How We Lose Ourselves in the Name of Progress

The Sale That Sold Us

11.11 is coming again. Discounts flash like fireworks, carts fill up before midnight, and people who once said they were broke are suddenly “checking out.” It feels like celebration. But what are we really celebrating? Progress? Freedom? Or our quiet surrender to something that sells us more than we ever needed?

There’s an ancient story about a man whose strength was unmatched. Samson. A judge, a warrior, a legend. His hair was his secret, his covenant with God. When he lost it, his power vanished. What cut him was not the blade, but his own blindness. Pride disguised as love. Lust disguised as trust. A secret sold for affection. A strength traded for comfort.

We laugh at Samson’s foolishness. Yet here we are, every generation cutting our own hair.

When the Strong Fall

I never thought much about Samson until recently. His story always sounded too mythical to be real, like something out of an ancient fantasy. But then I saw a modern mirror of him in our world today. A real-life talent named Namewee, one of Malaysia’s boldest and most controversial creators. Gifted beyond measure. Fearless with words. Unafraid of power. A man who could make you laugh, offend you, and still make you think.

But strength without self-mastery is a fragile thing.

When news broke that he was found in a scandal involving drugs and death, I couldn’t help but think of Samson again, the strongest man reduced to weakness, mocked by his enemies, and forced to face himself. Both men had power that turned inward. The strength that once built others became self-consuming. What was once purpose became performance. What was once conviction became addiction.

We often say power corrupts, but maybe it only reveals. The strong are not destroyed by external enemies, but by internal desires left unchecked.

The Science of Sin

There’s a reason ancient stories survive. They carry patterns our modern minds still repeat.

Samson’s hair was symbolic. It represented the one thing he could not surrender without losing himself. We all have our version of that hair. For some, it’s pride. For others, greed, lust, control, or comfort. Cut it off, and the strength goes too.

Modern science calls this addiction, but scripture calls it idolatry, when something created replaces the Creator.

Neuroscientists have found that shopping triggers the same dopamine pathways as drugs or gambling. It’s not just buying things. It’s feeding the same chemical high that keeps gamblers hooked and addicts craving.

Malaysians alone spent more than RM10 billion in online sales last year during 11.11. That’s not just commerce. It’s culture. A ritual of “add to cart” disguised as empowerment.

We have built temples, not of stone, but of apps. We kneel not before altars, but before notifications. And every discount whispers, You deserve this.

But deserve what? More? Or better?

There’s another layer here, the biological one. I learned something last Christmas that changed how I understood faith. Many people question how Jesus could be sinless if He was born of a woman. But here’s the science: a baby generates its own blood. The mother provides oxygen and nutrients, but not the blood itself. That’s why Jesus’ blood was untainted by human sin.

Biologically, every infant’s blood is self-produced. The umbilical cord transfers sustenance but never mixes bloodstreams.

That realization hit me deeply. The sinless blood of Christ wasn’t superstition. It was both science and symbolism, a truth that transcends understanding.

So maybe faith isn’t unscientific. Maybe our science just hasn’t caught up to faith.

Escaping the Loop

When greed and fear drive us, consumerism becomes the modern haircut that blinds us. Greed whispers, You don’t have enough. Fear replies, You’ll lose what you have. Together they keep us buying what we don’t need, working jobs we don’t love, for approval we don’t even remember asking for.

But the antidote to greed isn’t poverty. It’s community.

I’ve seen it in my own home. One morning, my child asked why I bought a crate of isotonic drinks. I told him, “This 1.5-litre bottle costs only RM1.45. Your school drink is 300ml and costs RM3. With the same money, I can serve ten people instead of one.”

He looked stunned. That’s the math of stewardship. Paying less for more. Serving others with what we save.

Studies show that shared consumption: borrowing, gifting, trading reduces waste by up to 30 percent and increases social connection.

That’s how we escape the loop: by remembering that enough is a form of wealth. Community turns consumption into contribution. When we stop buying everything new and start sharing what we already have, life gets lighter, not smaller.

Our ancestors didn’t need much to thrive. They didn’t pay for subscriptions, storage, or status. They built things that lasted because their survival depended on interdependence, not independence.

The Strength of Restraint

The story of Samson didn’t end with weakness. His hair grew again. His strength returned, not for glory, but for surrender. When he pushed the pillars down, he wasn’t performing. He was fulfilling purpose. The strength that once drew crowds now served sacrifice.

That’s the paradox of leadership and of life. The strongest aren’t those who can buy the most, say the most, or control the most. The strongest are those who can stop when the world says more.

True freedom isn’t found in choice. It’s found in restraint.

The man who can walk past the sale without feeling smaller. The woman who can give without fearing lack. The leader who can stay humble even when the world applauds. That’s where strength begins again.

Because what we don’t buy, owns us less.

And what we give away, frees us more.