Does Santa Claus exist?

- Obviously not - says the man who has a solid sense of reality.

What does it mean? Is Santa Claus nothing?

Not at all: we all know who he is, what kind of clothes he wears, and that he flies all night on Christmas Eve on a sleigh drawn by reindeer (btw do you remember all their names?), bringing presents to the children.

Now, there are many empirical objections to all this: how can a sleigh fly? How can that old guy bring presents all over the world in a few hours? And how does he earn the money to do all this (okay, besides the Coke sponsoring)? But none of them is a logical mistake, that is, none of them shows an inconsistency that allows us to say Santa Claus is a self-contradictory, thus impossible, object (like a square circle).

All this means Santa Claus does exist, for to exclude the possibility of his existence you have to mention him, describe his features and characteristics: and when you are doing it, you don't intend to speak about nothing, but about something: a very precise, determined object, which is not nothing at all. To deny (the existence of) something, you have to affirm (the existence of) it.

How do we solve this old idealistic contradiction? We do it by distinguishing different meanings of existence. This is indeed one of the main points in philosophy: one of the fields where metaphysics really goes beyond common sense and refutes it.

We have to admit that Santa Claus does exist, but in a different way from, say, this keyboard I'm typing on right now. The former exists as a character in children's tales, as an image, in my thoughts, etc. Let's call this first meaning ideal existence (esse in intellectu, as some classical thinkers would say). The latter exists as something I can have direct, perceptive experience of (sight, touch, etc.). Let's call this second meaning real existence: esse in rerum natura.

Corinne Meadowlark does exist. More or less like Santa Claus. Thus, she is technically not real: this is, to quote Kant, her "position in the contest of global experience". But then, what is real in the contest of my global experience of the world (the one and only experience I can access)?

Very few things. Napoleon and Julius Caesar are more or less as real to me as Corinne: I have never seen or touched them, actually. The same applies to SaRenna Lee (just to drop a busty model's name). My big friend Chili tells me he saw her dancing, took even some snapshots of her (and do you suppose he even...uh...well, read his article in this issue, you'll see what I mean.)

But now that I think about it, I have never seen Chili either. All I have from him are e-mails and various messages: pixels appearing on a monitor, you see (but we could go much further in the analysis of experience...), which form letters that make up statements that make sense, and usually an interesting one, too. I also have several photos portraying him and miz Chili, but am I sure those persons are actually them?

I have to admit that most of the things that compose my world, also the most significant for my whole life, look doubtful to me now. And if I allow some (not so) paranoid rules to guide my experience, I increasingly find how difficult it is to pass from the ideal meaning of existence to the real one.

Because of this, I am always surprised by people trying to investigate not only Corinne's private life (as it happens with tw's girl), but also her existence. What do they want to achieve? The knowledge of her real existence? Almost impossible. If I had a real doubt (a metaphysical doubt) about it, no evidence could help. People ask for pics of her that show her cleavage, but is a pic evidence in any meaning of the term? Please do not even try to convince a morpher about it.

This means: if I have to consider things metaphysically, i.e. from the point of view of truth, Corinne certainly does not exist, in the second meaning of the term. But in this case, not only does Santa Claus not exist, neither does SaRenna Lee or Bill Clinton. Maybe one day SaRenna (not Bill, hopefully) will personally slap my face with her tits. Would this be enough to consider her real? Metaphysically, not at all. I might be dreaming (very likely), or I might not be dreaming but dealing with a busty girl very similar to SaRenna (not that I'd complain), or a clone, or....

This said, what makes us decide what really exists in almost all cases is interpretation. Interpretation is a decision that helps in everyday life: given some elements and a certain degree of evidence (which means, never conclusive evidence), one decides to trust some data and not to trust others: but it is just a matter of faith, and we need faith where there is lack of truth. I know I have enjoyed some SF movie, but just as a fantasy tale, for I have decided that aliens do not really exist. Before getting out of bed in the morning, I decide that my floor is still solid, and it won't swallow me because it has turned into quicksand during the night, for some strange chemical reason: it has never happened, why should it have happened now? I decide to trust the authors of some history books I have studied, and I think that Napoleon and Caesar really existed. I decide not to trust some Scandinavian legends, and I think that Santa Claus does not exist. Both are nothing more than a bet.

Now, do I really need to investigate more? Not at all. Given the metaphysical doubt, what remains is psychology (in which I am no expert): precisely, the psychology of those who feel compelled to inquire and investigate what they cannot know. SaRenna Lee might not really exist, but I have nothing but a pleasing experience of her: made of videos, interviews, etc. Same for Corinne, whose columns I enjoy, and who showed herself to be a nice person the couple of times I chatted with her in BE_Loft. A B-cup in so-called real life? Hard to prove it, as much as it is hard to prove she actually tops Isabelle Lanthier. And after all, is Isabelle Lanthier real as well?...

Now I bet you won't be surprised when I tell you I believe in angels, devils, mermaids, aliens. And yes, I believe in Corinne and in SaRenna. And I believe in Santa Claus, and alssoooooooOOOOHHHHHH...

GULP!

Editor's note: The above column, unfinished, was found in the typewriter on Franz's desk, in the BEhavior editorial office. Since then there has been no trace of him (nor of his favorite chair) anywhere...