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. 

Column
Belief
Creed
4 min read

Let 2025 be a year of cultural Christianity - celebs and all

New epiphanies challenge traditional authority.

George is a visiting fellow at the London School of Economics and an Anglican priest.

A man in a suit stands in front of a orchestra, by a lectern, gesturing while talking.
Tom Holland.
x.com/TheRestHistory.

Monday is the Feast of the Epiphany, marking the end of the 12 days of Christmas. It’s rather good when Christmas falls on a Wednesday, so that Epiphany is on a Monday – the start of a new working week. No need to have returned from holiday during this previous week, for me at least, the only “work” I’m doing before Epiphany being the writing of this column. 

Epiphany celebrated the nativity and/or baptism of the Christ historically, but in the western Church we’ve moved those festivals, not least to mark the birth of the Christ child at Christmas. The Greek root of Epiphany means “manifestation” and in popular, polytheistic religions nature is of full of local manifestations of the gods. 

A deity might manifest in a divine human, a monarchical figure or a miracle worker. In ancient Greek philosophy, epiphany-religion is the foundation of a natural theology discerning these manifestations of the divine in all things, which we might call pantheism. 

We’re more reticent about direct epiphanies of God in our biblical religion, but they do occur, notably for Moses in his witness of the burning bush (and thereafter in his regular audiences with the Godhead as he leads his people from Egypt). 

Such manifestations invariably come by way of a promise, supremely in Christianity in the incarnation at Christmas. Our theology might hold that not until the epiphany of the Christ at the end of history can we speak of the Feast of the Epiphany in any fulfilled sense. 

But there is another, more immediate side to the Epiphany. The coming of the magi – or sages – from the East to pay homage to the Christ child has long been interpreted as the manifestation of God to the Gentiles in the poverty of a Judean stable. 

There is nothing actually in the scriptural story to indicate that these grandees are not Jews of the Diaspora, journeying back to their homeland to witness the Christ. But, importantly, this has come to represent the gift of a new covenant to the world, rather than the Mosaic covenant exclusive to the Jews.    

And it’s with that idea that I suggest our Epiphany has very current cultural implications. The point of Epiphany is that it’s not ours, it’s everyone’s. It’s not owned here, it’s out there. It’s not multicultural, it’s transcultural, even supercultural.  

So the Christian faith defies ownership, as the magi demonstrate. That’s a vital notion at a time when the phrase “cultural Christianity” has gained fresh traction. It’s customary at this point to list who most famously identifies as culturally Christian. So, briefly, here goes. 

The professional atheist (he has earned a living from it) Richard Dawkins claims such status; former Dutch MP Ayaan Hirsi Ali has moved from Islam to atheism to Christian faith, claiming it as a bulwark against cultures that threaten us and the historian Tom Holland has expended a substantial proportion of his scholarship demonstrating that western civilisation is built on Christian foundations. Elon Musk has chimed in as a cultural Christian. So has rocker Nick Cave. There are many more. 

The response from what might be called pro-am Christians isn’t always edifying. At best, it’s condescending – these starlets really don’t get it and need to study and qualify properly as card-carrying Christians. At worst, it’s belligerent – these charlatans want the fruit from our tree, but attack its roots. 

It’s fair to observe that Christianity has always been cultural, not just through its initial and expedient spread through the trade routes of the Mediterranean until its adoption under Roman emperor Constantine, but in its very genesis in Jerusalem. The insurgent Nazarene movement showed far more interest in the lived experience of the new faith than in establishing an alternative Temple authority with it. 

It’s a saying misattributed to St Francis of Assisi that evangelists are to go out into the world and spread the gospel and, if we have to, to use words. It’s about actions in the Christian life, not words of intent. In that, the former US president Jimmy Carter, who has just died aged 100, is a worthy exemplar. 

By contrast, we have the modern versions of the corrupt and self-serving Temple of Jerusalem in our Christian Churches. Elites who believe in a primacy of status, marching around with sticks, bear as much fruit as the withered fig tree of the gospel. More than arguably, it must be worth turning away from them and towards the cultural Christians mentioned above. 

For I’m finding that I may have more in common with them than with archbishops and priests, endlessly debating how to improve their woeful their Church. This is my epiphany.  

So, for me, let 2025 be a year of cultural Christianity. Let them say we pick the fruit and ignore the roots. Because perhaps that’s preferable to sticking with a thick trunk that despises those fruits.  

Join with us - Behind the Seen

Seen & Unseen is free for everyone and is made possible through the generosity of our amazing community of supporters.

If you’re enjoying Seen & Unseen, would you consider making a gift towards our work?

Alongside other benefits (book discounts etc.), you’ll receive an extra fortnightly email from me sharing what I’m reading and my reflections on the ideas that are shaping our times.

Graham Tomlin

Editor-in-Chief