD student in the field of Medieval Studies, my own research has often involved issues of devotion and affect in medieval Christianity. I have considered such questions as: what can late medieval prayer books tell us about the devotional practices of Christians in the Middle Ages? How do adaptations of the biblical book of Job inform our understanding of emotion in medieval Christianity? How can medieval theories of cognition inform our interpretation of Christian allegories? But as a Christian myself, I have often wondered to what extent I should translate my research—both in terms of my methodologies and the content of my studies—into my personal relationship with God. Should a Christian’s walk with God be led predominately by reason and logic, or by an experience that is predominantly affective, emotional, and sensory? I have been fascinated with how writers in the Middle Ages wrestled with such questions, and by one text in particular which calls for a radical departure from all reason in our pursuit of God. This book, The Cloud of Unknowing, is an anonymous Middle English1 work thought to have been written by a Carthusian monk in the fourteenth century. It falls within the late medieval mystical tradition, along with the works of such writers as Julian of Norwich and Marguerite Porete. The Cloud serves as a manual for how to live a contemplative lifestyle, which the author believes to be superior to an active one. While many of the aspects of the text are strange to a modern reader, I do think this work offers some fascinating considerations for our
devotional lives, especially for young college students at a rigorous university. (And I could not help but take delight in the fact that he admits to being twentyfour years old, the age at which I myself read this text!) At the core of the Cloud’s project is the author’s distinction between what he calls active and contemplative lives. In order to illustrate the difference between these two ways of life, the author uses the biblical anecdote of Mary and Martha from Luke 10:38-42. He explains that “It is written in the Gospel of St Luke that when our Lord was in the house of Martha, while Martha was busying herself about the preparation of his food, her sister Mary was sitting at his feet. Listening to his words, she paid no attention to her sister’s busy service, even though that service was very good and very holy . . . she attended only to the supreme wisdom of his Godhead” (41).
WHAT IF OUR EYES WERE SO FOCUSED ON GOD THAT WE DID NOT WORRY ABOUT HOW OUR OWN LIVES LOOKED COMPARED WITH THOSE OF OTHERS? Based on his exegesis of this story, then, the Cloud-author asserts that both the active life (as exemplified by Martha) and the contemplative life (demonstrated by Mary) are sacred, but he elevates the latter above the former. Moreover, despite the fact that “all actives criticize contemplatives” (42) as Martha criticized her sister, he encourages contemplatives to “pardon active persons for their critical words” and “pay little or no attention to what people have done or said about them” (44). In other words, he argues that those engaged in contemplative work should be so enraptured by God’s presence that they will not even take notice of those who reject and critique their lifestyles. What might it be like for those of us who are Christian students to adopt this
In my citations from the text, I have chosen to use the Modern English translation by A.C. Spearing.
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“contemplative” mentality? What if our eyes were so focused on God that we did not worry about how our own lives looked compared with those of others? The Cloud-author then explains what this contemplative work should look like in practice. He calls upon the reader to dwell in God’s presence, which he describes as being like a cloud. Despite the various Bible passages that associate God with light, he asserts that it is actually a clouding of one’s mind that allows one to reach God. He warns against letting thoughts of anything— even sacred subjects—enter one’s mind while engaging in this work; for this distracts from this “blind stirring of love towards God” (33) and “bare intention directed towards God for himself” (49). He says: “the outcome will be that when you most think . . . that nothing is in your mind but God alone, if you look truly you will find your mind not engaged in this darkness but in a clear sight of something lower than God” (32). This notion is particularly poignant for us as Ivy League students; we are often distracted by so many demands on our time—many of which are actually good tasks in themselves—that we place these responsibilities above our devotional time with God. While we are often driven by a desire to be productive, perhaps contemplation is fruitful in a different way. We should work hard in our studies. But in prioritizing time to spend in pure adoration of and devotion to God, we may need to sacrifice some accolades and achievements. Still, centering our hearts on our Creator fulfills us more than a career ever could. It is more rewarding than any award, internship, or external opportunity. In order to excel in this work, the author gives several pieces of practical wisdom. He even encourages the reader to protect one’s health: “And so, for the love of God, guard against sickness as much as you reasonably can, so that, as far as you may, you are not the cause of your own weakness. For I tell you truly that this
work demands the greatest tranquility, and a state of health and purity in body as much as in soul” (64). The writer highlights the interconnectedness of the body and soul; while we are temporal creatures on Earth, we must still wrestle with our corporeal infirmities and weaknesses. I find this notion to be especially pertinent for students, who often prioritize work and activities over our health, whether it be sleep, exercise, or proper nutrition. Even if we are not model contemplatives according to the Cloud-author’s paradigm, we should be mindful of our physical health in order to serve, worship, and represent God to our fullest capacities. In other words, not only can our busy schedules become a distraction from our relationship with God, but if we are not caring for our health, we will suffer both in our academics and in our walk with the Lord. We cannot flourish if we are burned out, exhausted, stressed, and weak. The author gives the reader an unusual instruction: to choose a one-syllable word as an aid for contemplative work. He states: “If you want to have this intention wrapped and enfolded in one word, so that you can hold on to it better, take only a short word of one syllable; that is better than one of two syllables, for the shorter it is, the word GOD or the word LOVE . . . This word is to be your shield and spear, whether you ride in peace or in war. With this word you are to beat on the cloud and the darkness above you. With this word you are to hammer down every kind of thought beneath the cloud of forgetting” (29). I find this instruction to be compelling, especially given that we as students in the twenty-first century are surrounded by abundant distractions that vie for our attention. Choosing a word that is as short and simple as one syllable but that also captures something precious to us is a powerful tool for anchoring our minds during prayer. Moreover, it intrigues me that he uses battle imagery; while
contemplation might bear connotations of meditation and rest, we must also remember that prayer is a discipline. We can easily lose sight of the object of our prayer when we are stressed, tired, hungry, sad, or even joyful. Having a word or object to recall that directs our attention back on course is a practical strategy for strengthening our prayer life.
