When we measure the nobility of the word in terms of what remains to be said in it, what could be more joined to what is to be said than a saying of Heraclitus’s? Where, after all, does a higher concern for the word speak? To be sure, the reason for the inceptual nobility of this thoughtful speaking lies not in a special linguistic ability belonging to the thinker, but rather in the essence of what is thought in this thinking and what remains the to-be-thought, and which, as the to-be-thought, calls forth the word in such a way that the thinker is merely summoned to echo this call. In the inception of the saying, the word has not yet degraded into a mere ‘linguistic expression’ and ‘turn of phrase,’ such that any arbitrary phrase can replace any other. The word here still preserves its inceptual essence—i.e., the word—without the inceptual poet and thinker possessing or even needing knowledge of this concealed essence.
The to-be-thought of inceptual thinking, as the ground of the nobility of the word, is of course at the same time also the reason for the obscurity of this thinking. Hegel would certainly not be the thinker he is if he had stopped at the superficial declaration concerning the obscurity of Heraclitus mentioned in the previous lecture, and had not also said the following about the latter’s philosophy:1 “The obscurity of this philosophy lies mainly in the fact that a profound, speculative thought is expressed in it”: for the concept, i.e., the idea, is contrary to the understanding and cannot be grasped by it, whereas (for example) mathematics is very easy for the understanding to grasp. In order to understand this declaration of Hegel’s adequately, we would need to clarify for ourselves [29] what Hegel means by ‘concept’ and ‘idea’ and by the designation ‘speculative.’ To accomplish this, a discussion concerning the essence of modern metaphysics would be necessary, as well as a demonstration of the essence of truth in which the modern experience of beings as a whole stands. However, for the immediate purposes of the present investigation, we can see, even without such an extensive discussion, wherein Hegel ‘primarily’ located the ground and essence of the ‘obscurity’ of Heraclitus’s thinking. The obscurity lies not in Heraclitus’s unclear style, but rather in ‘philosophy’ itself, owing to the fact that philosophy thinks in a way that is not familiar to common understanding and which is therefore always very difficult for that understanding to grasp. Philosophical thinking thereby remains, in its very essence, obscure, at least when viewed within the horizon of conventional thinking. Philosophy is thus always and necessarily obscure so long as it is regarded from within the horizon of mere understanding (i.e., of everyday imaginings and opinions). Heraclitus is thus ὁ Σκοτεινός, ‘The Obscure,’ not because he intentionally or unintentionally expresses himself in a manner that is incomprehensible, but rather because every merely reasonable thinking excludes itself from the thinking of the thinker (i.e., from essential thinking). For this reason alone, however, philosophy as such is not obscure. Its essence consists, following Hegel, precisely in bringing that which is first veiled and inaccessible into the light of the knowledge of unconditional certainty. The to-be-known places itself into the clarity of unconditional knowledge in which each and every trace of obscurity (i.e., what is still not unconditionally known) is obliterated. In regard to the essence of the truth of philosophy as the absolute ‘science,’ Hegel, on October 28, 1816, concludes his inaugural lecture at the University of Heidelberg with the following words:
The essence of the universe, at first concealed and closed-off, does not have the power to offer resistance to the courage of cognition; it (the essence of the universe) must open [30] itself up before him (the philosophical thinker) and lay its abundance and depth before his eyes and for his pleasure.2
Hegel proceeds to consider the thinking of Heraclitus in terms of modern (and of his own) speculative metaphysics, which consummates its presentation in the work that Hegel has deliberately entitled Science of Logic. Regarding how he himself understood the relationship of his Logic to Heraclitus’s thinking, and thus how he understood this thinking itself, Hegel offers the following: “There is no proposition of Heraclitus’s that I have not taken up into my Logic.”3 Nietzsche states something similar in a passage in which he enumerates his ‘forerunners’ as first Heraclitus, then Empedocles, then Spinoza, and finally Goethe.4
For Hegel, however, Heraclitus does not first make an appearance within the Logic, and thus within the historical context of the consummation of Hegel’s metaphysics. Indeed, Heraclitus is already there for the young Hegel, the student of philosophy, as well as for his friends Hölderlin and Schelling. The three of them lived together in a dorm room (called ‘the Augustine Room’) in Tübingen. At that time, and still later, it was customary to enter commemorative words about friends into the ledger book associated with the dwelling. Hölderlin wrote the following entry for his friend Hegel:5
Goethe
Lust and love
Are the wings to great deeds.
