Contenu du sommaire : Le temps

Never tell a writer they have time. They'll take it. Never tell them things are urgent either. They'll take a stand and hoist themselves up onto the high horse of freedom. Only they know that there are a thousand ways of saying things, but that only one of them reflects the exact reality of the need they feel in a given moment, one that they wish to express as precisely as possible. They can smell and even feel time…

Today, when we read newspapers, visit web pages or watch television, we are only told about the present; as if a sense of urgency had repudiated the future as a mere promise. The future has become disconnected from the present, one that is limited to itself that and leaves the world of tomorrow intellectually fallow, in a state of sensual desolation. How, then, can we rekindle a form of projective power within our relationship to the passing of time?

Human communities live in both a space (local, national, continental or global) and a time (mythical, religious or secularized), which they aim to master by navigating between the near and the far, between the past, the present and the future. It is therefore up to the historian, when he or she is no longer content with studying the past, to explore time as experienced by society, through events, stories, beliefs and memories… in short, through our collective representations of the passing of time. The aim of this article is to highlight certain aspects of the historian's relationship to time.

Contemporary democracies face a major paradox: reconciling democratic governance and a long-term vision. These democracies were progressively built upon the cult of the present, to the detriment of a more global vision of time: neglecting their past, they also no longer “dare” to envision their future. The current context, marked by perpetual crises, long-term challenges and the multiplication of power players (both political and economic), has contributed to reinforcing this vision of the present, in which immediacy constitutes the sole horizon. Today, Western democracies struggle in the face of authoritarian regimes, which – in appearance – seem better equipped to tackle the major challenges of our time. How, then, can we resolve this paradox?

How does one broach time in the context of nature? The notion that immediately springs to mind is the long term: the growth of hundred-year-old trees, the longevity of primary forests and the – hopefully – sustainable quality of human development. But is that all that time is? Using the forest as an example, let us discover a place where several temporalities intersect and intermingle.

Our Western concept of universal chronological time is not necessarily shared by all of humanity. For example, the inhabitants of the Moana Nui, the Great Ocean, had no concept of an exclusive, measurable and regular linear form of time – one that is thought to inexorably flow away from its point of origin, never to return. Their notion of the course of things was cyclical, like a wheel that moves forward while spinning upon itself, accompanied by effects such as concentration, accumulation, compression, looping, alleviation and diffuse spreading.

Prophecy is the word of God. It determines the only time that counts: the time to come. It is hope. It gives rise to the possibility of not giving up, of persevering. It is a means of not becoming locked into the contingencies of the present moment, a way of seeing beyond pain and suffering, of escaping from the present to a fairer, more merciful place in time.

During adolescence, due to the changes in one's reality brought on by age, space tends to shrink while time accelerates. The transition from child to adult – still naively experienced as an end in and of itself – is a perilous one. Hence the temptation to withdraw, to regress, to languish, to be bored. Adolescent boredom reflects a lack of investment in oneself, an inability to accept the chaos of one's inner world and to access the secrets of one's own heart – the manifestations of which range from not understanding to not valuing oneself. This absence from oneself, i.e. being devoid of interest in one's own undertakings, draws its bitter roots from a lack of primary wonder.

Since 2021, France's ATHOS homes welcome military men and women – all of whom are volunteers – from all ranks, armies and services. They are suffering from an invisible injury: post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The primary aim of these homes – however prolonged one's stay may be – is to re-establish social ties: getting back on one's feet, relearning everyday gestures, rekindling self-confidence and becoming reacquainted with the present in order to prepare for the future. In other words: “giving time the time it needs”, for each and every patient.

Military time is – by definition – characterized by exceptional situations, since life itself is at stake. While death has become “unnamable”, soldiers know that it remains a palpable reality, and that their commitment demands “a spirit of sacrifice, which may extend as far as the ultimate sacrifice”. This is the time of combat. Perhaps even more taboo is the time of mourning, when one wonders what kind of attitude to adopt. Here again, military commitment constitutes a true exception: one's responsibility towards one's comrade and their family constitutes the foundation of all brotherhoods in arms – ones that unite us in joy as well as in sorrow, in triumphant unity and in the heart-wrenching void left by a comrade's untimely demise. After the times of combat and mourning comes the time of remembrance and commemoration, which prevents those who have reached the ultimate confines of their duty from falling into the oblivion of time.

