Happy St. Nicholas Day

I am a little embarrased to admit this, but in all my Christmases past, I have never read "Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus." Fortunately, I remedied my flaw this year, and was rewarded immensely. This fantastic letter is one of the greatest pieces of Christmas literature ever written. It is filled so deeply with wonder and truth that it is hard to believe it was actually printed in a newspaper. While a simple "no" answer to the question of whether Santa Claus existed may have satisfied most of his readers, the author communicated greater truth in his answer to Virginia--truth like that which is offered by the voice of God (using the words of Tolkien) to John (the Lewis Character) in The Pilgrim's Regress:

Child, if you will, it is mythology. It is but truth, not fact: an image, not the very real. But then it is My mythology . . . this is My inventing, this is the veil under which I have chosen to appear even from the first until now. For this end I made your senses and for this end your imagination, that you might see My face and live. What would you have? Have you not heard among the Pagans the story of Semele? Or was there any age in any land when men did not know that corn and wine were the blood and body of a dying and yet living God?

So, in the spirit of Christmas and the celebration of St. Nicholas Day, I have reprinted the original letter and a modern response (in verse) below.

Is There a Santa Claus?
From the Editorial Page of The New York Sun,written by Francis P. Church, September 21, 1897

We take pleasure in answering thus prominently the communication below, expressing at the same time our great gratification that its faithful author is numbered among the friends of The Sun:

"Dear Editor--I am 8 years old. Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. Papa says, 'If you see it in The Sun, it's so.' Please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?"

Virginia O'Hanlon
115 West Ninety-fifth Street

Virginia, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the scepticism of a sceptical age. They do not believe except 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 as 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 child-like faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with 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 you 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 men 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, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.



"Reply to Francis P. Church of the New York Sun"

To Church of the Sun, a name never more apt
For the gift that you gave the readers of your paper
Through all the news, no truth has been said greater
In the century that has since past.

Spurred on by words of the littlest child
Innocence still safe from skeptics and sinners
Complemented by your sense, your wit, and your wisdom
You cut to our hearts, through the bones and the lies.

So you explained Christmas and angels and fairies
Woven through reference to beauty and love
As sure as the Crucifix, flesh, and His blood
Eternal truths viewed through our simplest stories.

When does an idea become real to man
When broken down, catalogued, fully explained
When reduced to a form with a patented name
When held out by Thomas and touched by our hands?

Not so, Lord. Not so! Says the Church of the Sun
Or else we've lost poetry, romance, and passion
Or else we've lost childhood and vision of heaven
And we've lost life worth living once all that is gone.

So our fantasy, faith, even pagan beliefs
Whether Hercules, Aslan, or Santa Claus
Ten times ten thousand years still going strong
Will keep the world moving; unproven, unseen.

So to Church of the Sun, from times turned absurd
Where your simple sentiments wouldn't be news
Though the world closed its eyes and buried the truth
I believe in Virginia and I cherish your words.