Man Who Has Never Read Nietzsche Insists Everyone Should Read Nietzsche

It’s 3:36am. I’ve stumbled into some afters. Immediate regret hits. I should’ve called it a night. Now I start contemplating all the life choices that have led me to this sticky leather couch on North Street. Next to me sits the very caricature of a philosophy student. He starts reciting a monologue he’s performed far too many times over far too many pints of Tennent’s in the Aikman’s cellar. The summary: I’ve read every book ever, here’s an out-of-touch geopolitical take, and you should really read Nietzsche. 

Sadly, he seizes the chance to give me his thoughts on the philosopher. Apparently, Nietzsche believed some people are smarter than others. What I ultimately gather is that the gentleman next to me thinks he’s smarter than everyone else. 

I don’t need to know Nietzsche to understand that whatever he just uttered has disturbed even the dead. What’s that sound? Oh, it's just Nietzsche rolling in his grave. Actually, he’s not only rolling. He’s doing a double-cork backspin. In fact, his rage has triggered a seismic shock, felt all the way from Saxony to St Andrews. 

Normally, I’d nod politely. But I decide to dig deeper. I ask him how you spell Nietzsche. I tell him I genuinely don’t know, which is almost true, because I do know there’s a Z in there somewhere. He trembles at my question. It’s clear no one has ever challenged him before. Now he regrets coming to afters too.

His voice goes weak: “N-I-E-T-S-C-H-E.” 

“Wait, I thought there was a Z in there somewhere?” I reply. 

And silence. 

He’s mortified, nervously gripping the knees of his tan corduroy pants. I feel bad, but I can’t resist my sudden calling for justice. It’s time to avenge everyone who has ever suffered through this pretentious spiel. I fact-check him to put the final nail in the coffin. I am better than this, I tell myself, as I turn my phone to show him my Gemini search-assist answer. 

Nietzsche is spelt N-I-E-T-Z-S-C-H-E. 

Alas, he crumbles. An awkward chuckle escapes him to ease the embarrassment. But it is too late. He knows Troy has fallen. Finally, he meekly admits he's tried to read Nietzsche several times, but has repeatedly found it far too boring. I sympathise. There are many things I’d rather do than read Nietzsche, like play Mario Kart on my Nintendo Switch or eat gravel. 

He elaborates. Everyone in this town seems to know so much. In comparison, he feels like he knows so little. He suspects that no one has read Nietzsche either, and that’s probably why his routine bluff works.

The interaction made me wonder. How many Nietzsche impostors are there at an institution like St Andrews, where everyone is an apparent genius? God forbid you admit there’s something you don’t know. If you do, people will think you are a fraud who actually knows nothing. But surprise! It’s okay to not have read Kant, Hegel, or Nietzsche. We should all feel assured that our intelligence is as valuable as our peers'. 

More importantly, pretending to be something you’re not is exhausting. Posing as more knowledgeable than you are is a projection of insecurity. Embrace what you know and don’t know. You don’t need to be particularly intelligent to agree that intelligence takes many forms. I will end my own monologue here, because I know when to stop. But I can promise you this: the most intelligent people I know aren't the ones who feel like they have something to prove. 

Illustration by Francesca Jeffs