ans_. Society everywhere
is some representation, not insupportably inaccurate, of a graduated
Worship of Heroes--reverence and obedience done to men really great and
wise. Not insupportably inaccurate, I say! They are all as bank-notes,
these social dignitaries, all representing gold;--and several of them,
alas, always are _forged_ notes. We can do with some forged false notes;
with a good many even; but not with all, or the most of them forged!
No: there have to come revolutions then; cries of Democracy, Liberty and
Equality, and I know not what:--the notes being all false, and no gold
to be had for _them_, people take to crying in their despair that
there is no gold, that there never was any! "Gold," Hero-worship, _is_
nevertheless, as it was always and everywhere, and cannot cease till man
himself ceases.

I am well aware that in these days Hero-worship, the thing I call
Hero-worship, professes to have gone out, and finally ceased. This, for
reasons which it will be worth while some time to inquire into, is
an age that as it were denies the existence of great men; denies the
desirableness of great men. Show our critics a great man, a Luther for
example, they begin to what they call "account" for him; not to worship
him, but take the dimensions of him,--and bring him out to be a little
kind of man! He was the "creature of the Time," they say; the Time
called him forth, the Time did everything, he nothing--but what we the
little critic could have done too! This seems to me but melancholy work.
The Time call forth? Alas, we have known Times _call_ loudly enough for
their great man; but not find him when they called! He was not there;
Providence had not sent him; the Time, _calling_ its loudest, had to go
down to confusion and wreck because he would not come when called.

For if we will think of it, no Time need have gone to ruin, could it
have _found_ a man great enough, a man wise and good enough: wisdom to
discern truly what the Time wanted, valor to lead it on the right road
thither; these are the salvation of any Time. But I liken common languid
Times, with their unbelief, distress, perplexity, with their languid
doubting characters and embarrassed circumstances, impotently crumbling
down into ever worse distress towards final ruin;--all this I liken to
dry dead fuel, waiting for the lightning out of Heaven that shall kindle
it. The great man, with his free force direct out of God's own hand, is
the lightning. His