Thus that sympathy with the small or the defeated as such,
with which we Liberals and Nationalists have been often reproached,
is not a useless sentimentalism at all, as Mr. Wells and his
friends fancy. It is the first law of practical courage.
To be in the weakest camp is to be in the strongest school.
Nor can I imagine anything that would do humanity more good than
the advent of a race of Supermen, for them to fight like dragons.
If the Superman is better than we, of course we need not fight him;
but in that case, why not call him the Saint? But if he is
merely stronger (whether physically, mentally, or morally stronger,
I do not care a farthing), then he ought to have to reckon with us
at least for all the strength we have. It we are weaker than he,
that is no reason why we should be weaker than ourselves.
If we are not tall enough to touch the giant's knees, that is
no reason why we should become shorter by falling on our own.
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.'"