Time and place and transience

(A theological reflection in 6 parts)

Time and place and transience

Part 1: Searching for a place to stand in a river of transience

I realise that I have particular concerns and interests in the issues of what it means to pass time – presumably in doing something in that time, and what it means to be in a place.

And a concern seems to be the problem of transience. What do time and place – and therefore life, for living means being in particular places at particular times – mean? It is, perhaps, the old and very basic concern about the meaning of our lives, given the transience of them, and, even more so, the transience of each moment of them.

One of the first and greatest concerns of the Greek philosophers, as humankind got round to thinking about these things was expressed in the understanding: “You can’t step into the same river twice”. This is because the river is constantly changing and, indeed, the person is also changing.

It’s possible that there is simply no answer to this problem, but the most enduring of the possible answers is Plato’s theory of the Forms. This, basically, argues that things are what they are because they partake in the essence of what they are. Although everything is always changing, you are what you are because you always contain the essence of what you are. This essence – eg humanity – can be expressed in an infinite variety, but everyone who has the essence of being human is human. And, to take it further, even though we are continually changing in the exact particulars of how we are being ourselves, we remain the same person because each of us retains the essence of being me. This theory of the Forms has directed humanity into the belief that there are essences. And, of course, if you have discovered the essence of something, then you “hold it in your hand” and it is yours. The changing nature of life does not mean that you are losing anything precious, because you have “captured” the essence of the thing. Yes, you are constantly changing, but, don’t worry, you always possess the essence of who you are. The river has surged on, but you keep hold of the essence.  

Passing the time

Part 5: Summing up with God

We seem to have two strands of thought running in parallel. On the one hand, it is true that – although we are rarely conscious of the passing of our lives – our lives gain importance from being limited in time. It is because we don’t have time to make infinite choices that the choices we do make become so significant. That wonderful experience of fullness and completeness that I experienced on a family celebration is important because it was a special moment: specially blessed by being overflowing with goodness, and blessed because it a rare moment of wholeness, rather than just one more in an endless series of great parties. On the other hand, our experience of the moment is not impeded or interrupted or spoilt by the sense of, “Oh, but this is passing away”. Our good experiences exist in an experience of timeless bliss. (We must consider what this means for our experiences of suffering).

Let’s finish for now with God. If God is a reality – and I very much hope he is, then he is an eternal being. In the world of philosophers, this raises enormous problems. Aquinas may have got the best idea with his concept that – even better than an eternal God – God is timeless. Sceptics who raise genuine difficulties about how a being such as God could possibly exist may be having difficulties because they do not appreciate just how awesomely wonderful God is. So, even though our “normal” understanding of God is ineffably wonderful, the problems raised may be removed if we enhance our concept of God even further. So, a timeless God is experiencing everything that has ever happened, everything that is happening, and everything that is going to happen, everywhere in the universe, and he is experiencing all this simultaneously in a timeless present. It might be helpful to envisage this for us beings that do live in time as though God was experiencing everything I’ve just said, simultaneously, in each moment of time, over and over again, second by second. For us, as time ticks by, we experience one moment – and then the next. But for God, he experiences everything, every second, forever. Now, I think this is a more mind-blowing stupendously awesome God than even the God that we usually think of.

And, it might be, that such a God is an impossibility. But if God is possible, then I think this is what he must be doing/be like. And, interestingly, this takes me back to sitting by the window, basking in the sunlight this morning. My experience of the moment was of a timeless, eternally present bliss. Rather like God’s experience you might say. Of course, I am only capable of being aware of a very limited range of things at once, while God is capable of being aware of everything at once. But this is not impossible to conceive of: God simply has a greater awareness than we do – no surprise there. And as we consider it, we realise that he must have infinite awareness, and so is capable of experiencing everything at once. Now, if we, in our best moments, are capable of experiencing events as timeless, complete, whole, full (whether they be of bliss or suffering, in fact) then are we not already sharing in the experience of God? And if there is some way of translating our ability to experience from a physical body to a metaphysical reality, then will we not be experiencing an ongoing timeless bliss forever, in the life of heaven, in union with God?

Passing the time

Part 4: Back to consider again if it really would be a bad thing if life went on forever.

Let’s return to the idea of our physical lives needing to be limited by death to give them meaning, for I am not sure that this is true. Certainly, linked to my experience by the sunny window this morning, I seem to be claiming that the experience of the moment is a timeless one, and so, perhaps, it would be possible to live forever without succumbing to terminal boredom.

