(For an opposing viewpoint, see “In Defense of Santa Claus.”)
I can’t take it anymore. After hearing every extended family member, friend, coworker extol the cult of Santa Claus, I must speak out. Here are three problems with the Santa cult and their solutions.
Problem #1: You’re lying to your kids.
Christians’ latitude to lie is a hot topic in our day. Usually, the lying debate centers on one of two issues: the infamous “Nazis at the door” thought experiment and pro-life sting operations in abortion facilities. These are high-stakes, cold sweat-inducing scenarios in which, it’s argued, one might lie without sin. But when the “pro-lying” side adds to this list the need to convince credulous children that a man-sprite leaves packages under their mantel, the whole thing starts to look ludicrous.
Let’s not be beatin’ around the Christmas tree on this. The narrative about Santa—that he writes you a letter, descends your chimney, brings you gifts, and eats your cookies—is a lie. Knowing it’s not true, we tell our kids anyway, hoping they’ll believe it—not fuzzily, as a fairy tale, but for real.
Lying is not to be taken lightly. Whatever mitigating factors might exist case by case, every lie is a sin (CCC 2482ff). Catholics should strive never to lie—not to our children, not even about trivialities. As our Lord puts it, “He who is dishonest in a very little is dishonest also in much” (Luke 16:10). Once your kid (or your friend, your spouse, your boss) finds out you fudged the facts about one thing, who could blame him for wondering what’s next?
The solution: Don’t.
Even Santa-philes can present him without lying. It won’t crush any kid to explain that no one expects him to take this fairy tale literally. Neil, the quasi-villain in the divorce fantasy The Santa Clause, describes Santa as “more of a feeling—more of a state of mind than an actual person.” Maybe that’s too far, but it’s closer to the mark than the lie. (Kinda unlike Neil.)
Problem #2: A widening gyre of lies.
The Santa lie is bigger than individual parents deceiving their kids. Society pressures everyone else—even the childless—to perpetuate the lie for others’ kids, too. What if I slip? What if I reveal the truth? What if I scar this kid forever?
A relative of mine, in anticipation of visiting, described the talk she felt compelled to take time and assemble for her kids because we Belskys don’t “do Santa.” It was elaborate, intricate, like a fine Islamic tapestry. I can’t remember the particulars. No one could reasonably be expected to.
Nor must we forget the innocent new inductees: the munchkins who have just learned the truth. Now the classroom is a minefield. Again from The Santa Clause: “Charlie came home from school the other day in tears because some big kid told him there was no such thing as Santa.” We feel bad for Charlie, but we should feel bad for the big kid, too.
The solution: Set boundaries.
This applies not just to Santa Claus, but to almost everything. We can instruct our children (and resolve for ourselves) to be considerate of others—even of others’ delusions (within reason). But we can also draw a solid “no” line at sinning, and be upfront about that with friends and relatives who demand our participation in the mendacious Santus quo.
Here’s the simple line my wife and I teach our kids: “I get presents from my parents on Christmas.”
Problem #3: Impossible expectations.
In the frenzy to defend the Santa process, people paper over its dark side: on Christmas Eve, dear children, Santa brings you presents . . . if you’re good. . . all year long. If not, coal.
This crushing expectation is great fodder for Calvin & Hobbes comics, but it’s no good for real kids. (And don’t get me started on Big Brother on the Shelf. Set that thing on fire.) No parent is going to make good on all those yuletide threats. We spend weeks, maybe months researching, finding, purchasing, wrapping, arranging, and presenting all these gifts. Even the perfect Catholic family, who gets each of his kids just one nice thing, also (as the perfect Catholic family) will need eighteen nice things to give. And after all that work . . . what?
Certainly not coal. That would be just another expense—although I did just discover that the perfect Catholic family can buy bulk.
The solution: Love, generosity, sacrifice.
There are opportunities to teach our kids consequences for bad behavior. Christmas is not one of them. In our house, the kids get gifts—not because they’ve earned them, but because we love the kids. We give to them beyond their ability to pay back, exactly as God does to us.
This beats the myth that Santa in his tundra fires up the toy-making (or, um, iPad-making) machinery. Rather, we love God so much that we rush to give, and they should do likewise. They won’t crawl down chimneys, but they can conceive of writing a card in adorable wobbling child-script for their family members.
Santa Claus as we know him was dreamed up by the Coca-Cola Company. Our culture has inverted Advent and Christmastide and demands that we follow suit. Let’s not.
I’m not calling for a book-burning for The Night Before Christmas. We don’t need to smash all our copies of Miracle on 34th Street. On the contrary, we can strip the lies and keep what’s good: a charming fiction about “a right jolly old elf,” not withholding the “fiction” part.
It doesn’t take an elaborate framework of untruth to instill a sense of wonder about Christmas. The birth of Our Lord, along with the honest fruits of the love it inspires in all of us, more than suffices for that.