Friedrich Nietzsche is often associated with nihilism. This might be because of the assonance between Nietzsche and nihilism. However, that association is also a good indicator that someone hasn’t read him. In fact, when defending the Übermensch, Nietzsche distanced himself from Christians and Darwinists, together with nihilists (Ecce Homo, §3.1). His ideals also shouldn’t be reduced to power dynamics either, but rather the human desire to vent strength, the will to power (Beyond Good and Evil, §13). In other words, far from nihilism, Nietzsche longed to see humans flourish through freely carrying out what he considered more fundamental than self-preservation: the exercise of power.

Nietzsche Wasn’t a Nihilist

Take for example the passage from his Anti-Christ (§2), which I’ve likened to a catechism or creed. Nietzsche asks: “What is good?” His answer: “All that heightens the feeling of power, the will to power…in man.” Then, after denouncing weakness and pity, he asks: “What is happiness?” The answer: “The feeling that power increases,” overcoming resistance. Though he doesn’t frame it as a question, Nietzsche then contrasts contentment, peace and virtue with the accumulation of greater power, even war. Nietzsche wasn’t a nihilist. His philosophy grew out of what he considered a universal longing or desire that should be sated—lest we lose our way and live without purpose.

But my intention for this post isn’t to rescue Nietzsche from being mislabeled; it’s to demonstrate that the German’s philosophy wasn’t as exceptional we—or he—might imagine. That’s where Fyodor Dostoyevsky comes in. We’ll get to meteors towards the end.

The Abundantly Rich Russians

I remarked in a previous post that most readers are aware of Russian literature—and even aspire to read the likes of Turgenev, Dostoyevsky and Tolstoy—only to find their gargantuan works too daunting. Reading Crime and Punishment recently I was struck afresh by that tension. It’s incredibly demanding, sometimes arduous, but profoundly rewarding. Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise us that the greater effort required for reading yields greater results than, say, streaming or scrolling; Nietzsche certainly thought as much. Anyway, let’s get back to Crime and Punishment.

It’s hardly a spoiler for me to tell you that Crime and Punishment is about a murder. Rodion Raskolnikov plots and carries out a murder early in the novel—that’s the crime. But considering conquerors such as Napoleon or Mohammed, Raskolnikov argues that true greatness is found only among those who can do terrible things towards more glorious ends, with impunity. One of the more dubious characters, Svidrigailov, summarises this position: “a single villainous act is allowable if the central aim is good. One bad action and a hundred good deeds!” Importantly, however, Svidrigailov goes on to say that there are “people to whom everything is permitted.” In other words, they don’t only get away with their crimes—their conscience is unaffected by them.

Achieving awesome deeds may necessitate wounding the weak, but it’s crucial that the conscience remains untroubled by battle fields littered with bodies. Herein lies true greatness.

Power and Conscience in Crime and Punishment

Crime and Punishment could be likened to a long debate about that ideology. This debate is carried along by many smaller conversations, mostly involving the protagonist Rodion Raskolnikov. One such conversation takes place between him and Sonya. In fact, it was this particular dialogue that prompted me to write this reflection. For therein Sonya refers to Raskolnikov’s “black catechesis…his creed and his law.” Written when Nietzsche was still a university student, Crime and Punishment therefore preempts themes that would later become personified by the German and his Übermensch.

Referring to those glorious and great historical figures who did what was necessary in their eyes, Raskolnikov tells Sonya: “whoever is strong and powerful in mind and spirit is their lord and master…Whoever is able to spit on most things, they consider their law-giver, and the person who takes the most liberties of all is the one who is most in the right! That’s how it’s been in the past, and that’s how it will always be! Only a blind person could ever fail to perceive it!” Unnervingly, we’d be hard pressed to disagree with his feverish and ecstatic pronouncements. Raskolnikov’s rant has the ring of truth.

“And then it was, Sonya, that I understood,” he continues, “that power is given only to those who dare to lower themselves and pick it up. Only one thing matters, one thing: to be able to dare! It was then that I conceived a certain idea, for the first time in my life, an idea that has never occurred to anyone before me! Not anyone! I suddenly saw, as clearly as the sun, that in the past no one has ever dared, and still does not dare, quite simply to pick up all that absurd nonsense by the tail in passing and toss it to the devil! I…I wanted to make the dare, and so I killed someone…To make the dare — that was the only reason for it, Sonya.”

There Are No Meteoric Minds, Only Showers

As I said, what Sonya calls Raskolnikov’s “black catechesis” or “creed” is echoed by Nietzsche’s in the Anti-Christ. Now, I’m not attempting to prove that Nietzsche was influenced by Dostoyevsky—that would exceed my expertise. Nor am I suggesting that Raskolnikov’s views in Crime and Punishment are Dostoyevsky’s—they almost certainly aren’t. But the undeniable resonance reveals that for all his incendiary iconoclasm, Nietzsche wasn’t unique. Nor were his contributions all that novel. And that brings us to meteors.

In her Absence of Mind—a book that is fast becoming one of my favourite works of non-fiction, Marilynne Robinson says: “Figures such as Freud and Nietzsche, viewed against a background void of detail, seem to us to appear like meteors, to be singularities that shape intellectual space and time, not at all to have been shaped by them. Yet they are both inevitably engrossed in the passions that were consuming Europe.”

Like Fyodor Dostoyevsky’s protagonist in Crime and Punishment, Friedrich Nietzsche was carried along by the European currents of the 19th century. There are no meteors. No singularly brilliant individuals or free thinkers. We’re born into moulds, subsequently shaped by our environments. If that’s true of someone as wilfully nonconformist as Friedrich Nietzsche, it’s true of you too.

Resist Individualism and Read More Fiction

When I set out to write this reflection my mind wasn’t flush with implications—or even a conclusion for that matter. I’m still not sure what to make of it. Perhaps one of the more obvious conclusions is that would-be students of thought must also be students of history. Thought proceeds from biography, because existence precedes thought. This is something Herman Bavinck superbly demonstrates in his Christian Worldview. Therefore if we’re to understand the history of thought and philosophical developments we have to locate it within its context.

Linked with the above conclusion I’d offer a caution against imagining ourselves as unaffected thinkers, weighing up the evidence and reaching logical conclusions. Contextual currents move all of us more than we realise. Of course we all relish the thought of striking out on our own and setting trends, but it’s far more likely you’re just following one or combining a few to give the impression of novelty. Absolute individualism in a myth. The sooner we realise that the better.

Finally, as someone who never wastes an opportunity to punt fiction, if you’ve made it this far it’s either because you’ve already read Dostoyevsky or are seriously considering it. Great stories give colour and texture to thought or philosophy, allowing us to enter into and experience it. You don’t have to read Nietzsche in order to move out of the shallows and start thinking deeply. Tolle lege.