Skip to main content

The Importance of Believing

My local paper, which I am fond of criticizing but this morning I adore, reprinted the following editorial this morning which was first printed in the New York Sun in 1897 in response to an 8-year-old named Virginia. She had written the paper asking if there was truly a Santa Claus:

VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men’s or children’s, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.

Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! How dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus! It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.

Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that’s no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.

You tear apart the baby’s rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest man that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding. No Santa Claus! Thank GOD! He lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.

Comments

dive said…
That shouldn't just be in your local paper, Robyn, it should be in all papers.
A thoroughly commendable article.

I watched Tim Burton's Nightmare Before Christmas again yesterday, so I KNOW he exists. I SAW him!
Hoorah for Santa Claus!
Scout said…
Dive: fascinating that in 1897 they described their society as a "skeptical age." There really is nothing new under the sun. "The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see."
dive said…
It was an exciting time, Robyn.
1897 was the end of an era of great scientific leaps forward, including that of good old Chas Darwin.
HG Wells was positing putting men on the moon, photography had replaced painting, pictures were moving in cinemas and man was about to take flight. Little wonder that people were questioning their long held beliefs.
Of course, in their rush they didn't see the world was heading pell mell toward the Great War, which would put an end to innocence once and for all.

I may be a cynical old sceptic, but I for one am glad that there are still believers about.
I am one who truly believes. Thanks for sharing this with us. Tonight I will read "polar Express" to my teenage kids. I have done this since they were just babies.
Gina said…
Classic!

Merry Christmas, Robyn!
Sassy Sundry said…
I love that article.

The late 19th century was a skeptical age. Lots of bad hooey was going down around then.

Of course, there's hooey now, but of a different kind.

I'm still for Santa.
Old Knudsen said…
So if Santa exists then Candy man does too?


as in the guy with the hook that rips you apart, now I'm really scared.

dog walk the table manners.
Sassy Sundry said…
The Candy Man... That was a freaky film.

Of course Santa doesn't exist, but it's still a nice idea once a year for a few hours.
Anonymous said…
Ahh, the Virginia column. A classic! It's very much what a hometown paper would print for Christmas.
Scout said…
Rhea, it really is a small-town story, but for some reason, I have never read it before, beyond the line "Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus."

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...

Ish People

Tell an Ish person to show up around 9 a.m., and you'll see them somewhere around 9 a.m. Tell them to show up at 9ish, and you'll see them anywhere from 9:05 to 9:20. You have given them license to dilly dally, and who wouldn't take advantage of that? The other night at the big shindig dinner party, one of the drummers said the rehearsal the next morning would begin at 9ish. "I am an ish person," he says. Immediately the clanker goes off in my head--oh, good, I thought. I can deliver my daughter a little late. No Ish person is early, so if you say 9ish, that does not mean give or take 5, 10, 15 minutes. It's exclusively a taking phrase. Take an extra 10 minutes to drink your cup of coffee. We won't mind. We're Ish people. Sunday's rehearsal started at 2:00. Because it was conducted by the same people who conducted the Saturday rehearsal, my understanding was 2-ISH. My daughter is worse than I am about taking liberties with Ish time frames, so she d...