Seized by Christ

They are experiencing Christianity as joy and hope, having thus become lovers of Christ.

Category: Myth, Meaning, and Culture

Cultural commentary through theology, moral imagination, and the search for truth beneath the noise.

  • Why Civilizations Collapse:

    What Myths Teach Us About the Fall of Democracies

    The Tytler Cycle isn’t just political theory—it’s the story of the soul, told in every great myth.

    “A democracy cannot exist as a permanent form of government. It can only exist until the voters discover that they can vote themselves largesse from the public treasury…”
     —Attributed to Professor Alexander Tytler (1787)

    You’ve probably come across some version of the so-called Tytler Cycle. It claims that all democracies follow a predictable pattern: from freedom to abundance, to complacency, to dependence, and finally back into bondage.

    For some, it’s just a cynical take on politics. But looked at through the lens of myth and archetype, it becomes something much more profound:

    It’s not just the fall of a government.
    It’s the rise and fall of the soul.

    The Cycle Through Mythic Eyes

    Let’s walk through the Tytler Cycle as a moral and spiritual journey—one that appears in countless myths and scriptures across time.

    🔗 Bondage → Spiritual Faith
     This is the beginning of the hero’s story. In myth, this is Egypt before the Exodus, the desert before the call, the dungeon before the sword is drawn. It’s when people suffer under something oppressive—and realize they can’t save themselves.

    Mythic truth: Suffering awakens the soul to something higher.

    🔥 Spiritual Faith → Courage
     Faith gives birth to boldness. This is Moses facing Pharaoh. It’s Odysseus setting sail. It’s the moment someone stops asking “Why is this happening to me?” and starts asking “What must I do?”

    Mythic truth: Faith creates purpose. Purpose demands courage.

    🗽 Courage → Liberty
     Through sacrifice, real freedom is earned. The tyrant falls, the dragon dies, the sea is crossed. Liberty here is not comfort—it’s earned order. It is hard-won.

    Mythic truth: Freedom without cost is not freedom.

    💰 Liberty → Abundance
     With order in place, prosperity grows. Cities rise. Systems thrive. The people enjoy peace. But this stage is where many heroes (and nations) fall asleep.

    Mythic truth: Abundance is not the goal—it’s the test.

    😴 Abundance → Complacency → Apathy
     Now the real decay begins. Warriors become managers. Builders become consumers. The sacred becomes boring. The heroic is replaced with the comfortable.

    Mythic truth: Without struggle, the soul forgets its mission.

    🧷 Apathy → Dependence → Bondage
     In the final stages, people no longer protect what they’ve inherited. They vote for comfort over courage, safety over freedom. The tyrant returns—this time invited.

    Mythic truth: The abandonment of virtue always leads back to slavery.

    The Eternal Message

    This isn’t just about nations. It’s about you.

    We all live through this cycle in miniature.
    When we stop striving, stop sacrificing, and stop remembering the cost of freedom—we fall.
    When we trade meaning for comfort, truth for ease, or courage for conformity—we begin the long slide back into bondage.

    But here’s the good news, written into every myth:The cycle is not inevitable.
     It can be broken—if the hero awakens.

    Developed with assistance of ChatGPT

  • Black Bones in the Desert: What the Earth Remembers

    How ancient burial sites reveal lost landscapes and the quiet echoes of forgotten worlds

    There’s another story — one that pairs with the image of a skull worn through by the road. In Africa, researchers once came across an ancient cemetery where all the bones had turned black. At first, this baffled them. What kind of people leave behind black bones? Had they discovered some unknown species — perhaps a human ancestor lost to time?

    But then someone offered a simpler, more powerful explanation: bones turn black when soaked in water for long periods of time. These were not alien remains — they were fully human. The mystery wasn’t in the bones, but in the place. The desert in which they were found had once been a wet, fertile land, rich with life and water.

    This discovery reveals something extraordinary: the landscape had changed so completely that we had forgotten its past. What is now arid and desolate was once lush and alive. And all that remains of that former world is a trace in the bones.

    This is a different kind of legacy. It’s not the personal legacy of names or deeds, but the environmental legacy that links humanity to place. These blackened bones do not preserve identity, but they preserve context. They remind us that human history is entwined with ecological history — that the earth itself remembers what we forget.

    In that way, the story becomes deeply symbolic. What seemed alien was entirely human. And what seemed dead was once a place of abundance. The blackness of the bone was not a mark of difference, but a testimony to transformation.

