The Magpie in the Mirror

Here’s a riddle for you:

My dog barks at it playfully.

My cat stares at it dumbly.

The cardinals in my yard attack it aggressively.

What is “it”?

While you take a moment to ponder, I’ll give you another clue. Research has shown that — as far as we know currently — the magpie is the only bird that actually understands what “it” is.

A clue to the riddle, if the blog title didn't already give it away...

I’ll give the answer in a moment, but first let's define a magpie. Depending on where you live, different images may come to mind, and alas, not all of them are truly magpies. The fiercely territorial Australian Magpie is actually not a corvid at all, but more closely related to the butcherbirds (a fitting name, considering its aggressive reputation). And the various magpie-robins of Asia and Africa are technically flycatchers. But you’ll find the true magpie north of the Equator: a large, slender, black-and-white bird with an impressively long tail, short rounded white-patched wings, and an overall iridescent green sheen when the lighting is flattering. The Black-billed Magpie (Pica hudsonia) dominates the western half of the U.S. and Canada, and the Eurasian Magpie (Pica pica) spans pretty much every corner of Eurasia; though separated by a continent, they honestly look pretty much identical, distinguished mostly by their call and their range.

The magpie is a delightfully intelligent bird. It’s part of the family Corvidae, which includes crows, ravens, and jays — generally considered to be the highest-developed brains in the bird world. Magpies are known for their gregariousness, their raucous chatter, and especially for their mischievous nature. They’re depicted as clever thieves in French and Swedish folklore, in a Rossini opera, and through the Terry-Toon legends Heckle and Jeckle. Lewis and Clark’s journals reference magpies boldly entering tents and absconding with trinkets from the expedition. Magpies can work in teams, make and use tools, imitate human speech, play games, recognize specific human faces, and seemingly express emotions like grief. There’s a lot going on inside that head.

But what truly separates magpies from the rest of the flock is their capacity for self-recognition — which leads us back to the riddle. What is the “it” that a magpie comprehends when so few animals do?

© 2017 John Sullivan, Macauley Library

Its reflection.

The magpie is the first non-mammal to pass the “mirror test.” The test is relatively simple: place a mirror in front of any animal and see if it demonstrates an awareness that the image looking back at them is actually them. Those cardinals in my front yard fail the test miserably; one in particular has a vendetta against the side mirrors on my parked Toyota, repeatedly and tirelessly launching himself at his perceived rival. If you’ve ever experienced a bird pecking the windows of your house, it’s probably not trying to get in; it’s trying to tell that punk on the glass who’s the boss, and as Noah Strycher writes, “If you don’t want to turn your home into a windowless cave, you just have to wait out the siege.”

The mirror test, as administered by researchers, involves placing a sticker or a spot of colorful odorless dye on the bird’s throat or chin — a place they couldn’t see except via the mirror. If the bird looks in the mirror and tries to scratch off the novel object on itself, it’s obviously inferred where the spot truly is. The list of studied animals that have passed the test is surprisingly short: only great apes, orcas, dolphins, and elephants. Even human babies don’t pass the test until around 18 months.

So the magpie is the smallest animal, and the only non-mammal, to clear the bar on reflective self-awareness. Of course, it’s entirely possible that other animals can understand the test. Perhaps your cat sees the spot, but he just doesn’t give a rip about it. Maybe lots of animals understand mirrors but just don’t see the point of trying to cooperate with the experiment. But probably not. My car cardinal, for one, sure doesn’t seem any closer to a philosophy degree.

So kudos to the magpie, who has the important capacity to look into the mirror and to understand, “Yeah, that’s me.”

You are the Man

In 2 Samuel 11 we read about King David’s impulsive night with Bathsheba, and his ensuing attempts at an alibi story. By the end of this episode, David had blatantly broken at least half of the Ten Commandments: coveting another man’s wife, stealing her into an adulterous moment, and lying to cover a passive murder plot. A horrific chain reaction of sin… but so far the cover-up story was secure.

Enter Nathan the prophet, sent by God to show David his own reflection. He starts by sharing a story with the king, some “fake news” sure to garner the right emotions.

“There were two men in a certain town, one rich and the other poor. The rich man had a very large number of sheep and cattle, but the poor man had nothing except one little ewe lamb he had bought. He raised it, and it grew up with him and his children. It shared his food, drank from his cup and even slept in his arms. It was like a daughter to him. Now a traveler came to the rich man, but the rich man refrained from taking one of his own sheep or cattle to prepare a meal for the traveler who had come to him. Instead, he took the ewe lamb that belonged to the poor man and prepared it for the one who had come to him.” (2 Samuel 12:1-4)

David explodes with indignation at the rich man’s uncaring selfishness. How dare he take from others when he already has so much! How dare he! David has already jumped to the sentencing phase of the trial, demanding justice: a fourfold repayment along with the death penalty for the offender. In his indignation he launches himself at the car mirror, unable to perceive his own reflection in it.

