Seized by Christ

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

Tag: relationships

  • New Dunbar:

    Rethinking Relationships in Modern Life

    Dunbar’s Number—the idea that humans can sustain about 150 meaningful relationships—has often been cited as a kind of upper limit of social capacity. But there’s a catch: Dunbar’s research comes largely from survival contexts. Soldiers, tribes, or explorers under hazardous conditions can sustain that many bonds because their very lives depend on it.

    That raises a question: is it even realistic to apply the same model to our own prosperous and distracted society, where survival doesn’t force us into deep dependence on one another?

    The Reality of Time in Modern Life

    Families today often struggle to carve out even thirty minutes of true connection per week per person. Careers, commutes, and constant media distractions consume most of our energy. Unlike survival situations, there is no “hazardous condition” compelling us to give that time to each other.

    Instead, research suggests that most people sustain relationships in smaller tiers:

    • ~5 intimate relationships (spouse, kids, best friend)
    • ~15 close friends (trusted, dependable)
    • ~50 casual friends (social, supportive but not deeply involved)
    • ~150 acquaintances (faces you recognize, people you greet, maybe occasional interaction)

    The idea of giving thirty minutes a week to 150 people simply does not fit modern life.

    What Purpose Is Strong Enough?

    If survival is not the binding force, what kind of purpose can motivate us to invest deeply in others? A few possibilities stand out:

    • Shared mission: groups that see themselves on a spiritual journey together, not just social clubs.
    • Shared suffering: support networks for addiction, illness, grief, or persecution.
    • Shared growth: intentional groups that pursue holiness, spiritual discipline, or formation.

    Without this sense of necessity, relationships often default to shallow banter, logistics, or distractions.

    A Practical Adaptation: The MicroSphere

    If thirty minutes per week per person is unrealistic, perhaps the MicroSphere model can be reframed for modern life:

    • Core MicroSphere: 3–5 people with whom you share weekly conversation, prayer, or accountability. (This might be two hours together, but it touches everyone deeply.)
    • Support Sphere: 10–15 people you connect with at least monthly, sharing faith and encouragement.
    • Outer Sphere: 50–150 acquaintances you know, pray for, and occasionally interact with.

    This layered approach makes room for reality: we cannot invest equally in everyone. But we also cannot reduce community to casual surface contact.

    Why This Matters for the Church

    If we want the Church to be more than Sunday attendance, we need these MicroSpheres of intentional connection. Banter and shared projects may keep us loosely tied, but true growth happens when men and women share purpose, open up about meaning, and walk with one another in faith.

    Dunbar’s insights remain helpful—but only if we adapt them. Our challenge today is not survival, but mission. And that requires building communities strong enough to resist isolation, and deep enough to carry us together toward Christ.

    Developed with assistance from ChatGPT-5

  • Microsphere Relationships:

    Where Real Belonging Begins

    A number of years ago, I came across an article called the “monkey sphere,” which was built on Robin Dunbar’s research into human social networks. Dunbar suggested that the size of our neocortex places a natural limit on how many people we can truly know and relate to. For humans, he estimated the number is around 150 people — what’s often called Dunbar’s Number.

    But there’s a catch: to sustain that many relationships, you’d need to dedicate around 40% of your weekly time (about 67 hours) to them. That works out to roughly 30 minutes per person, per week.

    This struck me:

    • The people in our microsphere — the ones we average 30 minutes a week with — are those we trust, learn from, and share life with. These are mentoring, collegial, or teamwork relationships where we actually need to learn how to get along.
    • The macrosphere is made up of the many others we know, but more distantly — acquaintances, useful contacts, neighbors.
    • At the center are our nucleus relationships — the people who need at least 30 minutes of our time daily. These include family, closest friends, and of course, God.
    • Being famous is when more people know you than you know them.
    • Being a fan is knowing someone who doesn’t know or care about you. 
    • Being a teacher / instructor / influencer implies the information is flowing out with little or no feedback. 

    It makes me wonder:

    • How many microsphere relationships do we actually sustain today — with family, extended family, coworkers, fellow parishioners, or in hobbies?
    • How many are necessary to feel truly at home in a parish — 5, 10, 20?

    We live in a world where loneliness is widespread, and many people are drowning in macrosphere connections (social media followers, casual contacts) but starving for microsphere ones. We let busyness and distraction push aside the very relationships that would make us feel grounded, known, and supported.

    👉 Reflection Question for Readers:
    What is one microsphere relationship in your life right now that needs more of your attention?

    Edited with assistance from ChatGPT-5

  •  Is Moral Laziness Really Just Trauma?

    Rediscovering Curiosity After Pain

    Not Laziness—But Woundedness

    When Jordan Peterson warns against “moral laziness,” he isn’t simply wagging a finger at the unmotivated. He’s pointing to a deeper tragedy: the collapse of curiosity, responsibility, and courage after someone has suffered.

    We often label people as lazy when they don’t act, don’t grow, don’t take responsibility. But what if that inaction is not due to weakness, but to pain?

    What if “laziness” is just the visible surface of a soul in retreat?

    The Collapse of Curiosity

    Curiosity is what drives us to explore the unknown. It’s the fuel of courage, learning, and transformation. But trauma teaches the opposite lesson:

    • That the unknown is dangerous.
    • That risk leads to pain.
    • That effort ends in failure.

    So the traumatized person stops reaching. Stops trying. Stops hoping.

    What we call “moral laziness” is often a survival instinct—an attempt to avoid more wounding by refusing to step forward. But over time, this self-protection becomes self-destruction.

    The Adversary: A Reaction to Pain

    Peterson often connects moral laziness to the formation of the adversary—the one who resents, who destroys, who hates existence itself. But this adversary is not born evil.

    They are formed through suffering that was never healed:

    • Betrayal that was never understood.
    • Chaos that was never ordered.
    • Responsibility that felt too heavy to bear.

    Over time, the protective shield of “doing nothing” hardens into a philosophy of nihilism, or a hunger for control and vengeance. The adversary grows, not from ambition, but from despair.

    The Moral Capacity Remains

    And yet—the potential for goodness remains.

    Even in deep avoidance, moral capacity still flickers:

    • The desire for meaning has not fully died.
    • The hunger for love and truth still echoes.
    • The will to be better still whispers beneath the silence.

    This is why healing matters—not just emotionally, but morally. Because healing reawakens the capacity to engage the world as it is. It restores the courage to act.

    Healing Restores Curiosity

    When the wound is seen, when the fear is named, when the soul is gently drawn out of hiding—curiosity returns.

    • The heart opens to new questions.
    • The eyes see beauty again.
    • The will to participate in life is rekindled.

    This is how the hero rises: not by avoiding pain, but by moving through it with support, grace, and growing strength.

    From Paralysis to Purpose

    If you’re stuck in procrastination or inaction, you’re not defective. You may simply be protecting yourself from a world that once felt too dangerous.

    But healing is possible.

    And as healing takes root, curiosity revives, responsibility feels lighter, and the heroic path becomes visible again. You were not made for paralysis. You were made for meaning.