    This is the kind of truth that doesn’t survive in monuments. It isn’t shouted in stone or carved in tablets. It seeps into sediment, stains the bones, and whispers from beneath the surface. It tells us: Something was here. Life was here. And now the world has changed.

    It reminds us that history is not only linear, but layered. And sometimes, only when erosion or excavation peels back those layers do we see what was hidden all along.

    Legacy, then, is not always a matter of being remembered. Sometimes it’s about leaving a trace — in the way we shaped the land, in the ecosystems we touched, in the soil and water and stone that once sustained our lives. We may not endure in memory, but our impact can endure in place.

    The bones do not speak in words. But they carry a message: that human life leaves behind more than names. It leaves behind evidence — clues about the kind of world we inhabited, and perhaps clues about the kind of world we left behind.

    What traces are you leaving behind — in your habits, your choices, and the environments you shape? What will the earth remember of your world?

  • Skull in the Dust:

    What Will Remain of Us?

    There’s a story I once heard: someone walking along a dirt road in Africa noticed a strange shape protruding from the path. It turned out to be the cross-section of a skull — not from a recent burial, but something ancient. Scientists later determined that it was roughly 5,000 years old. It had been buried for millennia, forgotten by history, and only revealed by the slow wearing-down of the road.

    It’s a striking image — a human life, reduced to bone, indistinguishable from the dust until chance erosion reveals it again. One person among untold millions, completely forgotten in name, story, and song. No monument, no footnote in a book — just a fragment of skull, sliced clean by time.

    But the image also invites a deeper reflection. What remains of a person when everything personal is erased? If no one remembers your name, were you part of anything that mattered?

    This is the question at the heart of human legacy.

    Jordan Peterson says that society is built on the backs of heroes — and that innovation builds on innovation forever. While some figures stand out in the narrative of history, many of the contributions that make civilization possible were anonymous. The tools, customs, stories, and rituals passed down through oral tradition or simple imitation — many of these came from people whose names we will never know.

    So it’s possible that the person whose skull was found contributed to something vital. Perhaps they preserved a hunting technique, crafted a tool, or passed on a story that taught their children caution or courage. Maybe their tribe developed a cooperative structure that influenced others. And perhaps that contribution set off a chain of developments that, hundreds or thousands of years later, became part of the infrastructure of modern life.

    What appears as complete erasure might actually be buried continuity — the quiet impact of anonymous lives shaping the foundations of civilization.

    The road that wore through the skull could also symbolize the road of history itself — a slow and relentless passage that wears away individuals but reveals deeper layers of inheritance. Each generation walks over the last, compressing it into the foundation of the next.

    This is both humbling and meaningful. On one hand, we will all be forgotten. On the other hand, our lives — even our suffering — may carry forward ripples that shape the world long after we’re gone. The systems we participate in, the children we raise, the words we share, the kindness we show — these things outlive us in ways we can’t always predict.

    We should not seek legacy in fame or monuments. We should seek to live in such a way that what we pass on — whether directly or indirectly — becomes a sturdy stone in the road of civilization. Even if no one ever knows it was ours.

    Have you ever considered that your quiet daily choices — even your pain — might form part of a foundation others will build on? What road are you paving?

    Developed with assistance from ChatGPT

  • God’s Voice Within:

    How Your Conscience Works Like a Spiritual Search Engine

    Q: Would it be a reasonable analogy to say that God speaking to us through our conscience is like having an internal memory search engine?

    A: That’s actually a powerful and insightful way to think about it. Let’s unpack the idea.

    Imagine your conscience as a kind of spiritual search engine—quietly working within you to retrieve what is good, true, and right. Like any search engine, it doesn’t generate content out of thin air. It pulls from what’s already been stored: your past experiences, what you’ve learned, your values, and even divine truths that have been imprinted on your heart.

    Here’s why the analogy works so well:

    • “Search engine” implies a process of drawing from what’s already been input. Your conscience often pulls together lessons from Scripture, childhood formation, lived experience, and quiet moments of insight—just when you need them.
    • “Internal” highlights that this voice isn’t loud or external. God often speaks softly, through our thoughts and feelings, not through flashing signs or booming declarations.
    • “Memory” reminds us that moral guidance doesn’t appear randomly. It’s shaped by what we’ve seen, felt, understood, and chosen to hold onto.

    So yes—this could be a very helpful way of explaining how God communicates through our inner world. It’s as if He built into us a tool that helps us search our soul and find His truth.

