I known. I share some reflections just two days ago, but I warned you
that as retirement approached, I'd get more and more pensive mor often. I have
what I call a Yom Kippur hangover. Refreshing. Rejuvenating. Reminding
echoing of a single sentence: You never step into the same river twice.
That's what Heraclitus would tell me today. Remember Heraclitus? No,
he wasn't a Hebrew sage. He was the pre-socratic Greek philosopher who
insisted that the only constant in the universe was constant change.
Emphasizing omnipresent change, he is accredited with saying that you never
step into the same river twice. That means the moment of change around us and
in us, as well as in others, is always upon us. That's the link between him
and Yom Kippur and maybe the reason why yesterday, in synagogue, Heraclitus
popped into my head and spirit. Literally. Yesterday was Yom Kippur, the Day
of Atonement, the holiest day on the Jewish liturgical calendar. It culminated
the Eight Days of Awe that began with Rosh Hashanah, the New Year. These days,
especially Yom Kippur, are meant to be a kind of kick in the heart, a jump
start of the soul. They deal with change. They don't ask if we can change,
but demand that we change. This is not a gentle holiday time even if it starts
gently and optimistically with honey and sweet apples at a gathering of friends
and relatives at a sumptuous dinner table. It is a commanding, sobering, but
not somber, time. It's a sweet time of introspection, dramatic commanding to
us to look honestly and deep inside over and over again, challenging us
confidently to change so we can change the world and alter the future.
Ourselves first. Then others. The world and future as a result.
You never step into the same river twice. Change. I have had to
personally face my own “change” demons in the last few weeks as I was blindside
with the prospect of unexpected and unwanted retirement in two months and three
days. I've been going through self-created stages. First "what the hell"
surprise and confusion. Blame. Then, I amplified the angst. Here came anger.
I didn't want to retire. Bared claws. I felt I was being put into a corner
having to make a quick decision. Then as anger abated, it was joined by
sadness. It wasn't my time. And now, most important, I felt a soothing wave
coming over me of acceptance and being at peace with myself and recent events.
Opportunity. Possibility. As I sat in the pews next to Susie, listening to
some of the chants, sitting on the other side was Heraclitus whispering in my
ear: "You never step into the same river twice." As I talked with a dear
friend between services, there was Heraclitus again, saying this time, "You
never live the same day twice." And, as Yom Kippur came to a close, as the
shofar sounded, once again, there was Heraclitus reminding me in the spirit of
Yom Kippur, "You're not going to live this coming year as you did last year."
As the last notes of the shofar faded, a realization brightened. It came to me
that to exist is to change, to change is to mature, to mature is to go on
creating yourself endlessly; and, to create yourself is to let go and grab
hold; to let go and grab hold, to "re-invent" yourself; and to "re-invent
yourself is to become better, not different. Let me take this into the
classroom.
You never step into the same class twice. That's what Heraclitus would
tell us academics if he was among us today. Today, Heraclitus would shake his
head and say, "They still don't get it. Constant change is constantly all
around; it is going to happen with or without us. And, whether we know it or
not, like it or now, we're changing with all the changes. That's not being
philosophical; that's being real. Most of us academics, however, accept that
only when it comes to research and publication, not when it comes to classroom
teaching.
You never step into the same classroom twice. My interest is in change
because that's what I always have, am, and will be doing. That means for me
one thing is certain, one thing never changes, I always struggle to believe and
always doubt. Nothing gives us certainty. Nothing gives us certain,
unchanging answers. Not science, not religion, not the humanities. If I
remember my philosophy of college days, combining William James' will to
believe and Bertrand Russell's will to doubt are the driving forces for gaining
insights into all existence. Not to acquire elusive self-evident truths, not
discover immutable absolutes. Just insights.
You never step into the same classroom twice. In my world, academics
accept that. The word of doubt, "but," starts a research progression from "I
wonder" curiosity to "let's see" adventure to "what if" experimentation to an
"aha" discovery. But, only for the moment, for that "aha" moment is the mother
of another "but" doubt. And, on it goes. Now, imagine if we didn't have that
attitude, we didn't ask challenging questions in the lab or archive or out in
the field, all research and grant getting and publication would cease; resumes
would be non-existent; scholarship would come to an end; resumes would be
non-existent, or, at least, shrivel. Good heavens, how would any one of seek
and be granted tenure. Yet, that is exactly what we do in the classroom. What
I find curious is that we while we live with stepping stone questions in the
lab and archive and out in the field that focuses on the areas in our
disciplines, when it comes to classroom teaching, why are piled up stones piled
up to form obstructive walls. I mean why in the classroom do we say to
questioning, "Satan, get thee behind me;" why is questioning, heeding
Heraclitus' admonition, taken as a sign of weakness or incompetence or
unsuredness.
