Graham Parkes is a professor of Philosophy at the University of Hawaii. He has published extensively on Nietzsche, Japanese philosophy, and most recently on Japanese gardens. His treatment of "The Role of Rock in the Japanese Dry Landscape Garden," can be found in Francois Berthier Reading Zen in the Rocks, (University of Chicago Press, 2001)

Some time following the publication of his 1927 magnum opus, Being and Time, Heidegger grew more and more inclined to the kind of historicism that regards philosophy itself as "its own time comprehended in thought," as Hegel put it. [G. W. F. Hegel, Grundlinien der Philosophie des Rechts (Frankfurt: Suhrkamp, 1970), 26.] Unlike Hegel, though, Heidegger saw the history of philosophy not as the progressive self-realization of spirit, but as Western civilization's ever-deepening forgetfulness or oblivion of being. For Heidegger, the history of metaphysics amounts to a history of eclipses or withdrawals of being behind various explicit interpretations of the nature of entities. The understanding of being that currently reigns in modern industrialized society, though still tacitly, is a technological interpretation of entities as pure resource material
(Bestand), available on demand for manipulation and exploitation, but inconspicuous in its very accessibility. Heidegger regarded this technological understanding of being as at once the most dangerous and the most decisive epoch in the history of metaphysics, for the sheer immanence of things made increasingly available by technological means not only tends to obscure the fact that we live with an interpretation of being at all, in so doing it also promises the very possibility of our coming to realize that we do.

Given this interpretation of Western philosophy, it is understandable that Heidegger would occasionally entertain the notion that intellectual traditions in the East might afford some hint of what awaits us once we step outside the circle of metaphysics and the technological understanding of being. In what was perhaps his most enthusiastic moment, upon reading a book by D. T. Suzuki, Heidegger is reported to have said, "If I understand this man correctly, this is what I have been trying to say in all my writings." [See W. Barrett, "Zen for the West," in Zen Buddhism: Selected Writings of D. T. Suzuki, W. Barrett, ed. (Garden City: Doubleday Anchor Books, 1956), xi.] On another occasion, in the summer of 1946, Heidegger undertook a collaborative translation of the Tao Te Ching with a Chinese scholar, Paul Shih-yi Hsiao, who recounts the story in his contribution to the present volume of essays. [Unmarked page references in the text are to this book.] As it turned out, Hsiao and Heidegger had settled on renderings of only eight of the 81 chapters by the end of the summer, after which Hsiao politely withdrew from the project. He reports feeling "a slight anxiety" (98) about how far Heidegger was departing from the text, something he is famous for doing in his readings of Western philosophers too. Heidegger's conversations and seminars contain other passing references to Taoist texts, and one of his most famous works, On the Way to Language begins with "A Dialogue on Language (between a Japanese and an Inquirer)." [Heidegger, On the Way to Language, P. D. Hertz, trans. (New York: Harper & Row, 1971). Hereafter OWL.]

These interesting but inconclusive incidents were the inspiration for a symposium on "Heidegger and Eastern Thought," held in 1969 at the University of Hawaii, and they are the motivation of the present volume edited by Graham Parkes. Tellingly, however, one of Heidegger's last and most interesting remarks about the relation between Eastern and Western thought does not appear in the book at all. In his famous 1966 interview with the German magazine, Der Spiegel, Heidegger said:

I am convinced that a change can only be prepared from the same place in the world where the modern technological world originated. It cannot come about by the adoption of Zen Buddhism or other Eastern experiences of the world. The help of the European tradition and a new appropriation of that tradition are needed for a change in thinking. Thinking will only be transformed by a thinking that has the same origin and destiny. [The technological world] ... must be superseded (aufgehoben ) in the Hegelian sense, not removed, superseded, but not by human beings alone. [In Martin Heidegger and National Socialism: Questions and Answers, G. Neske and E. Kettering, eds., L. Harries, trans. (New York: Paragon House, 1990), 62-63 (translation modified).]