WHILE CONTEMPLATION MIGHT BEAR CONNOTATIONS OF MEDITATION AND REST, WE MUST ALSO REMEMBER THAT PRAYER IS A DISCIPLINE. The author also anticipates objections that others might raise to his support for the contemplative lifestyle. For instance, one might assert that leaving this work behind is necessary to provide for one’s daily needs, but he states that “as he will answer on our behalf in spirit, so he will move others in spirit to give us the necessities of this life, such as food and clothes and everything else, if he sees that we are unwilling to leave the work of loving him in order to concern ourselves with such things” (48). This advice probably sounds quite radical to most modern readers, but I do find beauty in the Cloud-author’s faith in God’s provision, and his instruction is not completely unbiblical. For in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says, “Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?” (Matthew 6:2527). In verse 31, he adds, “But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things”—i.e., food, drink, and
clothing—“will be given to you as well.” Though the way in which we “seek first God’s kingdom and his righteousness” must ultimately come down to personal conviction and discernment, making time simply to adore God and rest in His presence is a valuable endeavor even if it means sometimes pausing from our more “active” pursuits. Moreover, His command not to worry always remains whether we are seeking Him contemplatively or actively. While my aim is not necessarily to promote “mysticism” as a whole, I believe that this text offers Christians even today some important considerations for our walk with the Lord. Knowledge of God, His Word, and His commands are crucial to our faith, but one important lesson that the text emphasizes is God’s agency even in our worship of Him. At Cornell, our pursuit of knowledge is indeed significant, but perhaps there is utility in resting from our active lifestyles at times and pursuing such contemplative work. For those of us who are Christian, we often spend much of our valuable free time participating in church activities, joining fellowships, listening to podcasts, and attending worship nights and social events; while these are all incredible elements of our walk, perhaps we, like Martha, are too often “worried and upset about many things” (Luke 10:41). I believe that flourishing as a Christian student need not always look “active” to others; in fact, we would benefit from prioritizing time to spend alone in God’s presence and lifting up our hearts “with a humble stirring of love” toward Him (21).
Savannah is a second-year PhD student in Medieval Studies from Stockbridge, GA. Her research focuses on medieval English and French literature, particularly Christian allegorical writings. In her spare time, she enjoys drawing, painting, hiking, and playing chess. The Cloud of Unknowing and Other Works, tr. A. C. Spearing (New York: Penguin Classics, 2002).
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The Growth Chapter: Rebirth Dara Gonzalez
Dara Gonzalez
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A Flowering of Being Dara Gonzalez
The feelings inside of me are barren and iced over Maybe I just hate myself There are flames in your eyes But I know that gaze would never hurt me Your flames are for warmth, to thaw frozen souls To spark a light in my heart In your eyes I feel as if spring has finally come for me I am loved and complete The contagiousness of your good nature has spread to me The sun shines with your smile Our time together is always the perfect balance You listen to my words, few or many, with focus etched into your skin We encourage each other Share our sorrows and successes Green in all our surroundings A breeze of new life We reach for the sun, basking in its warmth Hands outstretched to rejoice Seasons change, but our friendship is everlasting Maybe I’m just looking for a savior Someone to save me from myself, to love parts of myself I can’t But maybe that’s what love can be Something to fill in our empty gaps, to warm the frosted parts of our beings
Dara Gonzalez is a freshman from Laredo, Texas studying English. She enjoys reading more than writing, cultivating playlists for fictional characters, watching animated shows to appease her inner child, making silly photoshop edits at 3 am, and learning Kpop choreography.
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God’s (Unlimited Meal) Plan Alexander Burnett | how can we cultivate virtue at each meal?
When I first walked into Cornell’s brand new freshman dining hall, I was immediately hit with the savory aroma wafting from the massive stir-fry in the center of the hall. The scent of fresh noodles frying in oil greeted me every morning, beckoning to me as I returned from class hungry and tired. Yet as the weeks passed and my paper plates began to buckle under the sheer weight of my meals, the smell turned from a comfort to an acrid odor that clung to my clothes and my mind throughout the day. I wasn’t the only one to notice: many of my friends began rushing through their meals, hoping to avoid this constant reminder of our insatiable diet. It seems that this miasma hovers over us all—not just at Cornell, but across America. Over ninety-six million Americans suffer from obesity, and it’s estimated that nine percent of Americans will suffer from an eating disorder at some point in their lives. [1] [2] It’s clear that we have arrived at an unhealthy and dangerous relationship with what we eat. What forms of wisdom can we use to guide us through this epidemic? Throughout centuries, Christians have turned to scripture as a source
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of guidance, yet the Bible takes a seemingly ambivalent position on how to address our diet and appetite. On one hand, scripture often relies on gifts of bountiful food as a sign of God’s blessing. From the gift of manna to the Israelites in their exodus from Egypt to the significance of Christ’s Last Supper, the Bible establishes that food can serve as a means to celebrate God’s faithfulness and our salvation by Christ. On the other hand, the Apostle Paul argues in his first letter to the Corinthians that our appetite can distract us from worship of God. He admonishes the view that food exists simply to satisfy our cravings, arguing that although one may say that “food is for the stomach, and stomach for the food,” it is clear such a life would be deprived of meaning (1 Corinthians 6:13). Thus, having a bad relationship with food is not just physically unhealthy—it’s unhealthy for your soul. In fact, recent psychological studies have discovered that not only does a poor diet contribute to mental health disorders such as anxiety, depression, and body dysmorphia, these conditions often reinforce unhealthy eating habits too. One common treatment to this
vicious cycle has been the gastric bypass surgery, which is performed on two hundred thousand people each year in the U.S alone. This procedure gives the illusion of a cure, yet no surgery can eliminate our unhealthy mental and spiritual relationship with food defined by appetite and addiction. How then do we address these crises of obesity and eating disorders and dispel this cloud hanging above us? The phrase “resisting temptation” is often used as a catch-all when addressing issues of consumption and appetite. By looking to the wisdom contained in the letters of Paul the Apostle and in the ancient philosophy of Stoicism, we can find a way toward a healthier relationship with food. These important thinkers can help us to cultivate a more temperate lifestyle by interrupting our immediate and uncritical draw towards our appetite.
