What do you mean ‘Does Santa exist?’

Hang on a second, I’m confused. My attention has just been drawn to an article under the headline: “Majority of parents ‘lie’ about Santa Claus”... but when I clicked the link, the very first sentence I found myself reading was: “A MaltaToday survey shows that 59% of Maltese parents and grandparents encourage their children and grandchildren to believe that Santa Claus exists.”

Huh? What? Is that a typo? Either they’re lying, or they’re telling the truth. They can’t do both at the same time, you know. So if 59% of Maltese parents and grandparents tell their children what is obviously the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth about Santa’s undeniable, incontrovertible existence... how on earth can they be accused of ‘lying’ (still less ‘peddling mythology’)?

O-o-h... now I get it. It’s just a question of terminology. You say ‘Santa Claus’, I say ‘Father Christmas’. He says ‘Christmas Father’, his Italian hairdresser says ‘Il Grande Puffo’...  no, wait... ‘Babbo Natale’. Or whatever. It doesn’t make any difference: they can call him ‘Moana Pozzi’ for all I care. Whatever the name, that fat guy with the red anorak and white beard really does exist. In fact, I am more flabbergasted by the fact that fewer than 60% now share what should after all be a universal certainty. 

And it would seem the number of non-believers is forever rising, too. Why, 20 years ago it would have been 99% or more... actually, no: there wouldn’t even have been a survey 20 years ago. That’s how bleedingly obvious it was to everyone back then. It’s all this new-fangled secularism, if you ask me. Turning all the old certainties on their heads, simply because they’re bored with the truth...

But in any case: those born into earlier, more fortunate generations have no such frivolous doubts and qualms. We are secure and steadfast in our deep conviction that Father Christmas (he never was ‘Santa’ to me) not only exists as a corporeal being... but travels around the world on a flying sleigh drawn by magic reindeer, delivering presents to all little children who have been good all year round... all in a single night.

And I can supply all the proof you need, too. Not, of course, that any is really required. I just saw him live on TV, as it happens. He was busy selling Bauli Panettones, assisted by ‘elves’ who bore a striking resemblance to Liv Tyler in The Lord of the Rings. I mean, honestly: what more proof do you need?

Face it, sceptics. You’ve been ‘pwned’*. In fact I could almost stop there and declare this discussion closed. A non-existent Father Christmas on TV, indeed... who would pick up the pay-cheque? But that would be to leave out all the other categories of evidence. It wouldn’t do to leave any chink of uncertainty exposed, given that there’s clearly a ‘war on Father Christmas’ going on here. So let’s take all others arguments, one by one.

First off, there is proof of the ‘personal experience’ variety. In my childhood, it was customary to leave a glass of whisky on the fireplace on Christmas Eve, just in case Father Christmas got thirsty going up and down so many chimneys. And lo and behold! Each year, without fail, the whisky glass would be empty, and the stockings full. How else could you possibly explain such a miraculous coincidence? That the whisky just evaporated in no time at all, and the presents just magically appeared in the stockings, by a process of natural accumulation of tiny motes of dust? 

This brings us to the second, more theoretical form of evidence. To believe in the spontaneous appearance of presents, and to accept the disappearance of whisky of its own accord, is to contravene the principle of Occam’s razor. This most fundamental of scientific principles holds that the hypothesis which requires fewest assumptions to explain the phenomenon, is also the likeliest to be true.

There are hardly any assumptions at all in the hypothesis that a fat man in a red anorak came down the chimney, gulped down the whisky, delivered the presents, and then helped himself to the silverware before dashing off. All that falls squarely within the realm of the possible... it is the other explanation that requires the inexplicable to be accepted as a premise.

So there. Even Science supports the existence of Father Christmas. I’d like to see a sceptic wriggle out of that one... 

