if he possesses both, he is an exceptional being and the highest conceivable type, that of conscious genius.  Caesar is an example of this in politics; Da Vinci in painting; and the great Goethe in literature.  Even if he does not reach these heights, the superior man is one of the most useful instruments of society.  For universal comprehension usually includes a universal aptitude.  Is not this demonstrated in England, where favorable conditions have developed many examples?  What are great political characters like Disraeli and Macaulay, who could apply an ever-ready intelligence to literary composition and parliamentary struggles, to financial interests and diplomatic difficulties, but superior men?

Conceive such a one thrown into the democratic current by chances of birth, and you will realize the contrasts of environment and character which have led M. Renan to the conception of an ideal so unusual.  Democracy seems at a first glance very favorable to talent, for it opens all doors to all efforts.  But at the same time it strengthens the hard law of competition.  Therefore it requires a greater specialization.  Then, democracy is founded upon equality, of which the logical consequence is universal suffrage.  It needs little analysis to know that universal suffrage is hostile to the superior man.  The mental attitudes resulting from advanced study are usually—­multiplicity of points of view; a taste for nice distinctions; a disdain for absolute statement; and search for intricate solutions;—­all of which are refinements antagonistic to the popular love of positive assertion.  Therefore a superior man finds the morals of a democracy unfavorable to his development, while its laws hold him back from public affairs.  So, many distinguished minds in France to-day are excluded from government; or if they have triumphed over the ostracism to which their divorce from common passions condemns them, it is because they disguise this divorce under professions which are void of intellectual impartiality.  The superior man exiled in what Sainte-Beuve calls “the ivory tower” watches the drama of national life as one who sees its future possibilities.  Is it necessary to recall that one of this class of elite has shown a veritable gift of prophecy?  To cite only one example, were not the disasters of 1870 predicted with surprising exactness in the ’France nouvelle’ of Prevost-Paradol, victim like Renan of universal suffrage?  It is evident that a strange melancholy oppresses these lofty minds, weighed down under the conviction of their ideal strength and their real weakness.  The insolent triumph of the mediocre adds to this sadness.  But it is not quite without sweetness.  It has something of the pleasure extolled by Lucretius in the famous verses on those temples of the calm faith from which the sage regards the wild struggle of the passions.  But the superior man of to-day will never know the full enjoyment which the nervous systems of the ancients permitted them.