He implied that Christ should be condemned, not because he destroyed the swine, but because he delivered the sick.
In short he found justice quite worthless and mercy quite unlovable; and as for humility and the distance between himself and his ideals, he seemed rather to suggest (at this time at least) that his somewhat varying ideals were only interesting because they had belonged to himself.

Some of this, it is true, was only in the _Confessions of a Young Man_; but it is the whole point here that they were then the confessions of a young man, and that Huxley's in comparison were the confessions of an old man.

The trend of the new time, in very varying degrees, was tending to undermine, not merely the Christian demonology, not merely the Christian theology, not merely the Christian religion, but definitely the Christian ethical ideal, which had seemed to the great agnostic as secure as the stars.
But while the world was mocking the morality he had assumed, it was bringing back the mysticism he had mocked.

The next phase of Mr.George Moore himself, whom I have taken as a type of the time, was the serious and sympathetic consideration of Irish mysticism, as embodied in Mr.W.B.Yeats.

I have myself heard Mr.Yeats, about that time, tell a story, to illustrate how concrete and even comic is the reality of the supernatural, saying that he knew a farmer whom the fairies had dragged out of bed and beaten.
Now suppose Mr.Yeats had told Mr.Moore, then moving in this glamorous atmosphere, another story of the same sort.
Suppose he had said that the farmer's pigs had fallen under the displeasure of some magician of the sort he celebrates, who had conjured bad fairies into the quadrupeds, so that they went in a wild dance down to the village pond.