LIVING OUT VIRTUES LIKE TEMPERANCE AND JUSTICE IS WHAT TRULY MAKES US HUMAN. First, it’s important to ask: what is temperance? Medieval theologian Thomas Aquinas defines temperance as a form of human excellence known
as a cardinal virtue. He argues that virtues like temperance, justice, and courage are part of our human nature designed by God, and that we are only able to express these virtues because we have been gifted with a rational and divinely created soul. In other words, living out virtues like temperance and justice is what truly makes us human. Aquinas argues that because our virtues stem from this willful soul—and not our crafty minds or fickle bodies—we can only strengthen temperance, justice, and courage by the “perpetual exercise of the will.” [3] Aquinas inherited this idea of virtue and temperance from an ancient philosophical group known as the Stoics. Today, we use the word “stoic” to mean someone overly serious and austere—and in fact, many Stoics did fit this description, embodying “frugality, simplicity, [and] self-control.” [4] But for the Stoics, these behaviors were just part of a much larger model for how to live and act as a good person. To the Stoics, every activity— from eating a meal to talking with a friend—presents us with the opportunity to cultivate our inner virtues. In the case of our diet, the philosopher Epictetus writes that a temperate relationship with food ought to be our goal. [5]
The Apostle Paul similarly stresses the value of temperance, arguing that while the objects of our desire are temporary— especially the food we consume—the virtues we grow within us last far longer. In his first letter to the Corinthians, Paul writes that “every man that striveth for mastery is temperate in all things” (1 Corinthians 9:25). Paul argues that the benefits of our actions may be temporary—death and old age will eventually wear away our muscles and memory—yet the virtues we exercise become an “incorruptible” part of ourselves (1 Corinthians 9:35). In this way, Paul clearly demonstrates the value of temperance to his Christian audience by showing that the true reward of the temperate life is the eternal glory of God. Why then should we choose our diet of all things as the jumping off point for cultivating virtue? Clearly neither Paul nor the Stoics thought that food was the be-all end-all for our moral battles. Paul comments that whatever we end up eating, our connection to God will always remain intact: “Food will not commend us to God. We are no worse off if we do not eat, and no better off if we do” (1 Corinthians 8:8). However, this in no way means that our relationship
with food should be free from criticism. The Stoic writer Seneca argued that although our bodies were designed to be sustained by food, our cultural practice of eating far beyond what’s necessary reveals a deep moral crisis: “only the vice of self-indulgence drives a person to keep stuffing his filled stomach.” [6] Therefore, although the food we eat doesn’t ultimately change who we are, our diet gives us a rare look into our unrest. As Christ observes in Mark’s gospel, although “whatever enters the mouth goes into the stomach and then is eliminated,” it is “what comes from the heart” that is the source of our struggle (Mark 7:17-18).
ALTHOUGH OUR BODIES WERE DESIGNED TO BE SUSTAINED BY FOOD, OUR CULTURAL PRACTICE OF EATING FAR BEYOND WHAT’S NECESSARY REVEALS A DEEP MORAL CRISIS. For this reason, Paul, Aquinas, and the Stoics agree that we must sit down at every meal with the mindset of an athlete. The philosopher Cicero describes this idea with a simple analogy: Each of us is like an archer, who takes aim at
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targets—like eating a balanced diet or working out—not because these specific targets are the final goal, but because our real “ultimate end” is to cultivate our skill as an athlete. [7] Similarly, Paul instructs us to instill the aim and purpose of a marathon runner into our everyday actions, even actions as mundane as eating lunch (1 Corinthians 9:24). Therefore, if we consider every meal a new opportunity to be mindful of our appetites and to be thankful for the gift in front of us, it will become clear just how important this “perpetual exercise of the will” is to our spiritual growth.
gospels, Christ feasts and breaks bread with people from every class while still taking time to practice fasting and other austerities in his devotion to the Father (Matthew 4:2).
Reflecting on the philosophical and theological importance of cultivating temperance gives us a comprehensive framework for thinking about our relationship with food. But what does this mean practically for our daily eating habits?
