Back to the future
Ours is a forward facing culture. And facing forward supposedly means moving forward, into the future, away from the past. Progress. No regrets. No baggage. The past holds us back. The future awaits.
But what if we have it backwards? What if the past awaits us? What if the future holds us back?
Today on Weekend Edition, Scott Simon interviewed linguistics professor, Ken Olson, about a recent study concerning the Aymara, an indigenous group from the Andean region whose concept of time might generate some rational musing on such otherwise cat-in-the-hat type philosophizing. According to the study, conducted by cognitive scientists Rafael Nuñez and Eve Sweetser, the Aymara conceive of the past as ahead of them or in front, while the future is behind them or in back. This concept manifests itself both linguistically (the Aymaran word “qhipa” means both back and future, and “nayra” means both front and past), as well as physically (Aymarans gesture behind them to refer to the future, and in front of them to refer to the past). In response to Simon’s request to help us understand how the Aymara see the world, Olson asked us to imagine looking out onto the landscape. What is in front of our eyes is what is known, as the past is known. What is behind remains unknown, as the future is unknown.
It’s a strange way of understanding time, especially for a culture so heavily invested in the jargon of “moving on,” “getting ahead,” and “facing forward,” as ours is. We fondly cherish our best memories, yet at the same time, we diligently try to put our pasts behind us. The past can hold us back. The past is over … done with. The past can turn us into sulky and lamenting pillars of salt. Ah woe is me.
I think that in most cases, our determination to look forward into the future is rooted in our desire to command that unknown entity of what might be. If we can predetermine or prefigure the future, then we can make the unknown something that is known, comfortable, and malleable. After all, the unknown is a scary thing … almost as scary as those questionable decisions, irrational actions, and stupid ideas that checker our pasts. But if we can manage to put our missed, hurtful, or unhappy pasts behind us, then we can flee at full speed into a future that is at our command. We can make our future selves better than our past selves by moving on, getting ahead, and facing forward. As long as we can put it behind us, our past becomes a learning experience. No regrets. No baggage. Progress. Growth. Drive. Maturity. Anything else and we’re moving backwards. Living in the past. Going in reverse. Stuck in a pattern. Repeating history. Ah woe is me.
Of course, such forward determination can sometimes, unconsciously, tinge our happy pasts with a sense of regret and sadness. We think, “It’s time I put that behind me” and “I must move on.” The future awaits. I can see it. Smell it. Taste it. And so we let go. Leave it behind. For better or for worse.
Ours is not a wholly terrible way of understanding the passage of time. If anything, it's familiar. We can’t exactly put ourselves into the mind’s shoes of the Aymara. Not in our culture. Not with our language. Not with the spontaneous and mechanical ways our arms move behind us to address yesterday’s events and ahead of us to imagine tomorrow's. But I do think that it might be worthwhile, sometimes, if we can manage it without getting too confused, too dizzy, to look ahead and see the past. And sometimes, to let the future rest, unknown, behind us.
But what if we have it backwards? What if the past awaits us? What if the future holds us back?
Today on Weekend Edition, Scott Simon interviewed linguistics professor, Ken Olson, about a recent study concerning the Aymara, an indigenous group from the Andean region whose concept of time might generate some rational musing on such otherwise cat-in-the-hat type philosophizing. According to the study, conducted by cognitive scientists Rafael Nuñez and Eve Sweetser, the Aymara conceive of the past as ahead of them or in front, while the future is behind them or in back. This concept manifests itself both linguistically (the Aymaran word “qhipa” means both back and future, and “nayra” means both front and past), as well as physically (Aymarans gesture behind them to refer to the future, and in front of them to refer to the past). In response to Simon’s request to help us understand how the Aymara see the world, Olson asked us to imagine looking out onto the landscape. What is in front of our eyes is what is known, as the past is known. What is behind remains unknown, as the future is unknown.
It’s a strange way of understanding time, especially for a culture so heavily invested in the jargon of “moving on,” “getting ahead,” and “facing forward,” as ours is. We fondly cherish our best memories, yet at the same time, we diligently try to put our pasts behind us. The past can hold us back. The past is over … done with. The past can turn us into sulky and lamenting pillars of salt. Ah woe is me.
I think that in most cases, our determination to look forward into the future is rooted in our desire to command that unknown entity of what might be. If we can predetermine or prefigure the future, then we can make the unknown something that is known, comfortable, and malleable. After all, the unknown is a scary thing … almost as scary as those questionable decisions, irrational actions, and stupid ideas that checker our pasts. But if we can manage to put our missed, hurtful, or unhappy pasts behind us, then we can flee at full speed into a future that is at our command. We can make our future selves better than our past selves by moving on, getting ahead, and facing forward. As long as we can put it behind us, our past becomes a learning experience. No regrets. No baggage. Progress. Growth. Drive. Maturity. Anything else and we’re moving backwards. Living in the past. Going in reverse. Stuck in a pattern. Repeating history. Ah woe is me.
Of course, such forward determination can sometimes, unconsciously, tinge our happy pasts with a sense of regret and sadness. We think, “It’s time I put that behind me” and “I must move on.” The future awaits. I can see it. Smell it. Taste it. And so we let go. Leave it behind. For better or for worse.
Ours is not a wholly terrible way of understanding the passage of time. If anything, it's familiar. We can’t exactly put ourselves into the mind’s shoes of the Aymara. Not in our culture. Not with our language. Not with the spontaneous and mechanical ways our arms move behind us to address yesterday’s events and ahead of us to imagine tomorrow's. But I do think that it might be worthwhile, sometimes, if we can manage it without getting too confused, too dizzy, to look ahead and see the past. And sometimes, to let the future rest, unknown, behind us.
