《55 Successful Harvard Law School Essays》精读系列 3 ：克服心理疾病与宗教的力量

律政留学

关于《55 Successful Harvard Law School Essays》精读系列的介绍可参考：《55 Successful Harvard Law School Essays》精读系列 1：移民申请者。精神类疾病，比如抑郁症，这两年越来越普遍，愿意直接写的申请者每年也有，但拿捏好并不容易，有些人会花过多笔墨在自己痛苦上，有些人无法说服录取委自己的情况不会影响到今后的学习，更别提展现这段经历给自己带来的成长了。而宗教话题对中国学生来说稍显陌生。让我们一起来看看这篇PS吧。

PS

HANI N. ELIAS

Growing up, I was frequently reminded by my parents—sometimes casually over dinner, sometimes with more religious undertones after Sunday Mass—that an abbot of a monastery had once predicted my monastic future. As an infant I was baptized into the Coptic Orthodox Church in a monastery founded in the fourth century by Saint Antony. The twenty-year-old Antony, meditating on the meaning of this temporary life after the passing of his wealthy parents, heeded the commandment of Christ to a rich man in the Gospel of Matthew and escaped into the Sahara: “If thou wishest to be perfect, go and sell everything which thou hast, give to the poor, and take thy cross, and come after Me, and there shall be unto thee treasure in heaven.” As a young Christian, I admired Saint Antony for his self-sacrifice, but that was the extent of thought I gave to monasticism. Occupied with school and extracurricular commitments, comforted by my parents and friends, I saw meditation as an ambition for those with loftier sensibilities.

Spring semester of my junior year at Harvard, however, tested me in unique and unfamiliar ways. I often found myself unable to focus in class, crying alone in my room, and unable to laugh at even the funniest moments from Seinfeld. A flood of thoughts distracted me, but a recurring one would eventually lead me back to the monastery, this time in the guise of a scholar. I kept asking myself: despite my seeming academic success and comfortable life, why do I feel so unhappy, so out of place in the midst of common surroundings? I visited a number of physicians but the traditional medical lexicon could not describe my ailments and preoccupations; I called my parents daily but, unable to fully understand my problems, we could only pray together. I felt helpless at times and endlessly frustrated. This struggle pushed me to study monasticism for my senior honors thesis. My research focused on notions of world abnegation. I wanted to explore the plausibility of living independent of material possessions and from a technological and economic order that is leaving more and more people discontented, reliant on antidepressants, and in a chronic state of stress.

On August 1, 2004, I made my way to California’s Mojave Desert where, between Los Angeles and Las Vegas, seven monks live in cenobitic life in a small Coptic monastery. Despite an intense heat, I immediately felt an inner sense of calm and peace. Surrounded by mountains and disturbed by neither penetrating buildings nor offensive billboards, here I had the opportunity to discover myself; here my soul could refresh itself. The desert, as I once heard before, truly appeared to me as a plane between earth and heaven. Aside from my fascination with this dry wilderness, I was astonished to discover that an ethic of brotherliness breathed life into this desolate landscape. In the monastery, it would be inappropriate for anyone to go to bed upset with another member of the community; after our evening prayer, it became routine to reconcile any personal differences by kissing each other’s hands and asking for forgiveness. And yet behind this outward layer of monastic culture, I soon discovered a more disquieting ethos. A week into my spiritual retreat and academic journey, I read a disturbing message from an early church father on the wall of a monk’s cell: he exhorts us not to fear the dead but to “run away from the living.” To a monk, this short message accurately conveys a central precept of monasticism, but to me it somehow equally contradicted my innermost vision of my own sense of place amidst the community and larger world.

The monks’ disengagement from the troubles of the outside world was especially upsetting to me because of a trip I had taken to Egypt three years before. In one town, I experienced a poverty to which neither books nor even photographs could fully do justice. Ezbet el Nakhl, an area inhabited by the city’s garbage collectors, was, to an adolescent who was by no means wealthy, hell on earth. I interacted with youth my own age whose sole arenas of play were heads of garbage; I smelled an unbelievable odor; and most disturbing, I encountered parents and children who no longer believed that things would ever improve. I keep thinking that these living beings, effectively ignored not only by their corrupt government but also by monks, deserve my attention. The ethic of brotherliness and the principle of compassion—notions common within the monastery—cannot help those struggling to eat or escape disease so long as they remain limited to interactions between solitaries and recluses.

