Nietzsche should not be taken seriously as a political theorist

Hear now the voice of Mark Fisher, who gazed into the abyss of modernity and named its hidden currents: “Nietzsche should not be taken seriously as a political theorist, at least not at the level of his positive prescriptions. But the Nietzsche who denounces the insipidity and mediocrity that result from democracy’s levelling impulses could not be more acute.” These words are a meditation on the storm between vision and reality, between prophecy and prescription. Fisher does not call us to follow Nietzsche as a lawgiver, but to listen to him as a prophet who unmasks the dangers of a world smoothed flat by sameness.

For Nietzsche, in his fire and fury, spoke often in contradictions. His positive prescriptions—his visions of the Übermensch, of the eternal recurrence, of the transvaluation of values—were never blueprints for governments or codes for states. They were provocations, hammers striking against complacency, dreams meant to unsettle rather than to construct. To take him literally as a political architect is to mistake poetry for law, thunder for stone. Fisher reminds us: here Nietzsche falters, but elsewhere he sees with unclouded eyes.

It is in Nietzsche’s denunciation of levelling impulses that his clarity blazes forth. Democracy, for all its promise, can also flatten the human spirit, exalting mediocrity while scorning excellence, rewarding conformity while punishing the daring. This danger he named with ferocity: that in the desire to make all equal, society might strip away the fire of greatness, the sharpness of genius, the soaring of the exceptional. Fisher finds in this critique not madness, but precision—an acute diagnosis of the sickness of sameness.

History itself bears witness to this tension. Recall the fate of Socrates in Athens. In the birthplace of democracy, the city that exalted freedom, he was condemned to death by the will of the majority. His crime was not violence, nor treason, but daring to ask questions that pierced the veil of convention. Here, the levelling impulse of the many struck down the brilliance of the one, fearing the disturbance of his truth. Nietzsche saw in such moments the peril of democracy unchecked: the crushing of the extraordinary under the weight of the ordinary.

Yet Fisher’s words also remind us of balance. We cannot embrace Nietzsche’s positive prescriptions as guides for politics, for they lead toward tyranny, chaos, or impossible demands. His visions were too wild to govern, too absolute to sustain communities. But his voice of warning, his rage against mediocrity, his cry against the slow death of greatness—these remain treasures, not because they tell us what to build, but because they warn us what to avoid.

The teaching, then, is this: we must honor the equal worth of souls without extinguishing the flame of excellence. Equality should open doors, not demand that none may walk further than another. Democracy should empower the many, but not in such a way that it strangles the daring, the visionary, the creator who carries humanity forward. Nietzsche’s fire, as read through Fisher, is a reminder that society must nurture greatness even while protecting fairness.

Practical wisdom flows from this truth. Do not mistake comfort for justice, nor consensus for truth. When you see brilliance, honor it; when you see daring, protect it. Encourage diversity not only of background but of thought, for the chorus of humanity needs both harmony and dissonance to grow strong. Guard yourself against the insipidity of mere sameness, and seek always to cultivate the extraordinary—in yourself, in others, in your culture.

So remember Fisher’s words: Nietzsche’s prescriptions may fail, but his denunciations strike deep. Listen not to him as a lawgiver, but as a sentinel, crying from the edge of time. Let his warning guide you: do not allow the levelling impulse to rob the world of its brilliance. For humanity thrives not in flatness, but in the rising peaks of greatness that inspire all who look upon them.