But that is at bottom the meaning of all modern hero-worship
and celebration of the Strong Man, the Caesar the Superman.
That he may be something more than man, we must be something less.
Doubtless there is an older and better hero-worship than this.
But the old hero was a being who, like Achilles, was more human
than humanity itself. Nietzsche's Superman is cold and friendless.
Achilles is so foolishly fond of his friend that he slaughters
armies in the agony of his bereavement. Mr. Shaw's sad Caesar says
in his desolate pride, "He who has never hoped can never despair."
The Man-God of old answers from his awful hill, "Was ever sorrow
like unto my sorrow?" A great man is not a man so strong that he feels
less than other men; he is a man so strong that he feels more.
And when Nietszche says, "A new commandment I give to you, `be hard,'"
he is really saying, "A new commandment I give to you, `be dead.'"
Sensibility is the definition of life.
I recur for a last word to Jack the Giant-Killer. I have dwelt
on this matter of Mr. Wells and the giants, not because it is
specially prominent in his mind; I know that the Superman does
not bulk so large in his cosmos as in that of Mr. Bernard Shaw.
I have dwelt on it for the opposite reason; because this heresy
of immoral hero-worship has taken, I think, a slighter hold of him,
and may perhaps still be prevented from perverting one of
the best thinkers of the day.
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