Humanity is obsessed with the future, and has been for presumably a very long time. Yet, as constant as its desirability is its elusiveness. As Ol’ Blue Eyes told us, “tomorrow never comes.” That said, I hope you’ll forgive me, dear reader, if this particular post is a bit more scattered — or, more flatteringly, poetic — than the rest of what I will write on this site.

Sensory experience grounds consciousness in the present. The future exists in the imagination and the past in memory, but the world of experience is immediate. The present is the point of contact between the amorphous, unrealized potential of the future and the crystalized, immutable past. It is at this point that we continually exist. All people are bound indelibly to perpetual flux — the only continuity by Heraclitus’ reckoning. It is fascinating to me that we so often take a continuity of being for granted regarding ourselves. Our bodies continually replace themselves through the dying and multiplying of cells. Even in sleep, our minds remain characterized by perpetual motion. Despite these facts, we tend to view ourselves and our own ontological persistence as the static, grounding element of reality.

I met an old friend recently, one who I had not seen since childhood. I was surprised she recognized me, and it took me more than a few moments to connect the face I was looking at in that moment to the face of the person I had known years ago. The character of flux is more obvious given a temporally larger frame of reference. It was obvious to me in that meeting that there is a profound sense in which neither of us could be considered the same person as from long ago, but this distinction seems arbitrarily drawn. It raises an interesting question of the point in time at which an ontological distinction can reasonably be drawn between these degrees. I’m inclined to think they are precisely that: degrees. That is to say that, like a line composed of infinite points, the person is composed of infinite gradations, each an independent, even noncontingent, object existing at every given present moment. Even this notion still implies continuity, however. The continuity of time seems inescapable, whether time is circular or linear. The elusive future is also inevitable.

Astrology is remarkably popular in a cultural climate that otherwise seems preoccupied with science (I think that there are many reasons for this that I hope to discuss in detail some other time). Perhaps, in part, that is because science has yet to show the future. It always looks, no doubt, but never exactly sees. What do we think we’ll see when we look at the stars? And why is the future something to behold with the eyes? I do not know exactly, but astrology is, of course, not just observation, but also systemization. The stars are letters arrayed in vast words that the observer must be taught to read. The sun is the easiest heavenly body to read, probably because it tells about the present rather than the future. I suppose the past is found in the earth rather than the heavens.

Is the future real? I’d like to venture a guess, though it should then be appropriate to confess that this is an area I’m not particularly well-read in at all. Both the past and future have the appearance of reality by their effect on consciousness. A discerning individual factors both into the calculations of his behavior — and yet the utility of such consideration is reduced even to nothingness by chance, that savage, untamable bitumen of the future that seeps into every corner of living. Therefore, this appearance could be considered deceiving. Then again, the reality of the past seems to persist despite the most concerted and coordinated efforts to grapple with it. Revenge, nostalgia, trust and its absence are all evidence of negotiation with the past. Knowledge has its origin in the past, yet the process of learning is firmly anchored in the present with the machinations of consciousness.

One could also consider the present as some sort of progressive reception of the future, which might imply that the past is not real and that the present is the momentary, even illusory unfolding of the future, which would in this model represent the most real aspect of time. Or perhaps the present is the culmination of the past, and the future is thereby contingent upon both. In any case, it seems unlikely that the past, present and future are equally real, so to speak, not least because of the disparity in their apparent utility and affective valence. Utility may be more precisely thought of as dispassionate behavioral relevance in this case, given the aforementioned negation of utility as measured objectively by outcome.

In invoking this distinction in motives, a more critical question is raised: Should relevance predicated upon the human being be the metric of reality? The aforementioned difficulties in considering a human being to be a single contiguous entity could indicate that human consciousness is not a reliable frame of reference. In that regard, the endeavor at hand involves that paradoxical capacity of the sapient mind to withdraw from itself, in some sense. In any case, a consideration of alternative approaches might suggest that a more objective measure, such as relevance to God, could steer our working model of time away from the danger of total relativism (which is indeed dangerous). We might imagine for the purpose of this exercise, which has admittedly become somewhat hectic, that something has relevance to God only if He permits it. Thus, that which possesses this quality is simply that which is.

Concretely, that is, in the material world outside the mind, in the realm of that which is, the manifested creative cognizance of God, it is noteworthy that the past appears to contain potential of its own. As the present process of learning uncovers history, the future partakes in realizing the potential of the past. Uniquely, the past seems to be a realm where the ravages of decay, if not exclusively present, are most obvious. There is an untold world of lost potential in the past, which is at least similarly true of the present. Memories fade, and monuments erode. Humanity will probably never know the volume of information lost eternally in the past — stories misremembered, tomes disintegrated in Alexandria, biblical manuscripts forever missing, pre-Columbian codices entombed in obscurity, unphotographed instants languishing in the dark, oral histories disfigured beyond recognition, love letters that never arrived. We may consider this as opposed to the future, which might be thought of as consisting entirely of potential.

Is the past as hard to find as the future? The stars have been presumed silent on that matter, as far as I’m aware. All nature appears to scorn the past, yet never escapes it. The tree bears the past in its rings, which do not seem to spring into existence in each present moment, yet those rings will someday rot and vanish. Things are pulled into the past from the present. In this view, the past is oblivion, and the process of memory is one of maintaining in the present the significance of that which would otherwise be devoured.

If the past is indeed oblivion, then it cannot be considered a repository of meaning. It is only that which endures into the present which has meaning, because only the present has being. The present is alive, the past dead, and the future we perhaps cannot say. The present could be the generative element that conceives the dormant future. Perhaps the past is the generative element, though dead, that brings the half-alive future into the fruition of the living present. It could be possible that the aspects of time map onto classical elements. The Zia symbol of my beloved home connects the cyclical temporal categories of seasons, days and lifespans to the cardinal directions. As I understand it, the Aztec cultures also held that time was primarily cyclical and also that the cardinal directions had divine significance. The Incas considered time and space as a unified concept.

These last connections seem significant in that they bridge the gap between the more abstract, cerebral notion of time and the immediate desire and need of people to use systematic thought as a method of orienting behavior. The clock and the compass both are aids to navigation. Most basically, the purpose of thought and word, and by extension symbol, is to produce action.

Western culture is enslaved to trauma. The term encapsulates the unhealed wounds and persistent perception of the past barging into the present and tainting the future that so many, especially young people, blame for immense suffering and hopelessness. Visions of impending utopia and of naturalistic apocalypse are fuel in engines of political zealotry. The manner in which we, both as individuals and as cultures, understand and treat these aspects of time is immensely important. These clouds of abstract thought are not so far removed from the earth we tread that they do not reach us with life-giving rain or destructive lightning.

All that being said, I certainly cannot say I understand time, and I am as of yet unconvinced that there is anyone who can say he understands it more than everybody else. Having explored a few possibilities herein, each of which looms like the mouth of vast and branching cave in which is quite possibly only deeper ignorance, the only thing I can confidently say is that I am not terribly confident in any of the ideas at hand. If you’ve read this entire post, I thank you for bearing with what will hopefully prove much more disjointed than the posts to come. At the time of publishing, I am more or less accepting defeat with this particular post. I wonder if the concept of time somehow transcends the limit of prose, or if poetry is perhaps the worthier vessel of its mysteries. Whether this is a subject I return to in poetry or in prose, I hope I can be more thoroughly read on the topic and the various schools of thought around it by that time (a time that will hopefully be much closer than the gap between this and my last post).

And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for seasons, and for days, and years: And let them be for lights in the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth: and it was so. -Genesis 1:14-15 (KJV)

For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night. -Psalm 90:4 (KJV)