Jonathan Dodd‘s latest column. Guest opinion articles do not necessarily reflect the views of the publication. Ed
It’s not over ’til it’s over, and you throw away the tree. I have a song with that line in it. It’s part of one of my collection of obscure, and sometimes scurrilous alternative Christmas songs, which I play lovingly in between the more traditional carols and the sort of thing you can hear all the time if you camp out in any decent commercial enterprise between early November and the actual Christmas season’s end, whenever that is.
Walking around my own home turf, I can see houses that appear to have no Christmas decorations whatsoever, and there are others who have entered magnificently into the Christmas tradition of lighting up every inch of their houses with lights and images made of light and blow-up reindeer and all manner of other things guaranteed to produce torrents of Christmas cheer and feelings of goodwill toward all men (and women). Especially in the rapacious hearts of electricity companies
Through the darkness of an English December afternoon
I prefer the more modest small-lighted thing in the front window, gleaming out like a beacon of hope and warmth through the darkness of an English December afternoon. Inside, like a primeval cave, the tree sparkles with light and colourful treasures, and brightly-wrapped gifts are piled around it, while good food festively roasts, spreading rich smells through the air.
All that’s almost true, of course. Not in the way that means it doesn’t happen, but in the way that we only ever describe or remember or imagine the whole story, or all the emotions experienced at one time. All story-tellers know this vividly, whether they’re creating or performing, and everyone else understands it too. The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing But the Truth is a concept often aspired to, but seldom captured.
In complete and perfect detail
There’s nothing wrong with this. If we remembered every element of every moment that we live in complete and perfect detail, we’d be overwhelmed. I heard a news item last year (is it already last year?) about museums. They’re now so good at collecting every shard and grain of stuff from digs, often because interesting archaeological finds occur during building works, and time is very limited before the window for discovery closes, so everything has to be collected and stored as soon as possible.
The result is that all the work is in the digging and bagging, and there’s hardly any time to look at all of it in a considered way, so it all gets put in a warehouse for cataloguing later. Of course, there’s another find, and the whole process gets repeated, and there aren’t enough staff any more, and the money’s not available either. That’s a familiar story for many elements of our lives at the moment.
There are only so many things you can hang on the Christmas tree
The problem for museums is not that things are being stored that aren’t necessary to be kept, like shards of pottery. Only a tiny portion of pottery is significant, and once upon a time most of it would be thrown out, as it probably was originally, because it was broken or replaced by better stuff, or it no longer matched. And it may cost less to store than sort initially, but if it’s warehoused it’s going to cost money anyway, and if more and more stuff get stored, the costs of storage are going to end up consuming the entire budget. Not to mention the cost of building more and more warehouses to store it all.
So, like the museums, I’m concerned that we’re becoming too focused on storing everything rather than going through it all and throwing out things that aren’t useful or relevant any more, rather than just acquiring more and more stuff and becoming weighed down with vast amounts of clobber. When we take down our decorations each New Year, some things are completely precious, some are new, and the rest have been lost or broken, or are no longer necessary. That’s my metaphor for life today. There are only so many things you can hang on the Christmas tree.
We’ve created a Christmas monster
Christmas itself is in danger of being swamped with stuff in the same way. If you went back 200 years, there would have been no Christmas to speak of, at least nothing that we would recognize. Most of the traditions we now celebrate and enjoy were imported into our culture in Victorian times, and adapted to our own likes and dislikes, much as fairy tales were usually hideous and frightening, and are now enjoyed as Disney cartoons. Even Santa Claus was imported from the USA after Coca Cola recreated St. Nicholas in their company colours instead of green for an advertising campaign in the 1930s.
We’ve created a Christmas monster that might threaten to swamp us with more and more stuff. Every year many people complain about the Real Meaning of Christmas being lost or buried under so many layers of commercial exploitation and an orgy of spending. And they’re right. Apart from being simultaneously completely wrong.
Goodwill toward all human entities
First of all, there is no Real Meaning of Christmas. It’s difficult to pin down, because it’s such a melange of cultures and stories and influences and because its origins go back to prehistoric times to the first winter solstice celebrations. Besides, it’s supposed to be all-inclusive, as in ‘Goodwill toward all human entities’, and it simply wouldn’t survive if there wasn’t something in there for everyone.
Christmas has become the epitome of the all-inclusive, joyous, multi-cultural festival that we aspire to here in the West. It’s a holiday, and an advert for all the glories of Capitalism and invention and good living and civilization that we believe in. It’s simultaneously a nod towards all the good things that we’ve inherited from the past, all the comforts and relationships and love we have in the present, and a hope and expectation of things continuing to get even better in the future.
Hope is our second most important virtue
Christmas is also a big uncontrolled mess, like a party that’s constantly being gatecrashed by newcomers who bring new inspiration and fun things to do with them. It’s constantly threatening to topple over with the weight of its own ridiculousness, taking itself far too seriously as well as laughing at itself, and most of all, it never stops being surprising. And joyful. And fun.
Christmas reminds us that the days will get longer, and it’ll stop raining or snowing so much, and there’ll be light and warmth again. It reminds us that we can stop working and worrying for a while without the whole thing crashing into the buffers, and it reminds us to think about family members and friends. Not only those who we know we love and get on with, but also those we’re in danger of losing or have lost or need to get back in touch with. It’s a time when we’re invited to become better and warmer and more wonderful than we already are.
And OK, maybe we didn’t quite manage all that this year. But there’s always next year, and another chance. Hope is our second most important virtue. Love is the first and greatest. I hope you experience a surfeit of love this year, along with good cheer and good company and comfort. And keep in touch.
If you have been, thank you for reading this.
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