of　other　words；　that　there　are　things　that　do　not　move。
  And　even　in　the　act　of　saying　that　things　change；　we　say　that　there
  is　something　unchangeable。
  But　certainly　the　best　example　of　Mr。　Wells's　fallacy　can　be
  found　in　the　example　which　he　himself　chooses。　　It　is　quite　true
  that　we　see　a　dim　light　which；　compared　with　a　darker　thing；
  is　light；　but　which；　compared　with　a　stronger　light；　is　darkness。
  But　the　quality　of　light　remains　the　same　thing；　or　else　we
  should　not　call　it　a　stronger　light　or　recognize　it　as　such。
  If　the　character　of　light　were　not　fixed　in　the　mind；　we　should　be
  quite　as　likely　to　call　a　denser　shadow　a　stronger　light；　or　vice
  versa　If　the　character　of　light　became　even　for　an　instant　unfixed；
  if　it　became　even　by　a　hair's…breadth　doubtful；　if；　for　example；
  there　crept　into　our　idea　of　light　some　vague　idea　of　blueness；
  then　in　that　flash　we　have　become　doubtful　whether　the　new　light
  has　more　light　or　less。　　In　brief；　the　progress　may　be　as　varying
  as　a　cloud；　but　the　direction　must　be　as　rigid　as　a　French　road。
  North　and　South　are　relative　in　the　sense　that　I　am　North　of　Bournemouth
  and　South　of　Spitzbergen。　　But　if　there　be　any　doubt　of　the　position
  of　the　North　Pole；　there　is　in　equal　degree　a　doubt　of　whether　I
  am　South　of　Spitzbergen　at　all。　　The　absolute　idea　of　light　may　be
  practically　unattainable。　　We　may　not　be　able　to　procure　pure　light。
  We　may　not　be　able　to　get　to　the　North　Pole。　　But　because　the　North
  Pole　is　unattainable；　it　does　not　follow　that　it　is　indefinable。
  And　it　is　only　because　the　North　Pole　is　not　indefinable　that　we
  can　make　a　satisfactory　map　of　Brighton　and　Worthing。
  In　other　words；　Plato　turned　his　face　to　truth　but　his　back　on
  Mr。　H。　G。　Wells；　when　he　turned　to　his　museum　of　specified　ideals。
  It　is　precisely　here　that　Plato　shows　his　sense。　　It　is　not　true
  that　everything　changes；　the　things　that　change　are　all　the　manifest
  and　material　things。　　There　is　something　that　does　not　change；
  and　that　is　precisely　the　abstract　quality；　the　invisible　idea。
  Mr。　Wells　says　truly　enough；　that　a　thing　which　we　have　seen　in　one
  connection　as　dark　we　may　see　in　another　connection　as　light。
  But　the　thing　common　to　both　incidents　is　the　mere　idea　of　light
  which　we　have　not　seen　at　all。　　Mr。　Wells　might　grow　taller　and　taller
  for　unending　aeons　till　his　head　was　higher　than　the　loneliest　star。
  I　can　imagine　his　writing　a　good　novel　about　it。　　In　that　case
  he　would　see　the　trees　first　as　tall　things　and　then　as　short　things；
  he　would　see　the　clouds　first　as　high　and　then　as　low。
  But　there　would　remain　with　him　through　the　ages　in　that　starry
  loneliness　the　idea　of　tallness；　he　would　have　in　the　awful　spaces
  for　companion　and　comfort　the　definite　conception　that　he　was　growing
  taller　and　not　（for　instance）　growing　fatter。
  And　now　it　comes　to　my　mind　that　Mr。　H。　G。　Wells　actually　has　written
  a　very　delightful　romance　about　men　growing　as　tall　as　trees；
  and　that　here；　again；　he　seems　to　me　to　have　been　a　victim　of　this
  vague　relativism。　　〃The　Food　of　the　Gods〃　is；　like　Mr。　Bernard
  Shaw's　play；　in　essence　a　study　of　the　Superman　idea。　　And　it　lies；
  I　think；　even　through　the　veil　of　a　half…pantomimic　allegory；
  open　to　the　same　intellectual　attack。　　We　cannot　be　expected　to　have
  any　regard　for　a　great　creature　if　he　does　not　in　any　manner　conform