This article examines the military's relationship with time through the prism of the latter's incompressibility: time, as understood by soldiers, is a planning datum, a resource that can be exchanged, an interval or a period that allows for a certain number of actions to be carried out. Let us observe these aspects successively from the point of view of operations, human resource development and capabilities.

Foreign operations constitute a special form of time: a time of potential danger, of individual or collective revelation, a time when rest is limited, when constraints pile up, when responsibilities increase… A time that soldiers experience in a truly intense way.

In military operations, time is a central factor, yet it is not absolute. Time is present at every echelon, be it for planning or execution; so much so that some operations may turn out to be races against time. Such was the case with the Red Army's offensive on Manchuria in August 1945, during which the troops had to meet the objectives set forth by Stalin within a short timeframe.

Over the last thirty years, Western armies have radically changed their relationship to time, warily adjusting their plans to fit into the “direction of history”. However, following the return of high-intensity international warfare to the heart of Europe on February 24, 2022, the clocks of military engagement must now be reset, particularly those of operational planning, which had become seriously out of sync. The time that precedes action is fundamental when it comes to deploying – in an orderly fashion – the heavy, complex systems that define modern armies, particularly in the context of coalitions, and allows for set objectives to be achieved.

In our collective imagination, planning – as a means of proposing a common direction for major economic decisions – essentially concerns the long term. Though not entirely inaccurate, this vision remains too simplistic. The long term can be broken down into a series of medium-term sequences; planning therefore implies making coherent intermediate choices. Similarly, since the medium term is divided into short-term phases, planning cannot exclude immediate action. Planning therefore implies finding an overall form of temporal coherence. Yet time is the source of many difficulties, ones that planners – inspired by the concerns faced by the armed forces – have sought to resolve or circumvent. The most recent research in the field has once again set about tackling this obstacle, using original techniques designed to reconcile planning and economics in a type of mixed economy.

In 2021, François Mattens and fourteen other people took part in a scientific experiment dubbed Deep Time: they were isolated in a cave for forty days without any temporal reference points, in order to test the chrono-biological limits of a social group. Let us look back on this riveting experiment.

How can we conceive of the fact that, in the present, we are no longer the same person as in the past, and how can we envisage what we are to become? These questions reveal one of humanity's psychological flaws: that is to say, our inability to imagine that we can change. We anticipate the future without taking our capacity to adapt into account, without thinking that each event transforms us and that, once transformed, we will in turn shape our environment. This continuous process of transformation becomes apparent when we examine the past, yet eludes us when we project ourselves into the future. This principle is masterfully demonstrated in a study, published in Science magazine, under the title The End of History Illusion.

In 1948, in a time of colonial wars and post-war restructuring, how did France's military institution showcase its troops in public performances? How was this type of display captured by the armed forces' cinematographic services, which provided daily newsreels for the French population? Let us take a look at original footage from June 6, 1948, during D-Day commemorations in Paris.

What is a leader? This question is nothing new and is regularly addressed by many an officer. The exercise of command is far from being purely theoretical; it is part and parcel of the reality of combat. The act of deciding in the face of potentially tragic events, by mere virtue of one's authority, has been questioned by many philosophers, anthropologists and sociologists. This article sets out a simple principle in order to understand the exercise of command: a leader embodies authority, one that is constituted of two different, yet complementary facets.

Today, when we read newspapers, visit web pages or watch television, we are only told about the present; as if a sense of urgency had repudiated the future as a mere promise. The future has become disconnected from the present, one that is limited to itself that and leaves the world of tomorrow intellectually fallow, in a state of sensual desolation. How, then, can we rekindle a form of projective power within our relationship to the passing of time?

Military time is – by definition – characterized by exceptional situations, since life itself is at stake. While death has become “unnamable”, soldiers know that it remains a palpable reality, and that their commitment demands “a spirit of sacrifice, which may extend as far as the ultimate sacrifice”. This is the time of combat. Perhaps even more taboo is the time of mourning, when one wonders what kind of attitude to adopt. Here again, military commitment constitutes a true exception: one's responsibility towards one's comrade and their family constitutes the foundation of all brotherhoods in arms – ones that unite us in joy as well as in sorrow, in triumphant unity and in the heart-wrenching void left by a comrade's untimely demise. After the times of combat and mourning comes the time of remembrance and commemoration, which prevents those who have reached the ultimate confines of their duty from falling into the oblivion of time.