Nietzsche’s “Eternal Return of the same” and Heidegger’s Finitude of Being

At first glance, the two notions seem opposite, yet they can be seen as opposite in a manner that is inherently complementary. The interpretations of the eternal return (such as those of Levinas and Derrida) that posit some sort of difference in what returns do violence to Nietzsche’s idea. They re-inscribe a Hegelian “bad infinity” into the notion of the eternal. That what returns is identical, from the metaphysical perspective, means it is not multiple, but unique. It is in this sense that, within and as an inversion of metaphysical value-thinking, Nietzsche’s eternal return is parallel to Heidegger’s non-metaphysical finitude, which is not simply our own mortality but a finitude of being itself, which as such is the unique.

What remains as not in-different, as mattering, is the self-differencing movement of finite mortality. The self-same repetition of that movement is in-different, not material to the situation. As such, precisely the “highest” value of metaphysics, intertwined with Christianity, economics (as interminable progress) and the definition of man as a dual soul-body, eternity itself, is devalued. Rather than negating it, which leaves it still covertly operative (as Nietzsche sees in atheism) it is affirmed in Nietzsche’s inversion in such a way that it is completely depreciated and thus has no value. From the quantum perspective it’s not material, i.e. whether it occurs or not, it doesn’t matter and as such is immaterial and inexperiencable. Even for Nietzsche the thought requires no truth-value attached to it, it merely needs to be thought through fully to be operative. In a parallel sense, mortality simply needs to be experienced as such for it to be operative in the sense that the finite temporalization of self-difference is all that matters, all that is not in-different to itself. Being and Time are experienced equiprimordially as what gives change and thus grants the self-difference of temporal actualization. (Or, more precisely, Being is experienced as what gives change and Time as what change is given in).

The subject of metaphysics, the apparatus of experience operative within and as metaphysical subjectivity, is thus inoperative in the eternal return of the same, since it cannot experience anything other than this particular finite return. As apparatus in the quantum sense it determines what can matter and be experienced as material. From a perspective of complementarity, Dasein in Heidegger is no longer the metaphysical subject, and as apparatus Dasein always already experiences world and itself as finite. For Dasein, there is no need to depreciate an eternity that simply isn’t. In the sense of complementarity, they are both valid, but observable via a different apparatus, that of Dasein versus the metaphysical subject.

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The Ordinariness of the Ordinary

It is much easier to think the uncanniness of the uncanny, and even the uncanniness of the ordinary, than it is to think the ordinariness of the ordinary. Its self-evidence is itself opaque, and in its self-evident plainness we pass over it to the extraordinary, even if it is only the extraordinariness of the ordinary. Its obviousness resists interpretation, it is, after all, already obvious. Yet how it is obvious is concealed. How it became so, how its obviousness can be so plain as to be self-evident already to everyone.

Being* as the infinitive of “I am”: that is, understood as an existential, means to dwell near…, to be familiar with. . . . Being-in is thus the formal existential expression of the being of Da-sein ^ which has the essential constitution of being-in the-world.

Heidegger, Martin (2012-07-30). Being and Time – Sein und Zeit (Kindle Locations 1007-1008). . Kindle Edition.

How this familiarity, this ability to dwell without dwelling-on, is itself opaque and indeterminate as to how it arises. The uncanniness of the ordinary, by contrast, is easily teased out from invalid assumptions, non-rational bases of our thinking that are highly questionable. But the ordinariness of it, that despite such concealments it is plain and already understood in an ordinary, everyday way, is completely incomprehensible.

That we are far from things, that we are isolated, is easy to imagine and project, but the nearness of the familiar, without which that projection loses its innate pathos, is itself left as inconsequential. Yet in the mattering of the familiar we find our most intimate nearness to things and our most intimate being-with-others, a nearness and familiarity that makes even angst largely an adolescent fantasy, albeit a disclosive one. And yet ascribing any kind of mystery to it is to bring it into the realm of the uncanny and thus again to pass over its self-evident plainness, to de-familiarize ourselves with its familiarity, as though that could help us in some way in understanding that familiarity. We can never understand what we set aside in an interpretation, yet even the question appears to require us to do exactly that. The plain man, the most ordinary experiencer of the ordinary, would find the question absurd: what is there to question in what already shows itself clearly in the light of clear self-evidence? But doesn’t the plain man thus conceal himself in his own self-evident ordinariness?

How can we let the self-evidence of the ordinary simply be self-evident, but in a less opaque manner? No explanation can help, firstly because in explaining we detour around that which we are attempting to understand. We understand it no better, worse perhaps, when we ascribe something like understanding to what merely traces its development. In the ordinariness of the ordinary this is exacerbated in that familiarity only develops with the initially unfamiliar, but what we are trying to understand is the self-evidence of the always already ordinary and plain, not the evident understanding of that which we have expressly developed an understanding of from initial unfamiliarity.

The self-evident is shown in and as the ordinary. What remains concealed is precisely the provenance of the self-evidence that has already revealed the ordinary as ordinary, already shown it as both what it is, and shown it to be unworthy of further attention, and in what that showing itself consists. The ordinariness of the ordinary is plain for all to see, but in what kind of light can it already appear as a clear showing that also conceals it, protecting it from further attention?

In the science whose job it is ostensibly to study the psyche, there is a simplistic posit that familiarity arises from pre-rational or non-rational development, primarily in childhood, described as ‘intuitive’ understanding and then left as unquestioned as to what a non-understood understanding might amount to. Beyond minimal demonstrations that appear both naïve and presumptive, the proof of this notion is taken no further, presumably for the same reason, as self-evident the ordinary requires no further investigation. Yet, when its importance to human beings is taken into account, this only appears to demonstrate the contempt which familiarity is said to breed. What of this appearance of contemptuous ignorance of what is nearest to us? Human beings also display a need for the familiar, a dependence on it that could be said to be the most common addiction of all. Is this apparent contempt equivalent, then, to the pseudo-contempt of addicts for precisely what they are addicted to? It is ordinary, plain, uninteresting, like the “junk”, “dust”, etc. that addicts devote their lives to acquiring and consuming. It betrays an importance to us that we are at pains to protect, to dissemble.

