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Heidegger's "The Lack of the Holy Name"

I was reminded the other week of this little piece called "Der Fehl des Heiligen Namen"[The Lack of the Holy Name] by Heidegger.  I had seen it a number of times and never read it, although I was always intrigued by its title. I finally decided to delve in--but since there seemed to be no translation of it available online or in the library (perhaps I haven't looked hard enough), I thought I'd do the work myself. It's a rough translation, no doubt, as my German hasn't really left its infancy yet, but I hope it is sufficient to facilitate a thoughtful and genuine reading.

       By way of a preview, this work stands as another encounter, though a brief one this time, of Heidegger with Hölderlin, thinker and poet.  The title is taken from the sixth stanza of Hölderlin's poem "Homecoming."  In this work, Heidegger wants to learn what this poetically envisioned "lack" of a holy name means, which requires a way of thinking the lack…

Heidegger's Original Grundproblem

Eventually I will post something on this wonderful poem by Shelley (see the post antecedent to this one), and also my thoughts on John Sallis's reference to it in the prolusion to his Force of Imagination.   But today, I’m thinking with Heidegger.  I recently acquired Grundprobleme der Phänomenologie—not the 1928 post-SZ lecture—but the early 1919/1920 winter semester course of the same name.  In true Heidegger fashion, the work kicks off with an introduction to the Grundproblem itself: phenomenology. What I find interesting in particular about this introduction, this “pre-indication of phenomenology” as he calls it, is its immediate statement in terms that, at first blush, are those of transcendental idealism. Phenomenology, Heidegger says in his opening remarks, is “the primordial science of the absolute origin of spirit [Geist.]” Phenomenology is an original science of life as it is “in and for itself.” For this reason, one might think that the problem of phenomenology, as Heid…
Shelley's Mont Blanc. Mont Blanc: Lines Written in the Vale of Chamouni
                                    I The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls its rapid waves, Now dark—now glittering—now reflecting gloom— Now lending splendour, where from secret springs The source of human thought its tribute brings Of waters—with a sound but half its own, Such as a feeble brook will oft assume, In the wild woods, among the mountains lone, Where waterfalls around it leap for ever, Where woods and winds contend, and a vast river Over its rocks ceaselessly bursts and raves.
II Thus thou, Ravine of Arve—dark, deep Ravine— Thou many-colour'd, many-voiced vale, Over whose pines, and crags, and caverns sail Fast cloud-shadows and sunbeams: awful scene, Where Power in likeness of the Arve comes down From the ice-gulfs that gird his secret throne, Bursting through these dark mountains like the flame Of lightning through the tempest;—thou dost lie, Thy giant brood of…