Snippet
Comment
Community
Economics
Hospitality
3 min read

Third Space: the gym that offers belonging, but at a cost

The real third spaces are not about cost and exclusivity.

Jessica is a Formation Tutor at St Mellitus College, and completing a PhD in Pauline anthropology, 

An exercise class underway in a smart gym.
Third Place.

In the past 25 years, London has been overrun by a new luxury health club chain called Third Space. There are now thirteen sites across the city - and one just opened down the road from where I live. You can probably guess what happened next. 

I was in the market for a new gym, so I enquired. And I must admit, it was stunning. There’s a beautiful reformer Pilates studio, a state-of-the-art gym floor, spin classes, even a spa. All of which made sense of the monthly fee. But there is also a two-month waiting list to join. 

Living in London, where waiting more than five minutes for a tube feels outrageous, this was baffling. When I asked about it, I was told the list was to prevent overcrowding, as spots were “limited.” But when I visited, the gym was nearly empty. 

This wasn’t about capacity—it was about exclusivity; a classic case of the scarcity principle: the idea that things become more desirable when they’re harder to access. It’s a tactic brands like Crocs and Stanley have famously used—make something hard to get and everyone wants it. 

In its recent report, The Quiet Revival, the Bible Society noted how society has recently lost community “third places” such as pubs, libraries, and local clubs. Home is the first space; places of work are the second space.  The loss of traditional third places—those informal, accessible gathering spots—has left a vacuum; we are becoming increasingly fragmented. Changes in work patterns and costly financial barriers to recreation mean fewer people feel rooted in their communities.   

As humans, we are wired for connection. Research confirms what we intuitively know: deep community strengthens mental health, reduces loneliness, and brings a sense of purpose. With traditional third places in stark decline, many will now look to curated, branded “third spaces” like exclusive gyms, co-working lounges, or members-only clubs. These new spaces offer belonging—but at a cost. They are often expensive, exclusive, and subtly suggest that you need to be someone to gain entry. There is a bitter irony in Third Space’s success, built as it is on the exact opposite principles of what its namesake was all about.  

The Church, by contrast, is radically different. It is not about earning access but receiving grace. There’s no waitlist to get in. No premium fee. No scarcity model. In fact, the more disqualified you feel, the more welcome you are. Grace doesn’t limit access—it throws the doors wide open. 

While I have kept my Third Space membership (it really is incredible), I have tried to step more into community life in other ways. I take part in my weekly Parkrun and recently joined my local library. These things have been a gift to me in allowing me to connect with people in my local area in ways that everyone can access.  

And I am a big fan of Church, too. Where Third Space focuses on my endeavour to be better, fitter, or stronger, it – and the Parkrun, and the library – encourage community, connection, and mutual care for other people. They are a reminder that grace isn’t scarce, community isn’t earned, and you don’t need a membership card to be welcomed. The doors are wide open—everyone is invited.  

Celebrate our 2nd birthday!

Since Spring 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,000 articles. All for free. 
This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?

Do so by joining Behind The Seen. Alongside other benefits, you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing my reading and reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin
Editor-in-Chief

Article
Community
Culture
Film & TV
Identity
5 min read

What makes us human?

We've more in common with our ancient ancestors than we might like to think

Claire Williams is a theologian investigating women’s spirituality and practice. She lecturers at Regents Theological College.

A re-enactment of an ancient 'caveman' family sitting around a camp fire.
A dramatic reconstruction of a Neanderthal family.
BBC Studios.

I recently caught up on iPlayer with the excellent BBC series Human. In it, the paleoanthropologist Ella Al-Shamahi explores 300,000 years of human evolution over five beautifully shot, evocatively presented episodes. I was transfixed by the story of these ancient human societies - of Homo habilis; Homo erectus; the hobbit-like Homo floresiensis - and of the ways that paleoanthropologists and archaeologists study the multiple human species. They walk barefoot in deep pits with what look like tiny paint brushes to dust off their finds. They are endlessly patient, and delighted at tiny scraps that I would overlook as rubbish. They see in these fragments stories of ancient lives that lived, ate, loved and died so long ago. 