In reading Heidegger’s analytic of everydayness, we have a sensation afterwards of the content slipping away: we had thought we had it, yet it appears to become ersatz and disappear. Yet is this a function of the text or is it an experience of ourselves slipping away from that understanding, like a thief caught in his most basic honesty, slipping away from the scene empty handed so as to not take the treasuredness of the treasure from it? Is the self-evidence of the self-evident, the familiar, precisely this concealed treasuring of what is itself in the most plain of plain sight?



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The Parable of the Talents


For it will be as when a man going on a journey called his servants and entrusted to them his property; to one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away. He who had received the five talents went at once and traded with them; and he made five talents more. So also, he who had the two talents made two talents more. But he who had received the one talent went and dug in the ground and hid his master’s money. Now after a long time the master of those servants came and settled accounts with them. And he who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five talents more, saying, “Master, you delivered to me five talents; here I have made five talents more.” His master said to him, “Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a little, I will set you over much; enter into the joy of your master.” And he also who had the two talents came forward, saying, “Master, you delivered to me two talents; here I have made two talents more.” His master said to him, “Well done, good and faithful servant; you have been faithful over a little, I will set you over much; enter into the joy of your master.” He also who had received the one talent came forward, saying, “Master, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you did not winnow; so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.” But his master answered him, “You wicked and slothful servant! You knew that I reap where I have not sowed, and gather where I have not winnowed? Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and at my coming I should have received what was my own with interest. So take the talent from him, and give it to him who has the ten talents. For to everyone who has will more be given, and he will have an abundance; but from him who has not, even what he has will be taken away. And cast the worthless servant into the outer darkness; there men will weep and gnash their teeth.” (Matthew 25: 14– 30)

It is not hard to imagine how much an American business -oriented Baptist pastor would love this parable: does it not confirm the parallel between religion and business, promoting in both the dynamic capitalist spirit of venture, circulation, risk, and expansion? Preachers who expound the word of God must act like businessmen expanding their business! However, is it not also possible to read the parable in the opposite way, especially if we bear in mind the alternative version in Luke 19: 11– 27: here the master is a nobleman who has to leave for “a distant country to receive for himself a kingdom,” although he is not wanted there ; the three men are not servants but (ten) slaves; the nobleman’s attendants protest at his decision to give the third man’s minas to the one who already has ten (“‘Sir, he has ten minas already!'”); and the parable concludes with a cruel order : “‘But as for these enemies of mine who did not want me to be their king, bring them here and slaughter them in front of me!'” Hardly a gesture worthy of a good man. Is it not much more appropriate to do as William Herzog proposed, and celebrate the third servant as a whistle-blower denouncing the exploitation of the poor? 47 In other words, what if we read the third man’s decision to hide the talent, withdrawing it from commercial circulation, as a gesture of subtraction from the field of (economic) power, as a refusal to participate in it? The master’s furious reaction is thus fully justified: what this servant did is much worse than stealing his money or hiding the profit— had he done that, the servant would still have participated in the business spirit of “reaping where I have not sowed.” But the servant went much further: he rejected the entire “spirit” of profit and exploitation and thus attacked the very foundations of the master’s existence—and was this not why Christianity had such problems coming to terms with collecting interest, which means precisely to “reap where I have not sowed”? The parable is definitely an exercise in weird humor, so John Caputo is right to refer to Kierkegaard’s Johannes Climacus who says that humor serves as the incognito of the religious— the problem resides in the precise determination of this humor, a humor inextricably mixed with horror.

Zizek, Slavoj (2012-04-30). Less than Nothing: Hegel and the Shadow of Dialectical Materialism (pp. 113-114). Norton. Kindle Edition.


While the interpretation Zizek ascribes to business minded pastors is obviously mistaken, the man who hides the talent is no more the hero than the others, in fact he is, as is said, the worst of the lot. In each case, in different ways, the men ascribe a meaning to a talent which, as pure measure, it cannot have. Whether one has one talent or one million, as measure of exchange it is just a number. It only acquires a partial and temporary meaning in the act of exchange insofar as it acts as a medium of exchange, and is thus always exchanged twice as the Janus-head of currency.

The talent is thus the epitome of the false god, something inherently arbitrary that meaning is ascribed to and idolized. Yet hiding it away goes against exchange itself, which is even more problematic than merely warping the notion of exchange via the profit or interest motive. Since life is exchange, the man who is afraid commits metaphorical suicide, “hiding his talent in the ground”.

The motive for exchange is itself interminably exchangeable for others, the unitary profit-motive fails to see that exchange can occur for any reason whatsoever, and that reason can itself be exchanged at any time for a different one.

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Hegel, Marx, Nietzsche, Heidegger: The Four Thinkers of the Apocalypse

Hegel’s statement that “history is rational’ is one of the most misunderstood statements in the history of thinking, as is his statement that “Christianity is the true religion, but not in its true form.” The two statements must be understood together and with the idea of the ‘end of history’ as meaning at root the end of the ‘world’ projected as Western history, and thus exchangeable with the end of Christendom, the end of Western science, the end of capitalism and the end of the metaphysical determination of man. End in each case means simultaneously completion, fulfillment, which includes its inversion, and end in terms of the exhaustion of the positive possibilities inherent in each and in their intertwining.

To begin with the statement ‘history is rational’, Hegel points out that this is not a result of thinking or research, but something he ‘happens’ to know, i.e. he knows it via a personal event that revealed history as such. That history is rational can be simultaneously understood as ‘rationality founds history’ in the sense of Western history, and thus Western history is inherently rational. It cannot be anything but rational. As the thinker who responded to the ‘end of history’ and therefore the end of rationality, understood in the Western sense, Hegel was the completion and inversion of both. That Christianity was the ‘true’ religion thus has to mean that it is the rational religion, since truth is determined throughout Western history as a rationally adequate concept. Yet in order to understand its truth, and thus be in its true form, it must transcend both its history and its rationality, which must involve transcending belief itself.

Rationality, though, is only one of the four intertwining and equiprimordial threads that determine Western history as Western society in a general sense. The others comprise:

  • Exchange as a movement (or motive) that we experience as capitalist
  • Belief as literal
  • The determination of man as rational animal which is simultaneously a forgetting of man as that-for-whom things presence

The completion and inversion of each is thus also required and fulfilled in the most powerful way by Marx, Nietzsche and Heidegger respectively. As intertwined, though, the completion of all of them may be accomplished without its having simultaneously ended in the sense of giving way to something else.