Far more than any of the foregoing texts, we want to suggest, this is the passage that represents Heidegger's most deeply felt and most carefully considered assessment of the predicament of Western philosophy vis-à-vis Asian thought. It is not insignificant that Heidegger was fascinated with Taoist and Zen thinking. On the other hand, Heidegger had and maintained a highly internal interpretation of the tradition to which he himself belonged, and his interest in things Eastern rather pales in comparison with his immersion in things Western. Heidegger claims to describe and interpret what he calls the "history of being" only in metaphysical cultures that have articulated a unified, or even totalizing conception of what it means to be. It is unfortunate, then, that the authors featured in Heidegger and Asian Thought seem to elide or ignore the pervasively Western orientation and of Heidegger's philosophy, not to mention his own evident skepticism concerning the prospects of any synthesis of Asian and European thought. Moreover, the book's contributors seem to us to underestimate the difficulties facing such comparitive scholarship at the outset, and the book suffers as a result.

Heidegger also frequently expressed doubts about whether thinkers in very different cultures were really in a position to understand one another, indeed he voiced his doubts to the organizers of the Honolulu conference itself (12-13). [See also "A Dialogue on Language," in OWL, 3.] Nevertheless Parkes's introduction and nearly all the essays that follow, including his own, sidestep a number of basic methodogical problems. Parkes avers that "comparative philosophy is most fruitful between unconnected philosophies" (2), only to retreat in a brief interlude later in the book to the much less daring observation that although "the Western and East Asian houses of Being are set apart," nonetheless "one can, with time and effort, come to feel at home in another house" (216). But while the first proposition is dubious, the second is trivial. Much of the book seems to rest on the assumption that "overcoming metaphysics" must go hand-in-hand with a closer approximation to Eastern philosophical sensibilities. But there is scant evidence that Heidegger himself ever thought so, in fact in the passage from the Spiegel interview quoted above he denies it explicitly. The prospect of "superseding" our current technological understanding of being holds no promise whatever that Western post-metaphysical thinking will bear any resemblance to cultural traditions that were to all appearances never metaphysical or technological to begin with.

Finally, the ambitious title of the anthology itself betrays a lack of focus. "Asian thought" is a broad category indeed, covering the intellectual histories of several great traditions in India, China, and Japan, not to mention others that the book neglects entirely. While the authors in the volume are generally careful to limit their discussions to either Indian, Chinese, or Japanese contexts, they show less care in distinguishing among thinkers and concepts internal to any one of them. And yet there is significant variety and discord within those traditions. Chu Hsi (1130-1200) does not simply recapitulate the thought of Mencius (4th century B. C.), and in spite of their many similarities the Chuang-tzu (c. 300 B. C.) and the Tao Te Ching are subtly yet crucially different. Finally, Zen and Ch'an Buddhism were influenced by but not identical with the early Taoist tradition. Any paths the authors purport to find or forge between Heidegger and the East would look far more passable if the points on their map had been more precisely drawn from the outset.

Having said this, one cannot but be struck by certain paralells between Heidegger and the early Taoist tradition. According to Otto Pöggeler's article -- one of the anthology's best -- Heidegger himself confided that, notwithstanding his interaction with Japanese scholars over the years, he "had learned more from Chinese" (50). It is undoubtedly Taoism that promises the most significant points of contact with Heidegger's anti-mentalist, anti-subjectivist conception of human existence and practice. Other essays in the volume that touch on this potentially fruitful philosophical affinity unfortunately fail to shed much light on it.

Before making a few remarks on the subject ourselves, however, we shall begin by discussing two other groups of essays in the book. The collection itself bites off a bit more than even it can chew, so our survey will be admittedly selective. On the one hand there are several articles that treat of the Japanese reception of Heidegger's philosophy, either historically or systematically. On the other hand there are the more speculative articles that attempt -- with varying degrees of implausibility -- to use Heideggerian and Asian texts as vehicles to lead us out of the maze of Western philosophy altogether. To conclude, we shall return to the relation between Heideggerian and Taoist themes, and the question concerning what unites and divides them.

2 Heidegger, the Japanese, and metaphysics

In his "Reflections on Two Addresses by Martin Heidegger," Keiji Nishitani comments eloquently on the impossibility of mediating between traditions as removed from one another as Buddhism and Christianity on the basis of either pure conceptuality or religious dogma, alternatives that tend to be, respectively, either misleadingly transparent or in principle opaque. Nishitani advocates instead moving to "some deeper plane," where man "is thoroughly bare" (146):

in the innermost kernel of man's mind ... through candid self-exposure to the deep complexities of the actual world ... That would mean, in truth, to delve into the basis of existence itself through and through until we reach the hidden source (147).

