(7) Blogging Through Prof Martin Heidegger’s Interpretations of Greek Philosophy (Anaximander Part 5 Conclusion)

The fragment of Anaximander presents one of the strongest hermeneutic challenges known to modem philology and philosophy.”  (Prof Vassilis Lambropoulos: Stumbling.over the ‘Boundary Stone of Greek Philosophy’ Two Centuries-of Translating the Anaximander Fragment)

So, I’ve been blogging about Heidegger’s interpretation of Anaximander, primarily from part 1 of the summer semester 1932 lecture course from the University of Freiburg. Next time I will begin to study the part of that course on Parmenides. Let’s finish up with Anaximander.

For a being to step forth it must create a harmony of beings in non-compliance.  For example, a person might go from a life that is out of joint because of loneliness to the being joined of beings or jointure of a new love who stands forth or is contured/outlined/highlighted that saturates the person’s whole world.  For Anaximander time measures out to beings their Being, and so love is always in the danger of receding back into the background of compliancy with the background in familiarity or even contempt.  Beings in their being are non-compliant.  All beings appear in day, with the inevitability of passing into the concealment of night.  Day and night are Time.  To come into the light of day is means to align with its integrating, gathering power.  To appear means to stand forth preeminently and bringing harmony to the beings in its world/context, but concealment reins because even in the appearing it is passing into concealment.  The entity is non-compliant, steps forth amidst beings like the non compliant, non-broke (adikia) horse that riles up the entire herd that are not outlined/contourless/limitless and gathers the rest of the beings to its banner (as in battle). The limitless/contourless (apeiron) empowers beings to step forth in outline/highlighter but in such a way that it is appearing on the way to concealment: “the same origin of what appears, which is out of the limitless and returns to it in receding (Heidegger, 24).”  The being appears in outline gathering/calling beings to its banner, and recedes back relinquishing its outline to the limitless, being ordains non-compliance of the being in relation to the rest of beings, and in time falls back into compliance. 

The arche or governing principle is apeiron or the limitless/outline-less and it puts beings into a peras, limit, meaning outlining (Heidegger, 23) them so they step forth.  For example, having experienced romantic and sexual love will help you see a romantic movie for what it is, as opposed to the six year old watching it. 

As I noted, Walker comments: “the Greeks loved their laws, the children of their ideals, above all else. Plato and Aristotle reiterate Herodotus when they describe the ideal state as one that controls every detail of a citizen’s life. In the Greek mind, there was no distinction between the state and the citizen. (Walker, 2014, np reprinted online).” It is no coincidence that Anaximander’s fragment originated in the birthplace of this. I related justice (dike) and injusice (adikia) with Anaximander earlier to jointure and being out of joint. A simple way to consider this that I noted previously is going through life with a knot in you when something wonderful happens and it feels like everything falls into place. The Greek view is tragic though, so the main element is the not-being-at-home which even the best experience recedes back to.

To consider why he is using what we would call legal language we need to consider how the Greeks thought of their laws. The polis in Anaximander’s time (circa 610-546 BCE) can indeed be seen as a precursor to democracy.  Even though full democracy with broad citizen participation wasn’t widespread, there were elements of citizen involvement. For instance, the assembly of citizens (ekklesia) began to play a role in some poleis, where free male citizens could gather to discuss and decide on certain matters. This was particularly evident in places like Athens, where these traditions would later blossom into democracy.  Anaximander was part of the Milesian school.  His contemporaries and successors in Ionia and elsewhere began to explore ideas about justice, governance, and the role of individuals in society. These philosophical discussions contributed to the intellectual climate that would foster democratic ideas.  Around this period, certain reforms were being introduced in various poleis. For example, in Athens, Solon’s reforms (early 6th century BCE) began the process of codifying laws which moved away from arbitrary rule by aristocrats to something more structured, setting precedents for later democratic reforms.  The polis fostered a sense of community and civic duty among its citizens, an essential component for the later development of democracy. The idea that the city belonged to its citizens, not just to a ruler or a small elite, was crucial.  After Anaximander’s time, the transition to democracy was most notably seen in Athens with figures like Cleisthenes in the late 6th century BCE, who is often credited with laying the foundations of Athenian democracy. This development was built on the earlier political structures of the polis. 

