us there of its own accord. This illumination naturally demands that we also think through other fragments, and in such a way that the first-named fragment encompasses those inserted in the meantime.

In the words τὸ μὴ δῦνόν ποτε, something is named whose essence determines itself in relation to δύνειν. δύνω is connected to δύω, which means to envelop, to sink. δύνω means: to enter into something; the sun enters into the ocean and dives down into it. πρὸς δύνοντος ἡλίου means: toward the submerging sun—‘toward evening,’ ‘toward the West.’ νέφεα δῦναι means: to merge beneath the clouds, to disappear behind them. ‘Submerging’ understood as δύνειν (and thus thought in a Greek way) is the disappearing from presence in the manner of departing and entering into that which envelops, i.e., that which conceals. ‘Submerging,’ thought in a Greek way, has its essence in entering into a concealment. However, in connection to the words ‘submerging’ and ‘submergence’ [50], we are prone to think of an indeterminate disappearance. ‘To submerge’ can mean to fall victim to decay or destruction. ‘To submerge’ is also to go over into non-existence. To be victorious or to submerge in defeat—to be or not to be. But ‘submerging’ understood in a Greek way, and thus in the sense of ‘entering into a concealment,’ is in no way merely a situation of no longer existing or of non-being. Submerging, in the sense of an entering into concealment, is precisely ‘a’ being—yes, perhaps even being itself, thought in a Greek way, and thus inceptually experienced. ‘Submerging’ is a becoming concealed and a concealment: in Greek, λανθάνω, λάθω, ‘submerging’ and ‘submergence’ in the sense of the submergence of the sun; the submerging of the sun is clearly not its ‘destruction’ and in no way brings about its non-existence. But certainly, since the time of Copernicus, we have known that the submergence of the sun is merely an optical illusion: for modern science holds the key to all understanding. Sunsets are now only for ‘poets’ and ‘lovers.’ The enchantment of the world has been displaced by another enchantment. The new enchantment is now ‘physics’ itself as an outstanding achievement of the human. The human now enchants himself through himself. The modern human is now what is enchanting. We have already heard it in the words of Hegel: the universe itself cannot offer any resistance to the human will to unlock it. This certainly presupposes that what the will subjugates through its unlocking is the universe, i.e., that which is oriented toward the one and singular: versus unum. The ‘universe’ is that which unlocks itself and offers itself up for pleasure. But Heraclitus speaks of the same. His saying speaks not of ‘submerging,’ but rather of its opposite, μὴ δῦνόν ποτε, the “never submerging thing.” Certainly. Nevertheless, the question remains whether what Heraclitus names as the never submerging thing is the same as what Hegel conceives of as the essentially self-disclosing.

[51] Even supposing that both were the same, Heraclitus’s saying would nevertheless be saying something different: namely, that the human cannot conceal himself before the never submerging thing. The reverse sentiment is true for Hegel’s thought (and for that of the contemporary era): namely, that the