Take a set of footsteps fossilised into the ground in White Sands, New Mexico, discernible through their impact and weight distribution. They are thought to be those of a woman walking at speed, probably, scholars think, carrying a child. Now and again these footsteps appear to stop and stand, and in-between the right and the left foot are a small set of footprints. The mother appears to have put down the child for a moment before picking him or her back up and starting again.  

This was so familiar to me, a mother of four. It reminded me of all the times I’d carried toddlers around on my hip before giving up, plonking them on the floor and then switching sides. This very human urge to care for our children, and to get tired by them, echoed through time. Although luckily for me I did not have a giant sloth chasing me, as this ancient mother seems to have done.  

But the flip side of the ability to love is the ability to also reject. And the series highlighted that this less pleasant human habit – the exclusion of others – appears to be an equally core part of our existence.  

Al-Shamahi asks,  

‘what must it have been like to have been a hybrid child... Did these children feel like they belonged or were they teased and ostracised?’   

Behind her question is a sense of deep concern about the hybrid children’s welfare all those millenia ago.  

Fast forward thousands of years. Most of us went to school and know what it feels like to either be different or see someone else who is different. Imagine if a modern-day Homo sapien/neanderthalensis hybrid turned up the local primary school, would it be okay? Unlikely. We don’t look after difference particularly well. The question Al-Shamahi posed seems pertinent today as well as in palaeoanthropology terms, what would it be like to grow up a hybrid? For us today the question is similar, how do we judge what is human? Is our human status founded in the horror and aversion to difference? 

The drive to surround ourselves with similarity and force others to fit is sometimes called ‘the cult of normalcy’. This behaviour only tolerates people who look, act, and represent what is familiar to you. I experience this as a neurodivergent person struggling at times to feel ‘normal’. That is why the story of hybrid children is affectively impactful. Their struggle is easy to imagine, how do they fit in?. What makes them and us human? 

The little story of a mother and a child being carried (minus the sloth part) is enchanting. Is it this love for children that makes the ancient people count as human? Is it the presence of a relationship and the assumed communication between individuals that makes them human?  

The risk here is to say that all people who are in families, who are parents, are the prime example of humanity and that does not fit with many lives that we would want to count as human. Love may be essential, but it cannot be a prescriptive type or circumstance. Nevertheless, the allure of love and community is strong in Human and my response to it. That familiarity with the feeling of exclusion of the hybrid child and the story of the mother and child are common. They are experiences that we can relate to concerning community and care. The series shows these human species in relationship groups, with evidence of successful community and unsuccessful community (again a familiar trait). So far, that ability to love is also the same ability to reject, to cast out the hybrid or the different human. That is unsatisfactory as the trait of what is core to humans despite the likelihood of it being at the heart of the human story.  

What, then of religion? These ancient peoples who lived before language and writing yet still worshipped – their practices evident from paintings found on the walls of caves. Is this what it means to be finally human? Was it, I thought, when they demonstrated language? Was it the early signs of religion and worship? Was it to do with thinking and rationalising, deciding upon a set of gods and the rules about them? However, this cannot be. For there are people today who do not speak through choice or disability. There are those who cannot demonstrate their ability to worship, for the same reasons. Rationalising cannot be the way in which we determine humanity, for then are children, or the intellectually disabled not human? If awareness of the sacred is what makes us human, then that limits those whose cognitive abilities are different. 

Christians believe that what makes us human is the image of God in us. But what is that image? It is given to humans when God made them right at the beginning of things. It is the divine something that sets us apart from trees and plants, even animals. It is a quality that God gives to humans in the creative act of making them. It is not something that humans do for themselves but something they receive from God. Could it be applied to Neanderthals or early human species? I think so. Although these early species were very different in some respects to us, they had the features of humanity that count. They had relationships, the capacity to experience awe and wonder and they loved one another (like the mother and child). The image of God could be many things but one thing is certain, it a gift from God because of his love for humans. The need for love, community and worship that is in all of us points back to this. We love one another because we are first loved by God and that is what makes us human. 

 

 

Support Seen & Unseen

Since Spring 2023, our readers have enjoyed over 1,500 articles. All for free. 
This is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you enjoy Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?
 
Do so by joining Behind The Seen. Alongside other benefits, you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing my reading and reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin
Editor-in-Chief