In summary, while the polis of Anaximander’s time was not democratic, it contained seeds of democratic principles like citizen involvement, legal codification, and the idea of community governance which would later evolve into more democratic systems. The polis was an essential stage in the political evolution towards democracy.  It is not by accident Anaximander uses law language in his fragment to describe beings as a whole / in their unity. Laws were deeply embedded in myth and tradition, where they could be seen as expressions of the community’s collective ideals, especially in matters of ethics, honor, and civic duty. The legal codes, like those of Draco or Solon in Athens, were attempts to codify these ideals into practical governance, although they were still largely shaped by the ruling class’s views. Over time, especially with the rise of democracy in Athens, there would be a clearer articulation of laws as expressions of the collective will or ideals of the citizen body. However, in Anaximander’s time, this was more nascent or implicit rather than explicitly articulated in philosophical or legal discourse. But how does this connect to time and the tragedy of beings appearing only to lose their luster?

The ancient Greeks, particularly within the context of the polis (city-state), placed a significant emphasis on honor and recognition. Here’s how this manifested. Timē (τιμή) refers to honor, respect, or esteem, which was not just personal but also communal. It could be bestowed through public recognition, positions of power, or through the allocation of material goods like land or seats at public events.  Kleos (κλέος), as is the idea of fame or glory, particularly the kind that endures through memory and oral tradition, often epitomized by epic poetry like Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey.  The agora (marketplace) and ekklesia (assembly) were central to public life where one’s standing could be enhanced or diminished based on their contributions, speeches, or political involvement. Public speaking and political engagement were ways to gain timē.  Participation in civic duties, like serving as a strategos (military general), magistrate, or even as part of a jury, was another avenue for gaining honor.  The Olympic Games and other Panhellenic games were prime venues for achieving recognition. Victors were celebrated not just for their physical prowess but for bringing honor to their city-state. Their names would be immortalized in statues, poetry, and public honors.  Military valor was a direct path to honor. Battles like those at Marathon or Thermopylae created heroes whose names became synonymous with courage and sacrifice for the polis.

In Anaximander’s time, which was around the 6th century BCE in ancient Greece, the societal values indeed included a strong emphasis on honor, recognition, and personal prestige within the polis (city-state). Here’s how this played out: Areté: This Greek concept, roughly translating to “excellence” or “virtue,” was central to personal and social identity. Areté was not just about moral virtue but also about achieving excellence in various domains like warfare, athletics, poetry, and politics. Gaining honor through areté was a primary goal for many citizens. Agon: The competitive spirit, or agon, was prevalent in Greek culture, encouraging individuals to compete in public events, from athletic competitions like the Olympics to poetic contests and political debates. Success in these arenas brought honor and recognition. Kleos: The pursuit of kleos, or glory, was another driving force. Kleos was achieved through actions that would be remembered and celebrated by future generations, often through epic poetry or historical accounts. This was particularly relevant for warriors but extended to other fields of endeavor. Political Influence: In the aristocratic and early oligarchic systems of the time, gaining political power or influence within the polis was another way to achieve recognition. This was often through lineage, wealth, or acts of bravery or generosity that would garner support from peers and the populace. Military Prowess: Given the constant warfare among city-states, military achievements were a significant source of honor. A citizen who excelled in battle could gain not only personal glory but also potentially elevate his family’s status and influence within the polis.

Poets, playwrights, and philosophers sought recognition through their works. Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides competed in dramatic festivals where winning a competition could cement one’s reputation.  Wealth could buy honor, but it was how one used that wealth — through public benefactions, funding festivals, or building public structures — that truly elevated one’s status. This is evident in the practice of liturgies, where the rich were expected to finance public services or events.  Philosophers like Aristotle in his “Nicomachean Ethics” discuss honor as one of the highest goods, though he notes that seeking honor for the wrong reasons can be morally dubious. The balance between personal honor and the good of the community was always a nuanced discussion in Greek thought.

The pursuit of honor was deeply intertwined with the collective identity of the polis. However, this pursuit was not without its critiques; playwrights and philosophers often explored the dangers of hubris, where the quest for personal honor could lead to the downfall of both individuals and city-states. This tension between individual recognition and communal good reflects the complex social dynamics of ancient Greek society – as we noted previously with Sophocles’ Antigone. Again, though, this central element of Greek life was thought according to tragic time.