The idea of fasting is intimidating, but if our goal is ultimately to follow in Christ’s steps, then is fasting a necessary part of temperance? I’m not sure, but I know that in a culture defined by consumption, it is all too easy to take God’s gifts for granted. We forget that what seem like “neutral” conditions, such as our health or our access to food and shelter, are actually blessings. As Thich Nhat Hanh explains in his whimsical style, we often forget that “a non-toothache is very pleasant.” [9] That is why the Stoic Seneca recommends that we each take a day to live humbly, to remind ourselves of our gifts and of the strength found within our souls. [10]
One helpful practice is known as “The Middle Path” and is central to Buddhist belief and can be found in the Christian faith as well. The Middle Path is a philosophy of temperance,which argues that the ideal lifestyle strikes a balance between “indulgence in sensual pleasures on one hand, and severe asceticism on the other.” [8] The Christian faith also informs us that Christ is the perfect embodiment of this golden mean. Throughout the
Similarly, the practice of mindfulness can aid us in bringing temperance to our diet. The main principle behind mindfulness is that we must become aware of how our appetites arise from our mind and body, so that we can realize the power appetite holds over us when we allow it to dictate our actions. [11] Once we become aware of this influence, the next step may seem counter-intuitive: do not try to banish the appetite or craving from your head;
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even more importantly, don’t feel shame or guilt for wanting to grab that second brownie. Why not? Thich Nhat Hanh argues that this is a temporary solution to a larger problem. When we sweep our cravings under the rug, we can’t fully address them. Instead, when we notice cravings or automatic habits arising, we need to become mindful of Christ’s compassion and forgiveness. When we use Christ’s love to strip our desires or addictions of the shame and guilt they may bring, we strip them of the power they hold over our actions.
WHEN WE USE CHRIST’S LOVE TO STRIP OUR DESIRES OR ADDICTIONS OF THE SHAME AND GUILT THEY MAY BRING, WE STRIP THEM OF THE POWER THEY HOLD OVER OUR ACTIONS. Finally, we can use every meal as an opportunity to meditate on the connections between us, our food, and He who created both. This is known as “interbeing”—the idea that both our food and our bodies came from the same source, the same creator. To practice this kind of mindfulness, we can visualize how our food arrived at our plate. A tangerine, for example, must have been picked off a tree nourished by the sun and fertile soil—both of which may have originated from the dust of
the cosmos, and thus from God. As Hanh puts it, “We can see and taste the whole universe in a single piece of bread!” [12] Therefore, this practice of mindful eating allows our prayer to extend throughout the meal: in every bite, we are consciously aware of how God blessed this food, and therefore us, with life. There’s far more that Scripture and ancient philosophies can teach us about how to heal our relationship with food in a culture consumed by consumption. The practices of temperance and mindfulness taught by the Christian faith and ancient thinkers can help us to cultivate temperance within ourselves at every meal. By living this way, we are able to reflect on the gifts we’ve been given. to be mindful of our appetites, and know that when tempered our relationship with food can nourish both our body and our soul. Knowing this, instead of walking into the dining hall with a sense of dread, I can now enter with a sense of purpose.
Alex is a freshman from Groton, Massachusetts studying Philosophy and Religious Studies who is fascinated by how the lives of monks, mystics, and everyday folk are influenced by belief. In his spare time you can find him exploring the woods with a good podcast on hand.
[1] Michael Moss, Hooked (New York: Random House, 2021), 29. [2] “Eating Disorder Statistics,” National Association of Anorexia Nervosa and Associated Disorders, accessed April 30, 2022, https://anad. org/eating-disorders-statistics/?msclkid=5d923625 aedb11ec96cd7094a2fea1ab [3] “Estimate of Bariatric Surgery Numbers, 2011-2019, ” American Society for Metabolic and Bariatric Surgery, accessed April 30, 2022, https://asmbs.org/resources/estimate-of-bariatricsurgery-numbers [4] Prof. Raymond Hain, “What Makes a Person Good?” (Lecture, Thomistic Institute at Cornell University, Ithaca, NY, March 24, 2022). [5] William O. Stephens, “Stoicism and Food,” in P. B. Thompson, D. M. Kaplan (eds.), Encyclopedia of Food and Agricultural Ethics, 2018, https://doi. org/10.1007/978-94-007-6167-4_636-1 [6] “The Golden Sayings of Epictetus.” The Harvard Classics, edited and translated by Charles W. Eliot, Vol. 2, P.F Collier & Son, 1917. [7] William O. Stephens, “Stoicism and Food,” in P. B. Thompson, D. M. Kaplan (eds.), Encyclopedia of Food and Agricultural Ethics, 2018. [8] Cicero, Marcus. On Moral Ends. Translated by Raphael Woolf, Cambridge University Press, 2004. (pg. 72) [9] Ana Bajželj, “Middle Way (Buddhism),” in K.T. S. Sarao and J. D. Long, (eds) Buddhism and Jainism. Encyclopedia of Indian Religions. Springer, Dordrecht (2017). https://doi. org/10.1007/978-94-024-0852-2_280 [10] Aquinas, Thomas. “Question 64: The mean of virtue,” Summa Theologiae. Translated by the Fathers of the English Dominican Province. Benziger Bros, 1947. [11] Thich Nhat Hanh, Peace is Every Step (New York: Random House, 1992), 73. [12] Thich, Peace is Every Step, 38.
