Is it true that in our lives there can be moments of very special significance? Something like this belief seemed to occur to Wordsworth when, after returning home from college to the cottage where he had lived, he stepped out in the evening to roam the surrounding fields. Are such special moments possible for us to attain provided that we have not previously been quiescent and inert? According to the poet a human being can reach, under certain circumstances, a stage of spiritual nakedness as in the presence of the divine. So it was, in his feeling, on the occasion of this walk. He felt that the force of living reality can have the capacity of pervading the mind of a person in such a fashion that a special “power,” a sense of being, could thaw the “sleep” that too often takes a long-standing possession of us. Through such a force he believed that a person can spread

                                        abroad
His being with a strength that cannot fail.

(Prelude IV, 1805, 1. 160—)

There is a reality, a power, within the self that need not fail in higher purpose, as Alfred Whitehead also believes. The poet uses the expression “cannot fail.” But these two words are preceded by an if-clause; that is, the individual needs also to be, and can be, operative. This is often forgotten by those who consider the poet and do a kind of block-thinking centering all emphasis on such words as “cannot fail.” Wordsworth is not an easy optimist, nor is Whitehead. In Book Four of The Prelude a stock-taking of the self is prominent; this occurs at a stage, after his first university year, when he is well aware of what he has lacked in many ways. He thinks warmly and sympathetically of the ordinary, unprivileged people of the world. He surveys widely and consciously his own surrounding world of actuality, his eyes carrying his thought to “White Sirius, glittering o'er the southern crags,” and other surrounding heavenly bodies, including “Orion with his belt, and those fair Seven” which had meant much to him even as a child. (See also my About Wordsworth and Whitehead, Philosophical Libary Publishers, 1982, p. 98.)

He considers, furthermore, the “shadings of mortality” which had rested upon “these objects heretofore”; in his thought, earlier, the fact that the material universe would not last forever had seemed more than a probability, but finally he had been able to overcome this sense of gloom and to see that life can be meaningful and readily open “to delight and joy.” Now, for a moment, he thinks of himself “down-bending,” looking over the edge of a boat and seeing in the “still water” the countless “discoveries” which

                                        his eye can make,
Beneath him, in the bottom of the deeps,
Sees many beauteous sights, weeds, fishes, flowers,
Grots, pebbles, roots of trees, and fancies more;
Yet often is perplex'd, and cannot part
The shadow from the substance …

(250—)

Here, before Wordsworth's eyes, we see an illustration of the human feeling about the mystery of appearance and reality. It is a mystery to which Whitehead also refers in various works. But there is in addition the problem of the poet's own appearance and reality, which, as we have said, needs stock-taking. But change is also a factor. He must try to know better how he himself appears and, so far as possible, whatever the reality of that self may be. Know yourself. In what sense is the self permanent? In what respect does it have existence; is it an existent entity? What do we mean by saying that it is an existent entity? How is it existential? Does it retrogress? Here we may think of the early Greek philosopher Heraclitus (the third syllable is pronounced like light), who was concerned about that which is or is not lasting and pondered the light in a fire with its evanescent quality. Our discussion will include more about Heraclitus in the last part of this chapter.

The mystery of self is a problem in early Greek thought as it is in Wordsworth and Whitehead. The poet returns to personal stock-taking repeatedly, considering, for example, has tendency toward “an inner falling-off.” He was ruled often by “a swarm” of idle things: “gawds” and “dance” and “public revelry” and “sports and games,” rather than by a somewhat better form of what he calls “eager zeal”; he had let himself be led astray, he says,

                                                            in societies,
That were, or seem'd, as simple as myself.

(284—)

What does the poet mean when he refers to people who “were, or seem'd,” as simple as himself? Does he imply that he only seemed simple, but was not: that they were the ones who were really simple? Or is it his thought that the other people seemed simple but that some of them, possibly, were not so? All of the tendencies that Wordsworth has repeatedly shown would indicate the latter. He has charity. Again and again he exhibits a tendency not to judge people too hastily; that is, he is not judgmental. (See also my Aspects of Wordsworth and Whitehead, Philosophical Library, 1983, p. 55.)