The ancient Greeks certainly had a nuanced understanding of honor, recognition, and fame, or phēmē (φήμη), which carried connotations of being both fleeting and unreliable. This concept is reflected in various aspects of Greek mythology and literature:  In Greek mythology, phēmē is personified as a goddess of fame and rumor, often depicted with wings, symbolizing how quickly fame can spread and also how swiftly it can disappear. The idea that fame is fleeting is echoed in many works, including those of poets like Pindar, who often celebrated the achievements of athletes but also reminded them of the ephemeral nature of their glory.

The Greeks valued kleos (κλέος), which means “glory” or “fame,” particularly in the context of heroic deeds that would be remembered through epic poetry. However, there’s a recurring theme in Greek literature, from Homer’s epics to tragic plays, where the pursuit of fame often leads to hubris and downfall, illustrating the complexity of fame’s allure and its inherent risks.

Philosophers like Heraclitus spoke of life’s constant change, which could be extended to fame. His famous saying, “No man ever steps in the same river twice,” reflects the transient nature of all things, including fame.  In art, the winged figure of phēmē might be seen as a visual cue to the public of fame’s volatility. Artists and sculptors would capture this in ways that highlighted both the beauty and the precariousness of fame.  You could say the ancient Greeks indeed had a “knot” in them regarding fame. It was something to strive for, yet they were acutely aware of its fleeting nature, which could lead to a complex relationship with the concept. 

There was desire for Immortality through Fame: Many Greeks sought to achieve something that would grant them immortality in memory, whether through the Olympics, warfare, or art.  However, there was awareness of Fame’s Ephemerality: fame could be as transient as the wind, leading to a cultural acknowledgment of the vanity or folly in chasing after it too earnestly.  This was the tension between the desire for fame and the knowledge of its impermanence, which was a contradiction a the heart of the Greek soul.  The notion of time the Greeks moved in and understood themselves through was the emerging out of concealment of honor and fame like the plant emerging from the seed in the earth (physis), but that this is destined toward re-concealment.  This is the interpretation I gave of Anaximander. This is obvious in many fundamentals of Greek life, such as with the great hero Achilles.

 Achilles in Homer’s Iliad is profoundly concerned with honor (timē) and fame (kleos). His character is defined by his pursuit of these ideals, sometimes to the detriment of his own life and the lives around him.  The central conflict of the Iliad begins with a dispute over honor. Agamemnon, the leader of the Greek forces, takes Achilles’ war prize, Briseis, as compensation for his own loss, which Achilles perceives as an affront to his honor. This leads to Achilles withdrawing from battle, showing how much he values his personal honor.  By refusing to fight, Achilles not only protests the dishonor done to him but also seeks to increase his own kleos in a different way — by making himself indispensable to the Greek cause. His absence from the battlefield puts the Greeks at a disadvantage, highlighting his value and thus his honor.

Achilles eventually returns to battle, driven by the death of his friend Patroclus, but also with the understanding that his participation will lead to his own death, thereby securing major kleos. His mother, Thetis, tells him of his fate, where he must choose between a long life without glory or a short life filled with fame.  Achilles’ actions are fueled by rage, which in the context of the Iliad is not just personal but also a quest for honor. His rage against Hector, who killed Patroclus, leads to one of the most famous duels in literature, where Achilles seeks to restore his honor through vengeance.

Achilles hopes that his fame will outlive him. His actions, especially towards the end of the epic, are calculated to ensure that his name is remembered. Even after his death, his honor continues through the narrative of the Iliad and later Greek works, fulfilling his desire for lasting fame.  Achilles’ choices are often analyzed by scholars as a commentary on Greek values. His preference for a glorious but short life over a long, uneventful one exemplifies the Greek ideal of kleos over mere survival. 

However, Achilles’ pursuit of honor and fame is not without its moral complexities. His actions, while earning him fame, also lead to much suffering, questioning the ethics of such pursuits. This duality makes Achilles a tragic hero whose story resonates with the Greek audience’s understanding of the human condition, the price of glory, and the transient nature of life versus the immortality of fame – which, of course, is destined to fade too.  Heraclitus in fragment 29 talks about the masses who strive after transitory things unlike the aristoi, the “best” like the philosophers such as Heraclitus who strive after things that are not transitory.  True glory appears in an eternal manner: “There is one thing which the best prefer to all else; eternal glory rather than transient things.”  For example, we often talk at the time of tremendous success in sports that the performance will be talked about forever, though a year later nobody cares about it.  By contrast, when we study ideas like Justice we get an idea of it, but if we have to revise our understanding (e.g., revising the traditional definition of marriage because it does violence to LGBTQ+ rights), we do not encounter something new appearing out of nothing, but rather more fully un-cover what Justice is and always was, though we didn’t see it previously.  This is why Plato calls learning recollection.