Nishitani has put his finger on an interesting parallel between the image of Christ as "the son of man" and Buddha's exhortation to "transcend all attachments." And these themes resonate with some of Heidegger's own talk of anxiety and man's essential homelessness in the world. But it is at this point that one wants to know more specifically what the deeper plane, the innermost kernel, and the "bare man" amount to. Such formulations could be genuinely Heideggerian only with the added claim that there are no bare facts about human beings beneath our clothing of self-interpretation, and that human beings are one sense "at home" in the world precisely by carrying on that -- albeit groundless -- self-interpretive activity. Since Nishitani does not articulate this point explicitly, he has difficulty locating the relevance of Heidegger's philosophy outside the context of the confrontation between Christianity and Buddhism. The point is crucial, however, since Heidegger was adamant about sharply distinguishing philosophy from religion, or ontology from what he called "onto-theology."

Yasuo Yuasa offers a very interesting history of "The Encounter of Modern Japanese Philosophy with Heidegger." The article covers more material than we can discuss here, but there is one point that deserves special notice. Western readers brought up in the European philosophical tradition are typically struck by the way in which Heidegger tried to break out of the individualism inherent in Cartesian-Kantian epistemology. Rather than attempt to justify the knowledge claims of an isolated subject, Heidegger describes the way in which knowledge itself is founded on social practices carried out in a shared world constituted by anonymous public norms. Whether one views these innovations as compelling or implausible, the contrast to the subjectivist tradition is clear.

It is fascinating, then, that Kiyoshi Miki and Tetsuroo Watsuji, students of German philosophy and original thinkers in their own right, both found Being and Time disturbingly egocentric. One is stunned to read that in his 1930 essay on "Heidegger's Ontology,"

Miki goes on to criticize Heidegger by contending that his philosophy cannot be "contemporary" because his [notion of] Dasein remains in the standpoint of individual subjective life without a social aspect (160).

Miki also criticized Heidegger for straying "from that which is Greek to what is originally Christian." One gathers from Yuasa's account that what Miki often took to be Heidegger's position was in fact Kierkegaard's. Yuasa says convincingly that "The discrepancy between Heidegger's and Miki's concerns is clearly manifest" (ibid. ), and that in the case of his own original contributions to the philosophy of history, "the sophisticated terminologies favored in German philosophy obscure Miki's intent" (164). Watsuji, too, concluded that Heidegger's "Dasein was the Dasein of the individual only. He treated human existence in the world as being the existence of an individual (hito "... he did not advance beyond an abstraction of a single aspect (167)." [From a quoted passage of Watsuji's Climate and Culture: A Philosophical Study, Geoffrey Bownas, trans. (New York: Greenwood Press, 1988), preface.] According to Watsuji, Yuasa tells us,

Heidegger treated the mode of being-in-the-world only from the aspect of temporality and took lightly the aspect of spatiality. ... Dasein is grasped with an emphasis on its individuality and without sufficiently considering the social relationship between the self and others (169).

That Heidegger placed too much emphasis on time at the expense of space is an intriguing if somewhat inchoate idea, and Yuasa's own discussion makes it seem at least plausible. Yuasa is right to point out, however, that as a criticism it is undermined by much of Heidegger's later work, according to which the technological understanding of being levels the distinction between nearness and farness (television being one of Heidegger's favorite examples). As Yuasa correctly observes, Watsuji's own philosophical concern with the phenomena of climate and geography has much more in common with the Annales historians than with Heidegger. In the end, as in the case of Miki, "his system differs completely in substance from Heidegger's thought, in spite of the fact that he employs a seemingly Heideggerian terminology" (169). These cases, then, seem to confirm Heidegger's suspicion that Japanese thinkers might lose their voice in the foreign idiom of German philosophy, his own especially. In "A Dialogue on Language," Heidegger tempers his notion of "overcoming metaphysics" by characterizing it as "neither a destruction nor even a denial of metaphysics. To intend anything else would be childish presumption and a demeaning of history." [OWL, 20.] It is an unfortunate habit of some scholars of European philosophy that they often underestimate their attachment to the intellectual history from which they would like to declare independence. But as Heidegger himself suggests, if overcoming a tradition is possible at all, one must remain peculiarly indebted to the tradition into which one is originally thrown. As we have said, it is a general weakness of the present anthology that it underestimates the weight, perhaps the impenetrability, of tradition. The contributions of Graham Parkes, Joan Stambaugh, and David Levin are particularly ambivalent about the metaphysical tradition as it bears upon Heidegger's thinking, and of the peculiar way in which Heidegger venerated that tradition while at once criticizing it to the core.

