Basic Questions of Philosophy

Selected "Problems" of "Logic"

Martin Heidegger, Richard Rojcewicz, André Schuwer

• Publisher: Indiana University Press
• Year: 1994
• ISBN:
  9780253004383
• Topic: Philosophy
• Subtopic: Phenomenology in Philosophy

"This excellent translation" presents Heidegger's mature thought on the essence of Truth as he was writing his major work, Contributions to Philosophy ( Library Journal ). This is the first English translation of a lecture course Martin Heidegger presented at the University of Freiburg in 1937–1938. Heidegger's task here is to reassert the question of the essence of truth, not as a "problem" or as a matter of "logic, " but precisely as a genuine philosophical question, in fact the one basic question of philosophy. Thus, this course is about the essence of truth as well as the essence of philosophy itself. On both sides Heidegger draws extensively upon the ancient Greeks, on their understanding of truth as aletheia and their determination of the beginning of philosophy as the disposition of wonder. In addition, these lectures were presented at the time that Heidegger was composing his second magnum opus, Beiträge zur Philosophie, and provide the single best introduction to that complex and crucial text.

MAIN PART

Foundational Issues in the Question of Truth

Chapter One

The Basic Question of the Essence of Truth as a Historical Reflection

§10. The ambiguity of the question of truth: the search for what is true—reflection on the essence of truth.

Let us begin with a simple reflection. It will lead into a historical reflection, and this in turn will allow the unfolding of the question of truth to become a reflection on its necessity and its unique character.

The question of truth asks about “truth.” The question is so straightforward that foundational deliberations regarding the question of truth might appear superfluous. To raise the question of truth surely means to seek the truth. And that means to seek what is true, or, according to what has been clarified above, to establish and ascertain what is correct about things and about all beings, whereby the correct is to be understood primarily in the sense of aims and standards to which all our actions and behavior conform. To raise the question of “truth” means to seek the true.

But “the true,” here being sought, certainly signifies more than just any correct statements about any objects whatever. We are seeking more than mere particular instructions for correct action. The true to which we give that name, and which we perhaps more desire than seek, also does not mean merely the sum of all correct statements and instructions for correct action. To seek the true means to pursue what is correct in the sense of that to which all commission and omission and all judgments about things are connected in advance, that to which our historical humanity is attached. The true means for us here that for which we live and die. This true is “truth.”

Already from these brief reflections we can infer that the word “truth” is not univocal. It means the true, first of all whatever is at any given time correct in knowledge and in action and disposition, and then, more emphatically, that upon which everything depends and from which everything is ruled and decided.

But even if we heed this plurivocity, in the context of speaking about the true and truth, we can nevertheless claim, and indeed rightfully, that in this seeking of the true—even if we mean what is decisively true—we are still not yet raising the question of truth: that is, insofar as we consider truth that which makes something true true and determines every single true thing to be the true thing it is. Just as cleverness is what distinguishes all clever people as such, so truth, rigorously thought, means what determines all that is true to be so. For ages, that which universally determines every individual thing has been called the essence. Through it, anything and everything is delimited in what it is and is delineated against other things. Truth means nothing but the essence of the true. Truth comprises that which distinguishes something true as such, just as speed indicates what determines speedy things as such. Thus to raise the question of truth does not mean to seek a true or the true but to seek the essence, i.e., to define the universal properties of whatever is true. Thereby we encounter for the first time the decisive ambiguity in talk of the “question of truth.”

§11. The question of truth as a question of the essence of the true: not an inquiry into the universal concept of the true.

To raise the question of truth can mean: (1) to seek the true, (2) to delimit the essence of everything true. It is easy to discover which of these two ways of raising the question of truth is the more urgent and the more important. Obviously, it is the search for the true and above all in the sense of the true that rules and decides everything. In comparison, it appears that the question of truth, i.e., of the essence of the true, is something merely supplementary, nay, even superfluous. For the essence in the sense of the universal which applies in each case to the many particulars, as, e.g., the universal representation “house” applies to all real and possible houses, this universal is grasped and formulated in a concept. To think the mere concept of something is precisely to abstract from particular realities. Thus if we desire the true and seek it, we will not strive for truth in the sense of the mere concept, to which anything true as true is subordinated. When we seek the true, we want to gain possession of that upon which our historical humanity is posited and by which it is thoroughly dominated and through which it is raised above itself. Every genuine attitude of man ho dwells in the real and wants to transform what is real, remove it from its place and liberate it to higher possibilities, will arrive at the univocal demand that can be expressed briefly as follows: we desire what is true, why should we be concerned with truth itself?

