This country—the product of reason—could not survive on the morality of
sacrifice. It was not built by men who sought self-immolation or by men who
sought handouts. It could not stand on the mystic split that divorced man’s
soul from his body. It could not live by the mystic doctrine that damned this
earth as evil and those who succeeded on earth as depraved. From its start,
this country was a threat to the ancient rule of mystics. In the brilliant
rocket-explosion of its youth, this country displayed to an incredulous world
what greatness was possible to man, what happiness was possible on earth. It
was one or the other: America or mystics. The mystics knew it; you didn’t. You
let them infect you with the worship of need—and this country became a giant
in body with a mooching midget in place of its soul, while its living soul was
driven underground to labor and feed you in silence, unnamed, unhonored,
negated, its soul and hero: the industrialist.