of its beginning essence and in that way conceals itself. Therefore an experience of what is at the beginning by no means guarantees the possibility of thinking the beginning itself in its essence. The first beginning is, to be sure, what is decisive for everything; still, it is not the primordial beginning, i.e., the beginning that simultaneously illuminates itself and its essential domain and in that way begins. This beginning of the primordial beginning comes to pass at the end. We know, however, neither the character nor the moment of the ultimate end of history and certainly not its primordial essence.
Therefore the completion of the history of the first beginning can be a historical sign of the proximity of the primordial beginning, which latter includes future history in its proximity. Following the law that rules the beginning in its beginning, even the Greeks therefore necessarily overlook what is closest in the essence of ἀλήθεια. This overlooking does not stem from a lack of attention; it is not the consequence of negligence or incapacity. On the contrary, it is due precisely to their faithfulness to the most primordial experience of the still withdrawing beginning that the Greeks overlook the primordiality of the beginning. But because, on the other hand, the closest, and it alone, already dwells in all that is close, what is closest in the essence of ἀλήθεια must then be expressed in the speech of the Greeks, even if only incidentally, i.e., in the sense of something vaguely glimpsed though not explicitly regarded.
The passage from the Iliad (B, 349ff.) elucidated earlier, where Nestor speaks of the return of the Greeks and of Zeus's lightning on the right, on the occasion of the Greeks' departure for Troy, revealed an inner connection between ψεῦδος, distortion, as a concealment but consequently also as a disclosure, and φαίνειν, showing as letting appear. The unconcealed, that which lies in the light of the day, is what appears from out of itself. in appearing shows itself, and in this self-showing comes to presence (i.e., for the Greeks, "is"). In this way Greek experience is a revelation of a more original relation between what is unconcealed and what appears. Both are in a certain sense the same, and yet again not the same; for in the essence of appearance there is hidden an ambiguity that can be decided in more than one way. Appearance is founded in a pure shining, which we understand as a radiating light. The same appearance, however, is also a self-showing that meets a reception and a perception. Perception can now grasp what shows itself merely as what is perceived in the perceiving and can overlook as something incidental, and ultimately forget, the appearance that dwells in the self-showing, i.e., appearance in the sense of pure shining and radiating. The unconcealed is thus experienced more and more only in its relation to man and in terms of man, i.e., in its character as something encountered. But it is not thereby necessary that man, even if