Before Martin Heidegger, the question of Being was studied the way science and rationalism study anything else: like dissecting a frog in Biology class. Whatever humans were, we were the product of sensory inputs, or phenomena, that could be quantified and analyzed where possible. Whatever parts of experience we could not measure, we ignored. Heidegger decided it was time to retrieve this forgotten question of Being, which became his lifelong project. He succeeded in putting the study of Being back on the table, making it a legitimate project for philosophers. His Introduction to Metaphysics tells the story of how the question of Being can best be asked, how it has been historically misunderstood, and how our answers to the question ended up taking us further away from Being.
For Heidegger, questions deserve our utmost respect and attention. Questions are pure; “Questioning is the piety of thought,” he has written. The ultimate question, for Heidegger, is the one that serves as the basis and foundation for all other inquiries, which he ends up formulating as “How does it stand with Being?” or, translated another way, “What is the status of Being?” This is the question he thinks we need to ask and then keep asking, over and over, to keep answering anew in every age. The problem is that Western culture answered the question once, long ago, in a limited way, and never bothered to take it up again. Heidegger wants to correct history’s mistake.
The book’s second chapter investigates the etymology of the word Being. Heidegger determines that the word has always contained several meanings—just consider how many uses the English language puts to the verb “to be,” or how versatile is our word “is.” A particularly illuminating and important early form of a word for Being is “phusis,” an ancient Greek term that Heidegger defines and analyzes and adopts into his own use: “[phusis] says what emerges from itself (for example, the emergence, the blossoming, of a rose), the unfolding that opens itself up, the coming-into-appearance in such unfolding, and holding itself and persisting in appearance—in short, the emerging-abiding sway.” Phusis is the interaction between everything around us and our consciousness, the gap of time between our seeing something and our recognizing it by representing it to ourselves. Phusis is an ongoing action, not a static idea. It is the totality of everything surrounding us, all the things we have tuned out and habitually ignore plus all the things we notice—except, actually, phusis refers to those things which emerge from the background of the present moment into our notice. Think of those optical illusion puzzles you probably saw as a child. Looked at in one way, a famous puzzle shows two people facing each other, seen in profile; but the image also looks like a vase. You might think of phusis as the moment when the two people seen in profile are replaced in your mind by the vase, which emerges almost brightly, almost shining into consciousness, so that the first time this happens we often gasp in delight. Or phusis might be what happens when you are looking at a Bev Doolittle painting of a sun-dappled woods and then, all at once, you see the spotted ponies standing between the trees. This emergence into our understanding is the first, most important aspect of Being, and it is followed quickly by truth, or “aletheia” for Heidegger, which he translates as “uncovering” or “disclosing”—in other words, truth is a revealing of what has formerly been hidden.
If these ideas seem difficult to understand, they are—but it’s not Heidegger’s fault. Part of the reason Heidegger is so difficult to understand comes from the nature of his project. When he talks about “phusis,” Heidegger is talking about an idea that fell out of favor more than two thousand years ago, an idea for which we no longer have a ready-to-hand language, an idea that seems to defy the common sense of our rational, scientifically-minded present moment. His ideas about phusis happen to closely match Iain McGilchrist’s explanation of how the human right brain thinks and perceives the world, as explained in the first chapter of his excellent “The Master and His Emissary.” In fact, McGilchrist quotes Heidegger extensively in his text, giving him credit for intuiting decades early what neuroscience is only beginning to uncover about how the right brain works in our perception of the world. McGilchrist also credits Heidegger as an early advocate of a culture-wide return to right-brain thinking, escaping from the tyranny of left-brain thought. For those with a lot of time, patience, and brain power to spare, I urge you to read “Introduction to Metaphysics” and “The Master and His Emissary” together, as McGilchrist helped me many times to comprehend Heidegger’s strange sentences, which he packs with so many abstractions they often resist understanding.
