Griffith vs. Guts: The Stoic vs. The Machiavellian Mindset
Berserk by Kentaro Miura is many things: a masterwork of dark fantasy, a meditation on trauma, an exploration of the human will to survive. But at its philosophical core, it is a sustained argument between two worldviews, embodied in its two central characters, Griffith and Guts, that maps almost perfectly onto one of philosophy’s oldest debates.
Griffith is a Machiavellian. Guts is a Stoic. And the story of their collision, friendship, and catastrophic rupture is one of manga’s most searching explorations of what it costs to have a dream, and what it costs to refuse one. For a complementary take on mindset and ambition, see our analysis of Rick Rubin’s philosophy of creative attention.
Griffith: The Pure Machiavellian
Niccolò Machiavelli‘s The Prince (1513) is one of the most misunderstood books in Western intellectual history. Its argument is not that rulers should be cruel, it is that rulers who wish to maintain power must be willing to act in ways that transcend conventional morality when the situation requires it.
The Machiavellian leader:
- Subordinates personal virtue to strategic necessity — what matters is the outcome, not the purity of the means.
- Uses people instrumentally — allies and subordinates are resources to be deployed toward a goal.
- Maintains a compelling public image — appearance of virtue is more important than virtue itself.
- Accepts that great achievement requires terrible cost — and does not flinch from paying it.
Griffith embodies each of these principles with terrifying completeness. Every relationship he forms is calibrated toward his dream: to rule a kingdom of his own. His sincerity is always in service of the dream, never independent of it. The clearest evidence of Griffith’s Machiavellianism is not the Eclipse, it is his definition of friendship:
“A friend is someone who would risk their life for your dream, not just share it.”
This reveals the structure of Griffith’s relationships: other people are valued in proportion to their contribution to his goal. This is systematic instrumentalization of human beings, and it is the defining feature of the Machiavellian disposition.
Guts: The Reluctant Stoic
Stoicism, developed by Zeno of Citium and later articulated by Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, and Seneca, is a philosophy of radical responsibility and acceptance. Its central insight is the dichotomy of control: some things are within our power (our judgments, desires, and responses), and some are not (external events, others’ actions, the past).
Guts did not choose Stoicism. He was forged by it. Born from a corpse on a battlefield, raised by a mercenary who abused him, betrayed by the person he trusted most, Guts’ entire life is an exercise in absorbing circumstances that should have destroyed him. What distinguishes Guts from a character who simply suffers is that he refuses to stop. Not out of hope, Guts is frequently hopeless, but out of a refusal to give the world, or fate, or Griffith, the satisfaction of his surrender.
The Nature of Their Conflict
The philosophical tension between Griffith and Guts is not simply “good vs. evil.” Both characters are morally compromised. The conflict is between two fundamentally different answers to the same question: what makes a human life meaningful?
For Griffith, meaning is located entirely in the achievement of the dream. The Machiavellian logic reaches its endpoint at the Eclipse: when the moment comes to sacrifice the Band of the Hawk, Griffith chooses the dream without hesitation. People were always means, never ends. This is where The Prince‘s logic terminates when applied without limit: complete moral evacuation in pursuit of a transcendent goal.
For Guts, meaning, if it exists at all, is located in the act of continuing. After the Eclipse, Guts does not formulate a new dream. He picks up a sword too large to lift and walks forward. Not toward a goal. Away from surrender. The quality of his response to what happened is the only thing Griffith could not take.
What Machiavelli Gets Right
It is important not to read Griffith as simply a villain to be rejected. His worldview has genuine philosophical force. Machiavelli’s insight, that the world as it is requires a different ethical framework than the world as we wish it were, is not obviously wrong. The question The Prince forces is real: if you genuinely believe your goal is worth achieving, at what point does the means become impermissible? Griffith’s answer is never.
Most ethical frameworks draw the line somewhere before “sacrifice your closest friends to demonic entities.” But the principle beneath his choice, that the dream outweighs the people, shows up in real history with uncomfortable frequency.
What Stoicism Gets Right
Stoicism’s strength is precisely where Machiavellianism is weakest: it does not depend on external success. The Machiavellian requires the achievement of the goal to vindicate the sacrifices made to reach it. If the goal fails, the sacrifices were meaningless.
Marcus Aurelius writes in Meditations: “You have power over your mind, not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.” Guts arrives at exactly this position, not through reason but through necessity. The Stoic conclusion is that the only things that cannot be taken from you are the things you choose, and Griffith could not take the refusal.
The Lesson for Real Life
The Machiavellian path is seductive because it appears more efficient. It removes the friction of moral consideration. But it has a hidden cost that Miura dramatizes with remarkable precision: it hollows out the self. Griffith, at the moment of his greatest triumph, is the least human thing in the story. He has achieved everything and become nothing.
Guts, scarred and exhausted and still walking, is still entirely, completely human. For further reading on how resilience and creative perseverance connect, see our notes on Rick Rubin’s philosophy of the creative act.
Resumé
Berserk holds both positions with genuine respect for their internal logic and shows, unflinchingly, what each costs. What Miura seems to believe is that a life oriented entirely around achievement, at the cost of authentic connection and moral integrity, is not a life enlarged but a life evacuated. And that the Stoic path, defined not by triumph but by the quality of persistence, is the only one that leaves you still recognizably yourself. The sword is too heavy. Carry it anyway.
Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ)
1. Do I need to read Berserk to understand this article?
No. The philosophical argument is self-contained. But reading Berserk will make both Stoicism and Machiavelli far more vivid.
2. Is Griffith purely evil in Berserk?
Berserk deliberately resists this reading. Griffith’s logic is internally coherent, and Miura invests real effort in making his dream understandable.
3. Where should I start with Stoicism?
Marcus Aurelius’ Meditations is the most accessible entry point. Ryan Holiday’s The Obstacle Is the Way translates Stoic principles into contemporary language.
4. Is Machiavelli’s The Prince a manual for evil?
No. It is a work of political realism that describes how power operates, not a prescription for how it should operate.
5. What does Berserk ultimately argue — Stoicism or Machiavellianism?
Neither definitively. But the narrative weight suggests Miura’s sympathies lie closer to Guts.
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