Jing Qi reposted an article by Ran Shi, “Is Heidegger’s Early Philosophy a Philosophy of Subjectivity?,” as well as the related discussion—among the participants were Jing Qi, Ran Shi (who is this, anyway? His blog is rather interesting), Professor Meng Qiang, and Professor Li Zhangyin, among others. I also chimed in. My comments leaned toward Ran Shi, and were also endorsed by him, but as always I was still set in opposition to Jing Qi (which, of course, is a very good thing). For the context of the discussion before and after, you can go look on Jing Qi’s or Ran Shi’s blog; I won’t reproduce it here. I’ll simply reorganize some of my own comments a little and repost them here (the words added during the editing will be marked in bold).
This is a rather important topic, and my view on it is fairly radical. I not only think that Heidegger’s early philosophy is what is called a philosophy of subjectivity, I also think that there is no sharp difference between his later and earlier philosophy; and, most importantly, what is called a philosophy of subjectivity has nothing bad about it at all:
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In this sense, I too think that Heidegger’s early philosophy is still a philosophy of subjectivity: it is a philosophical system centered on the concrete, embodied self (Dasein). Whatever falls within the range of this philosophy’s vision is grounded in my actuality; all transcendence is nothing other than my own transcendence, and does not include anything more transcendent, or absolutely transcendent, beyond me. Whatever absolutely transcends me can only exist as an impenetrable shadow, something that a philosophy of subjectivity can only “keep at arm’s length,” never illuminate. And I do not think that this so-called subjectivity or solipsism in philosophy is a weakness that needs to be overcome. On the contrary, I think any sincere philosophy must be a philosophy of “I.”
So am I saying that late Heidegger or late Merleau-Ponty were insincere? Not at all. First of all, the distinction between early and late is something we later generations impose on them. Did they themselves sharply draw a line separating themselves from what is called their earlier period? Or rather, were their so-called later philosophies actually ventures into the borderlands of light and shadow, undertaken only after their earlier philosophies had already cleared out, around the “I,” a bright space of their own? Their later philosophies are all marked by a certain ambiguity and vagueness; this precisely confirms that what they were exploring was this border region. In this border region, we see the light issuing from the “I” weakened, and I myself becoming smaller; so we feel that they are trying to overcome the philosophy of subjectivity? If we regard the quest of a great philosopher as a complete adventure, then we cannot draw that conclusion.
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What Professor Li and Ran Shi say are not in sharp contradiction; the key lies in understanding what a philosophy of subjectivity means. That is why I emphasize, “In this sense, I too think that…” What does this sense mean? Ran Shi says: “Because the subject-human-Dasein is ontologically fundamental. That is the essence of the philosophy of subjectivity: to take the subject as the ontological basis.” And Li Zhangyin says, “This ‘questioning’ must be based on Dasein.” What, then, is this questioning? It is precisely the questioning of ontology, or existence. Dasein is the basis of ontological questioning; in this sense, Heidegger is a philosopher of subjectivity.
Is there an ontology that does not take Dasein as its basis? Yes—for example, an ontology like “matter is primary”; and such an ontology is insincere.
Whether we speak of ontology or of existence, they are always a “-logy,” first of all an -ology. What does -ology mean? When Heidegger analyzes “phenomenology”—phenomen-ology—he first discusses phenomen- and then -ology:
“[Logos], as discourse, is rather precisely the same as: to make manifest what the ‘talk’ is about at the time of speaking. Aristotle explains the function of discourse more finely as [showing-forth]. [Logos] is making one see something,”
So-called ontology, however you put it, always remains “something that makes one see”; human beings are the center and the basis of it—this is beyond dispute.
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As Ran Shi said, Jing Qi seems to be “trying to rescue Heidegger from subjectivism.” So-called subjectivism would first of all seem to be an erroneous path. But to my mind this is questionable. Whether Heidegger’s early thought is subjectivist or his later thought is subjectivist, there is a more important question: why should we avoid or overcome subjectivism?
Since we are not devoted to studying Heidegger, but are instead using the inspiration of Heidegger and other predecessors to do our own philosophy of technology, what is truly important for us is not Heidegger’s philosophical periodization and evaluation, but how we ourselves should choose our own philosophical path. So the question I care more about is: why should we fear so-called subjectivism?
We seem able to equate subjectivism with some kind of anthropocentrism, and solipsism with egotism, as if placing the “I” at the “center” of the world were a kind of arrogant conceit. But I think this is a misunderstanding. I have said before that the worldview propelled by modern Western science is less anthropocentrism than theocentrism: in antiquity people believed human beings were the center of the universe, whereas modern people no longer occupy the center of the cosmos; instead, they usurp the position of God. Modern humans stand outside the world (rather than within it) and look down upon it. This relation between “human being” and “world” is precisely not the model of “center—environment,” but the relation of “transcendent being—lower realm.”
