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Alan speaks in a very symbolic and esoteric manner in some parts of his books. Although they can be read anthroposophically, passages speaking of Atlantis, archangels, gods, etc. do not need to be taken literarily to be meaningful. The more you read, the more you will realize he uses many different religions to express ideas in a symbolic manner and not in a religious manner. His writings are not religious. In some places his writings are meant to refer to religious events in a historical way. In some places he is using religious figures (from Christianity, Judaism, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, Paganism, Ancient Roman and Greek Religions, etc.) in a symbolic manner. However, at no point is he promoting a specific religion or speaking from a religious point of view.
I have kept the writing as close to one-hundred percent original so you will also find that he speaks of Australia often and some spelling or manners of speaking may be cultural. Any words I have changed are presented like this: <word>.
Also keep in mind that these books are written by a Waldorf teacher with decades of experience who also studied with a Steiner student himself, so he speaks to an audience that is dedicating their lives to the Waldorf method without exception.
Because of this, all of his views are not reflected in the Earthschooling curriculum and not all of them may be ones you want to embrace or are able to use. In all of Alan Whitehead’s writings the opinions are his own and may not align with Earthschooling or Waldorf Books. In some cases, we will be updating some of these chapters in the future with additional and/or updated information.
Ultimately, however, as I read through these passages I find I can distill wisdom from even those paragraphs that do not resonate with me.
We invite you to read with an open mind and heart and with eagerness to learn and discuss…
DECEMBER 25
Christmas Day
Click! My editor turned on his Big Mac as I sauntered in. Graphics of floating holly appeared on the screen.
“I want a different kind of article for our Big Christmas Edition” he said as he nibbled on his mouse – computer that is.
“But I’m an investigative journalist!” I protested; but was ignored, as usual.
“Something biographical – a story about a big name with some kind of season’s greeting clout.”
“A David Jones’ nativity window dresser?” I suggested.
“No? The Archbishop of Canterbury?” I added helpfully.
“Nah – bigger than that; preferably non-denominational, and … ”
“Nelson Mandela?”
“How about … how about Santa?!” he exclaimed. Click went the mouse as he brought up the new features page format.
“You’ve got, um, 1000 words – “and try and get a photo.”
So, I rang Santa Claus long distance. For the first half hour all I got was an answering machine; then a hold signal with a medley of synthesizer carols. Finally, an elf came on the line (you could tell by his squeaky voice). He said his boss was in a meeting. Anyway, the great man eventually answered, but his manner was impatient. I was surprised to hear a thick Nordic accent – for some reason I expected American?
“Vant to speak to me? I’m flat-out, as you can imagine – but I always try to make time for ze press. Let’s call it a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“Yes please – I’d like to interview – you – your Highness. Holiness!? – for our Big Christmas Edition … ”
“Hokay. So, vat’s your angle?”
“I want to scan some of the historic pages in your book of life; like when – and where – did you originate?”
“De vhen is difficult; my genesis, so to speak, is lost in the mists of Valhalla. The vhere is easier. I am at home any place vhich is bathed in the pastel vaves of ze Aurora Borealis. As God of Generosity, I have ministered to most northern communities, especially those who made their home around the Arctic Circle. The ancient Teutons called me Woden. I would appear to zem in mid-winter in my reindeer sky sleigh, circling ze globe, as Puck did (another of my epithets) in forty minutes, or less.”
“You were little Puck? An homunculus even?! You mean you haven’t always been – er – plump and avuncular?”
“Oh, nein – nay, non. I’m a man of many parts. Some cultures thought I was an elf. In fact, Clement Moore in 1822 described me; thus, ‘with miniature sleigh and tiny reindeer’.” Much of today’s imagery comes from this source, as the said elf – elves! – were rosy-cheeked, wore red and were bearded.
“Really? But elfs – elves – have a reputation for mischief. You’re always depicted as a pillar of moral rectitude!?”
“Vell, hard to believe, but I have a darker side. The early Dutch Americans called one aspect of me Sinter Claes, a vord derived. from ‘sinister’. To these ultra-puritans, I was the dreaded Doppelganger, the ‘Dark double – or helper’. In fact, it vas my job, urged on by zeir Inquisitorial ardor, to cast the naughty children into hell!”
“But Herr Claus – Santa – do you mind if I use your Christian name?”
