Because he forgave the “duly convicted” crucified thieves and whipped the unconvicted bankers from the temple; Because with stinging words he lashed the whited sepulchres called “the very _best_ people”; Because he was so fine and great he promptly became extremely unpopular with coarse and savage little “prominent people”; Because he was so gentle and terrible that the noisy and cruel “law-abiding leading citizens” in their swaggering ignorance and malignance decided he was an anarchist and proceeded to shut off his free speech; Because he was neither narrow enough to be national nor ignorant enough to be orthodox; Because on the last morning of his life be so proudly despised the official political bull-pups who teased him and insulted him—and could not understand him; Because, on the same morning, he so finely scorned the bigoted little orthodox holy bullies who hindered him and wolfishly screamed for the Carpenter’s blood; Because children charmed him; Because the humble “common people” swarmed around him and loved him—in spite of their pious and orthodox “spiritual advisers”; Because he scorned the “dignity” of some men and saw the Dignity of Man; Because he came from the bottom up and never forgot—_never hesitated to defend_—“even the least of these,” including his sad, shamed, outlawed sister; Because he did not whimper and cringe when certain religiously eminent small souls spat in the face of the World Soul; Because the great wholesome brother was a true Social Soul, loving all mankind; Because, especially because, he so finely forgave the thoughtless working class soldiers who mocked him, forced a thorn crown upon his head, drove nails through his flesh, sneered at his agonies, and thrust a spear into their working class Brother Carpenter; Because he said, “Put up thy sword,” regarded no man as “foreigner,” and died for International Fraternalism. A Social Man. A Sample. I love him. Let us, too, brother, be social and international. Let us bury the hatchet, break the rifle, spike the cannon, despise the sword, accept the Sermon on the Mount for its spirit of peace, and scorn any sermon that urges us to war against our own class brothers. Let us detest any sermon that stirs and fosters the tiger within us and arrests our social development. Social development. “Social development,” did I say? Yes, reader, that is what we need, social development. Man on his long march upward—up from the jungle—has been impeded by a heavy burden—in his blood. He has carried the menagerie—in his veins. Here permit me to use a very homely metaphor, a figure of speech neither to your taste nor to mine, yet needed and defensible: In its social development the world is hindered by too much bull-pup.