Santa Claus, Immediate Gratification, and Other Spiritual Maladies

Originally posted: Wednesday, July 18, 2007 8:11am

It's important that I preface this particular entry by acknowledging upfront that I view this world through an extremely privileged set of eyeballs. I do understand, in some remote, abstract way, that there are millions of people in this world who not only do not get what they need to survive, but never--for one split second--expect that they should. So, I'm speaking within the very narrow confines of my socio-economic experience from which the overwhelming majority of my friends and family come.

I have a mental illness (perhaps encoded into whatever it is that invests me with human fears and concerns) that hinders me from being regularly grateful for what I have--not simply materially, but also in relationships with others. While pondering this, I considered that for some reason I have very specific expectations of what you are supposed to be giving me. The mental illness really kicks in when, upon being disappointed in that expectation, I jump to the immediate conclusion that you obviously think I'm a big piece of crap--because, otherwise, why would you not be bending over backwards to give me what I need from you?! (The really fun part for you is when you have to read my mind to even know what it is I wanted in the first place).

Horrified about what a baby this makes me (and mind you, I'm nearly 30), I tried to trace it back to its origin. The result of my search is this: I think we really mess kids up in teaching them about Santa Claus. In our culture (and, again, I'm speaking of those who can afford to inculcate children with such things), we are taught from the earliest age that on a certain day of the year we will wake up to several free gifts, many of which we asked for specifically, from an elusive benefactor who has been somewhat monitoring our behavior (but who can obviously be fooled from time to time!). We expect it--every year. Many of us also expected to have money magically appear after we'd lost a tooth--presumably because of the terrifying reality that bones are falling out of our face and there's not a damn thing we can do about it.

So, we're taught two things. One, someone out there knows what we want without our even having to ask for it--for instance, who told the Easter Bunny I LOVE chocolate and would want for nothing more than a giant basket filled with it?? (Conversely, though, who misled him to believe that I want Peeps to be within a fifty mile radius of my mouth?). Two, there's no particular merit involved in getting what we want--the vague idea that Santa distinguishes between "naughty and nice" (whatever those terms mean anyway) clearly did not apply in our household.

THEN, mixed in with these other benevolent, invisible providers, some of us are told that there is another one named, "God." God's a little scarier because he's ALWAYS paying attention, and the punishment for bad behavior is slightly more severe than no presents at Christmas (although, for a child, it's difficult to imagine what could constitute as a worse punishment than that). But, really, the punishment part of God's attention was as easy for me to slough off as the threat of not getting presents at Christmas--it had never and simply was not going to happen. The good part, seemingly, about his constant, unwavering attention was that he too knew what I needed without my even having to ask--which I was encouraged to do (just in case??). Now, here's where things get messed up. If God knows what I want, and has the power to provide for me, why the hell doesn't he? Santa Claus brings me what I want once a year--and that's forgivable because he's got to make all that stuff and he lives all the way in the North Pole and his only means of transport is a reindeer-powered sleigh. What more can I expect of him?! The Tooth Fairy has very clear boundaries. You have a tooth, she has the cash. As far as we know she's feeding a vicious habit. Whatever the circumstances of her bizarre need for children's teeth, it's a symbiotic arrangement where both parties benefit in some way, and it's reliable. You each give what you have because you can.

So, what makes God so special that he gets to know what we want and decide whether or not he's going to provide it? Why isn't it his job, as an able provider, to give me what I need the minute I need it? Two possibilities come readily to mind: One, he can't--which thereby immediately discredits him as God, of course, or two, he obviously thinks I'm a big piece of crap. For any analytical or thinking child, this is necessarily the result--eventually, you come to the conclusion that, because of his inaction, God doesn't exist or he's not on your side. It's the height of irony: in teaching kids about God this way, we teach them about isolation and self-loathing--the two things a spiritual life is supposed to eradicate.

In order for me to have any kind of spiritual life as an adult (which I do think is necessary for me to be able to deal with people, places, and things), I have had to force myself out of that mindtrap and consider that God is less about what I GET in this world and more about what I SEE. The God of my understanding does not protect or provide--it enlightens. I've come (recently, mind you) to honor the silence of God--a kind of stall that allows me sufficient time to garner a shift in perspective about what it is that I think I need (read: want). The ability to change my perception about people, places, and things IS my spiritual quest.

So, when I have a family of my own--to hell with the notion of Santa Claus. My children will get presents on Christmas and Easter (and they will give them) because the idea of anonymous giving is a good idea--but they will know very acutely that the source of those gifts is a loving family member and not some fat, hysterical recluse at the edge of the world.