If we consider the matter in greater generality we will find that Wordsworth has the habit of weighing things carefully before leaping to a conclusion. We notice frequently that he is concerned with matters that seem and yet perhaps are not. As he was walking, on a certain occasion, he “mounted up a steep ascent” where the road, glittering under the moonlight, “seem'd” before his eyes to be a “stream” flowing back toward the valley behind him. The as-if often has a place in his thought as it has in many of Kant's statements. On this particular evening, in “exhausted mind,” he stole along (the image is Wordsworth's), his

                              body from the stillness drinking in
A restoration like the calm of sleep …

(386—)

This part of the Prelude comes some forty lines after his famous self-dedication passage, where he made no particular personal vows but where vows were nevertheless, he felt, made for him. Book Four of The Prelude ends, very shortly after this, with an exemplification of his feeling concerning the importance of simple acts of humanity. In this case, the incident concerns a veteran of the tropic wars who needed help. Wordsworth stood a long time before making the decision to be of assistance. He finally overcame his “specious cowardise” and did the act of assistance.

We have said that the poet is not unduly hasty in making decisions; he is not prone to judge others. He is if anything—like Whitehead—overly judgmental of himself, a valuable trait if it is not carried too far. Is it at times best to be overly judgmental of oneself? Can such a tendency contain true value? Again the problem of the as-if arises. One can think of oneself as if one is at fault; this can be a valuable corrective to thinking that might be especially weighted on the other side. To think perfectly is impossible. Even to insist on trying to think perfectly can cause one to err. Thought itself needs to be put into action, as a process involving discord as set against structure. Some things must be destroyed. Destruction and creativeness function together to effectual purpose.

We have referred to the early Greeks from time to time as a deliberate procedure in our forthcoming Actions, Organism, and Philosophy in Wordsworth and Whitehead (Philosophical Libarary, 1985). We may think here of Heraclitus (born about 535 B.C.), who in his emphasis on destruction and fire stands opposite to Xenophanes among the pre-Socratic thinkers who can help us exemplify the meaning of philosophy itself. Heraclitus was born in the eastern Mediterranean region (in Ephesus); Whitehead probably was somewhat influenced by the early Greek doctrine of the passing, or passage, of all as it is seen in Heraclitus. In a crucial passage of Process and Reality Whitehead, indeed, alludes to Heraclitus and flux, or eternal change, implying that there appears in the Greek writer an “immortal” expression rendering the idea of change with extraordinary “completeness” (Process and Reality, 1960, p. 318); it is the flowing quality that Heraclitus is presenting in relation to Permanence. We are considering here what Whitehead, on the same page, calls “the metaphysics of ‘flux.’ ”

Inspiration plays a part in the theory of Heraclitus when he speaks (almost like Pär Lagerkvist) of “the Sybil” who “reaches over a thousand years with her voice, thanks to the god in her.” (Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, 1924, p.147.) There is always, as here in Heraclitus, something largely hidden from us; indeed, according to his theory, much learning may drive us mad, if it is merely mechanically accumulated. And yet he stresses learning. He is paradoxical. The whole cosmos, or world, continually shows to us a spectacle of “an ever-living Fire, with measures kindling, and measures going out.” (Ibid., p.148. These words from Heraclitus are crucial.) In the words of Heraclitus: “All things are an exchange for Fire, and Fire for all things, even as wares for gold and gold for wares.”

Bertrand Russell also quotes and emphasizes these words written by Heraclitus, probably from the same source, Burnet, that we have used. Ephesus, where Heraclitus lived, was a city of commerce and the idea of “exchange” in relation to “wares” was very natural to him. But the language he uses is symbolic. If he is thinking of economics he is thinking of economics as process. It is the intangible relationships, rather than money, that he has in mind. There is a melody, an attunement, he believes, that we need to understand. In this respect Heraclitus echoes earlier Greek thought in Pythagoras concerning the relationship between philosophy and music. When he speaks also of war as necessary (as a form of fire) it is not militarism that he would endorse. He has in mind that something akin to oxidation (our modern term) is occurring the world over, and these changes appear not merely in ways of physicality. There is a kind of logical quality and an activity, also, that Russell like Burnet sees in Heraclitus. In a sense we have a self (in our actual existence), and in a sense we are nonexistent. We change in our flow just as a river changes. “We are and we are not,” Russell avers, “is a somewhat cryptic way of saying that the unity of our existence consists in perpetual change, or to express it in the language later forged by Plato, our being is a perpetual becoming.” (Wisdom of the West, p. 25.)

