When I watch chicks hatch in a nest and begin to perform the instinctive behaviours of their species, I think about what we might understand about ourselves, the human species, if we had the perspective of such a privileged observer.
Beyond the specific behaviours of the survival instinct, I think at some point we would be fascinated by the way in which humans are mesmerised by the prospect of the future. From the moment the idea of the future enters our lives, perhaps through the expectation of the fulfilment of our parents’ first promise, the future takes over more and more of our perspective. In fact, the more we distance ourselves from a life driven by survival instincts, the more we educate ourselves, the more fascinated and, at a certain point, the more dependent we become on the future.
Despite the recurring hedonistic revolutions, the fascination of the future has a magnetism that surpasses the rewards of present pleasure. We work for the future, we plan for the future, we save for future experiences, we console ourselves by anticipating the future. At the other end of the spectrum, when we give up on the future, we give up on ourselves…
In other words, while we are usually advised to be wary of the impact of the present on our future, we should be at least as concerned about the impact of the future on our present. This is because we all intuitively realise, to a greater or lesser extent, that the future we are trying to shape in the present is itself shaping our present, and this paradox keeps the future in a state of constant ontological transformation in our minds. Since we can neither absolutely influence it nor accurately predict it, we will probably never in this life be able to stabilise the formula of our mental representation of the future. The future will remain the playground from which determinism and free will will continue to tangle our understanding in a ball of yarn that unravels impossibilities and possibilities in an infinite number of ways.
Sometimes the future appears to us as solid and immutable as a rock, at other times as a sandy terrain that takes shape in the light of the choices we make in each moment. If we think of the future as the effect of causes already present, we can see the order but also the fatalism of life. If we see the future as the result of our free choices, it becomes a horizon, a fascinating frontier beyond which anything is possible—the most amazing dreams and the greatest nightmares. And at the crossroads between these perspectives, the uncertainty of the future is not eliminated even by the predictions of the sacred text of Scripture. Biblical prophecy is not a solution to our quest to become tamers of the future, but a creative means of communication between God and humanity, whose purpose is salvific and educational.
And so it remains our lifelong task to learn about the future, at peace with the thought that we will never know how close we have come to the best possible understanding. The future will continue to be the most real and unreal presence in our lives, the most visible and invisible impulse to act in ways that are sometimes unforeseen by others, or even by ourselves.
But in all this mystery there is another mystery that assuages our anguish. We do not know how (though we have various theories about it), but we believe that God has tamed the future. We don’t know how, but for God the future is not a mystery or a haze to be lived with for all eternity. And His care for us makes us believe that we are not alone in the face of the unknown, which we cannot explore beyond a certain point. When we have reached the absolute end of our powers, there is still one possibility: to close our eyes and stretch out our hands. Someone is ready to take us beyond, Someone who sees what we do not see.
