Actually, what Heraclitus said was that even though you may step into the same river, different waters will flow through it each time. The message was not that all is in flux, as is often attributed to him, but rather that beneath the appearance of flux is an underlying structure. Heraclitus called this underlying structure the logos, a Greek term sometimes translated as word or thing spoken, but having the connotation of an account or explanation for things. (The same term appears in the Book of John; the line that is usually translated as "In the beginning was the Word (logos)." It is also the root of all our -ologies, including psychology.) The Stoics later went to town on Heraclitus' logos, capitalizing it to Logos, and turning it into a cosmic principle or divine plan (which is, more or less, where the early Christians got the idea -- mix in some Middle Platonism to make it seem a bit more mystical). The logos has sometimes been aligned with a law of nature or a scientific law, but the view of nature (physis) among the pre-Socratics was a fair but more animistic than ours (e.g., the physis was said to have its own psyche) so the mapping is very approximate, at best.
Chris ----- Christopher D. Green Department of Psychology York University Toronto, ON M6C 1G4 Canada [email protected] On Sep 27, 2012, at 11:20 AM, "Louis E. Schmier" <[email protected]> wrote: > 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 /\ /\ /\ /\ > /\ > (O) 229-333-5947 /^\\/ \/ \ /\/\__ / \ > / \ > (C) 229-630-0821 / \/ \_ \/ / \/ /\/ / \ > /\ \ > //\/\/ /\ \__/__/_/\_\/ > \_/__\ \ > /\"If you want to climb > mountains,\ /\ > _ / \ don't practice on mole > hills" - / \_ > > > --- > You are currently subscribed to tips as: [email protected]. > To unsubscribe click here: > http://fsulist.frostburg.edu/u?id=430248.781165b5ef80a3cd2b14721caf62bd92&n=T&l=tips&o=20737 > or send a blank email to > leave-20737-430248.781165b5ef80a3cd2b14721caf62b...@fsulist.frostburg.edu --- You are currently subscribed to tips as: [email protected]. 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