“Christian! I’m not Christian. My true origins are in the cold mists of northern shamanism.”
“Not Christian? But what about the St Nicholas mythology (supposedly akin to similar sounding ‘Santa Claus’) – patron saint of children? He – you? – evolved from a 4th century monk from Myrna in Turkey. Generations have loved those tales of you raising from the dead three young boys. You found them in a butcher shop, nicely pickled in a barrel. And what of the story of how you gave one impoverished father three bags of gold so he wouldn’t have to send his three daughters onto the street … as, er, comfort women?! (I’ve always wondered about that guy’s paternal commitment?)”
“Ah, ya: the three gold balls hanging over the entrance of pawn brokers even today is a timeless memorial to zis event. I sure looked more dignified in a cass.2ck than the stupid red suit.”
“Hmmm; a man of many vestments. So how did you come by the bespoke bright red, winter number, with the fetching black and white accessories? By the way, that pure white fur trim is not exactly de rigueur these days – probably came from a brutally clubbed baby Arctic harp seal. Well, did it!?”
“Er, … I wouldn’t know!” The black, red and white are the emblem colors of the Coca Cola Company.”
“What? Are you under contract to a soft chink corporation?”
“Sort of one Haddon Sundblom (a Scandinavian like me!) vas an advertising artist on the Coke account in the 1930s. He vas given ze brief to persuade the population to consume a chilled soft drink right through winter – and specially to make it appeal to children. A bit like selling ice blocks to Eskimos! Ho, ho, ho … ! Ahem … Due to a law brought down years earlier, when Coke contained cocaine (instead of caffeine, as it does today), its vas verboten to portray children drinking ze stuff. But an over-weight, over-dressed, rosy-cheeked gift-giver? Vell, dat vas okay.” he explained, his tone self-satisfied.
“Red, black and vhite – white! They’re the colors of another northern light inspired symbol, the dreaded swastika. Is there a connection between you and the Nazis?”
“You’re ze journalist, you tell me!” he snapped.
“I’m sorry as a social commentator I have to ask these questions. Though I do know that that three-some are the emblematic colors of old Atlantis; the original inspiring ‘culture’ of the Northern Mysteries – now decadent, of course. Snow White, with her black hair, white skin and red lips is another image. And what about the persistent child-molesting allegations when you’re on duty in department stores?”
“Mine Gott – dat’s going too far!!!”
“No comment? Then there’s the insult to intelligence. Any 7-year-old can figure out that on Christmas Eve you could only bring toys to about 144 homes – yet your claim is in the hundreds of millions!? And how does a fatty like you manage those chimneys … and not get covered in soot?”
“Hah! My colleague, Dr. Mahathir vas right; Australian journalists are all ‘congenital liars’!”
“The erstwhile extreme right-wing Malaysian leader? He’ s a friend of yours, yes? So why don’t you deliver to his area? Aren’t Muslim kids – or Hindu, or Jewish, or, er … Calathumpian – deserving of pillow-slips full of presents?”
To this searing verity the Big Man remained truculently silent. Sensing my advantage, I pressed on.
“Some observers say that when you appear in the above department stores, rampant avarice wells up in the hearts of the children as they itemize their toy list. They call you the God of Greed, indeed – a far cry from ‘generosity’.” I was really in my stride now: I’ll teach that smug editor to send a man to do a copy boy’s job.
“So, may I take this opportunity to right another wrong inflicted on children? The greatest collective disillusionment of unsuspecting kiddies in the West is being told by their parents – whoever – that Father Christmas, in whom they have fervently believed for their whole short life, doesn’t actually exist. Some melancholic little souls never forgive this deliberate lie.
“Enough!!” he yelled down the phone “I thought the Big Christmas Edition was a feel-good number? Why pick on a kindly old gentleman; one who brings joy to children …”
“Another depiction, again from the deep North, has you as a demonic, furred, figure with horns and · animal skin cloak and soot-blackened face, or bark mask, called Loulupukki, the wicked “Yule Goat”.
Instead of bringing children gifts, his – your! – visitations were rather intent of frightening the young with wild singing and dancing and demands for food and – or especially – alcohol. He even came armed with sticks with which to terrorize and beat the children; naughty or otherwise. So, which one is the real Santa?!” I demanded.
“Click!”
Anyone got a recent photo of Santa Claus?
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