DECEMBER 1999
Many atheists are inflexible, vehemently so, about "celebrating"
Christmas. They say that participating in any of the traditional
Christmas activities, such as decorating a tree or exchanging
gifts, is a betrayal of the very essence of atheism. Many atheists
say this loudly, often and angrily. To them I would say, let's
worry about school prayer, making Christmas a national holiday,
displaying the so-called Ten Commandments on public property,
setting up public schoolroom crèches and so on. But please
stop obsessing over my front door wreath! If you want nothing
to do with the Christmas holidays, fine. But I'd appreciate a
little slack when I do participate. Since you know nothing
of my motivations, you really have no reason to criticize.
Apparently most Christmas traditions are borrowed from earlier
pagan religions. This makes sense, since early humans must have
watched anxiously as the winter sun slipped lower and lower toward
the horizon. What if it just kept going and never came back?
I'm fairly certain the first human inhabitants of, say, Sweden,
during their first frigid winter, were certain that was precisely
what was happening. Bye-bye sun. Bye-bye life. Looks like we blew
it by heading north.
So the joy that resulted from the sun's gradual ascent, after
such a worrying dark period, must have been close to ecstasy!
(Accompanied, perhaps, by a bit of resentment toward the sun for
pulling such a cruel stunt every year!) It also follows then that
a celebration would definitely be called for. We're talking party
time! Evergreen trees, berries, anything that did not seem
to "die" every winter, would be an integral part of
any such celebration. Evergreens represent, in a way, everlasting
life. So decorate them, dance around them, sing, and party hearty!
Enter Christmas.
The overlapping, nearly identical symbolism shared by the rebirth
of the sun, and the birth of the "Son," scream out for
recognition. Add to that the date of the winter solstice, usually
around December 22, and the fact that the most influential god
around the Mediterranean when Jesus was supposedly born, Mithra,
had his Holy Day on December 25, and "Christmas"
is defined. If there was a historical Jesus, no one has a clue
when he was born. But it most assuredly was not on December 25.
Moving on then, what's wrong with non-theists co-opting Christmas,
just as Christianity co-opted Mithra's birthday? I, for one, am
always delighted to see the sun begin its climb in the sky every
December. I hate those short, gloomy days when it's already
dark long before dinnertime. And while my childhood was unmistakably
saturated by my Christian faith, I was also a normal kid. To an
eight-year-old looking at a Christmas tree poised over a cornucopia
of beautifully wrapped presents, Jesus could come or go—who cared? There was so much fun to be had at Christmas!
I will interrupt my eulogizing about Christmas to say a word
about Santa Claus. It's wrong. It's just plain wrong. Life hits
us over the head often enough. There is no need to make things
any harder for our own children by lying to them about a fat white
man who has flying reindeer (?) and gives presents to all good
little boys and girls at Christmas. Well, at least to all children
not living in Third World Countries, and in households with enough
money to manage gift-buying. That famous song, made popular by
Nat King Cole, "The Little Boy That Santa Claus Forgot,"
describes, sadly, the vast majority of the world's children.
I can still remember, vividly, the day I learned there was
no Santa Claus. I don't remember my age, but I must have been
quite young, since my sister learned at precisely the same moment,
and she was two and a half years older than I. It was during
the Christmas season. While playing with a couple of girlfriends,
who were sisters, down in their basement, we all stumbled across
an enormous stash of toys! Their parents were furious, sent me
and my sister home and actually spanked our friends for being
where they shouldn't have been! (Horrible!) We stumbled home in
a daze, and that is when our mother sat us down on the huge ottoman
in front of her easy chair. She informed us there was no Santa
Claus.
Many people remember the terrible disillusionment of that moment;
but what upset me the most, what shook me to my foundations, was
that my parents had lied to me. This was unthinkable. Screw
the toys. My parents had lied. To understand the enormity
of this, you must remember my strict, fundamentalist Christian
upbringing: Sunday School, prayers at all meals and bedtime, Bible
readings after dinner, grandfather a Missouri Synod Lutheran minister
(and he personified the essence of perfect morality), repeated,
forceful enjoinders to be good and never lie. My young
world fell apart at that moment. I'll never know of course, but
it is just possible that on that dreadful day a tiny cynic was
born.
But leaving this parental betrayal aside, why on earth do people
feel the need to promote this preposterous farce? I defy anyone
to tell me that your average seven-year-old, bored senseless because
she can't often run off her natural energy outdoors at this time
of year, would be disappointed at the thought of engaging
in the following activities, sans Santa: putting a gorgeous
tree in your living room!; watching the whole world
light up in colored lights; baking cookies and fudge; eating
cookies and fudge; buying gifts; wrapping gifts; receiving
gifts (this one was the all-around favorite); singing songs; visiting
relatives and friends; stuffing yourself on special, mouth-watering
meals; counting presents under the tree, daily, to make sure you
had more than your little brother; and creating really spectacular
masterpieces with glitter and glue to stun and impress your parents.
