Friedrich Nietzsche’s “The Death of Socrates”
Socrates could never win a beauty pageant
Friedrich Nietzsche, the 19th-century German philosopher, wrote Twilight of the Idols in 1889 as one of his final works. Depending on the edition, the books spans approximately 130–200 pages and delivers a sharp critique of metaphysics. Beyond its well-structured argumentation, the text encapsulates many of Nietzsche’s signature themes. It opens with over 40 aphorisms and criticizes the dialectical method found in ancient Greece.
When beginning his criticism of dialectics, he immediately turns his attention to Socrates. Nietzsche writes:
In origin, Socrates belonged to the lowest class: Socrates was plebs. We know, we can still see for ourselves, how ugly he was. But ugliness, in itself an objection, is among the Greeks almost a refutation.
Though criticizing Socrates’ ugliness might seem like low-hanging fruit for Nietzsche, he does so with a deliberate purpose. In Platonism, beauty is regarded as an ideal to be pursued, with the Form of Beauty representing a higher truth. Yet, Socrates — the very figuring emphasizing the importance of the Forms — stands in contradiction to this ideal. The very individual discussing the Forms and the role of beauty was himself considered unattractive by ancient Greek standards.
In case it is not already evident, the concept of dialectics originates in ancient Greece. Dialectics refers to the investigation of various truths and propositions in pursuit of higher understanding. This form of investigation is distinct from emotional appeals, such as the Aristotelian pathos, or other persuasive tactics. Instead, it solely involves critical examination to assess the validity of arguments.
As seen in Plato’s works — especially The Republic (which I have a blog post about that you can find here) — Socrates employs what is now known as the Socratic method. This dialectical approach consists of questioning interlocutors rather than providing definitive answers. This is similar to a teacher guiding students toward the correct answer by asking questions rather than simply providing the solution.
Although the Socratic method appears to be relatively innocent, Nietzsche heavily criticizes this method. He continues with his attacks on Socrates:
Everything in [Socrates] is exaggerated, buffo, a caricature; everything is at the same time concealed, ulterior, subterranean.
This reference to a buffo —an exaggerated character in Italian opera — suggests that Socrates is placed on a pedestal, regarded as someone who holds an answer that, if discovered, would reveal the full truth about the nature of existence. Yet, at the same time, Socrates is described as “concealed, ulterior, [and] subterranean,” implying that he is not transparent; by utilizing the Socratic method, Socrates is able to hide behind this veil. Nietzsche explains:
I seek to comprehend what idiosyncrasy begot that Socratic equation of reason, virtue, and happiness: that most bizarre of all equations, which, moreover, is opposed to all the instincts of the earlier Greeks.
At this juncture, it is necessary to reference Nietzsche’s broader critique of ancient Greek life — specifically its decay. In his first book, The Birth of Tragedy (1872), Nietzsche examines how ancient Greek life underwent a significant transition. He argues that ancient Greece suffered from an excess, an overabundance or overfullness of life. With endless festivities and overflowing of vitality, Greek life initially conceptualized tragedy as life-affirming. There was no deeper meaning to be extracted from the popular tragic stories at the time. As seen in Homer’s Odyssey or Iliad, the tales were tragic but they were not intended to convey moralization or rational explanations. Thus, early Greek life found a perfect balance — one between the Apollonian (order) and the Dionysian (chaos).
However, this overabundance of life eventually led to a prioritization of reason: the Apollonian was prioritized. These tragic stories, once understood as raw and life-affirming, now began to be intellectualized, moralized, and interpolated, with a focus on reason. This shift marks the fundamental decay of ancient Greek life, according to Nietzsche. In this context, Socrates emerges as a symptom of this decay, with his overwhelming emphasis on reason. As highlighted in the quote above, Socrates believes that reason leads to virtue, and virtue in turn leads to happiness (it reads much more clearly as a progression in the original German). For Socrates, reason is a precursor to happiness — something that Nietzsche vehemently disagrees with.
