Saturnalia Santa Chaos

You know that jolly fellow who supposedly slides down your chimney every December, delivering gifts and stealing fruit mince pies, basically breaking and entering, but making it festive. That guy represents a moment when society agrees to suspend its normal rules. Although what counts as 'rule-breaking' has changed rather dramatically over the centuries. We've gone from "let's overturn the entire social order" to "let's pretend a magical man with questionable home invasion techniques delivers presents to children across the world from his slave labour camp in the North Pole.”

The story begins with Saturnalia, a festival in Rome that occurred from the 17th to the 23rd of December celebrating the god Saturn. Social order was gleefully turned on its head. Masters served slaves, gender norms were completely done away with, gambling was permitted, and general chaos reigned for a week. Think of it as ancient Rome's version of the office Christmas party, except it lasted longer and probably had slightly less photocopying of body parts.

Now think about the humble Christmas tree. That decoration that drops needles on the carpet for months and makes anyone with a hay-fever affliction question their life choices. This evergreen sentinel in our living rooms tells has nothing to do with Christianity - it's actually a pagan tradition that refused to die (ironically like Jesus himself). When winter stripped other trees bare, pagans would celebrate the evergreen's persistence, seeing it as a symbol of life enduring through darkness. They'd hang these trees with decorations representing the fruits they hoped would return in spring. This celebration centered around the winter solstice - the shortest, darkest day of the year when ancient peoples would light fires and feast to celebrate the sun's eventual return.

The transformation of this pagan symbol into a Christian holiday staple is where things get interesting. During the medieval period, Christmas celebrations remained decidedly un-Christian in nature. Poor people would go 'wassailing' - essentially demanding food and drink from the wealthy in a carnival atmosphere that temporarily erased social boundaries. It was like trick-or-treating, but with more alcohol and social commentary. Imagine if modern carollers didn't leave after one song but instead demanded entry and snacks.

Then came the Industrial Revolution, and everything changed. What had been manageable revelry in small villages became potentially dangerous in overcrowded cities. It's all fun and games until someone starts a revolution instead of a snow fight. The carnival needed taming, and the Victorians were just the people to do it. Queen Victoria's marriage to Prince Albert, who was German, proved pivotal. Their embrace of German Christmas traditions, including the Christmas tree and elements of Saint Nicholas, set new standards for holiday celebrations.

Father Christmas himself represents a kind of beautiful absurdity. A magical being who circumnavigates the globe in one night, breaking into homes to leave presents? It's utterly irrational, and that's precisely the point. He's basically a jovial cat burglar with a weight problem and a thing for cookies, yet we've collectively agreed this is absolutely fine. In fact, we encourage children to leave snacks for this man.

While the Victorians tamed the obvious chaos of Christmas, they couldn't eliminate its carnivalesque nature entirely. Instead, they inadvertently created a new form of subversion.

Today, in our modern capitalist society, where work dominates our lives and families are often scattered across continents, the simple act of spending uninterrupted time with loved ones has become its own form of rebellion like setting our out of office reply to "Sorry, I can't answer work emails. I'm busy watching my uncle fall asleep after consuming his body weight in food.”

Aside from a jolly, overweight, reindeer-racer and a evergreen tree that doesn’t produce fruit hanging with bobbles, think about what makes Christmas special today? It's the one time of year when it's not just acceptable but expected to prioritise family over work, generosity over profit, and community over individual achievement. In a world driven by productivity metrics and constant connectivity, the ability to switch off your phone, ignore your email, and focus entirely on personal connections has become a radical act.

Maybe in light of all this, we can see our Christmas celebrations not as anything to do with a baby who was somehow simultaneously his own father (living in a kind of quantum superposition of paternity, and also created everything including himself, and lives forever), but as something asking us to pause, to step away from the relentless demands of modern life, and to reconnect with what truly matters. Perhaps Christmas’s most enduring gift is not the presents under the tree, but the permission it grants us to step off the treadmill of modern life and reclaim the fleeting, precious joy of simply being together.