His morality is all sympathy, just what morality should be. If the
only thing that he ever said had been, 'Her sins are forgiven her
because she loved much,' it would have been worth while dying to
have said it. His justice is all poetical justice, exactly what
justice should be. The beggar goes to heaven because he has been
unhappy. I cannot conceive a better reason for his being sent
there. The people who work for an hour in the vineyard in the cool
of the evening receive just as much reward as those who have toiled
there all day long in the hot sun. Why shouldn't they? Probably
no one deserved anything. Or perhaps they were a different kind of
people. Christ had no patience with the dull lifeless mechanical
systems that treat people as if they were things, and so treat
everybody alike: for him there were no laws: there were
exceptions merely, as if anybody, or anything, for that matter, was
like aught else in the world!

That which is the very keynote of romantic art was to him the
proper basis of natural life. He saw no other basis. And when
they brought him one, taken in the very act of sin and showed him
her sentence written in the law, and asked him what was to be done,
he wrote with his finger on the ground as though he did not hear
them, and finally, when they pressed him again, looked up and said,
'Let him of you who has never sinned be the first to throw the
stone at her.' It was worth while living to have said that.

Like all poetical natures he loved ignorant people. He knew that
in the soul of one who is ignorant there is always room for a great
idea. But he could not stand stupid people, especially those who
are made stupid by education: people who are full of opinions not
one of which they even understand, a peculiarly modern type, summed