We know that every motion in space is accompanied by that which we call
motion in time. Moreover, we know that everything existing, even if not moving in
space, moves eternally in time.
And equally in all cases, whether speaking of motion or absence of motion, we
have in mind an idea of what was before, what now becomes, and what will
follow after. In other words, we have in mind the idea of time. The idea of motion
of any kind, also the idea of absence of motion, is indissolubly bound up with the
idea of time. Any motion or absence of motion proceeds in time and
cannot proceed out of time. Consequently, before speaking of what motion is, we
must answer the question, what is time?
Time is the most formidable and difficult problem which confronts humanity.
Kant regards time as he does space: as a subjective form of our receptivity; i.e.,
he says that we create time ourselves, as a function of our receptive apparatus,
for convenience in perceiving the outside world. Reality is continuous and
constant, but in order to make possible the perception of it, we must dissever it
into separate moments; imagine it as an infinite series of separate moments out
of which there exists for us only one. In other words, we perceive reality as if
through a narrow slit, and what we are seeing through this slit we call the
present; what we did see and now do not see--the past; and what we do not quite
see but are expecting--the future.
Regarding each phenomenon as an effect of another, or others, and this in its
turn as a cause of a third; that is, regarding all phenomena in functional
interdependence one upon another, by this very act we are contemplating them
in time, because we picture to ourselves quite clearly and precisely first a cause,
then an effect; first an action, then its function; and cannot contemplate them
otherwise. Thus we may say that the idea of time is bound up with the idea of
causation and functional interdependence. Without time, causation cannot exist,
just as without time, motion or the absence of motion cannot exist.
But our perception concerning our "being in time" is entangled and misty up to
improbability.
First of all let us analyze our relation toward the past, present and future. Usually
we think that the past already does not exist. It has passed, disappeared, altered,
transformed itself into something else. The future also does not exist--it does not
exist as yet. It has not arrived, has not formed. By the present we mean the
moment of transition of the future into the past, i.e., the moment of transition of a
phenomenon from one non-existence into another non-existence. For that
moment only does the phenomenon exist for us in reality; before, it existed in
potentiality, afterward it will exist in remembrance. But this short moment is after
all only a fiction: it has no measurement. We have a full right to say that
the present does not exist. We can never catch it. That which we did catch is
always the past!
If we are to stop at that we must admit that the world does not exist, or exists
only in some phantasmagoria of illusions, flashing and disappearing.
Usually we take no account of this, and do not reflect that our customary view of
time leads to utter absurdity.
Let us imagine a stupid traveller going from one city to another and half way
between these two cities. A stupid traveller thinks that the city from which he has
departed last week does not exist now: only the memory of it is left; the walls are
ruined, the towers fallen, the inhabitants have either died or gone away. Also,
that city at which he is destined to arrive in several days does not exist now
either, but is being hurriedly built for his arrival, and on the day of that arrival will
be ready, populated, and set in order, and on the day after his departure will be
destroyed just as was the first one.
We are thinking of things in time exactly in this way--everything passes away,
nothing returns! The spring has passed, it does not exist still . The autumn has
not come, it does not exist as yet.
But what does exist?
The present.
But the present is not a seizable moment, it is continuously transitory into the
past.
So, strictly speaking, neither the past, nor the present, nor the future exists for
us. Nothing exists! And yet we are living, feeling, thinking--and something
surrounds us. Consequently, in our usual attitude toward time there exists some
mistake. This error we shall endeavor to detect.
We accepted at the very beginning that something exists. We called that
something the world. How then can the world exist if it is not existing in the past,
in the present and in the future?
That conception of the world which we deduced from our usual view of time
makes the world appear like a continuously gushing out igneous fountain of
fireworks, each spark of which flashes for a moment and disappears, never to
appear any more. Flashes are going on continuously, following one after another,
there are an infinite number of sparks, and everything together produces the impression of a
flame, though it does not exist in reality.
The autumn has not yet come. It will be, but it does not exist now. And we give
no thought to how that can appear which is not.
We are moving upon a plane, and recognize as really existing only the small
circle lighted by our consciousness. Everything out of this circle, which we do not
see, we negate; we do not like to admit that it exists. We are moving upon the
plane in one direction. This direction we consider as eternal and infinite. But the
direction at right angles to it, those lines which we are intersecting, we do not like
to recognize as eternal and infinite. We imagine them as going into nonexistence
at once, as soon as we, have passed them, and that the lines before
us have not as yet risen out of non-existence. If, presupposing that we are
moving upon a sphere, upon its equator or one of its parallels, then it will appear
that we recognize as really existing only one meridian: those which are behind us
have disappeared and those ahead of us have not appeared as yet. .
We are going forward like a blind man, who feels paving stones and lanterns and
walls of houses with his stick and believes in the real existence of only that which
he touches now, which he feels now. That which has passed has disappeared
and will never return! That which has not as yet been does not exist. The blind
man remembers the route which he has traversed; he expects that ahead the
way will continue, but he sees neither forward nor backward because he does
not see anything; because his instrument of knowledge--the stick--has a definite,
and not very great length, and beyond the reach of his stick non-existence
begins.
Let us imagine a consciousness that is not bound by the conditions of sensuous
receptivity. Such a consciousness can rise above the plane upon which we are
moving; it can see far beyond the limits of the circle enlightened by our usual
consciousness; it can see that not only does the line upon which we are moving
exist, but also all lines perpendicular to it which we are intersecting, which we
have ever intersected, and which we shall intersect. After rising above the plane
this consciousness can see the plane, can convince itself that it is really a plane,
and not a single line. Then it can see the past and the future, lying together and
existing simultaneously.
That consciousness which is not bound by the conditions of sensuous receptivity
can outrun the stupid traveller, ascend the mountain to see in the distance the
town to which he is going, and be convinced that this town is not being built anew
for his arrival, but exists quite independently of the stupid traveller. And that
consciousness can look off and see on the horizon the towers of that city where
that traveller had been, and be convinced that those towers have not fallen, that
the city continues to stay and live just as it stayed and lived before the traveller's
advent.
It can rise above the plane of time and see the spring behind and the autumn
ahead, see simultaneously the budding flowers and ripening fruits. It can make
the blind man recover his sight and see the road along which he passed and that
which still lies before him.
The past and the future cannot not exist, because if they do not exist then neither
does the present exist. Unquestionably they exist somewhere together, but we
do not see them.
The present, compared with the past and the future, is the most unreal of all
unrealities.
We are forced to admit that the past, the present and the future do not differ in
anything, one from another; there exists just one present-- the Eternal Now of
Hindu philosophy. But we do not perceive this, because in every given moment
we experience just a little bit of that present, and this alone we count as existent,
denying a real existence to everything else.
If we admit this, then our view of everything with which we are surrounded will
change very considerably.