As far back as I can remember, I always had doubts about Santa Claus. Something seemed so impractical about a fat man flying around on a reindeer-driven sleigh, visiting millions of households—with gifts for each in tow—in the span of just a few hours. The sheer physics of it, the details of which I didn’t work out at the time, seemed impossible. But I was willing to reserve judgment. So just to be sure, I set little traps around the house to alert me to either Santa’s arrival or, what I thought more likely, my parents’ trip from their bedroom to the living room to drop off the presents for which Santa would get the credit. Despite a Christmas Eve insomnia that kept me awake almost every year, I never caught my parents—or Santa, for that matter—in the act of delivering presents under the tree, but those presents were always waiting there for me in the morning. Having ensnared no one, I was forced to remain a Santa agnostic.
I’m almost 31 years old now, and although no one ever formally disabused me of the idea of Santa Claus, he, along with the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, faded into a quaint little corner of my childhood memories, to be refreshed every so often by the scent of evergreen or an oversweet bite redolent of Advent-calendar chocolate.
Many whose lives were touched by these benevolent phantasms will eagerly share them with their children, and perhaps billions of kids will find in them comfort over a lost tooth, reason to behave during the year, and excitement over a day otherwise dedicated to the confusing thought of a man rising from the dead.
But I believe there is a danger in perpetuating these stories, innocuous as they may seem. Certainly in the case of Santa and the Easter Bunny, such emphasis is placed on these secularizing elements that the true meaning of the holidays over which they preside, fundamentally religious in nature, is completely obscured. That I believe the religious stories that motivate these holidays are also myths similarly without merit is immaterial. After all, though I have no faith in God, I believe that if one is to celebrate a religious holiday, one should do so religiously and with full consideration of the reason it is being celebrated. In other words, one should not get up early on Easter Sunday because it is fun to hunt for hidden eggs and eat candy. Rather, one should get up and spend the day contemplating the idea that a man who was brutally executed was somehow able to come back to life after being interred for three days.
Is that too heavy a burden for our children? That question should be examined before we simply substitute a consumer-friendly lie in place of a holiday’s true inspiration. But it is already the case that many religious families are choosy with the Bible passages they relate to their children. I imagine, for instance, that the story of Lot, who offered his two daughters to a mob to be gang-raped (the same daughters who then each got him drunk on consecutive nights in order to facilitate being impregnated by him), is one often skipped in bedtime readings of the book of Genesis (specifically, chapter 19).
The fairies, saints, and magical rabbits of our childhood eventually vanish from our minds. The planted evidence of their existence—the money under the pillow, the scads of gifts, and the mass of sweets—either disappears or is no longer ascribed to their involvement. And as we grow older, we either fully embrace our doubts over these stories or slap our foreheads for our gullibility in having believed them. Even so, we look forward to sharing them with the next generation, apparently eager to pay forward the lies we were told as children.
These myths are limited in scope by their employment of props. But it is only in this way that these stories are different from the religious tales whose places they often take. In the case of religion, there is no evidence being planted, so it doesn’t matter when parents die or lose interest in sustaining the lie. We are simply told it is so, and the myth sustains itself.
Some may argue that I am making too much of a harmless bit of fun and fantasy given to children. But children have no poverty of imagination and fantasy as it is. Why prescribe the details of a fiction sold as fact? The result can only be disillusionment and disappointment. And in the case of an impoverished child perpetually skipped over by the storied, benevolent Santa Claus, the effects are far more immediate and damaging.
It is time to abandon stories of spirits in the sky, all-knowing phantoms summoned for immediate action at the loss of a child’s tooth but struck silent and still in cases of true need. It is time to address our children’s questions honestly, even if that means admitting when we don’t know the answer. It is time to rely on our intelligence to solve our problems. It is time to depend on each other when we need strength. It is time to abandon myth over the search for truth.
No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus. But I hope you’ll find the true wonders of life far more fascinating.
I’m almost 31 years old now, and although no one ever formally disabused me of the idea of Santa Claus, he, along with the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy, faded into a quaint little corner of my childhood memories, to be refreshed every so often by the scent of evergreen or an oversweet bite redolent of Advent-calendar chocolate.
Many whose lives were touched by these benevolent phantasms will eagerly share them with their children, and perhaps billions of kids will find in them comfort over a lost tooth, reason to behave during the year, and excitement over a day otherwise dedicated to the confusing thought of a man rising from the dead.
But I believe there is a danger in perpetuating these stories, innocuous as they may seem. Certainly in the case of Santa and the Easter Bunny, such emphasis is placed on these secularizing elements that the true meaning of the holidays over which they preside, fundamentally religious in nature, is completely obscured. That I believe the religious stories that motivate these holidays are also myths similarly without merit is immaterial. After all, though I have no faith in God, I believe that if one is to celebrate a religious holiday, one should do so religiously and with full consideration of the reason it is being celebrated. In other words, one should not get up early on Easter Sunday because it is fun to hunt for hidden eggs and eat candy. Rather, one should get up and spend the day contemplating the idea that a man who was brutally executed was somehow able to come back to life after being interred for three days.
Is that too heavy a burden for our children? That question should be examined before we simply substitute a consumer-friendly lie in place of a holiday’s true inspiration. But it is already the case that many religious families are choosy with the Bible passages they relate to their children. I imagine, for instance, that the story of Lot, who offered his two daughters to a mob to be gang-raped (the same daughters who then each got him drunk on consecutive nights in order to facilitate being impregnated by him), is one often skipped in bedtime readings of the book of Genesis (specifically, chapter 19).
The fairies, saints, and magical rabbits of our childhood eventually vanish from our minds. The planted evidence of their existence—the money under the pillow, the scads of gifts, and the mass of sweets—either disappears or is no longer ascribed to their involvement. And as we grow older, we either fully embrace our doubts over these stories or slap our foreheads for our gullibility in having believed them. Even so, we look forward to sharing them with the next generation, apparently eager to pay forward the lies we were told as children.
These myths are limited in scope by their employment of props. But it is only in this way that these stories are different from the religious tales whose places they often take. In the case of religion, there is no evidence being planted, so it doesn’t matter when parents die or lose interest in sustaining the lie. We are simply told it is so, and the myth sustains itself.
Some may argue that I am making too much of a harmless bit of fun and fantasy given to children. But children have no poverty of imagination and fantasy as it is. Why prescribe the details of a fiction sold as fact? The result can only be disillusionment and disappointment. And in the case of an impoverished child perpetually skipped over by the storied, benevolent Santa Claus, the effects are far more immediate and damaging.
It is time to abandon stories of spirits in the sky, all-knowing phantoms summoned for immediate action at the loss of a child’s tooth but struck silent and still in cases of true need. It is time to address our children’s questions honestly, even if that means admitting when we don’t know the answer. It is time to rely on our intelligence to solve our problems. It is time to depend on each other when we need strength. It is time to abandon myth over the search for truth.
No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus. But I hope you’ll find the true wonders of life far more fascinating.
2 comments:
This is by far the most beautiful, moving, eloquent and poignant post I have read in some time. Children are often stronger than adults, and I believe sometimes the stories adults tell their offspring is more for their own ease than that of the little ones. What I enjoyed most about this post is the query posed and the probable, practical and direct solution offered. Well done.
I never thought I'd see you almost arguing for religion, although you're quick to throw in a disclaimer. I think there must be a happy medium, no? Children should know the whole story but also indulge in some fun. In America, all holidays have been reduced to Hallmark events, so your proposal to bring sincerity back is refreshing.
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