The intertwining can be seen in that man as rational animal is simultaneously man that believes in the rational and the real as measurable, exchangeable, and thereby ownable, which includes both Christianity insofar as it is both rational and belief-based, as well as science insofar as it is both rational and belief-based. As opposed to the purely mythic, metaphorical understanding that preceded those, I refer to both Western religion and science as onto-theological in Heidegger’s sense and therefore mytho-logical. The rationality of each is always based on a non-rational, metaphorical understanding that is exchanged for literal belief. At the same time, this literalism is predicated on a specific economy of exchange, one that provides a means of accounting-for based on the notion of record-keeping as accounting itself. As such, man himself can be projected as a rational animal, which means at root the “keeper of the measure” as ratio. The equiprimordiality of the different perspectives can be experienced in that record-keeping as the keeping of measure as currency simultaneously determines what can be accounted-for as ‘real’, which within Western society always therefore means simultaneously what can be owned, or property.

This determination of the real, though, simultaneously determines Western science as evidential and eventually experimental, and Western religion as ethical judgment via measure, which is projected from the beginning as ending in a judgment of judgment itself – a ‘Last Judgment.” As the keeper of the measure, the measuring facility or hypokeimenon in Plato eventually takes the place of the entire human being in the Cartesian subject. Yet this Cartesian subject is simultaneously dependent on the literalism of belief incorporated into Christianity along with the belief that religion as such can be interpreted both literally and rationally. The experimental nature of science, which replaces its originally evidential aspect, is predicated on a projection of reality-as-a-whole as rational, literal, and measurable, and one that excludes human beings, other than as the measuring subject, which becomes determined only as having no determinate properties other than being-that-for-which the projection is projected. The notion of the real as having properties is itself rooted in its being property, since only in a transitive manner can a non-human thing ‘have’, since ‘having’ is itself rooted in the experience of mineness, something that can only occur for a being endowed with understanding of some sort.

Nagel’s recent book Mind and Cosmos details the failed history of science to reintroduce consciousness, and thus account-for it. However his belief in science forces him to adopt, against his naturalist atheist predilection, both some sort of ‘naturalistic’ teleology, along with the irreducibility of both reason and consciousness. Nagel is at pains to keep the irreducibility of reason and consciousness separate, although reason can only be as an experience of rational consciousness. The reason for this is quite obvious: an irreducible rational consciousness a priori to reality-as-a-whole and particularly to reality-as-developmental demonstrates a fundamental contradiction between developmental accounts of reality such as evolution and naturalistic atheism, since what name could one give to such a rational consciousness that must be prior to all reality?

Nagel, though, neither thinks as powerfully nor as clearly as the thinker we began with and with whom his name rhymes. Any rational developmental account of non-human reality must inherently posit reality as rational and therefore as historical, projecting “nature” as some sort of metaphorical record-keeper. As such evolutionary accounts always view non-human reality as natural history, and must refer to the natural-historical record as their evidence. The difficulty, as Hegel saw clearly when he denied that nature could be historical, is that the metaphorical projection is not simply non-rational but irrational, in the sense that it contradicts its own assumption that rationality is a result of prior development. Rationality, as keeping the measure and thus based on such record-keeping, cannot be an a priori assumption for such record-keeping, nor can it be assumed as operative prior to its own development. At what point we can no longer project the past as historical and rational is debatable, but that there is a point beyond which we no longer can say what development itself might mean, never mind assume it to be rationally comprehensible, is both obvious and, in terms of science as explanation from origin, devastating.

The ‘apocalypse’ itself is neither the end of reality nor even the end of humanity, but it is the end of man as rational animal, the end of the world as Christian, the end of philosophy as metaphysics and the end of economy as capitalist. In Bataille’s terms it is the end of a particular “restricted economy of thinking”. As such, it is simultaneously the end of a particular restricted thinking of economy.


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The Heisenberg and Heidegger Cases

This isn’t a post that is meant to either damn or defend either Heisenberg or Heidegger, primarily because I’m not a historian, and historians themselves fail to agree on the topic. It’s more a musing on the motivations, including the motivation behind my tendency to distrust those who, particularly in a self-righteous way, want to damage the reputations of either or both.

Firstly, damaging the reputation of anyone that lived in Germany under the Nazi regime is relatively easy. Any evidence is likely to be difficult to judge the veracity of, and in many cases the evidence can be looked at multiple ways. This is a feature of looking at anyone living under a totalitarian regime, unless they were either directly involved in accomplishing that totalitarianism or on the other hand so obviously opposed that they were not simply suspect to the regime but actively persecuted. Neither is the case for either of the men under discussion. Supporters of both can point to the fact that they were extremely suspect to the regime, detractors can point to the fact that they both ostensibly supported the regime, at least for a period. Whether that ostensible support could have been easily avoided or its lack could have led to serious personal and family consequences is a question both supporters and detractors rarely ask; whether the fact that the suspicion didn’t lead to extreme sanctions by the regime means the regime found their own suspicion unjustified, or simply there wasn’t enough evidence to garner public support in persecuting a well-known figure, is another question both supporters and detractors rarely ask.

As I said, though, this is more a thought experiment, applied as much to myself as to others to try to judge the motivations that underlie my own responses, particularly those that are least thought through, rather than any attempt to resolve the historical reality of either man.

My initial response in both cases has been to be on the side of defending them, without viewing either as entirely innocent. The question then concerns the reason or reasons I tend to that first, which may be different in each case. In Heidegger’s case I have more personal involvement insofar as I am overtly and obviously influenced by his work. In the case of Heisenberg, since those who have done the most to damage his reputation have used Niels Bohr as a foil, and I have been more directly influence by Bohr himself than by Heisenberg, the situation is not quite the same.

Firstly, my responses have largely been occasioned by writing that I experience immediately as both self-righteous and un-self-critical. That I’m generally annoyed by such writing or speaking, whatever the topic, has been a consistent aspect of my responses to things over my lifetime. As a specific for-instance, the latest slew of opinions occasioned by the LA Times review of Heidegger’s ‘Black” Journals immediately evoked a mental response of ‘what have you, as predominantly white Americans, yourselves done in a positive sense regarding the current spate of racist violence in the U.S.?’ If you’re going to self-righteously criticize a difficult to detect racism that you claim is not only present (which I wouldn’t necessarily disagree with) but integral to the intention, and the obvious and overt meanings of Heidegger’s work, shouldn’t you be able to claim some direct anti-racism in your own life? It’s very easy to point the finger at someone else’s apparent complicity, but if your own behavior is complicit with a racism that is not significantly less overt and efficacious than that of the Nazis through most of their regime, then you would similarly be complicit with a ‘final solution’ movement if the U.S. moved further right on the issue, and from what I can see it wouldn’t take much of a move to the right for that to become at least a possibility.

