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At Dragon*Con earlier this year, I took part in the “Raising Skeptical Geeks” panel, moderated by Desiree Schell (of the “Skeptically Speaking” podcast), and joined by Adam Savage, Laura Phillips, LaVerne Angela Knight-West, Daniel Loxton, and Barbara Drescher. [You can find the complete audio of the panel discussion here.]
One of the subjects we discussed was what to teach your children about fantasy figures like Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy. (Unfortunately, there were apparently some young children in the audience, on whose behalf a few parents subsequently expressed disappointment in the panel’s inadvertent “spoilers.” This was certainly unintentional and recently, when I attended a “Jill & Julia” show — my friends Jill Sobule and Julia Sweeney — I made sure to find out in advance if there were any Santa spoilers, and this gave me the chance to walk my seven-year-old twin boys out for a bathroom trip at a critical juncture!)
On the panel I explained that while my partner, Kandace, and I (along with the boys’ birth father and stepmother) are all raising our children with the hopes that they will adopt the same atheist beliefs we all do, in our household we celebrate a secular Christmas that upholds the magic of Santa Claus. I grew up in a New York City reformed Jewish household (that typically experienced December days with both a Christmas tree and a lit Chanukah menorah), and today we continue a tradition from my own childhood.
On Christmas Eve, our boys hang their stockings (as do Mama and I), and leave out milk and cookies for Santa, along with a snack for the reindeer. At bedtime, these are the only signs of Christmas in our home.
When the boys awake in the morning, the apartment is transformed. There is a full decorated, live, ceiling-scraping Christmas tree, beneath which are a mountain of wrapped presents. The stockings are stuffed to overflowing. The milk is drained and only some crumbs remain from the snacks. Clearly, Santa has stopped by in the course of his appointed rounds!
I possess strong memories of the experience of awakening to these magical mornings in my childhood. But in addition to wishing to share that experience with my children, I also think that the experience of believing in Santa — and the eventual loss of that belief — can provide a powerful lesson, later in life, about supernatural and religious claims. It’s easier to understand how someone can believe in a god or gods when you’ve had the experience of strong belief yourself. It has certainly served as such a lesson for me.
When I discuss my atheism, I make it clear that I am an atheist in the theological sense; that is, I live my life as if there is no god. By the same token, I recognize that this is a theoretical assumption on my part; in the epistemological sense, I cannot prove a negative. But the distinction is important. I cannot live my life as if I lack the answers to an infinite quantity of unprovable negatives. If you insist that you must remain agnostic on the subject of God because you cannot prove nonexistence, then it seems to me you must remain equally agnostic on the subject of Santa Claus; but if you’re willing to be atheist on Santa then there’s no reason to remain agnostic on God. After all, I’ve got better evidence for the existence of Santa: I there’s a photo of me sitting on his knee.
I was reminded of these subjects just last week by one of my boys — Dexter, a boy who is by nature philosophical and contemplative, who readily thinks in metaphorical terms. Even at seven, he has already long been interested in the subject of god and religion, and frequently poses questions about these subjects. He is invariably puzzled and amazed as to why people maintain beliefs he finds obviously irrational, despite our best and repeated efforts to present religious beliefs and believers in empathetic light.
A few nights ago, he and I were eating dinner alone, and he suddenly asked, “Is Santa Claus real?”
Oy! At that moment, I would rather he asked me where babies came from.
I took a deep breath and thought about how I might best test the waters of his question. So I turned it back to him. “What makes you ask?”
“Because,” he said, the deep thought showing in his eyes, “he seems like a god.”
My heart sang.
“Well, you make a very, very good point, Dexter. That’s an excellent reason to ask the question.”
I can’t think of a better one, really.
I wanted to answer Dexter’s penetrating question, but without prematurely demolishing his sense of mystery. It was a daunting task that lay before me – but I thought I had grasped an answer.
“But even though it might seem that way, I don’t think Santa’s a god. I think he’s a magical being. There’s a difference. After all, people think their gods tell them what to do, give them rules for living their lives. Gods take from people, and punish them for not following the rules.”
“But Santa mostly just gives. He reminds you to be good, but mostly he just makes people happy by giving everyone gifts, using his special magic. Because he gives all these gifts around the world, and yet he doesn’t get the gifts himself. And that teaches us a lesson. Instead, he gets the greatest pleasure of all – he gets to feel the happiness and joy people have. And if you ever hear anyone talk about ‘the spirit of Christmas,’ that’s what they mean. If you hear someone say ‘It’s better to give than to receive,’ that’s what they mean. That’s what Santa does, and that’s the spirit of Christmas. So I don’t think that Santa is really a god.”
Dexter thought about this, rolled it around in his fertile mind – and was satisfied. He agreed with the conclusion, and the conversation moved on. One of the challenges of dealing with children’s questions is trying to answer the actual question, and not the question we adults imagine is being asked, because of all the answers we know but of which our children are not yet aware. Sometimes all you have to do is explain that every mother has an egg – and no further explanation is necessary as to “Where do babies come from?” At least, for today…
I suspect that Dexter still harbors some skepticism about Santa. But it’s also fun to believe in Santa, and with his most important and disturbing concerns addressed to his satisfaction, perhaps he’ll get another magical holiday – or two or three, if he permits it – before the final debunking comes. I think I lasted until about age 11 myself, but the news didn’t come as a shock either. So somewhere along the line I probably knew I was helping to fool myself – perhaps not unlike the audiences in my magic shows. My audiences allow themselves that indulgence because they get the pleasure of their temporary amazement and wonder in return. For the same reasons, I probably chose not to disbelieve in Santa probably just a bit longer than I actually believed in him. And by the time I stopped believing in him, I was well on the way to disbelieving in gods who didn’t stuff my stocking every year.
I've often said that the fantasy world I create as a magician is a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there. But as children, we get an all too brief chance to live there, and I wouldn’t take that away from my kids for anything. There was a brief time they believed I was real magic; now they already know a little something about conjuring. Those experiences are two sides of the same glorious lesson. Long live Santa — for a little while, at least.
Jamy Ian Swiss is a magician, author, speaker, and longtime skeptical activist. He serves as Chairman of the Advisory Committee to the President of the James Randi Educational Foundation.
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Kids don't mind, so long as they know the truth from the start.
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