Written in commemoration,
Your friend,
M. Hölderlin
Tüb.
12. Feb.
1791.
S(ymbolum). Εν και παν6
[31] Owing especially to his Hyperion, we know of Hölderlin’s nearness to Heraclitus. While in conversation during the passage to Athens—a journey on which they perhaps traveled past the island of Delos—the question arises regarding “why in particular the Athenians also had to be a philosophical people?” In approval of the words of Diotima’s, Hyperion says: “The grand word, the εν διαφερον εαυτω7 (the One differing in itself) of Heraclitus, only a Greek could find, because it is the essence of the beautiful; and before that was found, there was no philosophy. Now one could determine: the whole was there. The flower had ripened; one could now dissect.”8 Ὑπερίων is the name for the one who goes further than all others, going precisely to what ‘goes too far’ for the ‘reasonable human.’
If we recall, however, that between Hegel’s metaphysics and the word of Heraclitus’s lie two and a half millennia of Occidental history; if we also recall that, already since Plato, Occidental thinking had transitioned away from its inception into a self-rigidifying essence—namely, into metaphysics—then certainly Hegel’s explanation for the obscurity of Heraclitus’s thinking cannot be sufficient for us.
For precisely the above-mentioned presupposition and fundamental experience of Hegelian metaphysics—namely, that the universe cannot withstand the courage of cognition and must open itself to the will for unconditioned certain knowledge (i.e., the will for absolute certainty)—is entirely and utterly non-Greek. The universe—ὁ κόσμος, as the Greeks said—is rather, in the essence of its very being, the self-concealing and therefore the essentially ‘obscure.’ The relation of inceptual thinking to the to-be-thought is inceptually determined by this fact. But if thinking is to think the self-concealing, it must allow the self-concealing to unfold as what it is, in which case the knowledge of [32] this essential thinking can in no way be a ‘will’ that compels the universe to divulge its closed-ness. Because the to-be-thought is in its essence the self-concealing, and thus the ‘obscure’ in this sense, in this way and only in this way is essential thinking, which remains in agreement with what is experienced as ‘obscure,’ itself necessarily obscure. Thought in this way, ‘obscurity’ now means: an essentially necessary way of self-concealing. The thinker Heraclitus is The Obscure because his thinking of the to-be-thought preserves the essence that belongs to it. Heraclitus is not ὁ Σκοτεινός, ‘The Obscure,’ because he intentionally expresses himself opaquely; he is also not ‘The Obscure’ because every ‘philosophy’ looks ‘obscure’ (i.e., incomprehensible) within the horizon of habitual understanding. Rather, Heraclitus is ‘The Obscure’ because he thinks being as the self-concealing and must speak the word according to this thinking. The word of inceptual thinking attends to ‘the obscure.’ It is one thing to attend to the obscure; it is something else entirely merely to push against it as though against a wall. The obscurity attended to in the way of thinking is essentially divorced from every ‘mysticism’ and mere sinking into the darkness of obscurity for its own sake. Because inceptual thinking thinks the essence of that to which self-concealing belongs, obscurity remains here necessarily, and always, a theme of thinking. As a result of its theme, Heraclitus’s philosophy, as it shows itself to conventional thinking, is also ‘obscure’ in an emphatic sense. This outstanding and therefore exemplary obscurity in Heraclitus’s thinking that derives itself from its ‘theme,’ when taken alone as an ‘impression,’ prompted some to demarcate this thinker by the epithet ὁ Σκοτεινός, and thus to understand the aforementioned obscurity exclusively in a conventional sense.
‘Artemis,’ who bears the epithet ‘bringer of light,’ is now seen to be the goddess of the thinking of the thinker who is called ‘The Obscure,’ and who also is ‘the obscure.’ The thinking of the thinker who thinks the obscure, and himself is called The Obscure, is thus ‘Apollonian,’ i.e., essentially related to the light. How are the two to be reconciled? For φωσφόρος, ‘bringer of light,’ and σκοτεινός, ‘the obscurely minded,’ are as different as night and day.
