A New Way of Christmas

From the Author of Amazon #1 Bestseller Truth & Persuasion in a Digital Revolution

“They [the gods] had thought with some reason that there is no more dreadful punishment than futile and hopeless labor.”

—Albert Camus

Preferring used books, this was a rare trip. Twas’ December 21st.

I headed to a predominantly Islamic area of Detroit, a hopeful sanctuary from the perpetual rush between “Black Friday” and Boxing Day.

My state’s last remaining Barnes & Noble© was between the Target© cage and the Old Navy© cage in the zootopia of a middle American strip mall. My family and I entered. These books smell different. But they happen to be a much more palatable and sanitary purchasing experience when one loves purchasing purchases.

The remaining crumbs of society that read sentences instead of swipes formed a small crowd in the store. I venture to guess this particular store was calmer than the others. But I was exposed to the outer penumbra of the plaza’s cramped entrance.

The motor-city exhaust pipes, which were spewing $2.89 unleaded gas in the form of wispy white clouds, extended for a mile. They sounded like the horn of disenchanted Christmasers, a steady metronome.

Cars packed with their solitary occupants waited to turn right into the sprawling plaza. Late model sedans tucked underneath XXL Quad Cabs waited for their turn to adventure amongst the mass-produced trinkets and hoped to find something special for that someone special.

This line was one of expectations, not happiness—last-minute deals to stuff the tree for one beautiful morning at the altar of capitalism. Sure, kids may smile on Christmas morning, but how many frowns did it cause?

These unwilling participants spent their time earning money and paying taxes to their government, corporations, and landlords. They take what’s left and pay for the expectations placed on them by their government, corporations, and landlords.

The day was about a god and simple gifts of birth. I do not quarrel with that. But capitalism killed a god and replaced it with itself.

Nietzsche would have smirked at the irony. In The Gay Scientist, he declared, “God is dead.” What he meant was not that a literal deity had perished but that the cultural framework sustaining such beliefs had eroded, leaving a void for something else to fill.

Capitalism has stepped in as the new god, complete with its own rituals, altars, and sacraments. The jingling bells of cash registers, the unwrapping of presents, and the endless stream of advertisements—these are the new hymns.

But Nietzsche would also recognize the tragedy: a holiday meant to transcend the mundane has instead become its most grotesque parody. Christmas, he might argue, now serves not to elevate humanity but to enshrine the mediocrity of the “last man”—his term for the apathetic, comfort-obsessed consumer who seeks no higher aspirations beyond fleeting pleasures. The sacred has been reduced to the profane, and the joyous birth of a savior has been supplanted by the exhausting labor of consumption.

Still, perhaps Nietzsche would find a glimmer of hope. Amid the chaos of the parking lots and checkout lines, there are faint traces of the Dionysian spirit—the yearning for connection, celebration, and life.

If only we could tear down the illusions of mass consumption and rediscover the true meaning of the season, not in possessions but in vitality, creativity, and the shared human experience.

Capitalism has killed a god, yes—but it does not have to kill your joy.