What does time have to do with necessity as fate?  The luster is destined or fated to fade off beings and so the tragedy of life is being addicted to beings so we go from one distraction until time rubs off its radiance to the next distraction. Look at all the people today addicted to their smartphones and social media with a constant wave of the news.  Nietzsche even said in his time people were addicted to news.  And this is true of everything in life.  A favorite song gets worn out and annoying after 10 straight playings.  The luster of puppy love wears off and the couple feels like they’ve been together  too long (as the song says).  We are destined or fated to wander restless and unsatisfied like a shade in Greek Hades:  the Asphodel Meadows. Here, shades existed in a shadowy, monotonous existence, neither in torment nor in bliss, just a pale reflection of their former life where this restlessness was what was left over after everything else is stripped away from the human.  In myths, shades in Hades are often described as being without memory, personality, or the ability to recognize others unless temporarily given life by blood or divine intervention. This is vividly depicted in Odysseus’s journey to the underworld in the “Odyssey,” where he must give blood to the shades to allow them to communicate coherently.  Physical blood thus relates to the shade becoming temporarily reanimated.  The wandering of shades can be attributed to their aimless existence. Without purpose or the physical body, they simply meandered in a form of eternal limbo.  This wandering was restlessness because they had no specific place or task.  The wandering could symbolize the human condition itself, a journey without clear end or purpose.

Regarding the contemplative life’s (Theoria’s) godliness/deathlessness (athanatizein), to die for the Greeks meant to go to Hades and to wander about in a pointless and meaningless boring to and fro.  Homer says in the Odyssey Achilles would rather work as a poor day laborer than rule in Hades, the same Achilles who Plutarch talks of as having a nauseous boredom (alus nautiodes) when there was nothing to do.  In Homer’s depiction, Achilles is described as restless, especially when he’s not in the thick of battle or when his honor isn’t at stake.  Imagine what a “jointure of beings” pall this vision of death would have cast over life for the Greeks!  An entire culture believed the destiny of life was an endless listless monotony. Heidegger and Fink cite Holderlin that the tranquil lives of the gods who are forever in bloom contrast with mortals who are restless and tragic (Heidegger, 1997b).

As I said previously, to see this in the inward turn in the history of Being, Heidegger gives the central example of restlessness/boredom (Heidegger, 2001).  Boredom is a conspicuous way that our moods don’t simply run their course in our inner lives for a hermetically sealed “I,” but are a way we are ek-static: “in the world / outside of ourselves.”  I may experience boringness to be a trait of a book like plot and setting, though the book need not appear to the next person as boring.  Toohey (2004) notes what is surprising is for the Greeks boredom initially seemed to lack the fundamental internal component moods are assumed to have today:  Aristophanes in the Archarnians has one character say “I groan, I yawn, I stretch, I fart, I don’t know what to do.  I write, I pull at my hair, I figure things out as I look to the country, longing for peace.”  He does not name that he is bored but describes the symptoms. We also see this oddity in Euripides’ Medea, and Pindar said too lengthy an exposition might lead to boredom, but again the symptoms are named, not boredom.  Similarly, Iliad 24. 403 and Euripides Iphigeneia in Aulis both lack a word for boredom.  As the inward turn proceeded in the history of Being, the outward cancer of this horror loci took up residence inside of us, which is how Heidegger interprets Nietzsche’s Will to Power text regarding “this most uncanny of all guests (Nietzsche 1967, vol. XV, p. 141).”

The polis is where things appear as they are, pelei. But the polis is also the home of the counter essence of the abode, polla ta deina … pelei, beings leave us unsatisfied,  we lack being at home and satisfied in the warmth of the hearth fire, parestios (Antigone 332, cited at P, 90 by Heidegger).” Philologist Jacob Burckhardt, adopting the insight of his teacher Bockh, structured his teaching of the Greeks around the ground that “the Hellenes were more unhappy than most people think (Heidegger P, 90; also cf. BQP, 40).” A young Nietzsche attained an auditor’s transcript of this lecture and, as Heidegger says, “cherished the manuscript as his most precious treasure (90).”  Nietzsche talks about ‘this most uncanny/unhomely of all guests’ (Nietzsche, The Will to Power, Outline. Werke, vol. XV, p. 141). It is called the ‘most uncanny’ [unheimlichste] because, as the unconditional will to will, it wills homelessness [Heimatlosigkeit] as such. This is why it is of no avail to show it the door, because it has long since been roaming invisibly inside the house (Pa, OQB, 292; also cf Pa, LH, 257).”Due to its instantiated nature, “[h]omelessness is coming to be the destiny of the world (Heidegger Pa, LH, 258).”