However, through these few introductory remarks we have already recognized that every time we bump up against the apparently irreconcilable and oppositional, the essential is stirred. The obscure (i.e., the dark) and the light belong together, and not only in the sense that, where darkness is, generally light must also be, and vice versa. Rather, the dark ‘is’ in its essence the light, and the light ‘is’ in its essence the dark. In the first place, we recognize this for the following reason: where the brightness in question is pure brightness, and is thus a brightness that shines on its own terms beyond the measure of what is adequate to us, one can see nothing precisely on account of this pure brightness. Such a situation is not due to us, but rather has its ground in the fact that the bright and the light are, in their very essence, somehow also a concealing.
When we say “the dark ‘is’ the light, the light ‘is’ the dark,” or “what is alive is dead and what is dead is alive,” then we appear to be speaking in a Heraclitean manner. In truth, however, such speaking is mostly idle chatter, and we should not fool ourselves into thinking otherwise. For precisely there, where the possibility exists within essential thinking to think what is decisive and singular and at the very limit of thought, there is also the constant danger of a superficial leveling-down into mere mechanical chatter. [34] Where this danger is not conquered ever anew, there arises the clamorous clatter of the empty opposition of contradictory words: light and dark, life and death, wakefulness and sleep, movement and rest, freedom and necessity, infinity and finitude. Already since Plato’s time, and especially since the metaphysics of German Idealism, one has called the thinking of opposites together in a higher unity ‘dialectical’ thinking. Some have already contrived, through such easily learned ‘dialectical’ noise, to feign profundity and to ape the gestures of the thinker. With the help of the dialectical back-and-forth of the words of Heraclitus’s, a clever person can easily make it seem as though he himself were a thinker like Heraclitus, if not still ‘greater’ than him, since such a person supposedly understands Heraclitus and thus believes he has surpassed him. All of this is of little help in regard to a genuine understanding of Heraclitus. But we must note that, after Hegel, and especially after Nietzsche, an atmosphere formed around the figure, the thinking, and the word of Heraclitus’s that is difficult to escape both for the inexperienced and for the all-too-clever in equal measure. This atmosphere surrounding Heraclitus springs from a hasty application of dialectical thinking, which harbors within itself a peculiar danger that even the experienced thinker cannot entirely escape. Indeed, sometimes even Hegel’s thinking, and also that of Schelling’s, are caught in the gears of dialectic. Why, then, would those who trail behind such thinkers, and who no longer think from out of the experience of the ‘substance’ of the matter, be any less vulnerable? Why should they renounce the expedient vehicle of dialectic, when such oppositional sayings almost leap in front of their eyes from out of the words of thinkers such as Heraclitus? We are all still, without even knowing it, exposed to the danger of an inappropriate application of dialectic. Therefore, a warning is necessary.
When we attempt to enter into the thinking of Heraclitus, we in truth set out on dangerous ground. By means of a certain and entirely incorrect image—but one which, precisely owing to its incorrectness, appeals to the modern imagination—[35] we could say that the region of the words of this thinker is like a minefield where the slightest misstep annihilates everything into dust and smoke. We should be careful not to turn essential obscurity into mere murkiness. We consider the fact that, although Heraclitus’s thinking was under the protection of the goddess Artemis, we ourselves (still) must go on the path of this thinking without the aid of such gods. For this reason, care is required at every step, and it is necessary to have a view of what is and is not possible. Therefore, with this merely preparatory consideration, we must now ponder the form in which the word of Heraclitus’s approaches us.
The more inceptual the thinking, the more what it thinks is intimately one with the word. The more unblemished the originary thought remains secured in the word, all the more carefully must we safeguard the intact word and consider its appearance. In order to do this, it is necessary that we know even more precisely the form in which the word of Heraclitus’s is passed down. If there is no chance or accident within the region of the essential history wherein the history of thinking belongs, then there must be a specific reason for the way in which the inceptual word of Heraclitus’s still speaks to us.
