BERKELEYTIME WORDS JOSEPH RODRIGUEZ

Being on time nowadays is hard. But

we ardently get drilled, sometimes even scolded,
to do so—from our parents, from our teachers,
and from our friends. Yet nothing seems to stick.
Perhaps this reflects something deeper about
the kinds of humans we are, conditioned in the
modern world to think that this universe should
run according to our clock.
At Berkeley, we’re swimming in this
water. Here, time does run on our clock. We’ve
even coined a term for this: Berkeleytime. Run-
ning from class to class, Berkeleytime helps us; it
saves those of us who have to make that uphill
trek from Dwinelle to Pimentel. We’ve learned to
rely on those precious ten minutes. Still, others
of us have used those ten minutes liberally; ten
minutes have slowly turned into eleven, twelve,
and for our very lazy friends, thirteen. For those
of us who fall into this latter camp, we think
of time in an instrumental fashion. We think
to ourselves, “Perhaps sleeping in ten more
minutes will do the job. I mean, c’mon, it’s just
ten minutes.” Soon those ten minutes
creep into fifteen, then twenty,
then thirty—a musical
arrangement of
alarms.

14 TAUG
 Berkeleytime, as I’ve come to see it, trains
us to think of time in a particular way. This training

We speak in
happens subtly, under the hood of our cognitive
faculties. It shapes us and forms us into the types of
beings who think that time ought to run according
to how we want it to. It reflects something more fun-
damental about the way we think about the world.
We wear apple watches and countdown new years
conditionals,
with extravagant spectacles. We dread Mondays and
desperately await for the weekend to come. Summer as if we are
promised a
seems so far away, yet here we are in class dreaming
of where we’ll end up in five or ten years, picturing
to ourselves a vision of the good life, where we’ll find
romance, success, and happiness. “Ah yes, if only we
could meet the right one,” we say to ourselves. “Ah
yes, if only I had five more minutes, then I’d finish my
tomorrow.
project and call my parents.” We speak in condition-
als, as if we are promised a tomorrow. But are we?

But are we?

How have we come to think of time in this
way? How does the way we talk about time struc-
ture the power it has on our lives? Philosophers
have been attempting to answer such questions
since humans started thinking. Some have failed,
others have triumphed. Take German philosopher
Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, for instance. Hegel
argues history has a certain cadence to it. For Hegel,
time moves forward. Consider his famous tagline,
summarizing nearly the whole of the history of phi-
losophy: “The owl of Minerva spreads its wings only
with the falling of the dusk.” Minerva, the Roman
goddess of wisdom, derives its name from the Greek
Athena. Hegel’s point here concerns the acquisition
of knowledge. Wisdom (Minera) is obtained when
it takes place at the end of the day, at dusk. As
humans, we come to understand who we are and our
place in the world once we look back. Thus history
has a certain developmental logic, and time here is
understood to be part of this developmental logic.
While Hegel’s argument can be a bit mind-numbing
and perplexing, I think he has a point that resonates
quite well with the Christian perspective of the
world.
Consider Mark’s gospel, which opens up
with Jesus’ royal announcement: “The time is ful-
filled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and
believe in the gospel.” The statement captured here
is a bit bizarre, for what does it mean to say that
the time is fulfilled? In Jesus’ mind, time and the
‘good news’ are somehow connected: the time has
come, and something is here (the kingdom of God)
that is the good news. According to Mark, the story
of the Bible is not fundamentally about us going
somewhere. To my mind, I think this is how many
Christians, and even non-Christians, envision what
Christianity is all about—that this life is primarily
about getting to “the end of the game,” as it were.
But this is contrary to Jesus’ teaching.

TAUG 15
 Being on time nowadays is hard. But we damental about the way we think about the world.
ardently get drilled, sometimes even scolded, to do We wear apple watches and countdown new years
so—from our parents, from our teachers, and from with extravagant spectacles. We dread Mondays and
our friends. Yet nothing seems to stick. Perhaps desperately await for the weekend to come. Summer
this reflects something deeper about the kinds of seems so far away, yet here we are in class dreaming
humans we are, conditioned in the modern world to of where we’ll end up in five or ten years, picturing
think that this universe should run according to our to ourselves a vision of the good life, where we’ll find
clock. romance, success, and happiness. “Ah yes, if only we
At Berkeley, we’re swimming in this water. could meet the right one,” we say to ourselves. “Ah
Here, time does run on our clock. We’ve even coined yes, if only I had five more minutes, then I’d finish my
a term for this: Berkeleytime. Running from class project and call my parents.” We speak in condition-
to class, Berkeleytime helps us; it saves those of us als, as if we are promised a tomorrow. But are we?
who have to make that uphill trek from Dwinelle to
Pimentel. We’ve learned to rely on those precious
ten minutes. Still, others of us have used those ten
minutes liberally; ten minutes have slowly turned
into eleven, twelve, and for our very lazy friends, Here, time
runs on God’s
thirteen. For those of us who fall into this latter
camp, we think of time in an instrumental fashion.
We think to ourselves, “Perhaps sleeping in ten more
minutes will do the job. I mean, c’mon, it’s just ten
minutes.” Soon those ten minutes creep into fifteen,
then twenty, then thirty—a musical arrangement of
clock, based
alarms.
Berkeleytime, as I’ve come to see it, trains on his eternal
commitment to
us to think of time in a particular way. This training
happens subtly, under the hood of our cognitive
faculties. It shapes us and forms us into the types of
beings who think that time ought to run according
to how we want it to. It reflects something more fun- our world

Joseph is a third-year political science and philosophy major

who spends his time reading, writing, and thinking about
16 TAUG big questions. He has a soft spot for theology and music.