Theseus Ship and Sailing into Change
“How are you, King Theseus?”
“I’m here to make sure my ship is ready for the festival.”
“Oh, I’m just replacing this plank, then she’ll be good as new.”
Theseus looked at the ship. “You know I escaped from Crete with Athens’s youth in that ship. Now where is it?” He looked over the harbor.
“I remember, maybe because you tell me every time I see you.”
“I defeated the Minotaur, thus saving the youth of Athens from the annual sacrifices.”
“Who hasn’t tied one on and gone cow tipping?”
“It was a huge beast. At least ten, 12, no 15 feet tall.”
“Go fishing much?” The craftsman pulled away the new plank and refitted the old plank. “Here’s your ship.”
Theseus looked back. “Here’s my ship. Where was it?”
“It just arrived. The crew took it for a shakedown cruise.”
“It’s good that they ensure she’s still worthy, but where did the other ship go?”
“I don’t know where that other ship went, but yours is here now. We’ll have it ready for the festival”
“I’m sure you will.” Theseus looked over the harbor. “That’s damn strange about the other ship”
“Maybe the crew went to look for Ariadne.”
“Lovely girl. Too bad she chose to stay on Naxos.”
“Chose to stay? That’s the story you’re going with?” The craftsman refitted the new plank. “Here it is.”
Theseus looked back. “By Jupiter, how did it get here?”
“It’s a mystery.”
“But where’s my ship now?” He looked back at the harbor. The craftsman refitted the old plank.
“Here it is.”
“This is damned puzzling.”
The craftsman put his hand over his eyes. “When is Lycomedes going to get here?”
I am having some fun with Theseus, but Plutarch does write about Theseus Ship and if and when it stopped being his ship, the ship. I’ll let him tell the story.
The ship wherein Theseus and the youth of Athens returned from Crete had thirty oars, and was preserved by the Athenians down even to the time of Demetrius Phalereus, for they took away the old planks as they decayed, putting in new and stronger timber in their places, insomuch that this ship became a standing example among the philosophers, for the logical question of things that grow; one side holding that the ship remained the same, and the other contending that it was not the same.
At what point does the ship stop being the ship? Does it stop being the ship with the replacement of the first plank? How about when 51 percent of the planks have been replaced?
What about if there was a plank replaced before the ship became famous? Like Pete Best and The Beatles, are previous planks forgotten simply because they were not there when the ship helped Theseus’ escape Crete?
Still, if the boat is a memorial, then do you need the original to serve as the memorial? Do you just need something to remind you of the ship and the deeds of its famous captain?
I have seen both a traveling version of the Vietnam Memorial and the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, DC. They both represent the same thing, a nation’s mourning for her lost sons and daughters. One is the original, the “real thing” and the other is a replica.
Imitation or not, seeing the traveling memorial was powerful. Sure, it lacked some of the grandeur. It was not as moving or powerful. It still evoked a sense of loss. I am happy to have visited the original, just as I am happy that the traveling memorial exists.
They are different. They are not the same, but they both represent the same thing.
What about people? There is a belief that every seven years all of our cells are replaced and we are a new person. Whether that’s true or not, are you still the same person you were seven years ago? What about people who have transplants and artificial parts? Are they the same people?
Over the years people have created variations on the ship paradox, including using hammers and axes as a stand in for the ship. When does grandpa’s ax stop being grandpa’s ax? Is it when you replace the handle? Or is it when you replace the ax head? Does it matter how many times grandpa repaired the ax before it became yours?
Hume suggested that the old planks themselves could be used to build another ship. So, which is Theseus’ ship, the one in the harbor replaced over time or the one built from the rotting planks? I’m not sure which is the “real” ship, but I know which one I’d sail in.
There’s even a variation of Hume’s version of the paradox involving members of a band, all of whom, one by one quit their original band and are replaced with new members. Eventually the original members form a new band with a different name. Which is the real band?
The same could be said of sports teams. You have a team that wins a championship and over time players leave until none from the championship winning team are left. But the team still has that heritage. That heritage is something that all future players can draw from.
Probably one of the best examples of this is the New Zealand All Blacks rugby team. New players are told that they no longer play for themselves. They are now part of a family and a tradition and there are expectations to go along with it.
The team has 15 principles which include, clean the sheds (locker rooms), follow the whanau (extended family, or simply, family), be a good ancestor (plant trees you will never see). As players come and go, it may not be the same team, but it is the same team.
