Monografia lui Walter Biemel – discipol al lui Heidegger – nu intarzie asupra detaliilor biografice (la Heidegger „nu viata lumineaza opera, ci opera este insasi viata lui“), concentrandu-se in schimb asupra temelor centrale ale unei gandiri bine cunoscute ca dificila, pe care incearca sa le clarifice uzand de exemple edificatoare. Aceste teme heideggeriene – fiecare prezenta in cate o lucrare a filozofului: Fiinta si timp, Despre esenta adevarului, Originea operei de arta, Scrisoare despre „umanism“, Intrebarea privitoare la tehnica, Esenta limbii, Sfarsitul filozofiei si sarcina gandirii – decurg, sustine Biemel, din „leitmotivul dublu al gandirii lui Heidegger“, anume intrebarea privitoare la fiinta si aceea privitoare la adevar (aletheia).
If we cofactor the masturbatory value of the philosopher (Heidegger), his interpreter (Biemel) and the translator of his interpreter (Λουπασάκης), this book offers the rare delight of experiencing masturbation cubed. (Or masturbation x masturbation x masturbation for those with rusty math skills). In reverse order:
The translator: The made-up word “ενθαδικότητα” as a Greek translation of “Dasein,” especially when Dasein in the original German is easily understood by someone like me who hasn’t studied German since the age of fourteen, must be the crowning masturbatory achievement of Mr Loupasakis, taking its rightful place among the many illustrious examples of masturbatory greatness in the bourgeois philosophy world. As a side note, the insistence of certain “high-brow” Greek publications on using the polytonic system when this adds no deeper understanding or even a different colour to what a modern Greek reader perceives, and when it certainly increases their toner costs, is definitive evidence that amongst the very few Greek readers that would pick up a book like this, the majority would do so only to fool themselves into believing they are “high-brow” and not to actually learn anything about the subject matter, which could be a byproduct-comment on the falsity of modern Greek society or the world at large in itself.
But moving on…
The Interpreter: Herr Biemel, who of course was a university professor (how could he not be!), as any third-rate philosopher, is clearly (and honestly, to his credit) not interested in the least in achieving what he proclaims he’s trying to. He does not give a rodent’s anus about helping the reader understand anything about Heidegger (although, to be fair, I don’t think Heidegger himself cared much about that either). Like any mediocrity, his main concern is to pile his third rate poetry on top of his master’s second rate one in order to promote himself.
Like his master, he firmly believes that the more obscure he is the more we shall admire his foggy brain. Like his master he does not believe in definitions (which he admits himself, justifying this as a struggle against dogmatism!) but in “circles” of thought whose circular existence justifies the existence of circularity (to play on language that both master and servant find particularly attractive). Like his master he believes in strewing around random words without ever caring to justify their use and in jumping from one concept to another without every showing us the bridge, admitting in fact that he has no idea what he’s talking about.
Page 149: Όσο εμβαθύνει κανείς στον Heidegger τόσο σαφέστερα προκύπτει η δυσκολία οποιασδήποτε συζήτησης σε σχέση με τη σκέψη του. (The deeper you delve into Heidegger the more it becomes apparent it is difficult to have any conversation about his thought.)
And (finally) the philosopher: It would perhaps be unfair to judge Herr Heidegger’s (another university professor!) mediocrity as a poet based on Herr Biemel’s third rate mediocrity as one. However, we do get a glimpse of the inanity of Heidegger’s meanderings in his own poetic obsession with his navel. To cut a (very) long story short, it seems that, above his contradictions through the years and beyond his pathetic attempt to reconcile subjective and objective idealism, for Heidegger the truth (and its essence, which equals freedom or the subject or Dasein, or openness or un-concealment or surrendering to un-concealment) and thus beingness (equals truth or Man) are a “non-objective” ghostly clearing where the projections of human-objects and non-human objects meet to shake hands and sing Mamma Mia while Greek extras like Aristotle serve olives and honey on Cretan rusks.
At the end of the day Beingness=Truth=Human=Language, which whether you tip the scales towards Husserl’s phenomenology or Plato’s Republic, or try to somehow hold the two perfectly balanced, leads to the same sterile solipsism all the same.
Yes, there are some attempts to pillage elements from Marx, (the historical aspect of openness or link between the meaning and the use of a tool) but these fall flat on their face (the development of openness through history has nothing to do with society’s collective efforts, it’s something delivered to us from “God” knows where, and the discussion about any truth or meaning behind objects or words MUST avoid the objects or any of their practical uses or human work or action and ONLY discuss beingness in itself, which hides behind its projection in the “clearing,” Hello Herr Kant.
And yes, there are some attempts at Hegelian-like word games (“The essence of truth is the truth of the essence”) but Heidegger never takes a step back from his own self-indulgence to achieve any smidgen of sobriety of thought to even come near to the rigour of Hegel’s mental acrobatics, and his recuring obsession with Hölderlin leaves us with a bitter aftertaste of a man that would have liked to be a poet and failed, then tried to be a philosopher and failed even harder.
But let us not despair, at least he got that tenure!