Secondly, and this is something that only became apparent to me after moving to the U.S., being initiated into a racist society has a definite effect even on those who profess non or anti-racism, including those most affected by such racism. The traces of anti-Semitism that are seen in Heidegger (which are subtle enough to be questionable as to whether they are actually there or are being projected onto the work) are, at the very least, much more subtle than the racism of most white ‘liberal’ Americans, and more subtle even than the racism against blacks evidenced by a number of black American public figures. Were there to be the kind of overt racism against black people I’ve heard consistently from people such as Charles Barkley and Bill Cosby against a specific ethnic group in Heidegger’s work, I would have difficulty reading his work at all. Being black, in that instance, doesn’t protect them from embodying in their own lives and statements the racism of the society in which they were initiated. The only thing that can protect you from it, no matter your own ethnic background, is thinking oneself through and out of it, which obviously the two I mentioned have done very little of. That my wife herself, as a black woman having grown up in the South, has had to think through and out of the racism against black people that she was initiated into, is a further demonstration of its insidiousness for anyone growing up in the milieu. That traces of it can be found in any work done by a German of that period is therefore hardly surprising to me, and that it is more obvious in Jaspers and Husserl than in Heidegger, when Jaspers was half Jewish and Husserl Jewish, is also not a massive surprise in that, they were less likely to question their own stances. In perhaps a similar way, the anti-black violence recently has come primarily in the north of the U.S., not the south where it might be expected to be more prevalent, and it appears to me that the relative lack of awareness of one’s prejudices in the north versus the overt history of the south and therefore the obviousness of prejudice is part of the problem.

Lastly, something I’ve found consistently in the secondary literature on both Heidegger and Hegel, considered by many to be both difficult and obscure (which are by no means the same), is that even in interpretations that are overall sympathetic, there is a strong tendency to an exceedingly liberal reading of their writings, one that reinterprets extensively while simultaneously ignoring clear statements in the work. Deconstructing a body of work is not equivalent to re-imagining the work in a way that at times creatively invents something not at all noticeable in the work itself and ignores what is overt. At times it seems the difficulty is not with understanding what is written, but with believing that they meant it as it was written, since it goes against the assumptions of the interpreter, and the result is a reinterpretation that, while it successfully maintains the prejudices of the interpreter, has little or nothing to do with the discursive regularities actually present in either Heidegger’s or Hegel’s writing.

So, having set the background to some degree upon which I’m assessing my own thoughts and motivations, the next obvious step is to look at my personal history and examine whether there is anything that would make me overlook things based on my own prejudices and assumptions.

Where I initially grew up, in a small village in northern England, was of course not free of racism. The prevalent prejudice while I was growing up there was white on white, specifically against those of Polish descent. The reasons for this are complex, but the bulk of its origin was the large influx of Polish refugees to the area after the Second World War. The parochial resentment at the hit on the standard of living (already hard hit by the cost of the war) that a large group of destitute refugees inevitably has was buttressed by a suspicion that some percentage of those refugees had been collaborators with the Germans, who had done a tremendous amount of direct damage to the area. Had there been Germans to be racist against nearby, I have no doubt it would have been worse than what did exist against the Polish refugees, but there weren’t, and the Polish refugees, most of whose lives were far more devastated than the lives of the English by the war, unfortunately took the brunt of the backlash. That some Polish people had been sympathetic to and collaborated with the Nazis was used as a justification for prejudice that in the vast majority of cases was completely unjustified.

I can claim to have not been complicit in this from childhood, though in a personal and not fully aware way. My best friend was Polish, and I spent a good part of my early elementary school life threatening the lives of any kids that made derogatory remarks, backing it up by kicking the shit out of a good number of them. Had I been unusually big or tough that would mean little, but given that I was instead unusually small for my age, and having skipped two grades before grade 3, was tiny relatively to the kids I went after, I think I can claim that it indicates something about my initial response to the racism I perceived.

I currently reside in the U.S., and I have been somewhat active contra racism here although more anonymously than I might like, which has been necessary as a non U.S. citizen. The limitations of what I can do without endangering myself and/or my family perhaps assists me in understanding by analogy the limitations of what is possible to those living under a totalitarian regime. I’m not claiming the U.S. to be that, simply that living here as a non-citizen gives me a similar lack of rights to someone who actually is living under a totalitarian regime in terms of any right to oppose the non-totalitarian regime, one that nevertheless has a powerful systemic racism embedded in it, in place here. I perhaps feel this lack more keenly than most since the racism does affect me personally – my wife is black, and I love her and her family.

Whatever the Nazis thought of black people, and I’m sure it wasn’t positive, the crux of racism under that regime concerned Jewish people. So there is always the question, especially since a covert anti-Semitism can still be discerned in England, and to a lesser degree in Canada, where I spent the latter part of my childhood and most of my adult life, of whether I myself covertly harbor such sentiments. I can’t say I’ve had a great deal of interaction with Jewish people, in terms of close personal relations I can only really point to three instances. My family doctor in Canada was Jewish, and he and I spent a good deal of time discussing both the Nazi regime and the Weimar republic that preceded it. I can say that I’ve never met a sweeter or, as demanded by his specific job, a more capable person in my life. I also lived with a retired Jewish-Canadian couple for a time during university, what fascinated me about the man of the couple more than anything was that he also was in university – after retirement (he had been an engineer since his early 20s, a trade he learned in WWII) he went back to study the history he had witnessed firsthand, which I thought was a really fascinating thing to do, not to mention requiring a strength and presence of mind that is a bit unusual. My only other close relationship with someone Jewish was in more than one way an oddity. I worked for someone who was of German-Jewish background, but had been born in Israel. He and I were very close – he treated me more like a son than he did his own sons to be honest. Part of the reason for that was that we were very alike – technical, inventive, creative and not especially detail oriented, whereas his wife and sons were the opposite of those things. We also looked alike, and part of his reason for leaving Israel was that as a blond, blue-eyed man with a distinctly German last name, he took a fair amount of racist abuse in Israel for not being “Jewish enough”. Canada was a place to escape to where his wife and kids, who looked more like one might expect a Jewish family to look, would not be treated badly by non-Jews, but where simultaneously he wouldn’t be treated badly by Jews. His eldest son was a few years younger than me, and really trying to please both parents by doing a double major in economics and computer science although he was rather hopeless at the latter. I tutored him through those courses in my spare time, because I wanted to see him do well and his father as well as his mother to be proud of him.

