Is there really a Santa Claus?
Christmas Day is a time to savor — family, friends, food and the true meaning of the season, love made concrete in the form of a baby. On Christmas Day, we have a brief moment for joy, a time to forget about the many troubles facing all of us, whether as a planet, a nation or individuals.
To that end, once again is publishing what has become the most reprinted editorial ever, the question from a little New York City girl who was worried that Santa Claus was not real. From The New York Sun, Sept. 21, 1897, let us ponder the words of Virginia, and the response written by veteran journalist Francis Pharcellus Church.
The former Civil War correspondent turned hardened newspaper man took the opportunity, in answering Virginia’s letter, to consider age-old mysteries, taking a simple query from a little girl and turning it into an essay for the ages. His authorship only came to light after his death in 1906.
Another anonymous editorial writer wrote after Church’s death that, “At this time, with the sense of personal loss strong upon us, we know of no better or briefer way to make the friends of the Sun feel that they too have lost a friend than to violate custom by indicating him [Church] as the author of the beautiful and often republished editorial article affirming the existence of Santa Claus, in reply to the question of a little girl.”
Laura Virginia O’Hanlon Douglas grew up to be a successful teacher and principal, retaining her wonder in the world despite a brief, unhappy marriage that left her alone to raise a daughter. When Virginia died in 1971, her obituary was on the front page of The New York Times, with the headline: “Virginia O’Hanlon, Santa’s friend, dies.”
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 skepticism of a skeptical 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 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 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 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 may 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.