Roads and Rivers

Heraclitus once said that one cannot step into the same river twice, yet he also said that the road up and the road down are one and the same. These two notions seem to be completely contradictory.

I don’t think he meant that rivers change whereas roads don’t, although the water in the river is changing as it flows by, and the material or dirt of the road usually doesn’t.

If I step into a river and then again later, I also have the memory of stepping into it before. If I travel the road up, then on the road down I remember the journey and what I’ve seen each way, and maybe what’s changed.

Perhaps he meant that the “road up” is the path of increased success and well-being, and the “road down” has those things decreased. Maybe you’re supposed to take both equally, like the Stoics.

Further Reading:

https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Heraclitus

https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/heraclitus/

https://www.albany.edu/~rn774/fall96/philos3.html

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Much in Little

“I’m always looking for the Hows and the Whys and the Whats,” said Muskrat, “That is why I speak as I do. You’ve heard of Muskrat’s Much-in-Little, of course?”
“No,” said the child. “What is it?”
Muskrat stopped, cleared his throat, ruffled his fur, drew himself up, and said in ringing tones, “Why times How equals What.” He paused to let the words take effect. “That’s Muskrat’s Much-in-Little,” he said.

— From “The Mouse and His Child”, by Russell Hoban

“What?,” asked the child.
“Yes, exactly!,” said Muskrat.

— Not in the book

“Who?,” said the Owl.

— Maybe somewhere in the book

Further Reading:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Mouse_and_His_Child

http://www.ocelotfactory.com/hoban/mouse.html

In Latin, Multum in Parvo.

Multum in Parvo

And now, a nice poem:

Much in Little, by Yvor Winters

Amid the iris and the rose,
The honeysuckle and the bay,
The wild earth for a moment goes
In dust or weed another way.

Small though its corner be, the weed
Will yet intrude its creeping beard;
The harsh blade and the hairy seed
Recall the brutal earth we feared.

And if no water touch the dust
In some far corner, and one dare
To breathe upon it, one may trust
The spectre on the summer air:

The risen dust alive with fire,
The fire made visible, a blur
Interrate, the pervasive ire
Of foxtail and of hoarhound burr.

https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/47783/much-in-little

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yvor_Winters

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