As far as I can tell, then, I have no intrinsically negative feelings about Jewish people. Those that I have met have been very nice people, but I also have no belief that luck didn’t play a major part in that. By the same token I’ve hardly been called upon to demonstrate a lack of bias, since it’s difficult on a personal level to do anything but like people who are intelligent, interesting and like you as well.

So then comes the question, why do I distrust those who would damn Heidegger and Heisenberg? As I said above, people who come across as self-righteous without any demonstrable positive actions on their own part tend to put my back up to begin with. The ‘evidence’ is not as clear cut, either, as many try to make out.

In the case of Heidegger, he obviously was initially taken in by the Nazis, but that seems unsurprising given that they had already co-opted much of his earlier verbiage without actually thinking through what it thought. That he lost trust in Hitler and in fact was as far as I can tell as against the Nazis as one could overtly be as someone well known under the regime, while Churchill and most liberals in England or the U.S. were still pro-Hitler, also speaks in his favor. Probably the biggest thing in the work itself is that Heidegger’s work, although it can be challenging, is hardly obscure. Unlike most thinkers Heidegger enacts in writing the process of thinking itself, and as such any strong ties of inherited (via social initiation) anti-Semitism to the work itself ought to be far more obvious than they in fact are. Finally, that Hannah Arendt, Jewish herself, Heidegger’s ex-lover, and certainly an adept judge of totalitarian thinking remained close to Heidegger until his death speaks more about his character to me than the attempted character assassinations by people with something to gain from it.

How does it stand with Heisenberg? Unlike Heidegger his thought process is not laid bare in his work. As well, as I noted above, I’m more influenced by and involved with Bohr’s work than Heisenberg’s directly, and Bohr is a big part of the supposed evidence against Heisenberg. I do have trouble with the main evidence being a thrice-drafted letter, never apparently sent and only discovered after Bohr’s death, when its authenticity could not be fully demonstrated, because as part of a long correspondence between the two even if Bohr decided on the basis of their friendship not to confront Heisenberg as strongly as it was worded in those drafts, he had plenty of time to do so both before and afterwards in a different way. Part of my feeling that the letter may not be genuine is based precisely on my respect for Bohr, which if the draft were proven genuine, would be more affected than my respect for Heisenberg, since it would count as evidence that Bohr had something major against Heisenberg that he never took up either personally with Heisenberg or publicly. That would be, to me, an act of cowardice that would damage my respect for Bohr, who on all other evidence appears to have been a decent, honest person with the courage of his convictions, and one who made sure his convictions were first well thought through.

Without the evidence of that drafted letter to skew interpretation, the other evidence tends to support Heisenberg’s version of events rather than contradict it, as does the personal behavior of Heisenberg himself, Bohr, and the physicists involved in the Manhattan Project. That many believe the damning version says more, at least on the surface, about their desire to exonerate those involved in the Manhattan Project, even in the very peripheral and unaware way that Bohr himself contributed to it, than it says about Heisenberg’s complicity with the German bomb project. This kind of exonerating Americans in cases where they were obviously not guiltless by claiming the other side was as bad or worse is a common American ploy, if not a defining American trait, and that makes it all that much more suspect. I don’t have anything particularly against those that were involved in the bomb project. I believe they did what they sincerely thought was best under difficult circumstances, where the most ethical course of action was not at all clear. It’s this allowing for difficult circumstances that I find absent from those who attempt to damn Heidegger and Heisenberg.

The Western liberal origin of the damning of both, where non-liberals, even those on the radical left tend to be, if not exactly for both, at least more even handed in their judgment of both, is the final reason I distrust it. Neither Heidegger nor Heisenberg thought much of liberalism, not because they were Nazis, but precisely because they didn’t see it as much different, in fact Heidegger’s problem with Nazism began when he realized it was inherently the same as the Americanism and Bolshevism it pretended to oppose. Silencing a critique of liberalism by Nazi-shaming anyone involved in the critique is itself more shameful than anything I can find that either demonstrably did.

So far as I can tell, then, my primary motivation for tending to fall on the side that defends these men, albeit with certain reservations, is based on a specific distrust of those who try to damn them, and that distrust itself is based on a far too intimate knowledge of Western liberalism and the type of human being that defends it at any cost. That the arguments themselves appear weak is a consequence of an a posteriori thinking through the matter, but the initial motivation in questioning the arguments is my judgment concerning the usual sources of that argument.

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What is “The Last God” in Heidegger?

A representation of the Greek god Chaos.  Note the correspondence with the act of exchange and the similarity to the model used in quantum field brain theory.

(image from Chaos in Greek Mythology)




“The gods of Greece and their supreme god, if they ever come, will return only transformed to a world whose overthrow is grounded in the land of the gods of ancient Greece.”

Martin Heidegger, Sojourns, translated by John Panteleimon Manoussakis (Albany: SUNY Press, 2005)


Heidegger usually leaves the notions of god and gods fairly indeterminate, often not even maintaining a consistent usage of the singular and plural forms. Yet in the quote above he is unusually determinate about The Last God, although the god is not named or identified. In “Heidegger’s Last God and the Schelling Connection” George J. Seidel points out that the term originated in Schelling.

For Schelling, the symbolic is where both the general and the particular are absolute. Some examples of the symbolic are: art, philosophy (from the standpoint of arithmetic or geometry), sculpture, and drama. In the domain of the religious, Maria is the symbol of the “eternal woman.” In the gospels there are symbolic actions: the baptism in the Jordan, the Last Supper. The church and its liturgy are symbolic. Angels are symbols of good and evil. Indeed, any seeing of the infinite in the finite is a symbolic endeavor (SW III, 427-467; on angels cf. p. 357). The symbolical, as art generally, is tied up with Schelling’s rich notion of the potencies (Potenzen), which, in the Philosophy of Mythology, will be tied into what he terms the théogonie process, whereby the histories or stories of the Gods (Gôttergeschichte) actually come to be in consciousness. The potencies represent the content implied or involved in this process. It is in this context that the phrase “the last God” (der letzte Gott) occurs in Schelling (SW III, 452).