But insofar as we are here inquiring philosophically, and philosophy is the knowledge of the essence of things, we already have decided otherwise. In philosophizing, we reflect on the essence of the true, we abide by that which is precisely not a concern for ones who desire the true. And hence they, who desire the true, must reject our intention as something extrinsic and useless. It was not in vain, but rather in anticipation of this rejection of our proposal, that at the very outset we said philosophy is immediately useless knowledge. Our reflection on correctness and on truth itself can accomplish nothing toward the correct solution of economic difficulties, or toward the correct improvement and assurance of the public health, nor can it contribute anything to the correct increase of the speed of airplanes, or to the correct improvement of radio reception, and likewise just as little to the correct design of instructional projects in the schools. With regard to all these urgent matters of daily life, philosophy fails. Nay, even more: because it inquires only into the essence of truth and does not determine individual truths, philosophy will not be able to settle anything about the decisively true. Philosophy is immediately useless knowledge and yet still something else: sovereign knowledge.

If that is so, then knowledge of the essence of the true, i.e., knowledge of the truth, could perhaps still bear a significance and even one that reaches beyond everything useful. But how is the essence, as a universal concept, supposed to acquire a sovereign rank? What is more shadowy, and therefore more impotent, than a mere concept?

In this regard a question still remains, one that is perhaps most intimately connected to the question of truth as the question of the essence of the true. Have we determined the essence sufficiently in identifying it with the concept? Perhaps the essence of the true, hence truth itself, is not grasped at all if we merely represent in general that which applies universally to everything true as such. Perhaps the essence of the true, hence truth itself, is not what applies indifferently with regard to the true but is the most essential truth. In that case, the genuine and decisive truth, upon which everything must be posited, would be precisely this essence of the true, the truth itself. In that case, the standpoint which pretends to care so much about reality—“We desire the true, why should we be concerned with truth itself?”—would be a great error, the error of errors, and up to now the most enduring of all errors. Supposing truth is this truth, then our inquiry into truth as the question of the essence of all truths, provided we carry it out correctly, will not be mere play with empty concepts.

§12. The question of the legitimacy of the ordinary determination of truth, as point of departure for a return to the ground of the possibility of correctness.

The fact that we are immediately leaving behind the customary conception of truth and are trying to attain the ground upon which the determination of truth as correctness is founded shows that we are not entangled in an empty squabble about the mere definition of the concept of truth but that we want to touch something essential. Through such a return to the ground—to what is worthy of questioning—we put into question the determination of truth hitherto and in so doing make ourselves free of it.

But do we really make ourselves free? Are we not binding ourselves all the more to this essential definition, to such an extent that it becomes the obligatory one? Let us not deceive ourselves. With the return to that openness by which all correctness first becomes possible, we in fact presuppose that the determination of truth as correctness has indeed its own legitimacy. Is this then already proved? The characterization of truth as correctness could very well be an error. At any rate, up to now it has not been shown that this characterization is not an error. But if the conception of truth as correctness is an error, what then about the positing of the ground of the possibility of correctness? To say the least, such a positing can in that case not claim to grasp the essence of truth more fundamentally. On the contrary, we must concede that what supports an error and founds it is a fortiori erroneous.

What is the meaning of the return to the manifold-unitary openness if it is not proven in advance that what we take to be the point of departure for the return, namely the ordinary determination of truth as correctness, has its own justification?

Now, in fact, the conception of truth as correctness is confirmed through a long tradition. But the appeal to tradition is not yet a foundation and safeguard of the truth of an intuition. For centuries, the tradition clung to the opinion that the sun revolves around the earth, and the eyes themselves even confirmed it. Nevertheless, this opinion could be shaken. Perhaps the traditional character of an insight is even an objection against its correctness. Is it not possible that what might in itself be an error can become a “truth” by being believed long enough? Whatever may be the case here, the mere long duration and venerable character of a tradition are not, by themselves, a reliable ground to prove the truth of an essential determination.

But must we appeal to traditional opinions in order to ascertain the legitimacy of the determination of truth as correctness? After all, we can form for ourselves a judgment about this legitimacy. And that is not difficult, for the characterization of truth as the correspondence of a representation with an object is selfevident. This obviousness has the advantage that it is relieved from further foundation. What we call the obvious is what is clearly evident on its own, without further thought. Now, to be sure, it has been shown conclusively enough that if we take truth as correctness of representation, we in fact avoid further thought and that here something is evident for us because we are renouncing every attempt to elucidate it more closely and more genuinely. What kind of obviousness is it, however, which subsists on a cutting off of every intention to understand and on an avoidance of every questioning about the ground? Can such an obviousness pass as a substitute for a foundation? No. For what is obvious in the genuine sense is only what by itself precludes further inquiry as impossible, in such a way that thereby clarity reigns concerning the intelligibility of the obviousness.

§13. The foundation of the traditional conception of truth in the return to its origin.

Only one way still remains for us to arrive at a foundation of the traditional conception of truth as correctness. We will investigate the origin of this tradition and examine how this determination of truth was grounded when it was first established, namely in the philosophy of Aristotle. If we turn back there, our reflection also gains the advantage of being able to bring to the inner eyes, in its primordial originality and purity, the conception of truth that has been valid ever since. Hence we are suddenly confronted with the task of a historiographical consideration of the theory of truth and judgment in Aristotle, whose philosophy stems from the fourth century before Christ.