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Liturgy of the Frat Party
Jack Kubinec | what party culture reveals about our innermost desires My roommate and I exchanged a look of confidence as we edged past the doorman in a Cornell hockey sweater and prepared to descend the creaky basement steps. Clad in a banana costume and a unicorn onesie, we were locked in and ready to go. Due to a combination of boring weekend routines and a deadly virus, my roommate and I had reached our junior year at Cornell without ever attending a fraternity party, but here we were—on Halloween weekend, the biggest party weekend of the year, fully prepared to take in the pinnacle of the college experience. We had finally arrived. After dancing to a few songs and receiving several compliments on my banana costume, my roommate and I climbed atop an old wooden
chest at the corner of the crowded dance floor and took in the revelry before us in silence. As I surveyed the partiers around me, the ritual unfolding struck me not as particularly fun or dangerous, but simply odd. I watched one particular couple across the room go through the motions of a potential hook-up: they danced and swayed together, he whispered something in her ear, she blushed. But, as I studied the couple’s faces, neither appeared to be particularly interested in what they were doing. The couple was following the steps of the ritual, doing what everyone around them insists is fun, but both looked tired. For the average upperclassman at Cornell, it might sound like I’m merely stating the obvious: partying, and the party scene, really isn’t as fun as it’s made out to be in the movies and on TikTok. But, given how few people actually love making awkward conversation in a mass of sweaty strangers, the persistence and ubiquity of Cornell’s weekend party scene bear closer examination. After a few more moments of silence, my roommate, standing next to me on top of that old chest, turned to me and said, “It’s interesting how similar
this is to church. It’s somewhere you go on the weekends to experience transcendence.” I think my roommate was onto something—when we pack into dingy basements and drink watery beer in hopes of finding a love interest, we’re searching for something deeper, something more meaningful than pouring ourselves into prelim studying to prove we belong among America’s elite. Ultimately, we go to parties with the hope of feeling desired—in a sexual sense at the surface, but at a deeper level, we hope for others to see us and desire our presence. The trouble is, this need to be desired has all kinds of negative social consequences. We would do well to pursue our desire to be desired in spaces where it can actually be fulfilled.
WHEN WE PACK INTO DINGY BASEMENTS AND DRINK WATERY BEER IN HOPES OF FINDING A LOVE INTEREST, WE’RE SEARCHING FOR SOMETHING DEEPER, SOMETHING MORE MEANINGFUL. Months after my first party experience, I had just woken up from a blissful afternoon nap when my phone buzzed with a text from a friend containing a digital quarter card. I was invited to his fraternity’s annual Valentine’s Day party. “Find love at [some jumbling of Greek letters],” the invitation read. I was tired and didn’t particularly want to go, but I knew I would be bummed if I missed out on a fun time, so I put on my coolest baseball cap—backward—and showed up at the fraternity annex. The house was packed wall to wall with people. Partygoers who were in relationships were given white wristbands, and people looking to hook up wore red wristbands. An impressively large amount of beer cans were arranged in a heart shape in the kitchen. As I made my way around the party and tried to make conversation over speakers blaring Taylor Swift’s “Love Story,” it occurred
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for the opinions of those watching the hookup go down. Sam described this process to me in even plainer terms. “In certain forms of friendships, the person who has had the most recent or the wildest sexual encounter gets the most airtime during conversations” after the party. The often-animated Sam slowed down at this point in the interview, choosing her words carefully and speaking in a more somber tone than usual. Since the men in the fraternity control the invite list, sleeping with a brother also means “you might get invited back” to another party. Early on in her time at Cornell, Sam thought that one of her casual hookups might “turn into something emotional.” So far, none of them have. with the gender dynamics at Cornell fraternity parties. She explained that only fraternities host parties at Cornell, meaning that the conditions for attending parties are set by men.
to me that even though it was no longer Halloween, everyone at the party was still in costume. Guys wore basketball jerseys and flannel shirts; women wore tight clothing and makeup. As the partiers slowly consumed the beer heart, they became more comfortable in their costumes as attractive and sexually desirable Ivy Leaguers. Looks are a central—and troubling— tenet of party culture, and the burden of looking attractive at parties falls disproportionately on women. I sipped my Temple of Zeus coffee as Sam*, a Cornell junior and fellow Temple of Zeus regular, described her experience
“The men have to let you in,” she told me. “Your group of girls walks in and they’re like, pull your shirt down. Take off your jacket. You want to look cute so you pass the door.” And to even get as far as the door, a group’s ratio of men to women must be one-to-one or femaledominant. At a university that publicly espouses egalitarian gender ideals, [1] women are commodified and traded like currency on Friday and Saturday nights. Once inside the party, women still participate in the party’s emphasis on looks, though in a different way. In a segment for NPR on hookup culture, the sociologist Lisa Wade describes a part of the hookup ritual where middance with a potential hookup partner, a woman will “look across the circle to one of her girlfriends and try to get some indication as to whether or not she should continue.” [2] The way a male partier looks matters, partially for potential hookup partners but especially
It might seem like I’m attacking party culture because I’ve predetermined that it’s wrong, but that isn’t my goal. Partying is a very Christian concept. Scripture is littered with stories of banquets and parties—most containing alcohol. In the gospel of Matthew, Jesus compares the kingdom of heaven to a wedding feast (22:2). My real interest is in examining the significance of the rituals attached to parties at Cornell and what they say about us as a community. Religious rituals create a helpful anchor for analyzing party rituals. Rituals center around images and ideals with the hope of causing participants to become more like them. In the Christian tradition, that means placing the death and resurrection of Jesus at the center of our services. James K.A. Smith writes that Christian liturgy, or worship, tells a “Story about who we are and what we’re for.” [3] I see this story clearly in the Anglican services I attend on Sundays. Over the course of an hour, the congregation at my church speaks in unison to acknowledge its wrongdoings, turn to God for forgiveness, give thanks to God, and ask God for mercy while facing a small purple cloth on a table at
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the front of the room. Under the cloth is bread and wine, the two elements of the Christian sacrament of communion that is meant to remind Christians of the broken body and spilled blood of Jesus. This ritual never changes; Anglican services are essentially the same every week. It might seem monotonous, but Smith argues that the repetition is the point: the goal of the service is to “bend the needle of our hearts.” By placing the ultimate Christian image and ideal at the center of the Sunday ritual—the innocent Jesus sacrificing his own life to bring life to all people—Christians hope to act a little more like Jesus, bit by bit, week by week. So, what is the image and ideal at the center of Cornell parties? In doing research for this article, the answer that came up repeatedly was the feeling of being wanted or desired. At parties, we place not God but ourselves at the center of our rituals—a disinhibited, attractive, desirable, Project X version of ourselves. We hope that other people will see this idealized version of us and will show that they want us—maybe by inviting us to hook up or maybe by inviting us back to next weekend’s party. But there is no end to this pursuit of feeling wanted, and many Cornellians are left running on hamster wheels, repeating the same motions weekend after weekend to keep making sure that their friends still want them around.