Things went wrong, Heidegger argues in his third and fourth chapters, when we stopped seeing Being in action-oriented terms and stabilized the idea of Being into a fixed concept, which we studied as if it were a frog pinned down to black wax. We needed a corpse to dissect because corpses do not change. We can be certain about corpses. Except, of course, the more certain we are about anything, the less we actually know about it. By stabilizing the idea of Being, by ignoring the way Being unfolds constantly, we lost a whole list of things: First, we mistook truth and learning for mere knowledge and ingenuity, thinking that knowing something was little more than identifying and memorizing a list of properties and facts. By doing so, we forgot that “to know means to be able to learn,” that “the only one who knows is the one who understands that he must always learn again, and above all, on the basis of this understanding, has brought himself to the point where he continually can learn.” Second, we lost a profound sense of connection with the world. Whereas we used to have what could be called a “spiritual” connection with everything around us, without any sense of being separate from our environment, we ended up reinterpreting “spirit as intelligence,” and then as “mere astuteness” in calculating and handling tools and building technology. By losing this spiritual connection with everything around us, we fell out of harmony with our surroundings. We fell into a way of thinking that takes any powerful new revelation—any true Being—and immediately starts representing it to death, until what was powerful loses all meaning and lapses into empty rituals. This idea resonates powerfully with William James’ criticism of religion (in his “Varieties of Religious Experience”), which argued that religions always, over time, corrupt the original power of the religious experience that founded them, degenerating into dogmas that utterly fail to connect their practitioners with true religious experience.
Finally, by turning Being into a fixed and stabilized idea, Heidegger shows how we put limitations upon Being and then refigured these limitations as opposites of Being. In doing so, we forgot the important ways in which Being and these supposed opposites of Being grew from the same roots, were the same thing. The four limitations Heidegger focuses upon are “Being vs. becoming,” “Being vs. seeming,” “Being vs. thinking,” and “Being vs. the ought.” This is the most suspiciously nostalgic part of Heidegger’s argument. To make it, he leans heavily on analyzing noteable pre-Socratic Greek poems and the etymologies of certain key words within them, trying to discover how the Greeks viewed Being. He assumes that the first, earliest uses of language were the truest, the most powerful. Fortunately, Heidegger has a gift for language and a powerful mind for analysis. But this way of reading will try the patience of certain people while thrilling others. Those who want to know first and foremost what a piece of poetry means, in clear and direct terms, with words that each refer to just one thing, should probably read something else. On the other hand, Heidegger appeals to anyone who enjoys reading poetry and sifting through possible double- and triple-meanings that good, complex works allow. That is the way he reads his pre-Socratic poets. His divergent interpretations form the foundation of his argument and the basis for his methodology.
For example, in analyzing “Being vs. seeming,” Heidegger discerns that every Being has a true and honest essence of itself, yet that true and honest essence always comes to light in fragments. Our best understanding of anything will come in the name we give it, the poetry we write about it, and each names, each poem will be composed from a slightly different version of how the thing seems. Every first look of anything is a partial look. Every viewpoint reveals one side of a thing while obscuring the side turned away from us. Every first idea is incomplete. This is the zone in which Being and seeming are the same. Worse, even after we have brought a thing as fully into our world as we are able, we put it to uses (as well as capture it with language) that inevitably dull the thing’s luster. The shine of its phusis dulls as it becomes part of our routine. Eventually, we forget that “table leg” was a thrilling bit of poetry revealing an anatomical connection between our furniture and ourselves, and “table leg” becomes just another piece of jargon we don’t even notice outside its dull utility.
Heidegger wants to remind us of the emergent sway all around. He wants to point out how far removed we have become from it, to the point that mere reality makes us nervous, fills us with anxiety, forces us onto medication or into distraction. The ancient Greeks needed no anti-anxiety pills because they were connected to Being in a way we have lost. They asked and answered the question of Being as a matter of culture and faith, and their struggle allowed them to live in peace with this ongoing, never-ending violence of Being. We are less advanced two thousand years later than they, and Heidegger shows us a way to recover what the Greeks had by introducing us to a lost metaphysics that, according to Iain McGilchrist, is still firmly within our reach.