Now, if we view this historiographical task in the larger and proper perspective of our question, we will become disconcerted. For the decisive intention of our questioning is precisely to free us from the past—not because it is past, but because it is groundless. We want to raise questions on the basis of our own present and future necessities. Instead of that, we are now preparing to lose ourselves in a historiographical consideration of the past. That must signify a renunciation and a flight in the face of what is needed, namely to ask questions ourselves instead of merely reporting the opinions of bygone ages. It seems that such a historiographical consideration acts against our own intention. Therefore we need a clarification of the foundational issues—especially with reference to the further course of our lectures.

a) The historiographical consideration of the past.

Entering into history is perhaps not always and necessarily such a flight in face of the tasks of the present. It is certainly possible to consider the past from the viewpoints and according to the standards of the living present. In doing so, the past is loosened from its frozen state and is related to the present and made contemporary. Such a consideration of the past becomes a veritable reconnaissance of it; for that is the very meaning of the word historiography [Historie]: ίστορ∈ΐν—to explore. To us, therefore, historiography means an exploration of the past from the perspective of the present. This perspective can thereby become self-evident and standard. For example, Ranke, in conscious opposition to the presumed historical constructions of Hegel, believes he is presenting the past just as it was, yet definite guidelines of interpretation are directing him too—it is just that these are other than the Hegelian. Conversely, the standards may be taken from the present and applied expressly as such, and then the past is explicitly made contemporary. These two sorts of historiographical consideration are not basically distinct.

To be sure, a question remains: if the standards and guidelines of a historiographical consideration are taken—expressly or not—from what is then the present, is it thereby already decided that these standards are sufficient to grasp the past? The fact that a present is present, and what is current is today, does not guarantee that the present standards correspond to what may be the greatness of a past and are commensurable with it. Indeed, every past can be presented as timely for any age. This is the source of the confusion of all historiographical considerations. But it could also be that a present is as frozen as the past, and that the standards of a present are merely bad residues of a past no longer understood. It could be that a present is altogether caught up in itself and therefore precisely closed and shut off against what the past has to say. The mere relating of the past to what is currently present can attain new results, and even does so necessarily, for a present is always different than the previous one. But these new historiographical results, which intoxicate people and make them think themselves superior in relation to earlier historiographical science, are also already antiquated before they become truly new, because the present soon again turns into an other, and timeliness is most inconstant. Therefore all historiographical considerations are snares.

b) Historical reflection on the future, the future as the beginning of all happenings.

But a historiographical consideration does not exhaust the possible relation to history; so far from doing so, it actually impedes such a relation and cuts it off. What we are calling historical reflection is essentially different from a historiographical consideration. If we consciously elaborate the distinction between the historiographical and the historical even linguistically, and adhere to it over and against the ordinary confusion of the two terms, then this precision in the use of words is founded on a basic attitude of thought. The word “historical” [geschichtlich] means “happening” [das Geschehen], history itself as a being. “Historiographical” refers to a kind of cognition. We will not speak of historical “consideration” but “reflection.” For reflection [Be-sin-nung] is looking for the meaning [Sinn] of a happening, the meaning of history. “Meaning” refers here to the open region of goals, standards, impulses, decisive possibilities, and powers—all these belong essentially to happening.

Happening as a way to be is proper only to humanity. Man has history because he alone can be historical, i.e., can stand and does stand in that open region of goals, standards, drives, and powers, by withstanding this region and existing in the mode of forming, directing, acting, carrying out, and tolerating. Only man is historical—as that being which, exposed to beings as a whole, and in commerce with these beings, sets himself free in the midst of necessity. All non-human beings are history-less, though, in a derived sense, they can be historical, and are even necessarily so, insofar as they belong within the circuit of the commerce of man with beings. For example, a work of art possesses its history as work. This implies, however, that it does so on the basis of its being created by man, or, more precisely, on the basis of its opening up, as work, and keeping open, the world of man.

It is now clear that happenings and history are not what is bygone and what is considered as such, i.e., the historiographical. But just as little is this happening the present. The happening and the happenings of history are primordially and always the future, that which in a concealed way comes toward us, a revelatory process that puts us at risk, and thus is compelling in advance. The future is the beginning of all happening. Everything is enclosed within the beginning. Even if what has already begun and what has already become seem forthwith to have gone beyond their beginning, yet the latter—apparently having become the past—remains in power and abides, and everything futural encounters it. In all genuine history, which is more than a mere sequence of events, the future is decisive: i.e., what is decisive are the goals of creative activity, their rank, and their extent. The greatness of creative activity t...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Contents
• Translators’ Foreword
• Preparatory Part: The Essence of Philosophy and the Question of Truth
• Main Part: Foundational Issues in the Question of Truth
• Appendices
• Editor’s Afterword