To continue:
One chooses dialectics only when one has no other means.
Nietzsche argues that the dialectical method is chosen as a last resort; he finds this method to be unconvincing and a form of self-defense. He writes:
Nothing is easier to erase than a dialectical effect: the experience of every meeting at which there are speeches proves this.
With the dialectical method, any effect is easily nullified as each question posed is answered, only to be followed by another question. This cycle makes it simple to disregard any argument Socrates presents, as each question hinges on a new answer from the interlocutor. However, while the dialectical method is a form of self-defense, it is used offensively:
As a dialectician, one holds a merciless tool in one hand; one can become a tyrant by means of it; one compromises those one conquers.
The reference to one becoming a tyrant via the dialectical method is particularly intriguing, especially when considering that Plato, in The Republic, questions whether the philosopher is a tyrant themselves. Despite this, even though Socrates appears to have knowledge of higher truth, Nietzsche points out that Socrates never truly proves that the possesses this knowledge. Instead, Nietzsche suggests that this dialectical method is tyrannical as it easily deceives the masses.
If weaponized correctly, the dialectical method serves to uphold the dialectician’s position:
The dialectician leaves it to [their] opponent to prove that [the dialectician] is no idiot: [the dialectician] makes one furious and helpless at the same time.
The supposed brilliance of the dialectician lies in the fact that their opponents are put in the position of having to prove their own intelligence. By asking questions, the dialectician forces the interlocutors to provide answers, which can then be used to the dialectician’s advantage. This reminds me of The Republic, where Socrates continuously responds to Thrasymachus’ answers with new questions. Over time, Thrasymachus concedes that Socrates must know something, but becomes increasingly frustrated as Socrates fails to directly give an answer.
Nietzsche posits the question:
Is dialectic only a form of revenge in Socrates?
This appears to reference how Socrates — a poor man excluded from the privileges enjoyed by the wealthy — utilized dialectics as a form of revenge against the aristocrats. In doing so, he has the ability to win battles amongst individuals that he would not have had the ability to beat previously. Nietzsche writes:
That he discovered a new kind of agon, that he became its first fencing master for the noble circles of Athens, is one point. He fascinated by appealing to the agonistic impulse of the Greeks — he introduced a variation into the wrestling match between young men and youths.
The word “agon” means “contest,” and it is here that Nietzsche notes that Socrates became the “first fencing master” of Athens. By this, Nietzsche means that Socrates was able to weaponize dialectics in a highly skilled, professional manner, appealing to the “agonistic impulse of the Greeks.” Through this weaponization of dialectics, Socrates engaged in intellectual contests, but unlike the physical contests that were central to Greek culture, Socrates competed in the game of argumentation and reason.
Nietzsche continues:
[Socrates] saw through his noble Athenians; he comprehended that his own case, his idiosyncrasy, was no longer exceptional.
Ultimately, Nietzsche highlights that Socrates was aware of the societal decay taking place in ancient Greece. Socrates recognized that his approach — his emphasis on the dialectical method — was “no longer exceptional.” As society as a whole deteriorated, Socrates believed his presence had become essential. Nietzsche writes:
And Socrates understood that all the world need him — his means, his cure, his personal artifice of self-preservation
Socrates was well-aware that he could not compete in the traditional contests centered around wealth or physique (including beauty), so he devised his own game to play. It is important to note here that Walter Kaufmann, a renowned translator of Nietzsche, observes that Nietzsche offers some praise for Socrates. In the face of the growing “plebian ressentiment” in Athens, Socrates rose to confront the societal decay. Nietzsche himself acknowledged that, amidst this decay, Socrates was able to control his impulses. Might this be emblematic of the Übermensch in some ways? Nietzsche writes:
He fascinated, being this extreme case; his awe-inspiring ugliness proclaimed him as such to all who could see: he fascinated, of course, even more as an answer, a solution, an apparent cure of this case.
