“But you once believed in Santa Claus!” he retorted. “And does that make you quarrel with him now? Every time you read a novel, don’t you pretend to believe in people who never existed?”
He went on to show her how much she lost of the sublime and inspiring things of the past. He took the story of Jesus. It mattered not in the least if it was fiction or fact—it was there, as an achievement of the human spirit. He showed her the man of the gospels—not the stained-glass god with royal robes and shining crown, but the humble workingman, with his dream of a heaven nearby, and a father who loved his children without distinction. He went about among the poor and humble, the world’s first revolutionist; teaching the supremacy of the soul—a doctrine which was to be as dynamite beneath the pillars
