Halloween is a ritual of triviality dressed in sugar and plastic. It masquerades as harmless fun while teaching children that deception is rewarded, fear is entertainment, and identity is transactional. Dress up, say the right words, get candy. The more convincing the lie, the bigger the payout. It’s not imagination—it’s indulgence. Not myth—it’s masquerade.
The origins aren’t cute. Samhain was a pagan festival invoking spirits and sacrifice. The Church layered saints over it, but the bones remain: death, disguise, appeasement. Today’s version retains the structure—wear a mask, become someone else, indulge without consequence. It’s not secular, it’s spiritual theater stripped of meaning.
Retail loves it. Americans spend billions on costumes, candy, and decor. Skeletons on the lawn, blood on the windows, toddlers dressed as demons. It’s a commercial bonanza that glorifies decay and sells fear as festivity. Halloween is the only holiday where fake corpses are considered “festive.”
Fantasy deserves better. Tolkien gave us mythic scaffolding, moral consequence, and heroic clarity. Halloween gives us sexy nurses and zombie cheerleaders. You’re not a witch. You’re not a wizard. Hogwarts isn’t real. Dressing up doesn’t make you magical—it makes you complicit in cultural drift.
This isn’t cultural celebration. It’s erosion. A night where masks replace meaning, spectacle replaces substance, and children learn that identity is something you buy, wear, and discard. Restoration demands discernment. Halloween offers none.
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