If your Facebook page has turned into a shrine to your

Sean Evans, with sharp wit and the tone of one weary of excess, declared: “If your Facebook page has turned into a shrine to your relationship, pet, or newborn, no one will say anything, but all who are subjected to your news feed are totally annoyed. Super fans who turn their profiles into mausoleums dedicated to their teams are equally insufferable and one hundred times more pathetic.” Though clothed in humor, his words reveal a truth as old as human vanity: that devotion, when displayed without balance, becomes not a celebration but a burden upon others.

The shrine, in ancient times, was a holy space, built to honor what was sacred. It was meant for reverence, not for spectacle. Yet Evans points to a modern shrine—not of stone or incense, but of glowing screens and endless posts. To fill one’s public space with nothing but a relationship, or a pet, or a newborn, is to risk turning the sacred into the suffocating. What is beautiful in moderation becomes wearisome when made into a flood, for it overwhelms rather than inspires.

The comparison to a mausoleum is even sharper. A mausoleum is a place of death, where memory hardens into stone. When fans exalt their teams beyond all proportion, transforming their profiles into monuments of obsession, their joy becomes brittle, lifeless, cut off from the greater flow of life. Evans mocks such excess not to condemn love or loyalty, but to remind us that obsession, when made public and unrelenting, diminishes both the thing loved and the one who professes it.

The ancients, too, warned of this imbalance. In Greece, the sin of hubris was to exalt something—self, city, or god—beyond its rightful place, drawing scorn from heaven. In Rome, Cicero cautioned that friendship, noble as it is, must not consume all of life’s duties. And in every age, philosophers have reminded us that even the finest joys—family, faith, victory—require proportion. For without balance, devotion decays into idolatry, and love itself becomes distorted.

History gives us vivid examples. Consider the court of Louis XIV, where courtiers endlessly praised the king, filling halls with portraits and monuments to his glory. What should have been honor turned into suffocation, until both king and court became symbols of vanity. Or think of the fanaticism of certain political movements, where entire lives were consumed by devotion to a party or leader. These were modern shrines and mausoleums—but instead of inspiring, they bred resentment and collapse. Evans’ critique of social media mirrors this timeless lesson: excess devotion displayed in public becomes hollow and irritating.

Yet beneath his satire lies an appeal to something greater. Evans is not mocking love of a child, or affection for a pet, or loyalty to a team. These are good, noble, human things. His warning is against turning them into spectacles, forcing them upon others without measure. For love is not diminished by restraint, nor is joy lessened by modesty. In fact, true devotion shines brighter when expressed with balance, leaving room for others to share their own joys.

The lesson, then, is luminous: celebrate what you love, but do not make it into a shrine that suffocates others. Share, but share with moderation. Let your Facebook page or your speech reflect the breadth of your life—not just one idol, but the richness of your many experiences. Remember that others, too, carry treasures in their hearts, and the public square is not meant to be dominated by one voice alone.

Practical action follows easily. If you are tempted to post endlessly about your relationship, pause and ask: Am I celebrating, or am I shouting? If your team wins, rejoice, but then move on. If your newborn smiles, share, but allow others space to share as well. In this way, devotion is kept pure, love remains sincere, and the community remains a place of exchange rather than suffocation.

Thus Sean Evans’ humorous words rise into ancient counsel: Guard against turning your love into a shrine or your passion into a mausoleum. For devotion without balance becomes wearisome, but devotion tempered with proportion becomes joy—not only for you, but for all who walk beside you.