He insists that the divine becoming human differs in paganism and in Christianity. In the latter there is a finitude that has fallen away from God which, in the person of the Christ, is reconciled with God through an annihilation (Vernichtung) of that fallen finitude. Drawing upon the notion of kenosis, from Philippians 2:6-8 — God emptying himself out, taking the form of servant, etc. — Schelling says that in self-sacrificing his infinitude it is as if (als ob) Christ puts an end to the old time (alten Zeii), the old world of the pagan Gods : Christ is simply there to set the limit : the last God. God is the apex {Gipfel), and the end, of the old world of the Gods.

Heidegger, though, in Contributions to Philosophy: vom Ereignis, where the notion of The Last God receives the most treatment, is insistent that The Last God has nothing to do with the Christian God. This priority of the Greek gods over the Roman as well as the Christian is echoed in the quote with which I began the article. Seidel’s reading of the book apparently ignores the repeated opposition of The Last God and the Christian God, not to mention Heidegger’s repeated statement that his work is a destruktion of onto-theology. If Heidegger’s Da-sein has anything to do with Christ it could only be a Christ that is completely human, such as the Christology of Rahner where Christ is like any other man, but is unique as proof that a full openness to the infinite mystery is possible

The most common way in which The Last God is invoked is not in the model of some sort of savior, but is invoked precisely as “The passing of the Last God” and even “The passing-away of the Last God”. This way of mentioning the Last God fits with the quote above, in that the “return”, which is simultaneously the “passing” or “passing away” of the Last god indicates a certain operativeness of the Last God throughout metaphysics, an operativeness that, revealed as such by technology, thus both “returns” in that it is experienced as what it is, and simultaneously loses its effectiveness and “passes-away”.

Going back to the first quote, in which Heidegger gives the most determinate hints as to the nature and possible identity of the Last God, we can note a few features. I am not claiming, here, that the vagueness is not necessary, the Last God is after all simultaneously only a possibility, and the identity therefore cannot be posited absolutely. It’s significant in this, though, that the more determinate description comes significantly later in Heidegger’s writing, in terms of its being revealed by technology specifically in its most advanced formulation.

The Last God is/will be a transformation of the Greek gods.

The Last God appears to specifically refer to their “supreme” god, or perhaps their “supreme god” transformed in such a way that the others are included.

The gods, including the Last God, or perhaps as the Last God, will come as an overthrow of a world in some way already predicated on them.

Unsurprisingly there are many echoes of Nietzsche in vom Ereignis, given the focus Heidegger applied to his work just prior to its writing. One of the echoes that appears to me to be operative in the notion of the Last God is Nietzsche’s quote “Two millennia and not a single new god!”

At the same time, it does not appear that Heidegger is expecting a new god in the sense that Nietzsche means it. Nor does it appear that the Last God inherently does anything. Rather, it appears that the recognition of the Last God and the trace of its passing (away) is all that is needed.

If we look again at the determinations we drew out of the quote, the most obvious question to begin with is what was the “supreme” god of the Greeks? This isn’t necessarily as obvious as one might expect, since different versions of the stories contain contradictory genealogies of the gods. The leader of Olympias, Zeus, is himself descended from more fundamental gods. If we begin with Hesiod’s Theogeny as a starting point, the first god, the most primordial, is posited as Chaos. Chaos has no form, since there is no separation of elements within which form could be embodied. Rather there is merely a random constant exchange of elements with one another to no apparent purpose, and with none ever fully separated from any of the others.

It might be interjected that this is all very interesting, but Heidegger’s mythological escapism is hardly relevant. In response the mythologies of the Greeks are inherently metaphorical, as is the basis of our understanding. The notion of a literalist history didn’t arise until sometime after Hesiod. In improvising from latent possibilities, those that are dormant in Greek mythology may be as relevant for Heidegger’s thinking of Ereignis as is the violence he does to Greek etymologies. Heidegger doesn’t posit some “golden age” in which aletheia, for example, was actually experienced as unconcealment, but that interpretation can be exchanged for our usual understanding of truth in such a way that adequatio gives way to an improvised having-been where a latent possibility becomes an actualizable potential. Heidegger’s use of mythos is as metaphor that already constitutes an economy of meaning. As such it is not mytho-logical but mythic. Metaphysics, and the religions and science it supports as onto-theology, are also mytho-logical.

Heidegger notes in a number of places that what is earliest only shows itself latest. Thus the first god of the Greeks, which is simultaneously a god in large part ignored by the Greeks themselves, may only show itself as what it properly is last. While most of the Greek gods have direct Roman counterparts, for instance, Chaos does not, at least as the first or founding god. Yet there is a Roman god that partially corresponds to Chaos, whose name in fact derives precisely from the original Latin word for chaos. As well, this god is one that the Romans expressly claimed as their own, and as such was the last of the Roman gods, the others having already been adapted from the Greeks.

This last of the Roman gods was Janus. Without specific rites, he was considered to be implicitly part of the rites for all the other gods, since he could stand-in for any of the Roman gods and goddesses. Janus is best known as the god of the double-face, but as such was the god of exchange, of trade, of harbors, of beginnings and endings, and of birth and death. Janus was often represented not as the origin of currency, but as currency itself. Many Roman coins are imprinted with the image of the Janus-head, and the double-sidedness of a coin itself was simultaneously seen as representative of the god. It may be relevant that the festival that became Christmas was the festival most associated with Janus.

If Janus, simultaneously a transformation of Chaos as the origin of all the Greek gods, and himself able to stand-in or be exchanged-for the other Roman gods, is the Last God of Heidegger’s thinking, then the Last God is also the metaphorical understanding, prior to rational understanding, of both exchange itself and of the currency that acts as its appropriate measure. Christ can be seen as a stand-in for Janus, who as operative remains protected, hidden. Christ can stand-in for Janus because Christ is an exchange of god-for-man.

But the transformation of Chaos to Janus must be in some sense itself exchanged in order for Janus to be experienced as the return/passing of the Last God. As a pre-rational understanding of exchange and currency, a rational understanding of each would be such a metamorphosis. Yet do we have such an understanding at present? The belief in the market as “an invisible hand”, the superstitious value attributed to currency, one not matched in other forms of measure to which, rationally, it is no different, indicate that we do not. It’s not difficult to see Western history as operatively determined by the actions of exchange and currency, while these have simultaneously remained hidden under Christian ideas, or under the notion of progress, or the notions of materialistic science.