Here I am, exulting in the morning sunshine of a Spring day, rejoicing in both the experience and my understanding of the experience as signifying the return of Spring and the journey to the longest day. I am 63 years old, and, God willing, I have another 20 or more Springs still to see. Although the world will turn back again to head into darkness, a new Spring will arrive next year, and I hope to be there to see it. However, when I greeted the Spring when I was 21 years old, I had an additional 42 Springs to enjoy than I do now. However, my experience of the Spring when I was 21 was not affected by my sense of, “Wow, this is Spring, and I have another 42 of them to come, and then who knows how many after that”. Instead, my experience of the joy of the Spring was of a moment of timeless bliss, exactly as it was for me this morning. My experience is not, in fact, determined by the sense of a storyline that gets its meaning from ending in the finality of death; it gets its meaning from the fullness of the moment. The idea in Derren Brown’s book is that, if we knew deep down that our life is going to go on forever then our faculties for revelling in beauty, joy and goodness would decay into dust and this morning I would have said, “Pah, not another Spring; how boring”.

There are important questions to consider. Having reached the age of 62, I felt it was OK for me to retire and devote myself to existential experiences such as listening to the birdsong, looking at clouds, being a friend. I don’t feel I need to “do” anything in the life of the world such as find a partner, have achievements at work, make my mark on the world – because I feel I’ve done that and am pleased with what I’ve done. So, I am now free to revel in the sun coming up on a Spring morning. But suppose, human beings typically lived to 120 years and retired at 90. Presumably I would think – and if I did not then others might suggest it to me: “It’s a bit odd isn’t it – retiring at 62; don’t you want to do something with your life before you put your feet up?” I reckon I would agree with this and consider, “OK, I think I’d like a new career, I’ll have a go at doing something different for 20 or 30 years”. Then I suppose at the age of 90 I would retire and listen to the birdsong.

But what if we lived till we were 220 years, or 1000 years? Would we really be able to maintain our interest in what we’re doing, and our passion for life? And if we could not do this for 1000 years, how will we do it for all eternity in heaven? So, there is still much to consider.

Passing the time

Part 3: Eternal life in heaven

Let’s consider now the idea of eternal life in heaven. It is extremely difficult to imagine what this could actually be like if it exists as a literal reality. I have, however, spent nearly all my life as a firm believer in the life of heaven and I certainly don’t want to give up the idea. I have no problem in conceiving it as a wonderful reality – the concept is clear and readily understood in principle, though there are difficulties when we try to consider what it would actually be like to be there.

One of my images of our entry to heaven is of our life like a film in a cinema: as the film ends, illustrating the end of our lives, with all the emotion of the story of the film climaxing in its final moments, as, perhaps, the hero and heroine embrace, their trials behind them, ready to “live happily ever after”, at that moment the film freezes. The whole film has been movement, portraying the story of the characters, but now, as it ends, we go to freeze frame. In the background, the music is still swelling to express the fullness of the emotion, but we can go no further. In our minds, we understand that the story goes on, and is good, but we can go no further as participants or companions of the story.

This illustration is fair, in that it expresses some key beliefs about the reality and goodness of life in heaven, but accepts that we just cannot penetrate any further in this life to conceive what it might be like.

An alternative illustration is taken from the Narnia books. When the characters get to heaven it is visualised as a physical paradise, say as walking in the breath-taking beauty of mountain scenery, but the concept is: “Onwards and upwards”. The idea is that, as you race through wildflower meadows like children released into a holiday idyll, surrounded by utterly stunning snow-capped mountains, you are astounded by the views opening up to you, but as you rise to the crest of the next hill, you see that the next view is just as, or even more, breath-taking. And the key concept of heaven here is that you can go “onwards and upwards” forever; you will never reach the highest crest and come to the end of the unfolding of thrilling experiences. But this does not imply that you have not arrived; that you have not yet experienced all the fullness that it is possible to experience. For each vista is utterly fulfilling, and the next one just as much so.

In our physical existence now, we can become jaded. Even the most magical experiences cannot hold our attention for long. Even if we are not interrupted by someone, we get cold, or tired, or hungry, or need to go to the loo, or we just can’t take in and go on experiencing this degree of beauty and joy anymore. But if it really was possible to keep going “onwards and upwards” forever, and if we were freed from the limitations of a physical body, or if our faculties were more finely and robustly tuned, why should we not retain the experience of complete fullness that never ends?