    Q: Can the analogy be taken even further?

    A: Absolutely—and it gets more meaningful the deeper you go.

    • Sometimes your conscience gives you immediate results—a feeling of peace when you’ve made the right decision, or a strong sense of guilt when you’re off course.
    • Other times, the search feels quiet or unclear. You might wonder if you’re asking the wrong question—or if you’re not really listening.
    • Like any search engine, your conscience can also be cluttered or biased. Past wounds, unchecked habits, or cultural noise can confuse the signal. That’s why we need to update it regularly—through prayer, reflection, spiritual reading, confession, and honest conversation with others seeking truth

    Q: How do I tune my inner “search engine” to hear God more clearly?

    A: You refine your conscience the same way you refine any tool: by using it often, cleaning out what doesn’t belong, and inputting what is good and true.

    That means:

    • Spending time in prayer and silence, learning to hear the still, small voice of God.
    • Reading Scripture and trustworthy spiritual writings that form your moral compass.
    • Asking tough questions and being open to correction.
    • Seeking community and accountability in people who are also trying to live with purpose.

    Over time, your conscience becomes sharper—more aligned with truth and more confident in discerning the voice of God within you.

    Final Thought:

    If God built a spiritual search engine into your soul, then your job is to keep it updated and tuned to Him. Listen closely. Ask honest questions. Trust that when you seek truth with a sincere heart, the right answers will rise to the surface.

    Developed with assistance from ChatGPT

  • The Noise That Numbs Us:

    Why Stillness Is Essential for Hearing God’s Voice
    Silence Isn’t Emptiness—It’s an Invitation

    Have you ever noticed how hard it is for people to sit in silence?
    Even in prayer, many stay busy—reciting words, performing rituals, checking off devotions—but never listening.

    And in everyday life, it’s the same:

    • Constant busyness.
    • Endless to-do lists.
    • Loud music, background noise, and screen time filling every free moment.

    It’s not just a lifestyle problem.
    It’s a spiritual one.

    The Culture of Noise—and the Fear Behind It

    We live in a culture that avoids stillness at all costs.
    There’s a reason for that.

    When things get quiet, something happens:

    That inner voice—your conscience—starts to speak.
    God may begin to whisper into the silence.
    Pain, regret, longing, or unspoken fears can rise to the surface.

    And for many, that’s uncomfortable—even frightening.

    So we drown it out.
    We use busyness as a defense.
    We fill our days and our ears so we don’t have to face what’s beneath the surface.

    But the effect is devastating over time.

    The Spiritual Anesthesia of Distraction

    Noise and activity act like a kind of spiritual anesthesia.
    We stay numbed out. We lose touch with the deeper layers of our soul. The voice of conscience weakens—not because it’s gone, but because we’ve buried it under stimulation.

    Even our prayers can become noise.
    When we rush through words or fill our quiet time with background music and endless requests, we miss something vital:

    ❝ It’s like calling God—and hanging up before He has the chance to answer. ❞

    Stillness Is Where the Healing Begins

    There’s a reason Scripture says,

    “Be still and know that I am God” (Psalm 46:10).

    Stillness isn’t laziness or passivity. It’s not about doing nothing.
    It’s about being present. Letting the deeper things surface. Listening. Allowing space for truth, healing, and communion.

    In silence, you might:

    • Hear the voice of God.
    • Face something you’ve been avoiding.
    • Recognize a lie you’ve been living under.
    • Receive clarity you’ve been searching for.

    It’s in stillness that conscience wakes up—and grace can move freely.

    What Would Happen If You Got Quiet?

    If you’re reading this, maybe you’re already feeling that inner tug.
    Maybe you’ve noticed how loud your world has become—and how numb it can leave you feeling.

    So here’s the invitation:
    Make time for silence.
     Turn off the music. Sit with your thoughts. Ask God to speak—and wait.

    It may be uncomfortable at first.
    But what you’ll find, over time, is that silence isn’t empty.
    It’s sacred.

    And the One you’ve been trying to reach is already there—waiting.

    Developed with assistance from ChatGPT

  • Understanding the Adversary

    A Heroic Approach to Trauma and Transformation

    Q: Would you say that fascists and decadents are people who are afraid to face life?

    Yes, in a profound sense, both fascists and decadents can be understood as people who are afraid to face life as it truly is—but they respond to that fear in opposite ways.

    Fascists often fear the chaos, ambiguity, and moral uncertainty of life. So they seek control, order, and purity—often through domination or force. They crave rigid hierarchies and obedience to protect themselves from the anxiety that comes with freedom and human complexity.