Tradition is familiar with so-called Ἡρακλείτου σύγγραμμα, the ‘writings’ or, as one also says, the ‘work’ of Heraclitus’s. Of this work we have only ‘remains’; we must make do with ‘fragments’ of the writings. The later thinkers Plato, Aristotle, and Theophrastus—and still later scholars of philosophy such as Sextus Empiricus and Diogenes Laertius, the author Plutarch, but also Christian church fathers Hippolytus, Origen, and Clement of Alexandria—all quote in their writings ‘passages’ [36] from the writings of Heraclitus. These quoted statements comprise the fragments we possess. These fragments sometimes consist of multiple phrases, sometimes only one single phrase, and occasionally only sentence fragments and individual words. Because the particular choice of passages quoted by the aforementioned authors is determined from out of their own unique paths of thinking or writing—paths that occur later than Heraclitus—we can only make out, through meticulous consideration of the position of these later writings, the context in which the quotation is embedded, but not the context from out of which it was torn. The quotations do not directly pass on to us what is essential in the writing of Heraclitus’s (i.e., the authoritative and organized unity of its inner structure). Only in persistent view of the unity of such a structure could it be demonstrated where each of the individual fragments belongs, and only through such arrangement could the pieces, homeless and scattered among themselves, be restored into their proper and sustaining coherence.
In recent times, people have begun to gather the fragments together. Today, we know of approximately one hundred and thirty fragments. Should they be laid out only in a muddled heap, or can they be ordered? Given this number—and, above all, given the importance of the content of many of the fragments—the hope arises to assemble the whole again from out of the remaining ruins, as with the broken shards of a Greek bowl or vase. But things are not so simple with the fragments of Heraclitus’s writings. The broken shards of a bowl we find gathered together in one place; moreover, and most importantly, we have other complete and well-preserved bowls with which to compare it. By contrast, Heraclitus’s writings occurred only once. Here, there are no possible objects of comparison. Thus, each attempt to reconstruct the whole from out of the present fragments must operate on its own. Therefore, we can abandon this hopeless enterprise of reconstructing past ‘philological research.’ We ask only about the [37] ‘content’ of the fragments and seek to think-after the thinking enunciated therein.
This is easy enough to say, but the following question immediately announces itself: in which of the one hundred and thirty fragments can the inner core of what this thinker thinks be seen? If, as is fitting, we attempt right at the outset of this elucidation to cultivate an attentive view of this core, which fragment should we consider first? Further, from where do we grasp the guiding directive for the determination of the sequence of the fragments? Does not everything here remain arbitrary? Or is there rather an obligation to be followed here? These questions are important, but only so long as we are regarding the ordering of the fragments from the outside, thereby perpetually evading the primary and sole necessity to experience what is essential from out of the word of the fragments themselves. Nevertheless, the fragments must now be laid out in a purely external but somehow measured arrangement, and thereby made recognizable and accessible.
Presently, there exists a collection in which the fragments are numbered and brought into an ordered sequence. This collection comes from the philologist Hermann Diels (1901), who has gathered all of the fragments of the early Greek thinkers into a large collection that appeared for the first time in 1903 under the title The Fragments of the Pre-Socratics. (His ordering of the fragments of Parmenides already appeared in 1897.) Today, the fragments are everywhere cited and numbered in accordance with this edition. Other collections of Heraclitus’s fragments are not currently available. Since the fragments are generally short in length, each of them will be written and translated on the board as they are dealt with within the lecture. Though we shall retain the numbering of the fragments provided by Diels, we do not follow the sequence determined by this numbering. The fragment ordered by Diels [38] as number 1 is, for us, by no means essentially first.
If we now translate and elucidate the fragments in another order, this in no way means that the ordering attempted by us can reconstruct the structure of Heraclitus’s writings better or more correctly. We must perhaps forever do without such a reconstruction. But, suppose that the impossible one day becomes possible; suppose that the writings of Heraclitus’s were suddenly given to us intact. What then? Then philology would be relieved of the arduous task of textual reconstruction. However, even in such a situation, nothing more would be achieved—for the task of appropriation begins first. For a long time we have had the dialogues of Plato’s and the treatises of Aristotle’s, both of which lay chronologically nearer to us than Heraclitus does. We possess the writings and the letters of Leibniz; we are acquainted with the original and complete texts of the major works of Kant. All of these possessions, taken on their own terms merely as present-to-hand works, give not the least guarantee that we ‘know’ what they contain. Even such knowledge can remain a mere knowledge of the bygone without the word of this thinker being awakened into its historical