Superlatives (XXXVI)
One of the most popular form of words in both criticism and life is the superlative. You're forever coming across 'the greatest Czech poet;' 'the most outstanding work of our time,' 'the best humorist' and suchlike, almost as you do in advertisements-- 'the best alcohol-free drink,' 'the best factory of its kinds,' 'the most this,' 'the best that,' again and again without end. We live in a world of superlatives. However, Alpha fizz or Omega pop may be the best alcohol-free drink, and still not be good. The greatest poet of the Trebizond tsardom doesn't in effect have to be great, and the greatest humorist of our time doesn't have to be good at all-- quite simply, good is better than best, great is greater than greatest, and the positive is more serious, more absolute and weightier than the superlative.
If a woman wants to be the most beautiful in society, she's a vain coquette; if she wants to be simply beautiful, she accomplishes a classic, God-pleasing work. If someone wants to write the greatest Czech novel, he commits a grubby piece of competitiveness against no fewer than 150 best Czech novels. If, however, he wants to write a good novel, his ambition is great and honest. When Leibniz tried to prove that our world is the best of all possible worlds, he justified God very unreliably; he'd have done better if he had provided (of course an impossible) proof that our world is good. Nothing more than good. Yes, of course, we have invented superlatives mainly in order to wriggle out of the difficult examination of whether things are good, great and beautiful. We speak in superlatives not because we like to exaggerate, but because we don't have the courage to speak in positives.
-- Karel Capek, Believe in People
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