Explainer
Christmas culture
Creed
5 min read

Santa Claus and how not to give gifts

John Barclay unpacks the nature of gift-giving and finds Santa’s list is moralising in comparison to an older unconditional way.

John Barclay is Lightfoot Professor of Divinity at Durham University. He researches the history and thought of early Christianity and early Judaism. 

A Santa tiptoes in a darkened room carrying a lamp and holding up a finger in a gesture of silencing
Anderson W Rangel on Unsplash.

Christianity is a religion centered on the notion of gift.  It is no accident that Christmas, linked with what Christians consider the ultimate gift - the birth of Jesus, is a festival of gift-giving.  All sorts of historical and cultural traditions have accumulated around this festival, for good and ill, but one, it seems to me, has become especially problematic: the myth of Santa Claus.  The form of giving we associate with Santa Claus is the very opposite of what counts, in the Christian tradition, as a good gift. Here’s how. 

In the English-speaking world, Santa Claus (originally St Nicholas) is the man in the red coat and white beard to whom children address their requests for presents.  For many, he becomes a bit like God, and as such, shapes their image of God as normally absent, occasionally useful, and generally benign.  But if Santa is the distributor of gifts at Christmas, two things mark his giving: first, he gives according to merit; second, his giving is one-way and one-off, creating no relationship of trust, love, or obligation.   

The famous Santa song is better known in North America than in the UK, but it has lasted long in the popular imagination. It has also shaped our ideas of gift-giving.  Santa, you will recall, has a list of who’s been ‘naughty or nice’, and is using that list to direct his gifts. He is all-seeing and all-knowing (‘he sees you when you’re sleeping; he knows when you’re awake’), so his merit-judgments are unfailingly correct: he ‘knows if you’ve been bad or good’ – so ‘be good for goodness sake’!  Santa’s gifts, in other words, are merited and conditioned.  At one level, this is an adult ploy to get children to behave at Christmas.  But at another, it reflects a remorselessly moralizing society, quick to judge who is deserving of praise or blame.   

As Harvard philosopher Michael Sandel has argued in The Tyranny of Merit, we have allowed the notion of ‘merit’ to govern so many aspects of our society that those who miss out on social and economic success are led to believe that it is really their fault. Santa is the projection of our sense that nothing good comes our way unless we somehow deserve it. 

The other feature of Santa’s giving is that it is all over in a trice: it creates no relationship and establishes no long-term connection.  The children who write letters asking for presents are not encouraged to enquire after Santa’s wellbeing during the rest of the year.  There is no friendship, no commitment, just one-way gifts that arrive without reciprocity or interpersonal depth.  That fits Western individualism, where we dislike the constraints created by long-term relationships. We will take a gift ‘with no strings attached’ because thereby we retain our autonomy, our power to choose, our independence.   

This was a gift ‘with strings attached’ – not unwelcome new obligations that forced them to do what they hated, but strings of love that enabled them to be better and fuller versions of themselves. 

he Christmas event was originally understood as a gift of a very different kind – in fact the inverse of the Santa-gift.  What the early Christians celebrated about the gift of Jesus was that it was completely unconditioned: it was given without regard to merit or desert.  Even in ancient times that was an unusual, even a bizarre, form of gift: surely it would make better sense to give to those who were worthy of the gift?  But what the Gospel writers and St Paul celebrated was that the gift took effect in unexpected, undeserving places – with uneducated fishermen, with women as much as men, with non-Jews as well as Jews, with the social underdogs and the morally dubious.   

This was a gift that had nothing to do with merit: it was given irrespective of worth and in the absence of worth.  Paul the persecutor received this gift; so did Mary, a village teenager; so did Peter, who let Jesus down time after time; so did idolatrous non-Jews; so did Zacchaeus (a tax-collector – about as popular as a loan shark today)).  This was not because the gift was given randomly. It was a strategic policy to make the gift available to all.  As an unconditioned gift, not dependent on gender, cultural background, social level, or moral achievement, the gift of the ‘good news’ belonged to no-one – and could go to everyone.  

As a result, the early Christians formed new kinds of communities that crossed most social boundaries, and excluded no one on the basis that they were not good enough to join.   

And was this a ‘Santa gift’ in the sense of creating no relationship, no ties, no expectations?  Far from it!  The gift of Christ was understood to transform those who received it, because ultimately it was the gift not of a thing but of a person.  Where Santa disappears for eleven months of the year, the Christians found that Jesus stuck around, not as a threat but as a transformative presence (in the form of ‘the Spirit’), who slowly, subtly, but definitively made them different than what they were before.  This was a gift ‘with strings attached’ – not unwelcome new obligations that forced them to do what they hated, but strings of love that enabled them to be better and fuller versions of themselves.  The Christ-gift drew its recipients, as theologians would later say, into the life of God, which is the best imaginable place for humans to be. 

So, how might you give gifts differently this Christmas?  Well, you could go beyond ‘the usual suspects’ and include some you would not normally include on your giving-list; why not reach out, with some gesture of goodwill, to someone with whom you have had a difficult relationship this year?  You could try to make your gifts more personal, as a token of who you are and who they are, and you could make an effort to continue the friendship beyond the ‘once a year’ gesture.  And if someone gives to you and you haven’t thought to give to them - a common source of embarrassment - no problem: take it as an invitation to friendship, to which you can always respond at some other time and in some other way.  There is always an opportunity for change and growth. 

