A letter to Nietzsche from an INFJ
Dear Nietzsche,
I’ve always understood you, but I think the world misjudged you. Your brilliance is something that I’ve seen so clearly since I’ve first read your writing in my philosophy courses in high school. People have deemed you as a failure, but the world failed to see your genius.
When I tell people I am a fan of your writing and philosophy, they look at me like I’m crazy or mental. If I’m mental, then I know we can relate.
The world claimed you went “insane” after you saw a horse being beaten in the street. Wholeheartedly, I can understand the empathy and pain that you felt witnessing such a horror. It’s a shame society didn’t look deeper into your pain. Instead, they shunned you and your work (and some still do, even to this day). Your family sent you to an asylum instead of trying to comfort your aching soul.
When I scroll through articles on my news-feed and see stories of animal abuse, such as horses collapsing and dying in the street from carrying humans, it tears me apart. I once read that when you witnessed that horse being beaten, you ran over to the horse and held it in your arms to protect it. You knew in that moment how fragile life was, but also realized how fragile the human mind is.
I, too, would have done the same.
Many years later after your death, they labeled your personality as an INTJ under the MBTI tests. As an INFJ myself, I cannot accept that diagnosis. I feel your emotions and words differently than those who are more logical driven like our INTJ counterparts. You were a feeler — and perhaps going “insane” showed it. Yet prior to your mental breakdown, you wrote with the passion of an INFJ soul. I’m convinced you had to be one.
You once wrote:
“Am I so difficult to understand and so easy to misunderstand in all my intentions, plans, and friendships? Ah, we lonely ones and free spirits — it is borne home to us that in some way or other we constantly appear different from what we think. Whereas we wish for nothing more than truth and straightforwardness, we are surrounded by a net of misunderstanding, and despite our most ardent wishes we cannot help our actions being smothered in a cloud of false opinion, attempted compromises, semi-concessions, charitable silence, and erroneous interpretations. Such things gather a weight of melancholy on our brow; for we hate more than death the thought that pretence should be necessary, and such incessant chafing against these things makes us volcanic and menacing. From time to time we avenge ourselves for all our enforced concealment and compulsory self-restraint. We emerge from our cells with terrible faces, our words and deeds are then explosions, and it is not beyond the verge of possibility that we perish through ourselves. Thus dangerously do I live! It is precisely we solitary ones that require love and companions in whose presence we may be open and simple, and the eternal struggle of silence and dissimulation can cease.”
― Friedrich Nietzsche
Your words expressed poetically above is everything that an INFJ feels on a consistent basis. I read this, and feel it with every bit of my soul, and I vibrantly echo the exact same words into the world.
Just the words alone, “Am I so difficult to understand and so easy to misunderstand in all my intentions, plans, and friendships” — I have uttered this many times to myself throughout my whole life.
A lonely one.
A free spirit.
We are those souls who walk alone because we knew it was better to be alone than surrounded by those who were not living authentically.
Friedrich, my fellow solitary soul, I understand the need for having friendships that are open and simple — since humans tend to over-complicate things that aren’t necessary.
We have a world of our own inside our minds that no one understands, but having those friends to be open with, silences the struggles in our mind, and gives us a sense of relief.
I love your words in ways others cannot appreciate. You speak in riddles that are easy to solve when heart and logic connect in a dance between the mind and soul.
You put passion into everything you wrote, and that passion fueled mine. The most tragic part about your life was that you believed in humanity, but humans failed you instead of taking the time to understand you.
Your words and passion are the reason I strive above and beyond in my life. When you wrote Thus Spoke Zarathustra, that book changed my entire life for the better. I felt your soul in every word and sentence through your story. The passion, the chaos, the sorrow, the void…the human experience summed up perfectly.
One phrase from your novel stuck with me my entire life:
“There they stand,” said he to his heart; “there they laugh: they do not understand me; I am not the mouth for these ears.” — Nietzsche
Growing up, I was mocked for being different. I felt no one ever understood me until I got older — way older.
I am still not the mouth for these ears, but I hope I am the words for their eyes, for those who look beneath the surface to find the hidden depth inside.
In a world of sheep, you inspired people to overcome themselves. In a world where everyone is waiting for a savior, you inspired humans to be their own savior. You believed so deeply in humanity, so much that you knew it was possible for man to overcome himself — you labeled it “The Ubermensch”.
Most people remember you now as the crazy person who said “God is Dead” and cast you as an “Antichrist”, but they failed to look deeper into your writing since they only judged you for those three words. Unfortunately, humanity hasn’t changed much. People still will judge and refuse to look deeper into something unless it agrees with their viewpoint.
However, there is one phrase of yours that is always in the back of my mind. This quote has got me through some of the worst times in my life. This quote has defined how I have felt about my life, and has given me comfort when things aren’t going my way:
One must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star.
I have lived my life by that. In my moments of darkness, I realize there is something that burns inside of me: my own life force.
Stars are not born from some simple process. Everything about the birth of a star is chaotic, yet majestic.
You made me realize it is okay to go against the grain, and be unique. You made me realize that even in the darkest voids, as long as there is that spark of light (the chaos), we can create our own destiny.
This quote alone is the epoch of existentialism. At least, that’s my own interpretation. The beautiful thing about your writing is that we can all interpret it however we want. For those logically driven, it would drive them mad, but for us creative souls — we thrive on this.
Nietzsche, you weren’t the mouth for many ears, but you provided the words to soothe my soul, and entrance my mind.
With my deepest gratitude,
A dancing star