You never step into the same classroom twice. Applying that to the
classroom, none us quite get the mystery of that one individual student, much
less a group of them, "quite right." If for no other reason, then, life in
that classroom, as everything in life, is always changing. It's a messiness we
have to live with and deal with, but it's a messiness we don't want to have
around. We want answers and assertions, not questions, much less unanswerable
questions. And yet, I think the acceptance of uncertainty, of doubting, of
asking questions, just may be the cure teaching in higher education needs as
far as teaching is concerned. We should never want to eradicate doubt, we
should never assert infallible certainty with "I know how to teach" or "I've
been in the classroom for 25 years," or, as one exemplifying professor recently
professed to me, "They work, period...How can you say something does not work
that has been working forever....HAVE worked well for ages."
You never step into the same classroom twice. So, that professor, with
his proclamation that what he does and how he thinks in the classroom has
always been so and done by a horde of other professors, denies a faith in
teaching. What do I mean? Remember, a few years ago a book was published
containing over a century of correspondence between Mother Theresa and her
superiors. What a furor it caused. In it was revealed her doubt about the
presence of God. People were aghast at how this "saint" could doubt, and
subsequently they doubted her sainthood. Some even called her a phony, a
hypocrite. They doubted her because they equated faith with unalterable
certainty and doubt with faithlessness. Yet, she lived with her doubts; she
lived with with her questioning; she did not abandon her beliefs; she did not
walk away from her work; she did not stop loving and caring; she persisted. To
me, her doubts did not reveal weakness or incompetence; they did not reflect a
moral betrayal. No, to me, her work was even more intensely saintly, heroic.
She lived with mystery, with unanswered questions, with the unknown. And, in
the face of all this, she lived and worked caringly, unhesitatingly, fully,
tenderly, passionately, empathetically, kindly, compassionately, lovingly.
You never step foot into the same classroom twice. We academics have
the same kind of faith as Mother Theresa when it comes to scholarship in our
discipline. Faith gives us the courage to live with and work through
uncertainty, mystery, the unanswered question, change. We academics cherish
the questions in the lab and archive and out in the field, but not in the
classroom. We have patience with the unsolved in the lab and archive and out
in the field, but not in the classroom. We live with and for the questions in
the lab and archives and out in the flied, but not in the classroom. BAs
scholars, we know that if you invest your attention, if you choose to focus, if
you direct your awareness to the change, you become so fluid. We have
something of a courage and strength to greet and meet the question mark in the
lab and archives and out in the field, but not in the classroom. We are open
to all possibility, to the still unplanned, to the still unaccessible that may,
can, and might occur in the lab and archives and out in the field, but not in
the classroom. We know that the "eureka moments' in the lab and archives and
the field work come not so much from answers, as from questions. When it comes
to classroom teaching, people, such as this professor, with his dogmatic and
dictatorial "edifice complex," who proclaim the certainty of "I know" or "I has
always been done this way" are actually the people of little faith.
You never step into the same classroom twice. Now, I know I can't live
without food and water, but when it comes to teaching, I can live without
answers. I can't live with the likes of this professor's dogmatic and
tyrannical "edifice complex" when it comes to teaching. I've learned and am
conscious of the fact that opposite of change is close-mindedness type of
certainty. It's absence is also characterized by a stale "ho-hum" routine,
boredom, rut, weakening, paralysis, atrophy. There''s no "wow" in stasis, in
being redundant and predictable. Synonyms for change, frightening as it may be,
are "possibility" and "opportunity, " healthy rejuvenation, progress,
innovation, and growth. Or, at least, change makes for all this happen. And,
if truth be told, before you can do anything, as Heraclitus was saying, you
have to understand that all of life is an experiment. So, change has to be
your sparing partner. It's like continuing to gain an expertise without
thinking like the "I-know-it-all" expert. That is, if you heed Heraclitus, if
you are enveloped by the spirit of the Days of Awe, you get better, not
different. If you don't, you're a Dr. Jekyll of scholarship and a Mr. Hyde of
teaching.
You never step into the same classroom twice. If you are willing to
carry the attitudes towards scholarship in your discipline into teaching, if
you are willing to accept change and to change when it comes to teaching, the
more choices are at your finger tips; the more choices you have, the more
opportunities are there for you to grab; and, the more opportunities that lie
before us, the greater the number of possibilities can become realities. But,
choose to be deaf and blind to all this change around us in the classroom,
ignore the opportunities, and both they and possibilities disappear and die.
It is as Ben Franklin said, “When you’re finished changing, you’re finished.”
So, if you reject Heraclitus; if think you don't like change or resist change
or ignore change or deny it when it comes to teaching, wait. You'll like being
out of touch and irrelevant even less. To this professor, I asked, as one of
the great Rabbis of past ages asked, "If you won't be better tomorrow than you
are today, then what need do you have for tomorrow?"
You never step into the same classroom twice--or the river of life.
Make it a good day
-Louis-
Louis Schmier
http://www.therandomthoughts.edublogs.org
Department of History http://www.therandomthoughts.com
Valdosta State University
Valdosta, Georgia 31698 /\ /\ /\ /\
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(O) 229-333-5947 /^\\/ \/ \ /\/\__ / \ /
\
(C) 229-630-0821 / \/ \_ \/ / \/ /\/ / \
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//\/\/ /\ \__/__/_/\_\/
\_/__\ \
/\"If you want to climb
mountains,\ /\
_ / \ don't practice on mole
hills" - / \_
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