  to　our　standards。　　For　unless　he　passes　our　standard　of　greatness
  we　cannot　even　call　him　great。　　Nietszche　summed　up　all　that　is
  interesting　in　the　Superman　idea　when　he　said；　〃Man　is　a　thing
  which　has　to　be　surpassed。〃　　But　the　very　word　〃surpass〃　implies
  the　existence　of　a　standard　common　to　us　and　the　thing　surpassing　us。
  If　the　Superman　is　more　manly　than　men　are；　of　course　they　will
  ultimately　deify　him；　even　if　they　happen　to　kill　him　first。
  But　if　he　is　simply　more　supermanly；　they　may　be　quite　indifferent
  to　him　as　they　would　be　to　another　seemingly　aimless　monstrosity。
  He　must　submit　to　our　test　even　in　order　to　overawe　us。
  Mere　force　or　size　even　is　a　standard；　but　that　alone　will　never
  make　men　think　a　man　their　superior。　　Giants；　as　in　the　wise　old
  fairy…tales；　are　vermin。　　Supermen；　if　not　good　men；　are　vermin。
  〃The　Food　of　the　Gods〃　is　the　tale　of　〃Jack　the　Giant…Killer〃
  told　from　the　point　of　view　of　the　giant。　　This　has　not；　I　think；
  been　done　before　in　literature；　but　I　have　little　doubt　that　the
  psychological　substance　of　it　existed　in　fact。　　I　have　little　doubt
  that　the　giant　whom　Jack　killed　did　regard　himself　as　the　Superman。
  It　is　likely　enough　that　he　considered　Jack　a　narrow　and　parochial　person
  who　wished　to　frustrate　a　great　forward　movement　of　the　life…force。
  If　（as　not　unfrequently　was　the　case）　he　happened　to　have　two　heads；
  he　would　point　out　the　elementary　maxim　which　declares　them
  to　be　better　than　one。　　He　would　enlarge　on　the　subtle　modernity
  of　such　an　equipment；　enabling　a　giant　to　look　at　a　subject
  from　two　points　of　view；　or　to　correct　himself　with　promptitude。
  But　Jack　was　the　champion　of　the　enduring　human　standards；
  of　the　principle　of　one　man　one　head　and　one　man　one　conscience；
  of　the　single　head　and　the　single　heart　and　the　single　eye。
  Jack　was　quite　unimpressed　by　the　question　of　whether　the　giant　was
  a　particularly　gigantic　giant。　　All　he　wished　to　know　was　whether
  he　was　a　good　giantthat　is；　a　giant　who　was　any　good　to　us。
  What　were　the　giant's　religious　views；　what　his　views　on　politics
  and　the　duties　of　the　citizen？　　Was　he　fond　of　children
  or　fond　of　them　only　in　a　dark　and　sinister　sense　？　　To　use　a　fine
  phrase　for　emotional　sanity；　was　his　heart　in　the　right　place？
  Jack　had　sometimes　to　cut　him　up　with　a　sword　in　order　to　find　out。
  The　old　and　correct　story　of　Jack　the　Giant…Killer　is　simply　the　whole
  story　of　man；　if　it　were　understood　we　should　need　no　Bibles　or　histories。
  But　the　modern　world　in　particular　does　not　seem　to　understand　it　at　all。
  The　modern　world；　like　Mr。　Wells　is　on　the　side　of　the　giants；
  the　safest　place；　and　therefore　the　meanest　and　the　most　prosaic。
  The　modern　world；　when　it　praises　its　little　Caesars；
  talks　of　being　strong　and　brave：　　but　it　does　not　seem　to　see
  the　eternal　paradox　involved　in　the　conjunction　of　these　ideas。
  The　strong　cannot　be　brave。　　Only　the　weak　can　be　brave；
  and　yet　again；　in　practice；　only　those　who　can　be　brave　can　be　trusted；
  in　time　of　doubt；　to　be　strong。　　The　only　way　in　which　a　giant　could
  really　keep　himself　in　training　against　the　inevitable　Jack　would
  be　by　continually　fighting　other　giants　ten　times　as　big　as　himself。
  That　is　by　ceasing　to　be　a　giant　and　becoming　a　Jack。
  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；　‘