future. The merely ‘erudite’ knowledge of its contents is as without insight into the historical as the bowdlerizing of its content for popular consumption. The library’s possession of the writings of the thinker in no way guarantees that we are able or disposed to think-after what is thought therein. More essential than the complete preservation and possession of the intact writings of the thinker could ever be is this: that we ourselves, if only from a distance, attain to a relationship with the to-be-thought within the thinking of this thinker. We do not strive after a philological/historiographical reconstruction of the writings of Heraclitus’s; rather, we seek to prepare ourselves for the as-yet delivered word to meet us from out of its essential core. If this elucidation is to be thoughtful, [39] and thus in accordance with its matter, it must think only of experiencing this to-be-thought. Whether and to what extent this succeeds can neither be proved beforehand nor calculated afterwards from a ‘result.’ It can neither be established ‘objectively,’ nor remain the effort merely of a ‘subjective’ undertaking. The to-be-thought is not ‘objective’; the thinking of it is not ‘subjective.’ The difference between object and subject has no place here, as it is a difference that is alien to the world of the Greeks and especially to the sphere of inceptual thinking. Consequently, the barely touched upon questions regarding the possibility and impossibility of the adequate reconstruction of the writings of Heraclitus’s lose their importance. Lastly, we recognize that it is probably a blessing if the word of the inceptual thinkers is given over to us only in fragments: for such a situation requires from us a sufficient attentiveness at all times. If instead we had the supposed good fortune of having the inceptual words preserved intact, the obstinacy of a supposed better knowledge would likely implant itself in us still more easily and rigidly. Given that this is not the case, it should be clear why no extensive assurance is needed here that we do not presume to reconstruct the ‘one true Heraclitus’ for all time. It is already enough if the intimation of one way of moving toward the word of Heraclitus’s has a shimmering of the true, i.e., a shimmering of that which brightens.
Heraclitus is called ‘The Obscure’ because he is the obscure. He is the ‘obscure’ thinker because he, more inceptually than others, thinks [40] what in the to-be-thought can be called ‘the obscure’ insofar as it has the essential feature of concealing itself. The name ὁ Σκοτεινός, ‘The Obscure,’ was therefore attached to Heraclitus because one dimly suspected straightaway that his thinking was on the trail of what prevails as the obscure within the to-be-thought itself. The attribution of this sobriquet, however, does not derive from a keen insight into this obscurity.
In the meantime, the sobriquet has been explained in manifold ways. Next to the facile prattle of Cicero stands the ‘speculative’ ground of Hegel. But the one is just as untrue as the other. Hegel’s explanation for the obscurity of Heraclitus is untrue because it is un-Greek, and also because it veils the essence of inceptual thinking. Hegel presupposes, along with the entire metaphysics of modernity, that what philosophy thinks not only cannot resist the will of thoughtful disclosure, but in its very essence does not want to resist it. Rather, he supposes that the entirety of beings is determined through the will to show itself, i.e., the will to step out into appearance. The highest manner of this appearing is accomplished within, and also for, the thinking of metaphysics, provided that it speaks through the appearing essence of the absolute as it shows itself. In Greek, such speaking-through is called διαλέγεσθαι. The language of dialectic is the word (λόγος), in which the appearing (φαίνεσθαι) actuates itself. The appearing of the absolute, whose absoluteness consists in wanting to appear, is, in the idiom of dialectic, captured by the single name ‘phenomenology’ in the sense that Hegel thinks this term. Phenomenology, the bringing-to-appearance-of-itself within the word of dialectic, is the essence of the absolute (i.e., of ‘Spirit’ in Hegel’s idiom). Spirit itself exists in no other event than phenomenology. Phenomenology is the ownmost matter ‘of’ Spirit. It cannot be shown here to what extent also Schelling, [41] who at first appeared to be in sharp contrast to Hegel’s metaphysics, nevertheless generally thinks from out of the same fundamental experience of modern metaphysics and, just as Hegel, thinks the absolute as that which wills to manifest itself, understanding this will to be nothing other than the being of the absolute. Unfathomably different from all of this is what emerges to the inceptual thinkers as the to-be-thought. It is neither a will to appearance, nor, indeed, a ‘will’ at all. However, if Hegel and Nietzsche (though the latter in a modified way) see Heraclitus as their great precursor and ancestor, then a historical blindness occurs [ereignet] here within the nineteenth century (a century of historiography), the outermost ripples of which have still not dissipated and whose still prevalent ground is to be found all the way back at the inception of Occidental thinking. Hegel’s and Nietzsche’s misunderstandings of Heraclitus’s thinking are therefore based in no way upon any errors in their own thinking that could have been circumvented by the two thinkers, and which could perhaps be rectified through the understanding of a well-trained and avid scholar of philosophy were he to reckon together all of the errors that have occurred to thinkers since Anaximander in order to then ‘improve’ upon them.