An unconditioned gift that changes who you are - liberating and transformative, underserved and perpetually effective.  There might be reasons why we prefer the ‘no commitment’ gifts of Santa Claus, but we also know that the most meaningful gifts are personal; they create or sustain ties of friendship; even if they are things, they represent an interpersonal commitment of love.  Christmas is always a mixed blessing, but it is not helped by the Santa songs (or, indeed, by some terrible lines in Christmas carols!).  But at its origin it carries the tune of a different kind of gift, which takes no account of desert but changes its recipients in ways they can never forget. 

Article
Atheism
Belief
Creed
4 min read

Atheism discovers Christianity — just not the inconvenient bits

When sceptics start praising faith for its vibes and values, you know the secular ship is taking on water

Jonah Horne is a priest, living and working in Devon.

A spotlit round table with podcast guests around it.
Steve Bartlett and guests discuss belief.
Diary of a CEO.

Atheism in the age of authenticity and self-expressive secularism is inherently cannibalistic. I’m not suggesting that Dawkins, Harris and Hitchens are losing their minds and devouring one another. But what I am proposing is that atheism, held within today’s philosophical waters, cannot not affirm the thing it so vehemently denies: faith. 

There’s a fascinating moment in a round table conversation with Steven Bartlett (Diary of a CEO) and Alex O’Connor (Cosmic Skeptic). The former presents a case of his friend whose life is radically changed when he becomes a Christian. In some senses it’s a classic despair to hope story. Bartlett concludes by asking O’Connor “what would you say to this friend?” The answer that follows flawed me. O’Conor, an ardent atheist, responds by essentially saying “if these things work, then I’d encourage him to continue doing them.” 

In a similar vein, last year Richard Dawkins professed his faith in cultural Christianity. Dawkin’s well documented and fresh alignment with Christianity is accordingly founded upon its ‘fundamental decency.’ Which just to be clear, according to the biologist, is very unlike Islam. Sadly, his newfound respect hasn’t prohibited New Atheism’s inherent Islamaphobia, it just seems to be masquerading in more sympathetic clothing. 

Amongst these stories and other examples there seems to be a resurgence, or at least a growing respect, in Christian religion and faith. This can also be seen in church attendance and statistics around those professing faith. And whilst Dawkin’s move away from religious degradation towards cultural affirmation can, in some senses, be welcomed; there is an inherent flaw in both his and O’Connor’s perspectives when held in light of Christianity’s central claims. 

For O’Connor, Christianity is seemingly commendable if it leads to self-actualisation, self- fulfilment and a privatised sense of hope. From O’Connor’s atheistic vantage point, the goal of the human is self-actualisation. When confronted by Christianity as a means of this fulfilment, his philosophical stance begins to eat itself. Similarly, for Dawkins, Christianity is a useful tool for the construction and preservation of Western societies. As our country goes through rapid change and our cities exponentially expand in size and multiculturalism Dawkins finds himself affirming the faith he so enthusiastically mocked as a means of security. His atheism inevitably eats itself. 

Whilst different, Christianity in both of these cases is used as a crutch. The faith becomes a prop either for societal betterment or self-fulfilment: it is a reductive perspective that views Christianity as the best truth amongst other truths on offer. It approaches religion as a pick-n-mix sweet shop, with Christianity currently the best flavour. 

However, for Christians, their faith is not a truth amongst other truths, it is the truth. It is not primarily reasoned, discovered or affirmed upon positive reviews but is fundamentally revealed to us and encouraged by a Triune God of love. Reason, positive societal change and personal fulfilment are not bad things in of themselves but when approaching Jesus, they are utterly secondary. This revelation, when fully recognised, reveals O’Connor and Dawkin’s understandings of Christianity as inherently stunted. For O’Connor his affirmation of faith, when positively leading to self-actualisation, would struggle to reckon with St. Stephen’s death found in the book of Acts. The first Christian martyr pleaded for God’s mercy upon his murderers as they launched stones at him. His faith led to incredible courage in the face of intense violence but I’m not entirely sure you could say it led to a widely accepted notion of self-actualisation. For Dawkin’s his affirmation, of Christianity as a pillar for society, should be held in light of the early church’s teachings on radical hospitality, their startling financial generosity and the faith’s ongoing care for the alien or foreigner. This, I would contend, would unsettle the biologist’s divorce of culture and faith. 

The challenge for Christians when confronted by seemingly positive reactions from historically antagonistic voices is to refuse the subtle domestication of the ancient faith. I appreciate O’Connor’s openness to the Christianity and I commend Dawkin’s softening tone. However, their self-defeating and cannibalistic atheism can only affirm Christianity as crutch for their own agendas. They concede defeat but on their own terms. Their vision accepts a partial understanding of following Jesus, an understanding that has been moderated and regulated to fit into their preconceived philosophical and societal agendas. However, for Christians, Jesus is not someone who affirms our predetermined frameworks but instead devastates our self-obsessive tendencies and overwhelms our insecurities with a profound love best revealed in his life, death and resurrection. This realisation is ultimately revealed to us, not on our terms but received freely as a gift. It is given, not grasped or owned, but received.

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