For the man Christ--for the reformer who loved his fellow-men--for the
man who believed in an Infinite Father, who would shield the innocent
and protect the just--for the martyr who expected to be rescued from the
cruel cross, and who at last, finding that his rope was dust, cried out
in the gathering gloom of death; "My God! My God! Why hast thou forsaken
me?"--for that great and suffering man, mistaken though he was, I have
the highest admiration and respect. That man did not, as I believe,
claim a miraculous origin; he did not pretend to heal the sick nor raise
the dead. He claimed simply to be a man, and taught his fellow-men
that love is stronger far than hate. His life was written by reverent
ignorance. Loving credulity belittled his career with feats of jugglery
and magic art, and priests wishing to persecute and slay, put in his
mouth the words of hatred and revenge. The theological Christ is the
impossible union of the human and divine--man with the attributes of
God, and God with the limitations and weakness of man.