‘Isn’t it marvellous that the Royal Family only give each other one small gift?” said my friend the other day, before adding: “So classy.”
Meanwhile, another friend posted on Facebook that he and his partner no longer “do” cards, and instead purchase a hamper which is given to a dog “who is all alone at Battersea Dogs Home on Christmas Day”. He included a link and exhorted his friends to do the same.
I know I should congratulate him, or possibly order a dog hamper. But something tells me that in the backlash against conventional gift-giving, and in our seeming philanthropy in this post-gift era, we’re losing sight of the true meaning of Christmas yet again.
The idea of giving brightly coloured cards and gifts to our loved ones ought to be homage to the Three Wise Men bringing gold, frankincense and myrrh to the Christ Child.
On that occasion, they did not, so far as I know, broadcast the exact details of their generosity. Imagine the Facebook post: “As our friends know, Balthasar and I do not do presents, but we have decided to make an exception this year in order to celebrate the birth of the saviour of mankind. Why not join us and send a pot of gold or some incense to: c/o The Stables, Travel Inn at Bethlehem, Judea.”
Cue comments such as “You are wonderful, Melchior!” and “Moved to tears!” But the Magi probably didn’t brag about their presents, because they knew it was not all about them.
Our charitable generosity at Christmas has become deafening, another extension of our egos. We appear to be increasingly in competition to see who can appear most selfless, most environmentally magnanimous. It is ethical exhibitionism.
What started as a small, discreet movement to offset the conspicuous greed of overconsuming and put some meaning back into Christmas, has grown and grown until it is, in itself, big business.
Online there are ethical superstores flogging thousands of gifts that pander to the eco-friendly trend, everything from bamboo socks to an artisan-crafted seven-gem “positive energy” pyramid structure from the Andes. And of course there are all the “giving” schemes, including that dog hamper of treats which, the small print makes clear, does not actually go to one dog but is shared so that any given dog gets the most appropriate treat. No matter, so long as you have a link to copy and paste onto your Facebook page showing a picture of a cute dog.
How about “Do someone a good turn and don’t tell anyone”? How about donating to good causes and keeping quiet about it so as not to make people who can’t afford to donate feel bad?
Something tells that me the poorest in our society won’t be buying bamboo socks, or a stocking of dog treats for a strange pooch. They will be grateful if their wages stretch to a stash from TK Maxx and non-biodegradable decorations from the pound shop.
Yes, it might be tasteless in the eyes of the privileged classes, but is it any less conspicuously egotistical than the show-off ethical gifts?
And it may not fit the current self-consciously hair-shirt narrative, but it is nonetheless true that Jesus, in his humble manger, was given the most opulent and indulgent presents money could buy – in today’s terms, a suitcase of bank notes, Chanel No 5 and Diptyque candles. Nowadays, the ethical posers would condemn the Magi for being vulgar.
I’m not saying the Nativity justifies overspending or overindulgence. I’m just pointing out that there is nothing in the original message of Christmas to preclude celebrating the birth of Jesus with a little pizzazz, if we so desire.
If you have the money, why not spend it and be thankful? If you don’t, then you should not feel any more pressured to spend £25 on a hamper for a stray dog than you should feel pressured to buy the latest gadget from Currys.
The point is, the ethical-giving movement has become just another stick with which to beat ourselves: more pressure to conform to the latest yuletide fashion when we ought to be left alone to celebrate in our own way.
I’m off to the high street to buy one really nice gift – or possibly three, as the symbolism is neat – for each member of my family. And I hope I see the Salvation Army band.
The meaning of Christmas can be whatever you make it. But let’s not pretend that self-imposed gift purdah is where it’s at. And let’s not kid ourselves that taking part in the latest ethical giving craze and putting it on Facebook is any more in keeping with the true spirit of the Nativity than having a spend-up at TK Maxx.
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