The volume might strike some readers as overwhelmingly Heideggerian in style and content, but this is rather a misleading appearance. The true inspiration behind the philosophical content of many of the essays is not Heidegger but Derrida, whose name is hardly mentioned. Many of the authors habitually conflate Heidegger's Destruktion of ontology with Derrida's concept of deconstruction, which is significantly different. [Cf. Jung, 217, 237, and Levin, 256.] For whereas Heidegger early on sought simply to "destroy" traditional ontology by tracing familiar metaphysical notions back to practical, existential contexts, Derrida attempts to show all texts, and a fortiori all metaphysical discourse, to be in principle indeterminate, undecidable, and self-undermining.

3 Heidegger and the Taoists

Finally, we would like to explore very briefly a few of the most promising connections that might obtain between Heidegger and the Taoists, Chuang-tzu and Lao-tzu. Otto Pöggeler's essay, though it often wanders well off the subject, offers the most substantial textual support for the various possible influences and analogies.

In chapter 17 of the Chuang-tzu Hui Shih puts forward a challenge: "You are not a fish. Whence do you know that the fish are happy?" Chuang-tzu replies, famously, "You aren't me, whence do you know that I don't know the fish are happy?" [Chuang-tzu: The Inner Chapters, A. C. Graham, ed. and trans. (Boston: Unwin Paperbacks, 1986),
123.] Heidegger is known to have been fond of this passage and to have read aloud from it in 1930 during a discussion of intersubjectivity and empathy (Pöggeler, 52). It is easier to see what divides Heidegger and Chuang-tzu than what unites them, however, since, as Pöggeler says, the moral of the story has to do with "the universal sympathy which joins together all the things of nature -- such as men and fishes" (53). For Heidegger, on the contrary, other living creatures are "separated from our ek-sistent essence by an abyss." [Heidegger, "Letter on Humanism," in Basic Writings, D. F. Krell (New York: Harper & Row, 1977), 206.]

Or consider chapter 11 of the Lao-tzu:

Clay is molded to make a pot In its emptiness [lit., nothing] Is the usefulness of the pot.

[Cf. Pöggeler, 61, and Parkes, 120-121. Translations from the Tao Te Ching are by Bryan Van Norden.]

In what might appear to be a strikingly analogous passage, Heidegger describes a jug as a paradigmatic "thing," that is, an artifact that holds human practices together and makes them intelligible. He writes:

When we fill the jug, the pouring that fills it flows into the empty jug. The emptiness, the void, is what does the vessel's holding. The empty space, this nothing of the jug, is what the jug is as the holding vessel. ... But if the holding is done by the jug's void, then the potter who forms sides and bottom on his wheel does not, strictly speaking, make the jug. He only shapes the clay. No -- he shapes the void. ... The vessel's thingness does not lie at all in the material of which it consists, but in the void that holds. [Heidegger, "The Thing," in Poetry, Language, Thought, A. Hofstadter, trans. (New York: Harper & Row, 1971), 169.]