Recognizing the importance of the mores of monastic communities, namely, selfless love and brotherliness, it has been my passion to create a network of globally conscious students—future leaders who are committed to serving and helping those less privileged. In 2002, I founded CollegeCorps, a national nonprofit organization whose mission is to remove obstacles that currently prevent undergraduate students from becoming involved in health, education, and environmental work in resource-poor countries. While providing financial assistance and practical training to students alone may not alleviate poverty and disease, my stay in the monastery helped me realize that I cannot turn my back on those who are repeatedly marginalized. Perhaps paradoxically, I have also come to value asceticism. Like Antony, at twenty, I aspire to internalize the principle of self-sacrifice, to avoid the paralysis of a lukewarm passion. Rather than escaping into remoteness, I will apply this rich ethic as I help those who face poverty and those who suffer from disease.

点评

Emma Lind, The Harvard Crimson

The strength of this essay is that the applicant manages to discuss a very impressive part of his résumé (starting CollegeCorps) without just regurgitating a list of his accomplishments. From the essay, it is clear that founding CollegeCorps was a turning point in the author’s life, and he discusses it by giving background about his personal life and struggles, and then relating that to why he wants to help people. His essay does not specifically say why he wants to attend law school, but it doesn’t have to—the tone and content of his essay indicate his reasons for him.

His first sentence grabs the reader’s attention by revealing his supposed religious vocation, unusual in the largely secular world of law school applications. This up-front and unashamed individuality is key when admissions officers are reading thousands of applications from similarly qualified applicants. The first paragraph is strong because it steers away from the tempting but detrimental “I want to go law school because…” trap.

The applicant delves into the deeply revealing and personal in the second paragraph, setting a tone of complete honesty and personal awareness. The last sentence demonstrates his ability to tie in his academic prowess to his personal interest in religion and emotional struggles, which speaks well of his intellectual abilities.

The rest of the essay reveals that the applicant is a gifted writer and communicator while transitioning flawlessly from his personal saga with religion and academics to his growing awareness of his place in the larger world community. The end of the second-to-last paragraph and the beginning of the last paragraph form the core of his essay: a personal account of how a previous conviction proved to be unfulfilling, and explaining his subsequent turn to an interest in law. The end of the last paragraph, though, is a bit too much: comparing oneself to a saint is almost always something to avoid.

David Atnip, 律政留学外籍主管

The high quality of this narrative is demonstrated in three aspects.

Mr. Elias creates a complete framework from beginning to end. He mergers for the reader his inner experience of consciousness with his outer experience of the world. The reader understands how the writer developed, how—in the final sentence—he arrives at his future path “help[ing] those who face poverty and those who suffer from disease.” Elias explains and connects his journey bringing forward relevant life experiences while avoiding the usual chronological narrative style. The reader experiences a tapestry, not a point by point what-happened-next report.

This PS starts well, very well. With a few well-crafted words, the reader slips into an interesting story. It’s family, it’s the writer’s beginning, it’s great history, it’s religion—deep and ancient.

Finally, Mr. Elias ends well, reconnecting the ending with the beginning – “Antony, at twenty.” The reader feels satisfied. The story comes full circle.

If there is a weakness here, it is failure to bring in legal study and career. Most applicants creating a law school PS will connect their life before law school to their desire to study law.

Aaron, 律政留学上海办公室负责人

优点上面两位聊得很多了，我就不再赘述，聊一些我的其他观点。作者在第二段花了不少笔墨来写抑郁症对他的影响，但我个人认为如果只是作为下一段内容的引子，这里完全可以写的简单一些。因为我读到最后会非常关心他现在的抑郁症状态。节省下来的篇幅可以写why law school。此外，Emma也提到了结尾把自己比作圣人有些过了。这点值得多说两句，我前两天和David就聊到了这个问题，中美学生往往是两个极端，美国学生有时候过分自信，而中国学生又是过分谦虚了，比较推荐的做法是自信大方，比如很多PS结尾会谈到自己毕业后的打算，不少申请者用的是hope这个词，这个就有点显得“软”，不够自信，更自信的说法发可以用intend或者plan。

今日互动

聊聊你对这篇PS的看法吧~

干货推荐

点击“阅读原文”，搜索更多精彩推荐