What we need to avoid is precisely that kind of “human decentrism” in which human beings and the world are external to one another. Even if one says that humans and the world cannot do without one another, that still does no good; a relation of “cannot do-without each other” is precisely still one of mutual externality—only if things are mutually external can they mutually depend on one another.
The so-called “human decentrism” is not a concept I tossed out casually on a whim. First, it can serve as a summary of Kant’s Copernican revolution: the world turns around human beings transformed into human beings turning around the world. Second, in Burt’s The Metaphysical Foundations of Modern Physical Science, we can also see a similar formulation: Burt links the epistemological turn to the decentering of the human-world relation in modern science. Finally, in McLuhan’s related discussions, a similar pattern is expressed: the shift from an auditory-tactile space to a visual space, and one major feature of auditory-tactile space is that it is “centered”; sound assails human beings from all directions, whereas in decentered visual space, human beings can no longer feel the overwhelming sounds and warm touches of nature. In short, we can summarize the basic feature of the modern world as “human decentrism,” and precisely not anthropocentrism.
What we need to do is precisely to bring human beings back to the “center” of the world. This is not a kind of arrogance; rather, it is a return to the attitude of humble reverence that human beings should have before the vast universe—I stand at the center of the cosmos, gazing at the endlessly extending horizon, looking up at the infinitely deep dark starry sky. My vision is so limited; I can only, with these finite eyes bound to this here and now, feel the universe’s infinite richness. This is an attitude of great humility, with not a trace of grandiosity or arrogance. Of course, this differs from ancient anthropocentrism. We return to antiquity and start anew, but this is a transcendence achieved through self-reflection; we recognize our finitude more clearly than the ancients did.
In Heidegger, the “I” is the center of ontology, which does not mean that the “I” is the center of “Being”; but even in terms of “Being,” one might say that the “I” is still at the center—but this center is by no means some exalted throne. The center is precisely not “high.” To emphasize the center is precisely to pull human beings down from the exalted throne. I am at the center of all things, at the center of the universe—because the world is infinitely rich and infinitely deep, and as mortal beings, human beings’ limited vision simply cannot see the world’s “end.” Wherever I look, the world is infinite; that is why I am at the “center” of the world.
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As Ran Shi said, only a philosophy that starts from the self can find the point where responsibility takes effect. To put it bluntly, for human beings to occupy the center of the universe without hesitation is a responsible stepping forward, precisely what Heidegger calls “standing out” (ek-sistence). If I don’t stand out, who will? If I am not at the center, who is? There is no center left. Indeed, postmodern philosophy has no “center,” and so it is not a system either; it is fragmented, scattered, and just needs to improvise a bit of poetry and prose. Is that love of wisdom? Is that philosophy? If we still take those fragmented utterances seriously, it is because we still ask: whose utterance is this? Any philosophical utterance must converge somewhere: it is the utterance of a human being in a particular era and a particular place; only then does it have meaning.
We oppose “foundationalism,” meaning that we oppose taking some absolute, empty thing transcending time and space as the basis from which to deduce an entire system. But this does not mean opposing “centrism.” On the contrary, a “foundationalist” philosophical system is precisely “decentered”: it has no center, or rather, its center is an emptiness. What we need to do is precisely to create a philosophy with a center. This center is not any empty, formless thing, but the actual, concrete sentient and speaking being standing in the center of the world—“I.”
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As for Jing Qi’s emphasis that in “the gathering of heaven, earth, divinities, and mortals into the fourfold, ‘human being’ (or the subject in the broad sense) is no longer in the central position, but neither can it be dispensed with; none of the four can be missing,” my comment is: the question of the later fourfold gathering is rather complex, but in Heidegger’s “The Question Concerning Technology,” where he discusses the four causes, things are even clearer: human beings (the silversmith) “are not the cause that brings about,” and the silversmith “considers and gathers together the three aforementioned modes of occasioning (responsible bringing-forth).” Simply put, human beings do indeed play one role among the converging parties, but what role?—human beings are precisely the “gatherers.”
The fourfold cannot be lacking in any of its four terms, but the fourfold is precisely differentiated by orientation; this orientation is not the equal east, south, west, and north: heaven is above, earth below, divinities at the edge, and human beings at the center. The role of human beings in the fourfold, or in the four causes, is precisely that of the gatherer who provides the center of convergence.
Clinging to a taboo against the concept of “center” may in fact hinder our understanding of human beings’ position.
It is said that Jing Qi is going to write a new blog post in reply, so I’ll stop here and put this out first. As for the specific details of the discussion of Heidegger—especially the question Jing Qi emphasizes about whether we should divide his thought into three periods or two periods or whatever—I am not particularly concerned anymore.
Translated from the Chinese original with AI assistance. The original text is authoritative.
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