There are more clocks than ever - clocks on computers, on cell

The modern philosopher and novelist Stacey D’Erasmo once spoke with quiet poignancy: “There are more clocks than ever—clocks on computers, on cell phones, on televisions, on any screen available, telling time to the digital second—but they all seem to matter less.” At first, her words appear to describe a simple irony of modern life—but beneath them lies a profound truth about the human condition. She speaks not of time as measured by seconds, but of time as felt by the heart. In an age where every device reminds us of the hour, we have perhaps forgotten the rhythm of living itself. We have surrounded ourselves with reminders of time, yet lost our reverence for it.

In the ancient world, there were no digital numbers flashing upon glowing screens. The people measured time by the turning of the heavens—the rising and setting of the sun, the slow waxing and waning of the moon, the rhythm of seasons upon the earth. Each moment carried meaning because it was bound to life itself: to harvests, to journeys, to prayers, to love. Time was not a prison, but a pulse. The philosopher Heraclitus once said, “Time is a child playing with dice,” for he knew that the divine flow of existence was mysterious and sacred. But now, surrounded by our devices, we have come to treat time as a commodity rather than a wonder. We count it, spend it, waste it—but we rarely feel it.

When D’Erasmo observes that “clocks seem to matter less,” she is mourning not the loss of punctuality, but the loss of presence. Once, to look at a clock was to awaken—to recognize the fleeting nature of each hour and to treasure it. Now, we see the time a thousand times a day and grow numb to its meaning. The more we measure, the less we value. We live in a world where clocks multiply, but moments vanish—where every instant is cataloged, yet few are lived deeply. In this way, the very tools meant to keep us aware of time have dulled our awareness of life itself.

Consider the story of Emperor Marcus Aurelius, who, though surrounded by luxury and power, never ceased to meditate on the passage of time. In his Meditations, he reminded himself daily of mortality: “You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do and say and think.” He did not need a thousand clocks to remind him of time’s passing—he needed only contemplation. His wisdom stands in stark contrast to the restlessness of our age. We live amid constant reminders of time’s ticking, yet rarely pause to ask what we are doing with the hours we are given. Our devices tell us when we are—but not who we are.

In D’Erasmo’s lament lies a deeper warning: that abundance can breed forgetfulness. Just as wealth can dull gratitude, the endless presence of clocks can dull our sense of eternity. When time was scarce—when one had to lift one’s eyes to the heavens to see it—it was cherished. Now, with the hour flashing endlessly before us, it has lost its sanctity. We no longer protect our minutes as treasures, but spend them carelessly in distraction. We are, as the ancients might say, like those who worship the shadow of the sun while ignoring its light.

Yet her words also offer a path to wisdom. If clocks have become meaningless, then we must rediscover meaning not in measurement, but in mindfulness. Let the wise person use time not as a ruler, but as a rhythm. To live fully is not to count the seconds, but to fill them with purpose. One may have all the technology in the world, yet still be poor in time if one forgets how to dwell in the present. The mystics of every age have taught this: that eternity is not found at the end of time, but within it—within this very breath, this very heartbeat.

So, let us learn from Stacey D’Erasmo’s reflection. Do not despise the clocks, but do not be ruled by them. Let them remind you not of deadlines, but of life-lines—the flow of moments that make your existence sacred. Step away from the screens that count your hours, and look instead to the sky, the faces of those you love, the quiet turning of your own thoughts. Remember that time, though measured in numbers, is lived in meaning. The lesson is clear: to reclaim your time is to reclaim your soul.

Thus, her words become a gentle yet profound teaching for the ages. Though there are more clocks than ever, let them not govern your heart. Use your days wisely, not hurriedly. Honor each hour as the ancients did—not as something to control, but as something to commune with. For when we learn once more to feel the passing of time rather than merely to see it, then we will rediscover what our screens have stolen: the simple, eternal wonder of being alive.