Passing the time

Part 2: Experience is timeless – but some say it is death that makes life meaningful

The first thing that strikes me, as I consider it, is that the experience of the present moment is, in fact, timeless. Although we understand that each passing moment is just that: passing away to be succeeded by the next, our experience of the present moment is as though it exists in a timeless eternity. So, as I sat in the sun this morning, although I am able to analyse that this present moment exists for a fraction of a second – and then it is gone – to be replaced by the next fragment of a second, and although I understand that this is a continuous process so that the experience of the present moment is almost illusory, and certainly elusive, for the moment the present moment exists it is already on the point of passing away, nevertheless, my experience of the present moment is of timeless bliss. As I accept the reality of the passing of time, but do not allow the focus of my attention to rest on the passing away nature of time, but, instead, focus my attention on my experience, then, in practice, my experience is not of passing away, but of a vibrant, radiant present. In practice, because although everything is always changing it does not change so quickly as to snatch away the present moment (as though, for example, you catch a glimpse of a beautiful lake through a gap in trees as you speed along in a car, such that the moment you realise there is a beautiful sight available it is taken from you) we experience the present moment as present to us with a tangible fullness of substance. We enter into the experience of the moment and are held in it, or we experience it in a fully committed relationship whereby the experience is complete. There is, in fact, no sense of it passing away; it is fully present to us, and – most significantly I think – it has a timeless quality to it. We know full well that the flux of time is ongoing, but in particular moments of awareness, this is not what we experience, but instead it is as though existence itself is present to us. Albeit this is communicated to us through some particular experience: the sun rising in the sky, the stillness of the garden, the beauty of flowers in bloom, our experience is not of the particular, but of wholeness and completeness. In our experience, time is not, in fact, passing away but fully present to us as though there is no time, and it is always ours.

I feel sure that I am describing a true experience of the present moment, but now I’d like to explore further by bringing in two important ideas: the limitation of our time through the human lifespan and the concept of eternal bliss in heaven.

Through Derren Brown’s book, “Happy” I have picked up the important idea that it is essential for our lives to be limited by death in order to give them meaning. He posits the idea that, if we lived forever, rather than being delighted by the prospect of endless opportunities to experience the wonders of life, we would find that all our experiences become hollowed out of significance because nothing is that important if we literally have eternity to try out all experiences over and over again, such that, sooner rather than later, we simply become bored with everything we do. It is the trajectory of our lives – with its ending in death – that provides both the zest of life and the meaningful storyline to our lives. A circle without a circumference is not a circle and life without the limitation of death is not a life worth living.

This makes good sense and I would like to explore it further.

Passing the time

(A philosophical reflection on what the passing of time means. In 5 parts)

Part 1: Sitting in my sunny window this morning

I want to consider what the passing of time means.

This morning, I sat by the window at the back of my house as the glorious morning sun poured in. It is late April and I am in awe at how the rising sun has moved so far over to the east from where it was in December. I have not even had breakfast yet and it is already so high in the sky. This is the time of year I love the most – the Springtime, and, in particular as the days lengthen out to that longest day. I can imagine the great weight of the sphere of the earth spinning through space, reaching out further and further on its ability to tilt towards the sun, till it reaches the outer limit of what it can do. And then I am sad and deflated that the light starts to withdraw. The earth can reach no further and we must head back into the dark and winter’s cold.

I must not overdo the sadness. The days after the solstice are very nearly as long as the longest day, and the warmth of summer is still to come. And in my life in human society, there is the wonderful long summer holiday to look forward to. I am also fully accepting of the way things are. If I have rejoiced in the lengthening days and marvelled at the laws of the universe that make this possible, then I must accept that the cycle turns. And it will renew itself again next year. And a key saying of mine is, “The dark is not dark to the Lord” so I have no fear of the dark. And if I can no longer revel in the experience that each day is a bit longer than the last then I can find many other things to rejoice in. But I am just saying that I adore that sense of heading towards the longest day and the movement of the sun in the sky.

As I sat this morning, basking in the warmth of the sun I interrupted myself by intruding the horrid thought, “Yes, the days are getting longer, but that will go into reverse”. That, of course, spoils the experience. It was not a “natural” thought, in that, it was not part of the experience of the moment, and that moment is held in the understanding that I’ve expressed above that, of course I know that the pendulum will swing back towards the darkness. I sort of forced myself to confront the fact that the beauty of this moment is transitory. So, let’s consider the passing of time to see what we can learn, and to reassure ourselves that it is fine to enjoy the wonder of each moment without spoiling it by adding in the fear that it is all transitory.