Therefore, it should come as no surprise that Nietzsche has some praise for Socrates even if Socrates did not provide a viable solution. As Nietzsche argues, Socrates only has “an apparent cure.” It is evident that Nietzsche finds Socrates to weaponize dialectics, specifically through a prioritization of reason. It is here that Nietzsche writes:
When one finds it necessary to turn reason into a tyrant, as Socrates did, the danger cannot be slight that something else will play the tyrant.
We must recall the sequential triad identified by Nietzsche in Socratic thought: Reason, Virtue, Happiness. When reason is turned into a tyrant — a weapon employed by Socrates — then virtue and happiness, as its logical consequences, are likewise turned into tyrants. This encapsulates Nietzsche’s broader critique of metaphysics: it disguises tyranny as truth. In Plato’s metaphysics, particularly the Theory of Forms, virtue is not only deemed ideal but also transcendent. And as we have seen, virtue is only employed tyrannically.
Nietzsche continues:
The moralism of the Greek philosophers from Plato on is pathologically conditioned; so is their esteem of dialectics.
The ancient Greek philosophers are often revered as bearers of higher wisdom or transcendent knowledge. Yet for Nietzsche, this reverence is wrongfully attributed. He finds the moralism of the ancient Greeks, along with their dialectics, as symptoms of a deeper sickness — this view is “pathologically conditioned” rooted in an inability to affirm life. Nietzsche says facetiously:
One must be clever, clear, bright at any price: any concession to the instincts, to the unconscious, leads downward.
From the perspective of the ancient Greek philosophers, the instincts were viewed as dangerous or a problem. Reason had to prevail as succumbing to the instincts would result in disorder or decay. Yet, as Nietzsche has explained, this prioritization of reason over instinct solely instills a new transcendent ideal of reason-as-tyrant. The attempt to escape the instincts is this downward — not the other way around. As Nietzsche writes:
It is a self-deception on the part of philosophers and moralists if they believe that they are extricating themselves from decadence when they merely wage war against it.
Philosophers and moralists tend to find themselves “extricating themselves from decadence” or escaping moral decline, yet they only set a trap for themselves. By waging war against decadence, they develop the notion that there is a winning side — a side that has a transcendent value or truth. Expanding on this, Nietzsche writes:
Socrates was a misunderstanding; the whole improvement-morality, including the Christian, was a misunderstanding.
Both Socrates and the Christian individual are misunderstandings. They claim to oppose decadence, yet position a transcendent value within their critique. This can be likened to modern social media influencers that launch moral crusades against supposed cultural decline — be it the ‘downfall of masculinity’ or the so-called laziness of those who reject hustle culture. But by engaging in this war, they reproduce the decadence that they are vehemently against.
As we have been discussing decadence, we must ask ourselves, what is the true formula of decadence? Nietzsche states:
To have to fight the instincts — that is the formula of decadence: as long as life is ascending, happiness equals instinct.
The formula of decadence is the compulsion to fight one’s instincts. True decay occurs when instinct is treated as an enemy — when life turns against itself. An individual at war with their instincts is unable to achieve happiness because the instincts are equated to happiness. Whether it’s ancient Greece fighting tragic instincts, resulting in anarchy of the instincts, or Socrates fighting of the anarchy of the instincts via reason, both reflect the same illness. This is why Socrates, up to his death, never achieved happiness:
Socrates wanted to die: not Athens, but he himself chose the hemlock; he forced Athens to sentence him.
Therefore, Nietzsche concludes The Death of Socrates by reading Socrates’ death in a Homeric way — a manner that balances the Apollonian and Dionysian. Socrates’ death is tragic because Socrates made death the prescription to life; he viewed life as an illness that only death could cure. Yet, as Nietzsche has explained, Socrates’ view was artificially produced by a broader illness.
Conclusion
Nietzsche notes that to fight anarchy of the instincts is to prioritize reason, and to fight reason is to allow for anarchy of the instincts. This begs the question: what now? In this particular section of Twilight of the Idols, Nietzsche does not give a descriptive answer to this question, but we understand the main idea — do not fight the instincts.
