Series:
Essay #5:
Synopsis:
Spirits
Perspectives on Time
A conscious mind brings time into the universe, and the purposes of that mind determine the nature of time
Here’s my thesis: a conscious mind brings time into the universe, and the purposes of that mind determine the nature of time. Without a conscious mind, there is just the movement of particles outward from the big bang. It takes a conscious mind to designate a particular increment in the movement of particles as a moment in time that divides before from after. In brief, the movement of particles belongs to the material world, but time belongs to the timekeeper and his purposes in measuring time.
We moderns live in clock time. We see time as something that exists in the universe separate from the person experiencing time, just like a clock’s progression is separate from my wishes. This is an outside perspective, where time refers to the movement of things in space. For example, we can measure time in how long it takes for the earth to revolve around the sun, or for a light photon to get from point A to B, or how long it takes for thorium-229m to transition from state to state in a nuclear clock. Here our reference point is a constant that exists outside of us, and in that sense, it’s objective. We synchronize our watches and the trains run on time.
What if I bring the reference point inside? Music is like that. Enjoying music is a different perspective on time than watching the clock, because I participate in the music. I remember my niece practicing Clair de Lune on the piano using a metronome. When she got to the best parts, I wanted her to stretch out the notes and the silences between notes, but she kept banging the keys in time with the metronome.
Our computers tell us how many seconds a song is, but the true version of the song is elsewhere. An artist makes a song true by stretching out a note, letting a silence run, starting late on a half-beat. A song takes as much time as it needs. Have you ever tried to sing along with Frank Sinatra? Ain’t happenin’: he’s always late. Frank sings on Frank-time; time belongs to him. Just when I got one version of a song down cold so I can sing along, I listen to another version of the same song, and he’s not starting on the same beat. I always miss the timing, and my kids say, “C’mon dad, how hard can it be?”
Here’s my point: time belongs to the timekeeper. Some timekeepers (scientists, for example) seek an outside perspective on time, where time runs on universal constants that are independent of the timekeeper, like the speed of light. Other timekeepers measure time from an inside perspective, where time runs relative to what they’re doing. Here, time doesn’t sync to the speed of light, but rather, to the fulfillment of an action.
Let’s say I exercise by running sprints from point A to point B. At the end of every sprint, I recover. How should I determine the proper recovery time? I can fix it at 30 seconds, or I can make my recovery period my walk back from point B to point A.
Now, after any given sprint, I might need more or less than 30 seconds to recover, so a hard stop at 30 is irrelevant. A true measure of recovery time must come from inside the sprinting. Therefore, the walk back from point B to point A is a better measure than a hard 30 seconds, because I can walk faster or slower, focus on breathing and posture, all based on my needs in the moment. I start the next sprint when I’m good and ready.
Inside time takes as long as it needs. Sprinting is a feeling of technique, including footspeed (the tempo of my feet striking the ground) and stride length (which works in inverse relationship with footspeed). Here tempo relates to technique, not clock time. When I’m inside the activity, clock time is meaningless, which is why time slips away when I’m having fun. But clock time becomes relevant later on when I analyze technique from an outside perspective to figure out what technique works best.
Time belongs to the timekeeper and his purposes for keeping time. It’s a function of the action that I’m engaged in. For example, little Mr. Amoeba has a sense of time, but it’s grounded in the action of, say, swimming to a morsel of food and getting away before a predator can catch him; not clock time. If I’m frying an egg, I’ll measure time based on getting the egg just the way I like it given the flame, the pan, the oil, etc. But if I’m qualifying sprinters at the Olympic trials, I’ll use clock time. In all cases, time has an objective reality that depends on what I’m doing.
Lastly, when you’re thinking about my essay, don’t forget the nature of thinking. Whenever we stop and think, we enter an outside, third-person perspective. At various points in my essay, you’ll say, “hold it mister, time is still real when you’re sprinting, the seconds are still ticking away.” And you’re right… from that perspective. Time is a function of the action, and if my action is analysis then I’m outside watching. If my action is sprinting, then I’m inside doing. In both cases, time is relative to context, to the here and now of what I’m doing.