This is fun stuff. What kid could possibly say she wanted no part
of this unless a magic fat man was involved? Since there is usually
so much gift-giving from so many others anyway, why is Santa needed?
Answer: He isn't!
Well, having got that major rant off my chest, I have
only one more minor rant before moving on. Namely, why
does anyone make those horrible fruit cakes? I don't think anyone
has ever really eaten one. And you know those awful, little, rubbery
red and green things in those cakes? What are they?
Anyway, to a real kid, Christmas is the only real holiday.
And as long as there were no clothes in your packages, you had
a really cool Christmas. It didn't matter if the gift you received
was one of those cheesy little hand-toys, where you try to get
both of the gold bee-bees into the doggie's eye sockets or something.
If it was a toy, it was better than a pearl-adorned, cashmere
sweater. Look, when you're eight, you know what's important. So
I looked forward to, and truly enjoyed, every Christmas. Now and
again I'd think of the Baby Jesus, but let's face it; he couldn't
hold a candle to an Etch-a-Sketch. Can't we atheists participate
in all the revelry and tell our children we are doing it because
we're happy to have our family and friends, and the short winter
days are boring, and it's just a hell of a lot of fun to do it?
You'll notice I'm using the word "Christmas," another
practice for which I am often taken to task by fellow atheists.
But there's a reason I use that word. It's because that's the
name of it. Someday the word may drop out of common usage the
way "Michaelmas" did. But I'm not living in "someday."
I am living in today, like many of the rest of us. And if someone
wishes me a "Merry Christmas" I do not feel a powerful
urge to rip his throat out. I let is pass, and smile at the thought
that someone wishes me well, however superficially. I should be
so lucky that a cheerful "Merry Christmas" is the worst
thing that happens to me on any given day.
After I grew out of the kid stage, I began to appreciate the
beauty of Christmas music. I had the advantage, of course, of
having a father who was an excellent pipe organist, so in addition
to hearing this music in church, and on the radio, I also heard
it at home. Dad would play carols and we'd all stand around the
piano singing. And Händel's Messiah is a joy to the
ear—I don't care what the message is. Actually, there
isn't much being said in this glorious work, just a few passages
repeated over and over—but oh, how beautifully! Likewise, Mozart's
Ave Verum is arguably the most lovely choral piece ever
written. I could go on, but the point is that I can enjoy this
gorgeous music without giving a rap about the lyrics. They're
almost always in Latin anyway, so who cares? As long as those
lyrics stay out of tax-supported, public buildings why shouldn't
we enjoy wonderful music?
My mother made the best turkey stuffing west (or east) of the
Mississippi. And her gravy was always a guaranteed, blue-ribbon
success. I fondly remember the tantalizing, delectable aromas
that always filled our house at Christmas. May I never forget
them. My parents are both gone now, and I miss them terribly.
But when I am decorating my Christmas tree, and listening to,
say, Bach's Christmas Oratorio, I feel a sense of continuity
with my own past and my dearly missed parents. Pleasant memories
flood in, as welcome as the flowers in spring, when I listen to
Christmas music. I savor those memories. To deny myself those
pleasures because I am an atheist, is to cut off my nose to spite
my face. It would be just plain stupid.
Life is difficult and short. If we can add some merriment to
is, we should go for it. Every time. If others misinterpret the
wreath on my front door, that is their problem, not mine. And
they can always ask me about it, in which case they will probably
get more of an answer than they bargained for. But I am not going
to deny myself the joys of gift-giving and eggnog just because
other people may misinterpret those things as religious. I refuse
to allow Christians to take away my gingerbread men. Or The
Nutcracker Suite.
Instead of avoiding Christmas like the plague, hiding in our
homes with the shades pulled down, let's TAKE BACK DECEMBER!
There is a delicious irony in atheists who celebrate Christmas;
it appeals to my often warped sense of humor. I've enjoyed the
startled confusion on more than one face as I explain my atheism
while standing in front of my Christmas tree.
I acknowledge no God; but I do indeed acknowledge a treasure
chest of loving memories associated with Christmas. And I plan
to continue enjoying Christmas, just as I did in my youth. The
only difference, I guess, is that today I think I'd rather have
the pearl-adorned, cashmere sweater.
© 1999 Judith Hayes