People were not slaves to their gods as they are now, oppressed and unhappy, chained to their mortality and suffering so that they may one day enter an imaginary Heaven. “If my own mother was alive,” sobbed Ann Veronica, “she would understand. "They imagine their work is done. " "So I've found out the way to move her," thought the carpenter; "those tears will do her some good, at all events. There is no Heaven for your mother. Ah, no, I have it wrong. “The point is we’re not toys, toys isn’t the word; we’re litter. “It’s not for us to supplicate any more.
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