This tragic interpretation of time as the dulling of the appearance, can finally be explained for the Greeks generally. “Time” for the ancient Greeks mean “season” in a figurative sense or “appropriate,” like when we say exam time is an appropriate or important time for studying , or the new year is appropriate or ideal for making resolutions.  The Ecclesiastes 3 in the bible says of the seasons of life, like the riddle of the sphynx also notes,

For everything there is a season and a time for every matter under heaven: 2 a time to be born and a time to die; a time to plant and a time to pluck up what is planted; 3 a time to kill and a time to heal; a time to break down and a time to build up; 4 a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance; 5 a time to throw away stones and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing; 6 a time to seek and a time to lose; a time to keep and a time to throw away; 7 a time to tear and a time to sew; a time to keep silent and a time to speak; 8 a time to love and a time to hate; a time for war and a time for peace.

The Ancient Greek word for Time Χρόνος (Chronos) can be used to refer to chronological or sequential time. It can also be used to speak of someone’s lifetime or the duration of an event in a broader, more poetic sense. For example, life involves going from the fire and joy of youth to the tedium and cynicism of old age. Philosophical life is about being youthful in great age, like the ambrosia eating gods that kept them young. For example, in literature or philosophy, one might discuss the “chronos” of a person’s life to mean the span of their existence in a way that encompasses not just years but the quality or essence of that life.  In philosophical or poetic contexts, “chronos” can be personified or considered as an entity or force that affects human life. This can be seen in how time is often depicted in Greek mythology, where Chronos (sometimes conflated with Cronus) is not just time but a deity or force that governs the aging process and the inevitability of change.

When juxtaposed with καιρός (kairos), “chronos” can take on a figurative quality by highlighting the difference between quantitative time (chronos) and qualitative time (kairos). Here, “chronos” might represent the mundane, everyday passage of time in contrast to those moments of significance or opportunity. This contrast often brings a deeper meaning to discussions about how one should live or perceive their time.

IGreek literature might use “chronos” to explore themes of mortality, the fleeting nature of life, or the relentless march of time, where time is not just a backdrop but a character in the narrative, shaping events and human destinies.  In philosophy, particularly in the works of Plato and Aristotle, “chronos” can be discussed in ways that go beyond mere measurement. It might be explored in terms of how it affects the soul, memory, or the perception of reality, thus taking on figurative meanings related to human experience, memory, and the nature of existence.  Thus, while “chronos” deals with time in its measurable form, its use in various contexts allows it to carry figurative weight, symbolizing the broader, sometimes inexorable aspects of human life and existence.

The relatd term “Kairos” does not just mean time in a chronological sense; it denotes the right, critical, or opportune moment for action. It’s about the quality of time rather than its quantity. In this sense, “kairos” can be seen as an “appropriate” or “important” time for something specific, like: Exam time could be seen as a “kairos” for studying, where the moment is ripe or ideal for that particular activity.  New Years might be considered a “kairos” for resolutions, where the timing is culturally deemed appropriate for setting new goals or reflecting on the past. Ὥρα (Hora) – This term can refer to a season, hour, or time in a more specific sense. However, it can also carry the connotation of an appropriate or fitting moment, akin to “kairos” but often more tied to natural cycles or specific times of the day or year.  “Time” as “season” might be more directly linked to “hora” or even “chronos” when discussing the cyclical nature of time in agriculture or festivals, but when considering appropriateness or opportunity.  The early Christian pointed to the story of the withering of the fig tree that just as it was no longer the time or season for figs, so too was it no longer the season for the temple.

“Kairos” would be the word that best captures the notion of an appropriate or significant moment for action or reflection, similar to how we might say “it’s time for a change” or “it’s the season for love,” not just in a literal seasonal context but in one that’s ripe with potential or meaning.