The point of this passage is that we cannot understand what a "thing" is, in Heidegger's special sense of the word, by means of a mental representation of the object as "occurrent" (vorhanden), that is, as a substance with properties. Heidegger may be alluding to Lao-tzu here, but the fact that he chooses the jug as an example is not essential to his point. The jug merely provides a vivid illustration of a general point about the role of focal practices in human understanding. The Tao Te Ching, by contrast, shows almost no philosophical interest in the relationship between mental representation and understanding. The notion that the potter merely "shapes the void," however, draws attention to the peculiar passivity that Heidegger takes to be essential to human productivity in general. The importance of passivity is indeed a Taoist theme as well, and this parallel warrants further study. Chapter 15 of the Lao-tzu is of particular interest since, upon Heidegger's request, his would-be co-translator, Paul Shih-yi Hsiao, wrote out two of its lines as a gift of decorative calligraphy (cf. 100, 102-3). The lines read, literally:

Who is able to settle the turbid [so that] it gradually becomes clear? Who is able to stimulate the peaceful [so that] it gradually comes alive? [This translation deletes the character chiu in order to restore the parallelism of the two sentences. The Ma-wang-tui manuscripts (to which Heidegger did not have access) have an interestingly different version: "If one settles the turbid it gradually ....]

With Hsiao's assistance, Heidegger translated these lines as follows:

Wer kann still sein and aus der Stille durch sie auf den Weg bringen (be-wegen) etwas so, daß es zum Erscheinen kommt? Wer vermag es, stillend etwas so ins Sein zu bringen?

(Who can be still and out of the stillness, through it, bring (move) something along the way so that it becomes manifest? Who is able, through stillness, to bring something into being?)

In the first line, Heidegger's phrase, "bring (move) something along the way," is entirely his own interpolation, and he has replaced "clear" with "manifestation" or "appearance" (Erscheinen). The fluid metaphor that is invoked by the word "turbid" (cho) is thereby dropped altogether. In the second line Heidegger replaces "alive" with "being," which again reflects his own ontological concerns and perhaps a desire to avoid connotations of vitalism or Lebensphilosophie. The nearest point of contact between Heidegger and the Tao Te Ching in all this is undoubtedly the term tao itself. This is why, in spite of the lack of textual justification, Heidegger inserts Weg and be-wegen into the first line. Finally, it useful to consider Heidegger's apparent fondness for chapter 18: "When the great tao falls into disuse, there are humanheartedness and righteousness" (75). The Chinese text does not identify the tao with righteousness in the sense of self-conscious cultivation of ethical correctness or ritual. Equally, for Heidegger, human understanding and practice are essentially situational and context-dependent, always outrunning abstract principles purporting to apply generalized conceptions of human nature or moral goodness to all situations, in all settings.

This opposition between the tao and moral correctness raises what is perhaps the most conspicuous theme common to Heideggerians, Taoists, and even Confucians, namely, craftsmanship as a paradigm of authentic human activity. A craftsman does not rely on rules, representations, or deliberate intentions in carrying out skilled action. To use Heidegger's own example from Being and Time, one does not confront a hammer as a bare object with properties but rather as equipment already familiar and integrated into one's practical activities. Very similar craftsmanship metaphors are to be found throughout Taoist and Confucian texts.

As Pöggeler points out in this connection, however, "In the far East Lao-tzu is not Confucius" (75). Confucians generally maintain that ritual and ethics are crucial to human cultivation. Hsün-tzu, moreover, believed that ethical perfection can only be the result of years of ritual practice, reading canonical literature and studying under a teacher. Taoists like Lao-tzu, by contrast, emphasize the return to a state of simplicity before the development of ritual. One is reminded of the early Heidegger: ethics, understood as the formulation of general rules of conduct or character, goes against the grain of authentic action precisely because of its insistence upon self-consciousness, as opposed to intuition and skill.

Chuang-tzu goes further in this direction than Heidegger, however, since he seems to advocate unselfconscious craft-activity as an end in itself. For him, enlightenment consists in overcoming reflectivity altogether. Sages achieving this condition, while not concerned with bettering the world, are at any rate harmless; they injure no one while carving ox carcasses, catching cicadas, or swimming down waterfalls. Heidegger, by contrast, places no special premium on harmlessness or tranquility. Authentic action, for him, does not aim at achieving an indifferent attitude toward death, but rather an active acceptance of finitude and the anxiety attending it. Contrary to the tenor of much Asian thought, Heidegger's philosophy almost never envisages an equalization or homogenization of anxiety-causing oppositions, for example between human beings and the world of things, or between life and death. If Heidegger undermines such dualisms on a metaphysical level, it is only by way of preserving many of their dramatic implications in existential contexts.