“Being looked at with great attention changes
you. Being looked at with attention takes time, and time changes all things.” -
Elif Batuman
Lately I’ve been missing the digital clock on my
cable box. We got an upgraded box about a month ago and “clockless” was the
only option moving forward. In the living room, there is not other timepiece,
so now I have to acquire one for the wall. Ofcourse, I’m going analog. The
reasons being twofold: stylistically, the analog clock is more pleasing to me -
it’s a face, round, reassuringly familiar; functionally, being able to tell
time on an analog clock is a skill I want my child to learn. Reflecting on the
second rationale, the clock-face, routinely ticking away second after second in
an infinite revolution, represents a relatively new experience (relative to
humankind’s existence on this planet). Clocks have existed in one form or
another for millennia, but the proliferation of a standard, reliable timepiece
arises from the mass production of such items in Europe in the early modern
era. Although initially a way to distinguish those who could afford to keep
time from those who had time kept for them, clocks became a staple of providing
consistency and routine to everyday life.
The ideological shift in a conception of time
thanks to the ever-ticking hands of a timepiece is so ingrained in us now, that
we seem to be lost without knowing what time it is. And it is often in this
obsession with start and end times, length of activities and scheduling that I
truly wonder what it was like to live in a time period in which there were no
“counters” on my experience. Was there a degree of freedom that we cannot
conceive of now when living according to the rhythm of the day? I am a hopeless
planner of time - I have intentions, but deadlines are never set in stone. I
will often do things (like paying bills or writing papers) early to ensure they
get done “on time” because more often than not, days and time itself slips by
without me being as aware. Most people would likely not describe me as someone
whose head is in the clouds, but often I feel like I might actually (secretly)
be one of those people who could spend way too much time thinking about
nonsense like clocks rather than being super-productive according to modern
American standards. The super-scheduled astound me - they have planned out
times for everything from working out to their children’s activities to sex.
Where’s the spontaneity? The mystery? Is it even missed? Is this all about a
form of control?
Clocks have undoubtedly made us more productive as a species - we can measurably ensure we’re not wasting time for one, but bringing awareness to time has provided us freedom to conduct reliable experiments, travel more easily and to avoid mass confusion more readily. And yet, I feel as though our experience loses something with this technological advancement because it becomes the focus of so much of our thoughts.
Clocks have undoubtedly made us more productive as a species - we can measurably ensure we’re not wasting time for one, but bringing awareness to time has provided us freedom to conduct reliable experiments, travel more easily and to avoid mass confusion more readily. And yet, I feel as though our experience loses something with this technological advancement because it becomes the focus of so much of our thoughts.
How would it be to go back and experience time
as a child might, completely unaware that time was something we could
scrutinize and control? To live a life that was less marred by the constant
nagging thoughts of, “it’s 11:55 AM, I have to be at x in fifteen
minutes,” or the thousandfold thoughts we have daily that are akin to such? We
look to the face of the clock to guide our movements throughout our days; as a
teacher, I am ruled by the bell and it makes me want to rebel against it -
leave my class brazenly alone so I can get a cup of coffee or use the bathroom
before my “time” is up. And more importantly, I want to free myself and my
students of that ever-present desire to know what time it is and what’s next.
There’s no “in the moment” when you’re wondering what time it is - there’s only
looking forward or worrying about what’s passed.
Recently, I read the opening scene of Discipline and Punish by Michel Foucault to students, as it details the execution of a French criminal during the height of absolutist power in France. In the second half of the opening scene, Foucault contrasts the brutal state-mandated execution that controls its subjects through fear of punishment with a different form of control - scheduling. His example details a strictly-enforced clock in a penitentiary for young boys. There is no time for self-reflection or spontaneity - idleness leads to trouble. As he reflects, the second manifestation of control, although not representative of physical torture, also infringes on the personal liberties of those subjected to it. So we have traded being fearful of our leaders to being fearful of time and all of the issues that arise from not being a timely person in our society - being seen as lazy, unproductive, unreliable, a failure, etc.
But, as the opening quote of this essay revealed to me, it is only through time (not necessarily measured time), that we are able to understand and appreciate the world around us. Worrying about time as a measurable unit portends an anxiety-ridden end for all of us because the end of worrying about time is an end to ourselves in a sense; we have a particularity that makes each of us run along a certain schedule. When we experience time in a more fluid sense of “accomplishing something,” for example, we free ourselves of a burden of constantly running out of an allotted resource. And thusly, such a basic element of our day, something most of us regard without even a thought, the clock itself, reveals so much about our relationship with grappling with our existence as corporeal beings. Are we free to be who and what we are? Or are we bound to be enslaved to the endless revolution of the hands of the clock?
Recently, I read the opening scene of Discipline and Punish by Michel Foucault to students, as it details the execution of a French criminal during the height of absolutist power in France. In the second half of the opening scene, Foucault contrasts the brutal state-mandated execution that controls its subjects through fear of punishment with a different form of control - scheduling. His example details a strictly-enforced clock in a penitentiary for young boys. There is no time for self-reflection or spontaneity - idleness leads to trouble. As he reflects, the second manifestation of control, although not representative of physical torture, also infringes on the personal liberties of those subjected to it. So we have traded being fearful of our leaders to being fearful of time and all of the issues that arise from not being a timely person in our society - being seen as lazy, unproductive, unreliable, a failure, etc.
But, as the opening quote of this essay revealed to me, it is only through time (not necessarily measured time), that we are able to understand and appreciate the world around us. Worrying about time as a measurable unit portends an anxiety-ridden end for all of us because the end of worrying about time is an end to ourselves in a sense; we have a particularity that makes each of us run along a certain schedule. When we experience time in a more fluid sense of “accomplishing something,” for example, we free ourselves of a burden of constantly running out of an allotted resource. And thusly, such a basic element of our day, something most of us regard without even a thought, the clock itself, reveals so much about our relationship with grappling with our existence as corporeal beings. Are we free to be who and what we are? Or are we bound to be enslaved to the endless revolution of the hands of the clock?