Then Nathan said to David, “You are the man!” (2 Samuel 12:7)

In four words, Nathan transforms the parable into a mirror; images of sheep and travelers dissolve to reveal what a blameworthy king truly looks like without his cover story. David has limited options at this point. He could rationalize; kings will be kings, after all. He could deny, playing dumb with Nathan in the hopes that the issue will drop. He could defend, sentencing the prophet to a “dead men tell no tales” fate. He could relativize, reminding everyone that hey, he’s still a lot better than that last king of Israel, amiright? 

Or he could recognize that the reflection in the mirror, the villain of the story, is truly him.

2023 Alexis Lours, Macauley Library

The Gift of Conviction

That’s what it looks like to pass the mirror test, biblically speaking. Admittedly it’s pretty awkward in the moment, staring our sin in the face and realizing how undeserving we are of God’s love. But in the end it’s actually freeing. Conviction of sin is a gift that allows us to see our reflection accurately and admit our need for forgiveness. Repentance is the heart change that lovingly accompanies it — the Lord’s grace to say “I won’t leave you here.” And our actions then have the opportunity to prove our repentance; Acts 26:20 (among other places) reminds us that repentance isn't the change itself but the heart to change, that then gets lived out as proof of new intentions.

Psalm 51, written in the aftermath of Nathan’s accusation, is the place where we see all of these things work themselves out in David: deep conviction, a change of heart, and a subsequent change of action. David’s self-awareness didn’t end in condemnation. His conviction frees him to lead with “Have mercy on me, O God” (v. 1), to ask God to “renew a right spirit within me” (v. 10), and to commit to a path that might serve as a model to others (v. 13).

A great model. To quote the great theologian Michael Jackson, looking at his own man in the mirror, "Take a look at yourself, then make the change." If only it was that easy, Michael. The challenge for us is that our mirror is broken. We don't see our reflection clearly. Sadly it’s far easier for us to see a sin in others than it is to see it in ourselves. In fact, often the reason that certain people’s rough edges irk us so deeply is because we have exactly the same rough edges…

A habitually late person can be offended by others’ tardiness.

A person harboring prejudices can be infuriated by the perceived prejudices of others.

A serial procrastinator can criticize the last-minute work ethic of their colleagues.

A judgmental person can regularly, without any sense of irony, voice their judgment on judgmental people (just like self-attesting tolerant people are intolerant of any perceived intolerance).

A prideful person can be repulsed by the pride of others. C.S. Lewis referred to pride as “the one vice of which no man in the world is free; which everyone in the world loathes when he sees it in someone else' and of which hardly any people, except Christians, ever imagine that they are guilty themselves… There is no fault which makes a man more unpopular, and no fault which we are more unconscious of in ourselves.  And the more we have it ourselves, the more we dislike it in others.” Pride (and lots of other sin) hides in the blind spots of the mirror.

In all these examples and more, our sin skews our own self-perception. We can’t accurately look in the mirror and see the offending spots. We can’t accurately hear the honest voice of the prophet saying, “You are the man. You are the woman. Can’t you see? It’s you.”

Better Reflections

So how do we see ourselves accurately? There’s no quick solution. But for me, I’ve found clarity by letting both God and others speak directly into my life. God does so primarily through his penetrating word, as I feed on scripture in daily reflection and sit under the word preached boldly. Others do so as I seek accountable relationships, as I invite honest feedback in the quest for a clearer self-perception, and as I repent regularly to the people around me, under the certain conviction that I’m a lot worse than I think I am. It’s a scary-vulnerable move to be willing to ask someone, “What’s it like to work with me?” or (scarier still!) “What’s it like to be married to me?” But I can’t grow past my sin until I see it. The mirror I look at too often is one of those crazy funhouse clown mirrors, unbelievably distorted. That means others can see the things I simply can’t. Feedback (even when poorly given) is a gift. How might your life change if you adopted that fact as a core value?

On the other hand, you're not called to spend your whole life staring in the mirror feeling guilty. Remember that the purpose of guilt is to lead you to the cross of Christ. At that point, guilt has delivered you to the front door of grace, and should now exit the porch as quickly as possible. Guilt should not linger in the shadow of the completed work of Christ, who bore our sin and guilt, removed it, and named it “finished” (John 19:30). It’s hard to believe there is truly no condemnation for those in Christ. But the guilt that says “I’m not good enough” points to a Cross that says, “Yes, that’s the point, isn’t it?”

As a believer in Christ, you’re not left to wallow in your brokenness sitting in front of an accusing mirror. You’re given a promise that he who began a good work in you won’t quit till it’s done (Philippians 1:6), that you are being conformed to the image of Christ (Romans 8:29) and that one day you will perfectly reflect the one you were made for.

Imagine that. One day you’ll look in the mirror and see him.