I knew something was wrong on my way home from school. At Finchley Road station, the Underground loudspeaker belted out, “Change here for the Metropolitan Line.” Was I living in an illusion? Could the world really change after stepping from one platform to another? Grabbing the worn-out elbow rests on either side, I sat petrified, thinking that by leaving the train, I would defy the thoughts of one of philosophy’s icons of the distant past: Parmenides.
You see, Parmenides — Elea’s most stubborn export — swore that change was impossible. That all being is one, eternal, unchanging, and indivisible. “There is only the ‘One’,” still echoed from my prepubertal philosophy class that was always at the end of the day. “There’s only one Kevin Keegan” was a more appropriate quote for someone my age.
“Being is; non-being is not, ” he said. Well, not in English anyway. The translator’s got it wrong, I thought. It should have been “Being ain’t: unbeing ain’t nothing.” Very clear. Very simple. The sort of language that a Londoner like what I am could understand. But that’s just it (or not it, as the case may be): the London Underground announcer didn’t get it.
I suppose that what Parmenides is saying is that change isn’t really change, in the same way my Oyster card isn’t an oyster.
But change, I had to. Minutes later (time is another philosophical hotspot) I’m standing behind the yellow line, having changed platforms. “What a fool you are!’ he shouted. “
But it was too late. The Metropolitan Line arrived. Doors opened and closed. I saw the great philosopher rushing up the escalator whose steps moved towards the platform instead of away from it. “You see, young man, I’m not going anywhere! I am, and that’s that!”
How could he think he was right?
For some reason, the doors opened again. I ran up to him, explained the mechanics of an escalator. “Come with me,” I said. “Your chum Heraclitus is waiting at Wembley Park arguing his thoughts on constant change with a can of Coke before heading to the England vs Greece match.”
“No,” he said. “Come with me to Westminster. Inside that big building with the towering clock, nothing changes. And the station is on the Circle Line where nothing changes if you travel long enough. “
I wanted to tell him about the other tube lines at Westminster. But I didn’t. Leave him in his dream, I thought. Undoing 2,500 years of pre-Socratic ontology in a couple of minutes was akin to vandalism. Anyway, he was right about the Circle Line! And about Parliament, too.
“Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose” if you’ll pardon my French!