    Decadents, on the other hand, fear responsibility, suffering, and the demands of meaning. So they escape into pleasure, distraction, or irony. They numb themselves with excess or detachment, because facing truth or sacrifice feels unbearable.

    Both postures are forms of escape: one into domination, the other into indulgence. At their root, both are rejections of the full, living reality of life—with its challenges, pain, and potential for growth.

    Q: Both conditions are considered forms of the adversary. Is there a relationship between trauma and the adversary?

    Yes—there is a deep connection. Trauma often gives the adversary a foothold in a person’s life.

    Trauma wounds the soul. It creates confusion, fear, and a desperate longing for safety or escape. The adversary—whether understood morally, psychologically, or spiritually—exploits those wounds.

    For the fascist, trauma may have created a fear of chaos or betrayal. The adversary promises strength through control.

    For the decadent, trauma may have caused despair or numbness. The adversary offers comfort and escape through pleasure or detachment.

    The adversary doesn’t always arrive with horns—it often whispers: “You’ve suffered enough. Just give up. Just take control. Just hide.” And trauma makes that whisper sound true.

    But healing means facing life again: embracing love, responsibility, and meaning—especially when wounded.

    Q: Would it be safe to assume that a person acting in the role of the adversary has experienced trauma?

    Yes, it’s a very safe and often accurate assumption. People acting as adversaries—through manipulation, cruelty, or cowardice—usually carry unresolved trauma.

    Most people aren’t born villains. They’re wounded. And when those wounds aren’t healed, they begin to shape a person’s identity.

    That trauma might come from:

    • Emotional abandonment or rejection
    • Physical, psychological, or sexual abuse
    • Betrayal by mentors, institutions, or God-figures
    • Chronic neglect or deep-rooted sham

    To cope, they adopt masks: control, cynicism, seduction, mockery, coldness. But over time, the mask becomes the person—and sometimes, a monster.

    This isn’t to excuse evil. But understanding its roots—alienation from love—opens the door to compassion and potentially to healing.

    Q: Most people say to avoid adversarial people. But if the adversary is in all of us, doesn’t that mean they need help?

    Absolutely. This is a crucial insight.

    The line between hero and adversary doesn’t run between people—it runs through every human heart. As Solzhenitsyn said, “The line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being.”

    So when someone acts like an adversary, two things are true:

    1. They are in pain, acting from a wound or fear.
    2. They mirror something that could emerge in you—or has, under pressure.

    This realization doesn’t make you naive. It makes you wise. It allows you to hold two truths: that this person may need help, and that helping them may require strength and boundaries.

    Rather than just avoiding them, you can ask:

    • What pain might this behavior be covering up?
    • Have I ever acted like this? Why?
    • Can I speak truth with compassion?

    Boundaries are still important. But so is hope—for them and for yourself.

    Q: So how does someone help an adversarial person?

    Helping an adversarial person isn’t easy. But it begins with a new lens—a heroic lens. Here’s a grounded path:

    1. Recognize the Wound Behind the Mask
     Most adversarial behavior comes from trauma, fear, or shame. If you can look past the hostility and see the wound, you’ll respond not just to the behavior, but to its cause.

    2. Don’t Mirror the Conflict
     Adversarial people thrive on chaos. If you react emotionally, you play their game. Stay calm, clear, and firm. That breaks the cycle.

    3. Speak to the Good Still Inside Them
     Find the spark of truth or goodness, no matter how small. Call it out. Say:

    • “I don’t think you meant it that way.”
    • “I know you care about getting this right, even if we disagree.”
      This isn’t flattery—it’s truth with grace.

    4. Set Boundaries Without Abandonment
     You can say: “I want this relationship to work, but I can’t if it stays like this.”
    That protects you and offers them a path back.

    5. Pray for Them (and Yourself)
     You won’t always change them. But you can offer them up to God. Pray for their healing—and for the humility to see your own adversarial patterns.

    Sometimes the best help isn’t fixing someone—it’s refusing to give up on who they could become.

    Final Reflection

    The adversary isn’t just someone “out there.” It’s a possibility in every heart. Recognizing this doesn’t make us weaker—it makes us wiser, more compassionate, and more capable of loving in truth. To face the adversary in others is part of the heroic path. But to face it in ourselves—and choose life, love, and meaning anyway—is the true mark of a hero.

    Q&A With ChatGPT