The de-materialization of currency via technology, the inauguration of the so-called “cashless society”, may be what allows for a rational understanding of currency as arbitrary measure, since that is precisely how it appears when its only representation is as numbers on a computer screen. Currency thus no longer meets the definition of the metaphysical real, bringing both the reality of currency and the essence of the real itself into question.

A revitalized notion of chaos itself, not as the pseudo-chaos of mathematics that is merely a concealed order, is an origin that simultaneously cannot be an origin, in the sense that “origin” already implies an arrangement, an order. Chaos has to resolve to an “or”, an “other“, to become an origin. Chaos is literally “primordial”, without order, unarranged. Only as exchange can chaos resolve into origin. Chaos denies explanation because explanation always assumes origin, it is only explanatory insofar as it is at least potentially explanation-from-origin. It is as explanatory that the religious basis of science becomes evident, a basis itself based on a metaphysical economy of thinking – an arrangement of thinking that must always value because at root it is always a measuring.

As Nietzsche intuited, the Greeks themselves had an Olympian “Last God”. Dionysius was the god of both chaos and currency. Wine itself had been used as currency in earlier Greek times, and the Dionysian rites were symbolic of chaotic revelry and interminable exchange. Nietzsche’s revaluing of all values, then, could only be Dionysian at root.

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Music and the Poiesis of Technology


In “The Question Concerning Technology” Heidegger points to art as another techne, a revealing both akin to yet different from the revealing of technology. At the same time technology is revealed as a possible poiesis. The “danger” in the destining of revealing that we experience as technology is in the first instance a danger inherent to revealing. This danger is not something that is in-itself, but arises in our response to revealing, i.e. we may “quail”, run away from what is revealed insofar as it forces us to rethink the assumptions with which we structure reality itself. The revealing of technology is the “supreme danger” however. If we understand this as something inherently technological, and look therefore at the technological rather than what it reveals, whether we are for or against the technological is essentially the same “quailing” since it keeps our focus on technology itself and allows us to ignore what is revealed. If art as techne is potentially “saving” this cannot mean some kind of abandonment of technology for a pastoral art, rather the very technological sense of art can help to clarify and draw out what is revealed in the way that art has always revealed the essencing of things, via a duplication of the revelation of technology.

One of the primary techniques of art, particularly the art of poetry, which Heidegger sees as foundational in a certain sense, is metaphor. The idea of metaphor as some sort of “decorative” poetic technique, however, fails to see that poetry was the first of the literary arts precisely because metaphor is originary in consciousness itself, and rationality is always predicated on it. The Theory of Primary Metaphors in cognition is described as consisting of:

… Christopher Johnson’s Conflation Theory, Grady’s Primary Metaphor Theory, Narayanan’s Neural Theory of Metaphor and Turner & Fauconnier’s Conceptual Blending Theory.

Some of its fundamental principles are that primary metaphors are inherent to the human being, are universal though not innate, and appear both in language and art, gestures and rituals. Even though the existence of non-verbal metaphor is admitted, research on the matter is only in the initial stages and the field remains largely unexplored.

That understanding is rooted in metaphor can be seen in the simultaneous creation of simile and its collapse into metaphor accomplished already in the act of perception, insofar as the contents of sense-certainty in the Hegelian meaning are transformed into perception via this movement a priori to any understanding of what is perceived. In sense-certainty we experience something of which we can say only “that”. The movement of perception incorporates a second term, separated conceptually by the “as” of simile, thus it might be “that as tree“. Of course we do not, except via a later inference, experience this simile in our experience of perception. It is already collapsed into “that tree”, but this collapse is precisely metaphorical. From a later, rational viewpoint this is the double movement of generalization and abstraction, which although often conflated are functionally different. Generalization can be seen as the act of generating the simile, abstraction involves the determination of what can be determined within the scope of the generalization. The rational concept of understanding is always implicitly predicated on the act of perception as the generation of simile and its collapse into metaphor. That metaphor arises as pre-ontology helps us understand the difficulty of rational ontology itself. Just about anyone with English as their mother tongue can point out a tree without having to think about it, and differentiate such from a plant or bush. Other languages may have different ontological distinctions, but as process it is fundamentally the same. Yet if asked exactly what differentiates the three, most people have a difficult time. From the perspective of consciousness trying to retrace the movement of perception what differentiates a tree and a bush so that, aside from the occasional thing that may “straddle the definitions” we always already see it as one or the other, appears no more intrinsically different than what separates one tree from a tree of another type, or even two instances of the same type. Only in unusual states do we directly experience sense-certainty and perception; outside those states we have difficulty understanding rationally what we have already accomplished metaphorically.

But we have, much as the research mentioned above, remained with metaphor as verbal only. How do we understand non-verbal metaphor as such? Simultaneously, how do we understand through it? Any attempt to “think without words” is, as Hegel says, a magnificently irrational gesture. At the same time the rationality of thinking in words must have a pre-rational and pre-verbal foundation, otherwise reason and language, which always implies the rational thinking in language of a consciousness, would have to somehow be a priori to reality. Avoiding the complex question of how far a developmentalist theory can be taken in accounting for reality as-a-whole, the observation of the development of a single human individual shows that we do not ‘have’ rational consciousness a priori, it is learned and thus must be based on something simpler.

Music, though it may include verbal expression, is never reducible to it. Even in sung poetry the specific changes in pitch, tone and such other attributes as rhythm and melody are intrinsic to the way in which we understand what is verbalized. The use of “instruments” beyond the human voice builds on this means of modification of what it understood, and music that contains no vocalization is still experienced as meaningful, is understood, even though that understanding is perhaps not even verbalizable. If understanding is based fundamentally on metaphor, then this understanding also must be based on non-verbal metaphor.

To give two concrete, simple examples, I will use a song that is explicitly technological in its realization, and secondly not a work of “high art” and thus exhibits what I described above in a way that can be quickly appreciated by someone not well versed in the complexities, say, of western classical composition. The second example, one of a purely instrumental piece, is also explicitly technological in the manner in which it is realized, and also relatively simple in its composition. Fortunately, the standing-reserve of technology makes both pieces easily available on demand via YouTube. The first piece is called “Statues” by Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark, from their 1981 release titled Organization. A link to the song is below:

Although the song is, as I noted, fairly simple, it is worthwhile listening to it a few times in order to get a good sense of what is in play within it. Since music is temporal, part of the effect of any music lies in the anticipation and recollection that occurs simultaneously to the listening-to of any particular part, and that cannot occur fully on a single hearing of any piece.