Lastly, there is the collective experience of our staunchly faithful nation... which, may I remind you all, is Constitutionally aligned to believe in Father Christmas by virtue of the ‘Santa Claus’. It is no wonder that a clear majority – albeit a sadly dwindling one – would cling to belief in Father Christmas, well into adulthood and old age. We see evidence of his bounty everywhere we look. 

But wait, let’s take this in the correct order. First, we must also consider all the counter-arguments, and apply to them to a fair but rigorous method of scientific enquiry. Sceptics argue, for instance, that it is physically impossible to accomplish the task attributed to Father Christmas in a single night, with the use of technology that is beyond the understanding of common mortals. Some have even attempted to argue that the feat is economically impossible, as well as physically unlikely. Inflation would long have eaten into Father Christmas’ purchasing power, thus forcing him – sooner or later – to retire from business altogether.

Both arguments are of course nonsense. The first only betrays the paucity of the typical non-believer’s imagination. Just because their puny intellect cannot comprehend the possibility of a flying reindeer with a luminous nose, named after a 1920s sex symbol of the Silent Movie age... why, they simply assume it can’t be real. As though ‘reality’ depended purely on the limitations of their own comprehension...

And they call that an argument. Pah! As for the economic reasoning, it would seem these ‘economists’ were in hibernation throughout the last six or seven economic crises. It doesn’t matter if Santa can no longer afford to actually pay for all those presents, you know. He is (literally) too big to fail. The system would have to continue to be propped up, even years after it has technically collapsed, because... because... well, just think of all those poor children who tried so valiantly to be good all year round. What are you going to tell them? That it was all in vain? That the fat bastard won’t be turning up after all? 

That’s the problem with sceptics, you know, they never think about these things. They only ever think about themselves...

As for the existence of Father Christmas in person – regardless of whether he delivers presents or not – non-believers invariably point towards the enormous statistic and logistical improbabilities in the traditional story. That a centuries-year old-man can still be alive, and living in the North Pole to boot: immune, it would seem, to the perils of hypothermia, or being devoured by hungry Polar Bears. How can such a thing be?

But that’s merely their own perception of Father Christmas. Of course he doesn’t exist in such a... literal sense. That was merely how our ancestors perceived him to be: all those centuries ago, when ‘reality’ could only be depicted in poetic, symbolic terms.

Like everything else since then, Father Christmas has moved on. Fulfilling the lifetime ambition he so often expressed in Raymond Briggs’ best-selling biography, ‘Father Christmas’ (complete with interviews in his own former North Pole dwelling... which I suppose were all fabricated, too, huh?)... Father Christmas has finally bought this Maltese passport through the IIP scheme. He is living among us as we speak... even as doubt in his existence continues to spread like a canker.

And a good thing it is, too, that the Maltese people have all been so very well-behaved over the years. Father Christmas’s past investments have already paid off. In case you are wondering about the flying reindeer, for instance... well, they’ve all already been distributed among Malta’s five (5) unlicensed, illegal zoos. (It was the least the zoo owners could do, after Santa had placed in their stockings a magical amulet protecting their establishment from law-enforcement.)

And just look how very busy Father Christmas has been, since his spontaneous integration into Maltese society for a measly million euros. Everyone who has been ‘good’ all year round – OK, ‘good’ only to the Labour government, perhaps; and only for the past three years or so... but still: look at how all this good behaviour has been rewarded by stockings’ worth of presents. Contracts for cushy jobs, sanctions for illegal developments, public service appointments on a ‘personal trust’ basis, judicial appointments, magisterial appointments... all you have to do, it seems, is write a letter to Father Christmas – at his new address, which you probably already know by heart – detailing a specific list of all the desired goodies, in order of preference.

You might not get exactly what you want, but hey! I’m arguing that Father Christmas exists here. Not that he’s perfect...

* Pwn is a slang term derived from the verb own, as meaning to appropriate or to conquer to gain ownership. The term implies domination or humiliation of a rival, used primarily in the Internet-based video game culture to taunt an opponent who has just been soundly defeated (e.g., “You just got pwned!”).