However, we would paint for ourselves a fairly absurd picture of the thinkers were we to claim here that their thinking is totally without error. Indeed, they are essential thinkers precisely because of the fact that they, despite the many errors that ‘befall’ precisely them, think the true. Because of this, the confrontation between thinkers has a character and sense that is different from the criticisms and polemics that are customary and necessary for the sciences. The confrontation between the thinkers does not deal critically with whether what is said is correct or incorrect. Their confrontation is the reciprocal enunciation concerning in what way what is thought is thought inceptually and nears the inception, or whether it distances itself from the inception in such a way that, even in that distance, what is thought remains essential and thereby [42] remains the one and the same thing that each thinker thinks. The ‘originality’ of a thinker consists solely in the fact that it is given to that thinker to think, in the highest purity, the same and only the same as what the early thinkers have ‘also already’ thought.
One could reply to this that, in that case, the thinkers, precisely through their ‘originality,’ make themselves superfluous, if all they ever do is say the same thing. Most people, owing to their desire to reach a swift ‘conclusion,’ have concluded precisely this, all the while lacking the courage ‘to truly look.’ The same remains the same for us only so long as we behold the same as itself, holding it in view and not forgetting it. But because human beings now concern themselves, for various reasons, with the continually new and up-to-date, whatever exhausts itself in always and only being the same is completely boring to them. It is precisely in order to ensure that this absolute (i.e., the boring same) will not be forgotten through the course of the history of a people that a thinker occasionally arrives. Admittedly, this is perhaps not the sole reason, and certainly not the true reason, that the thinker arrives. Why do we now say such things about the thinkers? So that we, when the moment calls for it, remember all the more that the thinkers and their thoughts belong in a peculiar atmosphere to which we attain neither through vain admiration nor through empty criticism. We must therefore heed the uniqueness of this atmosphere: for it happens all too easily to us through the course of a lecture that a word said against a thinker appears as a flippant criticism, while perhaps it is only the attempt to enter into a discussion with that thinker. So understood, the comments given here in the last hour on the danger of dialectic, and the compulsion toward a dialectical interpretation of Heraclitus’s thinking, are anything but a dismissal of the essence of dialectic. In and through dialectic, whose beginning goes hand-in-hand with the beginning of metaphysics (with Plato), an as yet illuminated relationship to λέγειν (i.e., to saying, to the word) conceals itself. The word of inceptual [43] thinking is essentially other than the language of dialectic. The full consideration of this will certainly only happen after we have first heard the word of Heraclitus’s. If within the region of essential history it is no coincidence that the history of thinking belongs first and foremost with that of poetry, then such a situation must have its peculiar explanation in the way and the form in which the inceptual word of Heraclitus speaks to us.
This word is passed down to us only in fragments, found ripped out and collected as quotations from later thinkers, scholars, and authors. Today there are approximately one hundred and thirty fragments gathered together and ordered into a numbered sequence. The ordering established by the classical philologist Hermann Diels is authoritative everywhere, and the fragments are quoted in accordance with it. Without wanting to offend or evaluate the scholarly merits of philologists, it nonetheless must be said that the ordering of the fragments that has become customary (owing to H. Diels), when viewed in terms of the sequence of its content, is rather nonsensical. That does not preclude the possibility that, from time to time in the sequence of the fragments, those which belong together also occur together, since already a crude understanding of the wording of the fragments compels one to associate them. However, when we in this lecture course follow a different sequence of Heraclitus’s fragments, the intention is not to reconstitute in a superior way the eternally lost writings of Heraclitus’s. Rather, our sole concern is whether we enter into an experiential relation with what prevails in inceptual thinking as the to-be-thought. But let us suppose that the inception prevails over all of its consequences in advance and beyond them: in that case, the inception is not what lies behind us, but rather one and the same with what comes before us and, in a mysterious turn, still approaches us.
1 Ibid., XVII, 348.
2 Ibid., XVII, 22.
3 Ibid., XVII, 344.
4 Nietzsche, Werke (Großoktav), XIV, 263.
5 Hölderlin, Werke (Hellingrath), VI, 232.
6 Translators’ note: The Greek appears in the German volume with no diacritical marks.
7 Translators’ note: As is the case immediately above, the Greek appears in the German volume with no diacritical marks.
8 Ibid., II, 188 ff.