AT PARTIES, WE PLACE NOT GOD BUT OURSELVES AT THE CENTER OF OUR RITUALS—A DISINHIBITED, ATTRACTIVE, DESIRABLE, PROJECT X VERSION OF OURSELVES. Brady* was hoping to be desired when he showed up in front of a fraternity annex on his first night of orientation week in the fall of 2019. Brady had partied in high school and was looking forward to the even-more-fun college party scene. He is good-looking and possesses a confidence and charisma that makes him the kind of guy people liked having around at parties—or at
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least they did in high school. On this first night of college, a group of fraternity brothers stood in front of the house, making it clear that Brady—being male, and worse, a freshman—was not wanted at the party. When Brady finally made it into a party, he describes walking around feeling let down. No one knew him, and no one wanted him at that particular party. He was just taking up space. But still, Brady partied. What else could he do? His friends were all friends he had made specifically to party with. They would wake up and cure their hangovers with RPCC brunch while swapping stories from the previous night’s party. Brady found the whole ritual to be rather dull. “I just felt tired of it, and I felt like there’s gotta be more to life,” Brady told me. Still, he hoped to find the same validation that he found at high school parties in college. As the semester got underway, Brady began attending Cru, a Christian ministry at Cornell. It was during a sermon about Jesus’ death and resurrection that Brady suddenly felt the feeling of being desired he had seen bits and pieces of at parties, only this time it was at a “scale that I didn’t really quite know that a human being was capable
of feeling.” Brady wept, realizing he had finally found what he was searching for, and he quit partying cold turkey for the rest of freshman year. Brady finally felt like he was worth something—not because he’d boosted his self-image, but because of how God feels about him. We’ll never be as fun or attractive or as charismatic as we’ll want to be; trying to be convinced of our worth at parties will endlessly frustrate us. But God sees us at our worst and still wants us to know him personally. After meeting God, Brady told me, “I didn’t have any desire to chase any other feeling, because I really was finding that feeling in full.”
TRYING TO BE CONVINCED OF OUR WORTH AT PARTIES WILL ENDLESSLY FRUSTRATE US. BUT GOD SEES US AT OUR WORST AND STILL WANTS US TO KNOW HIM PERSONALLY. This is not to say that finding ultimate belonging and going to parties are a zero-sum game. Brady has since resumed partying with his friends, albeit without drinking, and he has started to genuinely enjoy partying for the sake of making connections with other people. Sam, too, has found her own party scene, one that she finds less captive to whiteness and the sexual desires of men. The party scene allows Cornellians to find community and provides a needed outlet for stress relief—and a campus with a party scene is certainly better
than one where students do homework on Friday nights. The question becomes what that party scene should look like. Cornellians should make their parties reflect the ideals they profess. If we truly care about equality for women, then it is time to stop basing entrance into parties solely on men’s chances of scoring a hook-up. If we want to take seriously the well-being of our peers, then the tragic death of Antonio Tsialas should remind us that for teenagers to binge drink in a strange place is always dangerous. Ultimately, Cornell partiers aren’t happy with the status quo. “[The problems with Cornell parties] are not new problems,” Sam told me. “They’re not a secret either. And yet, we keep revisiting these scenes. And I do wonder why.” There is something profoundly sad about this thought, but there is a hope that still lingers underneath, because parties are not the whole story.
*Sam asked for her name to be kept confidential. **Brady asked for his name to be kept confidential.
Jack Kubinec is a senior from Louisville, KY studying sociology. He hopes to get a job someday. [1] “Our Commitments,” Cornell University, accessed April 30, 2022, https://diversity.cornell. edu/our-commitments [2] Shankar Vedantam, “Hookup Culture: The Unspoken Rules Of Sex On College Campuses,” September 25, 2017, in Hidden Brain, podcast, https://www.npr.org/transcripts/552582404 [3] James K.A. Smith, You Are What You Love: The Spiritual Power of Habit (Ada, MI: Brazos Press, 2016).
The thing we search for in fraternity basements does exist. There is a God who sees the real us—the version we don’t let show at parties—and wants to trade his righteousness for our sin for all of eternity. And when we accept God’s invitation, the angels in heaven cry out in joy when they learn that we will be with them (Luke 15:10). There aren’t any sophomores guarding the doors of houses in heaven.
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A Rest that Lasts Amy Crouch | beyond self-care
Writing at 11pm on the top floor of Olin Library, I spy a ballpoint-pen scrawl on the side of my study carrel: “SELFCARE IS REVOLUTIONARY.” It’s one more note in a now-familiar tune. Sitting in my inbox is an email from VP Ryan Lombardi telling me to “prioritize self-care” during my busy student schedule. Companies eager to sell me anything from leggings to car insurance tell me that “it’s okay to take a break” by—surprise!—buying their products. The term “self-care” has saturated our lives in 2022—Google searches for it peaked in 2020, dwarfing the 2005
numbers—but the idea has a long and complex history. [1] Caring for the self is, of course, something humans have done as long as we have been humans. But the story of self-care’s contemporary explosion begins within the academy, where thinkers such as Michel Foucault and Audre Lorde analyzed care for the self in ways that, decades later, have trickled down to our Instagram pages. The French critic Foucault, a polarizing yet influential figure whose followers have dominated the academy since the 1980s, was fascinated by what he called “the care of the self.” He argued that it was pervasive throughout ancient
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philosophical texts, defining it as the desire for men to “transform themselves, to change themselves in their singular being, and to make their life into an oeuvre.” [2] Meanwhile, the Black feminist thinker Audre Lorde framed “self-care” as a form of rebellion against oppressive institutions. While fighting the devastating cancer that would ultimately claim her life, she insisted that for Black and disabled women, self-care was an inherently political act: “Caring for myself is not selfindulgence, it is self-preservation, and that is an act of political warfare”—a quote you may well have encountered on your Instagram page, complete with pastel background. [3]
Where Foucault saw “care of the self” as primarily a practice of self-improvement for the ruling class, Lorde saw self-care as a tool for the most marginalized persons in society to remain human despite dehumanizing forces. And facing an abrupt and miserable death, she argued that physical and communal comfort were essential to making meaning out of her remaining days. But for both of these thinkers, caring for the self is done in the context of self-determination: one creates and cultivates one’s own self despite social pressure either to conform or to disappear.