We have quoted from John Burnet's Early Greek Philosophy at certain points: for example, the statement by Heraclitus about “measures kindling and measures going out.” This involves motion, change. But the idea of measure is important here metaphysically, as it also is in the ethics of Heraclitus. In his philosophy “the measures are not absolutely rigid, provided they do not exceed the bounds.” (Ibid., p. 26.) So Russell puts it, explaining Heraclitus, and he adds: “They may in fact oscillate within certain ranges,” the oscillations or periodicities being potentially very complex. In Russell's view we might “connect the notion of oscillating measures with the Pythagorean construction of irrational numbers by continued fractions, where successive approximations alternately exceed and fall short of exact value.” Russell admits that we cannot be sure that “the early Pythagoreans did evolve this method,” but he explains that “by Plato's time it was certainly well known”; hence it is possible that it was grasped by Heraclitus, though we cannot be absolutely certain of this. The important point is measure and its variation.

Basically, the feature that Heraclitus moves toward is harmony in the midst of complexity and the terror we feel in the face of seeming destruction. It is the universal, as he would deem it, that he emphasizes most prominently. But change is for us—in this life—eternal. “We step and do not step into the same rivers; we are and we are not.” (Burnet, Early Greek Philosophy, p.153.) We have identity, but that is a quality that is not so absolute as we suppose. Words themselves are flowing—they are clairvoyant—and the human being also flows and is clairvoyant. It is evident that Heraclitus recognizes that one of our greatest problems is self-knowledge. But how can we attain self-understanding in view of our changefulness? “Man is called a baby by God,” just as a child is often called a baby “by a man.” (Ibid., p. 154.)

It would seem that anyone who views Heraclitus as a materialist, because of the apparent emphasis on flux in his work, is far from being accurate. It is not a loose relativity or an ethics of convenience that he would endorse. We can learn many things from him. But it is possible to understand him wrongly. Whitehead says ironically, “Mathematical physics translates the saying of Heraclitus, ‘All things flow,’ into its own language. It then becomes, All things are vectors.” (Process and Reality, p. 471.) But we need more than this if we are to have insight into Heraclitus, and we need to advance carefully through Heraclitus toward Whitehead. A philosophy of organism brings us onward toward more adequate insights into Whitehead's world in contrast to that of Heraclitus.

In Heraclitus the spirit of the ideal human being is a kind of flame that moves upward. It seems to die down, but actually this is not the case. It fluctuates and yet it can attain to great things. This is human. But in comparison with God, or the divine, we should not think of the greatness in the self. Still, greatness should not be neglected; we need to be awake to it, although Heraclitus, like Thoreau, feels that people are, in general, pretty much asleep.

Is Heraclitus aristocratic in his philosophy? He is concerned with the best as it may be represented in human beings. He is no aristocrat as measured in terms of money or material values. Ought we to estimate Heraclitus on the basis of what his thought has contributed to mankind, or ought we to approach him strenuously, trying to ascertain what in exactitude he actually was? Are we to seek that which has an as-if value and be concerned most profoundly with the usable past? What has Heraclitus which could be thought of as a value in an understanding of the developing Wordsworth or the ever-changing growth characterizing Whitehead? This should be the focal center of our present thought.

Did Heraclitus think of fire, the fundamental thing, as a form of physicality or of materialism? So he is sometimes viewed. But it is not materiality of this kind that thinkers like Wordsworth and Whitehead have inherited from the early Greeks, and it is not necessary to ponder this aspect of ancient thought in our present context. It has been asserted by Burnet that Heraclitus in referring to God “meant Fire.” (Early Greek Philosophy, p.188). It is no simple thing to which this ancient Greek is pointing in his key expression. We can scarcely doubt that what he has in mind leads us toward the point that “the opposition and relativity which are universal in the world disappear.” For the ethics of Heraclitus “the greatest fault is to act like men asleep” (Ibid., p.191. Some people talk as if they are asleep. See Frag. 73.); this interpretation drawn from Burnet requires a balanced understanding of total philosophy, insofar as one can attain such a wide view. Necessarily we have implied here something which is a far cry from perfection.