After getting a sense of the piece, compare the understanding you have of it, as an understanding that arose from both the words (to the degree that you are adept at hearing words when sung) and the music, with the words by themselves listed below.

The way you moved
I can’t explain
The mood subsides
And grows again
I’ve lived alone
I’ve held a hand
I’ve tried to care
And understand

What is faith
And when belief
And who knows how
These things deceive
I never said
And though I tried
If I could leave
And sleep tonight

I can’t imagine
How this ever came to be
I can’t imagine
How this ever came to be.

© 1981 Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark.


The words, too, are simple and rather incomplete. More is hinted-at than explicitly said, and even what is hinted at can only be made out in outline with the assistance of the title. What I experience in the song and therefore experience as absent in the words alone would include a feeling of wistfulness, not a dire depression, but a mood of loss that was always lost. Heidegger often uses a word translated as ‘attunement’ rather than the more common term translated as mood. In this usage mood itself, that appears to be understood implicitly in the music even though it is by no means explicit in the words, is itself understood firstly via a musical metaphor. If mood or attunement is itself understood as the perception of the state of one’s being, or the mode in which one is being, the ability to understand something with the immediacy of perceptual metaphor is here specifically non-verbal perceptual metaphor, indeed one resistant to verbalization. As well, the mood we are understanding as non-verbal metaphor is not in fact the mood we have, nor is the situation that is verbalized even a possible one that we could “put ourselves in” other than in a metaphorical way. Yet the music, in this case in combination with the words, allows us to experience and understand something of it in a perceptive, pre-rational and pre-conceptual way.

The second piece is fully instrumental. The full piece is relatively long, but an excerpt was originally released that is significantly shorter. If time and patience permits, the full version is more powerful than the shorter version, but especially since I’m asking the reader to listen to it a few times for the reasons noted above with the other piece, which may be difficult to do with the longer version, particularly if the music is not to your taste. The piece is by a group known as New Order, and called Elegia. The short version was included in their 1985 release “Low Life” and the long version included on a compilation of songs release in 2004 entitled “Retro”.

Long version:

Short version:


I chose this piece to partner the other partly because it evokes a similar wistfulness without words or specified situation, and with a similarly simple compositional form. Beyond the overall mood given to the understanding, the piece is punctuated by dire moments and moments of anger, outbursts that at times threaten to go from anger to full rage, only to be reigned back in to the more basic mood in play, and thus experienced precisely as impotent anger and rage. At other times the composition itself threatens to collapse in the sense of helplessness at this impotence, but inevitably returns to the underlying motif. Even the quieter, more peaceful moments fail to last and the tension is restored, leaving one with the feeling that neither anger, rage, helplessness, nor peacefulness and acceptance change the situation in any meaningful way. Peacefulness and acceptance are as fully helpless and impotent as the inverse. That this piece gives more to the understanding than the first piece implies that the non-verbal metaphors in play are both effective and determinate, and that we understand them as fully, if not as explicitly, as we do verbal metaphor, or the combination found in vocal songs. That we do not understand them rationally in the first instance, that even the rational interpretation given above will be unsatisfactory to most listeners, who may hear less, more, or very different things than I do, rather than limiting the effectiveness of the understanding instead makes it more visceral, more immediate than a rational description of the situation and accompanying mood ever could. More effectively than other art forms, music attunes the listener, which always means changes a previous attunement.

I did choose works that were themselves technological in their realization, although not necessarily primarily so. In Heidegger’s question of an art, a techne, which could assist in revealing what is implicitly revealed by technology itself, is there music that might be so fundamentally technological that the essence of technology itself might be laid bare?

Music as technological can be so to various degrees. All music employs some sort of technology as instrument, even purely vocal music, where the voice is technically utilized as an instrument. The instrumental interpretation of technology itself can be seen as a metaphor originating in music.

In a wide sense, technological music in the sense of modern technology can be understood as electronic in the sense that any music recorded via tape is already technological, and the replacement of analog tape with digitization only confirms that music was already technological insofar as it was recorded. However, it’s difficult to imagine that simply recording music that was in the first place not composed or performed for a recording, is technological (as specifically modern technology) in a primordial way. Since the advent of electronic music in the wider sense though, a more intrinsically technological music, one composed not even simply for recording but by recording has come into play. Initially this music used tape technologies, not simply as a recording technology but as a compositional technology. Within a very short period the technology used in composition was expanded to electronic equipment designed for that purpose, and the “instruments” themselves were de-realized into specific arrangements of electronic circuits, using combinations of electronic gates, filters, feedback loops and other means of generating instruments that could never be realized with a ‘real’ instrument in the old physicalist sense, instruments that could be exchanged and recombined at will. As well, the incorporation of recordings not originally meant to be part of a composition, initially as tape loops and bursts and later on as sound sampling and looping, bringing in what is enframed by technology along with the Enframing itself as compositional elements allows for a further exchangeability of the enframed, Enframing, and the movement of metaphor in the work of art itself. In the best of such works, sound irrupts and fades from and into the background in such a way that, ungrounded, these sounds bring the background itself into play while remaining background. The ungrounded origin and destining of these sounds produces a metaphor of abground itself as abyssal, as everywhere and nowhere. As well, the temporal essence of music corresponds to the temporal essence of presencing itself as what irrupts, endures for a time and recedes.

Rather than rationally interpret these works, I will simply end the essay with a set of works I experience as precisely such technological works, as precisely realizing in a metaphorical manner the revelation of what technology reveals. The works listed are in no particular order.

  1. Karlheinz Stockhausen, Stimmung (mood or attunement), 1968.

  2. Iannis Xenakis, Diamorphoses, 1957

  3. Kraftwerk, Electro Kardiogramm, 1991

  4. Cabaret Voltaire, Damage is Done, 1980

  5. Public Enemy, Bring the Noise, 1988

  6. Disposable Heroes of Hiphoprisy & William S. Burroughs, Advice for Young People, 1992

  7. Aphex Twin, We Are The Music Makers, 1991



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