At the same time as Foucault and Lorde were writing about self-care, the actress Jane Fonda was selling a different angle on self-care, releasing neon-striped and fluffy-haired workout videos. Since then, this notion has come to dominate mainstream culture. The “wellness” industry has ballooned to an estimated $1.5 trillion with no signs of slowing down. [4] Its sales pitch is a smoothie of Foucauldian self-improvement blended into Lordean self-love: “treating yourself” with bubble baths, ten-step skincare routines, and silk pillowcases, but also disciplining yourself to eat and exercise to the extremes of health and youth. Wellness is everywhere.
THE BUBBLE BATH ISN’T SOLELY A WAY TO SOOTHE ACHING LIMBS, BUT IS A BALM TO MAKE THE WOUNDED WHOLE AND TO HEAL THE ACHING—SINSICK?—SOUL. What can we learn from this flood of self-care? On one level, it’s no surprise that we’re looking for ways to take care of ourselves. Humans are needy, vulnerable creatures; we need to clean our teeth, protect our skin from the elements, and wash our bodies of dirt.
But the modern industry of self-care sees the simple practices of physical self-care as going beyond our bodies’ physical needs. The cultural critic Jia Tolentino, describing herself buying serums and moisturizers to cope with post-election paralysis, writes that she was “unsure if I was buying skin care or a psychological safety blanket, or how much of a difference between the two there really is.” [5]
of contemporary self-care—take a day off, don’t let work dominate your life, get plenty of sleep—to a truly ancient religious ritual: the Sabbath.
Thus, consumerist and academic visions of self-care both identify a fundamental problem: Humans are deeply wounded in body and soul. Audre Lorde’s manifestoes of self-care sprang from her encounter with a
“Remember the sabbath day, and keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work. But the seventh day is a sabbath to the Lord your God; you shall not do any work—you, your son or your daughter, your male or female slave, your livestock, or the
vicious liver cancer—and while not all of us will die so brutally, every one of us is on a relentless march towards death. In this light, the bubble bath isn’t solely a way to soothe aching limbs, but is a balm to make the wounded whole and to heal the aching—sin-sick?—soul.
alien resident in your towns. For in six days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, but rested the seventh day; therefore the Lord blessed the sabbath day and consecrated it” (Exodus 20:10-14 NRSV).
For Foucault and Lorde, this wound is inflicted by being on the receiving end of institutionalized force; the gauzy Instagram ads leave the villain conveniently unnamed. What can you do about suffering? You can take care of yourself, says VP Lombardi. I’m intrigued by the formal similarities
This commandment we often forget begins with “Remember.” The Israelites, escaped from slavery in Egypt and set apart to be God’s people, are commanded to set apart a holy day away from all work:
The Sabbath is offered to a people who have escaped horrific slavery. But we should note the justification that God offers: the Israelites should rest because the Lord did too. Before sin and suffering entered the world, God Himself saw fit to rest after all of His work. Pause and consider the astonishing promise of this command. Imagine
what your life would look like with a day of total rest each week: no obligations, no studying, no long library hours. Doesn’t that sound like self-care? The Sabbath commandment presumes that you and I are weary and wounded; that our community is broken; that even the land we live on is overworked. And God’s command signals that a ritual—a simple weekly rhythm, lived out in practical details—can bring healing and hope. Our work is not meant to destroy and deplete us. Like God’s work, it should be fruitful and delightful, and then punctuated by a day of holy rest.
Sabbath, like self-care, offers an answer to the problem of human brokenness and loss. But its message is crucially different. Self-care suggests two reactions to our plight (our march towards death): it seeks to soothe and improve. In some contexts, we’re told to find comfort: to get plenty of sleep, to eat delicious food, to wear beautiful clothing. But we’re also told to improve ourselves through our (often laudable) pursuits—pushing yourself through a workout, eating seven servings of fruit each day, planning your days in an elegant leather-bound journal.
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This spirit of self-optimization whispers that maybe, just maybe, we can defer our death by a few blessed days. Maybe we can make our fragile, limited years just a bit longer and more healthy. Self-care culture comforts us when we remember that death is nigh, and it gives us tools that tempt us with the promise that “you shall not surely die.” The Sabbath is rooted elsewhere. In the Scriptural laws that give us the Sabbath, there is no sense that any individual is capable of saving himself— and even if he can improve himself a bit, that’s not the purpose of Sabbath. Sabbath, as carefully codified in the books of Leviticus and Deuteronomy, is
embedded within a system of atonement: sacrifices—literal, bloody sacrifice of living creatures—that take away sins. The Sabbath does not “fix” anyone. You do not rest to reward yourself or improve your character.
