What’s the Matter with Santa Claus?

I have always been bothered by Santa Claus. He was a big part of my growing-up and I remember clearly ‘the hour I first disbelieved’ (c. age 6). 

The idea of adults teaching their children something they know to be untrue is troubling to say the least. I mean, we teach them enough falsehoods without meaning to; there’s no reason to exacerbate our crime with deliberate deceit.

Adults justify their behavior with the age-old soporific, “It’s for the children.” If only! In fact, whenever someone says, “It’s for the children,” or “It’s for their own good,” you know it isn’t. We teach kids about Santa Claus in an attempt to recapture some trace of the forgotten wonder of our own childhoods.

But kids have no need for our foolish nostalgia. They already live in an enchanted world. Made-up talismans only serve to confuse them as they try to piece together a map of that world.  Lying is probably not best practices, but I justify telling lies every single day – to my fellow jaded adults; and I’m not apologizing for it.

Lying to children, on the other hand, can be a serious offense. We have no less than Jesus for an authority, “Whoever causes one of these little ones who believe to sin, it would be better for him if a great millstone were put around his neck and he were thrown into the sea.” (Mark 9:42) Not the end I was hoping for!

Do you remember when and why you stopped believing in Santa? For me at least, as I continued to work out my mappa mundi, Santa gradually emerged as an ‘odd man out’. The more I learned about ‘the real world’, the less space I found for an inhabited North Pole, flying reindeer, chimney transport, and a global same day package delivery service. (This was long before FedEx.)

Eventually, the cognitive dissonance became unbearable. It was suddenly easier to reconcile the idea that adults were lying to me than that Sidney Greenstreet (‘a certain fat man’ – Casablanca) was responsible for my Christmas morning. I remember that day, where I was and who I was with, because it was a really big moment. It was a ‘Station of the Cross’ for me. It was also the day when everything began to fall into place: 

“Maybe I can make sense of this world after all. Maybe, if I rule out every sort of magic, any trace of enchantment…” And so, I took a bite of the apple, gained knowledge, and ‘grew up’. Sorry, Peter (Pan, not Cephas).

So of course, when I became an adult and had children and grandchildren of my own, there was no Santa Claus in our house, was there? You bet there was! I’m every bit as much a wimp as you. Maybe we didn’t push Santa quite as hard as my parents had: no letters to the North Pole, no cookies and milk. But still…we had Santa. 

Now that I am on the ‘other slope’ of that giant Gaussian Mountain (aka Bell Curve) we call a ‘human life’, I’m realizing that the world is enchanted after all. I mean, come on! Big bangs, quantum tangles, half-live cats, DNA – it’s a wonderland. 

But it’s not easy to overcome my primal disenchantment. I’m jaded now. So just as I tried to retain Santa as a part of my six-year-old’s world view, now I try to reduce experience to fit into the categories of so-called Science. Just as I once struggled to keep a place for Santa on my ‘world map’, now I struggle to keep out every trace of enchantment. 

As a stepchild of the 20th century (nee c. 1200 CE), I feel compelled to explain the universe entirely in terms of itself…despite overwhelming evidence to the contrary. I need to give that up. I need to rediscover wonder, but on my way, I’ll need the support of some authorities.

Once again, I turn first to OG Jesus of Nazareth (aka, the Christ), “…Unless you turn and become like children, you shall not enter the Kingdom of Heaven.” (Matthew 18: 3) For my second source, I turn, appropriately, to a child. One morning, my youngest daughter heard two of my grandsons arguing:

A: “You don’t believe in Santa Claus.”

B: “Yes I do!”

A: “Santa Claus doesn’t exist.”

B: “Everything exists!”

One grandchild (B) had a broader, more inclusive ontology than his brother (A). A few years later, he might have retorted, “There are more things in heaven and earth, A, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” 

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