Sometimes Theseus Ship variations are institutionalized. Every 20 years citizens in Mie Prefecture in Japan teardown and rebuild the Isu Jingu shrine. People come from all over Japan to help rebuild the temple. They preserve the original architect’s design and use all new material. They have done it an estimated 62 times with the original shrine built in 690. They do this as part of the Shinto belief of death and the renewal of nature.
To accomplish the rebuild, 13,600 acres of forest have been set aside, with 222 acres untouched since the shrine was originally built.
In a twist on Hume’s variation, timber from the torn down shrine is sent across Japan to help repair other shrines.
Is the Isu Jingu shrine in Mie Prefecture? Or is it spread across Japan as parts of other shrines? I like this idea. It’s a great metaphor for leadership or mentorship, giving away a piece of yourself to help another.
I’m reminded of Heraclitus who told us that no man steps in the same river twice. The river is not the same and neither is the man.
There are philosophical and academic solutions to this thought experiment, but at the heart, it is about change. Small changes we hardly notice. Small insignificant changes that at the time seem small, you may not even see them, but over time results in big change.
It’s the big changes that you see. Are you the same person after change? What does it say about you? What does it say about how others view you? Do they say that you are not you?
Surely you have changed over twenty years. I hope you have changed over 20 years. You should be learning and changing, all the time.
In the work place, you sometimes hear things like, “I have 20 year’s experience.” My response is, “Do you have 20 year’s experience or one year’s experience, 20 times?” Certainly you don’t do the job the same way you did 20 years ago.
At what point do you stop being the younger you and become the new you?
A friend of mine falls firmly on the side that non-original parts do matter. Any change to an object changes it completely. I have asked him about several variations of Theseus Ship and he holds that changing any part of the ship changes the ship and it is no longer original.
I even suggested a scenario with a chair where the original chair was built four hundred years ago. We know it’s from a specific craftsman. What we don’t know, what no one knows, is that over the 400 years, each piece of the chair has been replaced. None of the repairers intended fraud, all they were doing was fixing a chair.
Now the chair goes up for auction and all we know of the provenance is the name of the original craftsman. Everyone, the seller, the auction house and the potential buyers think that this chair is unaltered. There’s no attempt at fraud.
My friend says that carbon dating will tell you that it’s not the chair. Forgetting whether carbon dating has that level of accuracy, it shows how strongly some people cling to the original materials idea.
So, is it any wonder that some of your friends and family don’t like it when you start making changes?
In her 1969 book, “On Death and Dying,” Elisabeth Kubler-Ross introduced the Kubler-Ross Model. The model has five stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
If this sounds familiar, it should. Kubler-Ross is a medical doctor who developed the stages after working with terminal patients. Medical school and society had not given her instruction on how to deal with the emotional needs of terminal patients. She wanted to give caregivers a framework to use with their terminal patients.
Kubler-Ross was speaking about grief. Many recognized that people react the same way to change, especially big changes. The model is now widely accepted as a model for change managers to use when introducing change in an organization.
Is it any wonder then that your friends react negatively when you start to change? They are grieving for their loss of what they thought you were. Some may be upset because they think you are shining a light on their own deficiencies. They think that because you are making changes in your life, that you are condemning them for not making change in their’s.
Not all of your friends will think this, but some will. Keep changing out those planks anyway, after all you are working on you not condemning them.
Philosophers use a Latin phrase, Haecceity, meaning “thisness.” It’s what makes a thing, that thing. Thisness is what makes you, you rather than some other random person. Thisness is what makes Einstien Einstien rather than any other person on the planet.
The All Blacks’ 15 principles is part of their thisness.
The rebuilding and renewal of the Isu Jingu shrine is part of its thisness.
People may not appreciate that you are making a change or that you have changed. But you are still you. You are the same person. Your thisness has not changed, you have just grown, learned and matured. Like the All Blacks and the Isu Jingu shrine, you are not that same you, but you are still you.
Whatever makes you, you today is the same thing it was 20 years ago, it’s just refined or fine tuned.
Unless all you have done is lived one year twenty times.
Do we really care if the ship in the harbor is the same ship Theseus used, if it tells his story? If looking at that ship, or a model of it reminds you of the hero’s journey and inspires you to take your own then does it matter if it’s the real ship or not?
Dennis Mossburg is a Leadership Consultant and blog writer.
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