WE ARE NOT SELFSOVEREIGNS, BUT SELFSTEWARDS. WE HAVE MEANINGFUL AGENCY—BUT NOT SELF-OWNERSHIP. No; these laws call humans to rest because there is a God, and not just any God, but a particular God of a family, the family of Israel. The Sabbath is oriented towards God: there is a divine, all-powerful, all-loving Person who
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deserves all worship, and we are made to rest in Him. The seventh day is to be kept holy—that holiness radiates into healing and goodness for the community, and is the animating center of the week. Indeed, in this sense Sabbath is the very opposite of soothing self-care. To “remember the Sabbath day” is to remember how tiny, frail, and unimportant we are. The world goes on spinning, the stars continue their vast march, the universe continues to expand even if you or I take a break—and will keep doing so when each of us dies. Outside of the context of the Hebrew Bible, this is a terrifying thought.
But if this is a commandment from a loving God, the call to remember our weakness and death is no longer terror, but wisdom. In some senses, Sabbath sounds less empowering than Instagram self-care. In the wellness industry, you and I can take action to heal ourselves; we can fight the forces of sin and death with a yoga mat and a water bottle. But I’ve come to believe this promise is a trap. If I can restore my body to health with a few careful steps, then my own sickness results—sometimes subtly, sometimes not—because I have not taken action. If you can indeed address your fear and sadness by taking advantage of Cornell’s mental health resources and
going for a walk around Beebe Lake, your illness becomes your responsibility. Those who are sick become those who didn’t do enough. If you can be perfect— or, no, that’s not a word that a self-help influencer likes, let’s say healthy, whole, well, alive—the can slips swiftly into a should. And, eventually, into a must. What’s the purpose, then, of all the rituals? If I can fix myself with my rituals, they become obligations. If I can’t, the rituals become meaningless: applying lip balm at the edge of the abyss. But the Sabbath is rooted in an identity and a calling. Our identity is not in
Cornellian go-getting, and we do not need to soothe our fear of death with ice cream (soothing) or pushups (improving). We are not self-sovereigns, but self-stewards. We have meaningful agency—but not self-ownership. We are given gifts which are indeed to us, but their purpose is for the worship of God and the flourishing of those around us. Sabbath reminds you: you are not your own. And for Christians, the Sabbath gives us a new kind of responsibility—but not, note, to heal ourselves. Rather, Jesus inaugurates the great Sabbath Himself. He speaks directly to those of us who are weary and need care: “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” But Jesus’s offer of
rest is not hiding away our burdens and resting in dreamless oblivion: it is taking up a new yoke. “Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me,” says Jesus: “For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30). It’s mysterious, no doubt. Indeed, it deeply puzzled none other than Michel Foucault, who told an interviewer in 1984 that “there is a paradox of care for self in Christianity, but that is another question.” [6] Jesus tells us that finding true rest requires taking up a burden. But not a heavy one: one that is light. We find rest in taking up a yoke and learning from it. The Sabbath is a yoke. What yoke is it? I’d humbly submit
We are humans, created as physical bodies, made in God’s image. To tend to our dry skin and exhausted limbs, to be reminded that we are worthy not because of what we do but because of our nature as Beloved—such practices should not be lightly dismissed. But if anything, what we have is worse than dismissal: the powers of our age have co-opted the language of care to persuade us that we are autonomous creatures whose primary obligation is to the self—and that we can heal our deepest hurts by our own actions. The Sabbath, instead, cares for the deeply lost, work-afflicted soul—by anchoring us in love and community
that it is Jesus’ own cross (Matthew 16:24). For when Jesus died, He took a Saturday—a Sabbath day—to rest. Jesus calls us to follow His way of rest all the way to the grave.
and sending us out to give our very lives away. By keeping the Sabbath day holy, we prepare for our death and look toward our resurrection.
Beneath self-care yawns the abyss. We will die: every bubble bath and late morning brunch can only soothe us on the long journey to death. But beneath the Sabbath, beneath Jesus’s offer of rest, is a death: the death of One on the cross. Sabbath rest does not require us to obscure the abilities or the disabilities we bear. All of us are called to death—because beyond the cross is life. Sleep is the uncanny sister of death; rest would be unbearable death if there was not life.
Amy Crouch is a senior at Cornell University studying linguistics, English, and anything else she can fit into her schedule. She is the author of My Tech-Wise Life, and she loves to cook, climb mountains, and chat about books.
[1] “Self-Care,” Google Trends, accessed April 30, 2022, https://trends.google.com/trends/ [2] Richard White, “Foucault on the Care of the Self as an Ethical Project and a Spiritual Goal,” Human Studies 37 (2014), 489–504 . https://doi.org/10.1007/s10746014-9331-3 [3] Audre Lorde, A Burst of Light (Ithaca, NY: Firebrand Books, 1988), 132. [4] Shaun Callaghan, “Feeling Good: The Future of the $1.5 Trillion Wellness Market,” McKinsey, April 8, 2021, https://www.mckinsey.com/industries/consumerpackaged-goods/our-insights/feeling-good-the-future-ofthe-1-5-trillion-wellness-market [5] Jia Tolentino, “The Year That Skin Care Became a Coping Mechanism,” New Yorker, December 18, 2017, https://www.newyorker.com/culture/cultural-comment/ the-year-that-skin-care-became-a-coping-mechanism [6] Raul Fornat-Betancourt et al, “The Ethic of Care for the Self as a Practice of Freedom,” Philosophy and Social Criticism 12:2-3 (1987): 112-131, https://doi-org.proxy. library.cornell.edu/10.1177%2F019145378701200202 explore?date=all&geo=US&q=%2Fm%2F0cs1l4
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