It struck me as I was walking northward along the road to Michalczew. Walking (as one should) facing the traffic, I could see the back of three road signs ahead of me. All of them triangular – warning signs. And then I imagined the following scenario...
You're driving a car with no windscreen. Just a solid metal panel in its place. All you can see is what's behind you and to the side of you; the image in the rear-view mirror and the two images in the wing mirrors; you can also see out of the side windows. You are driving forward, very slowly, along a long, straight road. The last few kilometres had all been all straight, nothing you can see behind you, or to the left or right of you suggests that the road ahead (which you can't see) won't also be straight. You pass a triangular sign. You can only see the back of it. You know it's a warning sign because of its shape – but what's it warning you of? You can't tell. Then a second triangular sign appears in your mirrors – and then a third.
Some danger is clearly approaching. But what it is, you can't tell. You slow down anyway, and concentrate your entire attention on what you have just passed. Can you observe any patterns? You look left. You look right. Is the kerb moving away from you? Or towards you? This would suggest that the road is starting to bend one way or the other, and that you'd have to turn the steering wheel appropriately – and slow right down.
Such is our view of the world's unfolding timeline.
The current scientific view of spacetime – the Einsteinian paradigm – defines our reality in four dimensions – three spatial dimensions and one temporal dimension. But time is the odd one out in this quartet. We can move up or down along the Y axis; left or right along the X axis; and backwards and forwards along the Z axis. And at variable speed. But when it comes to time, we can only move directly forward through it, at a steady one second per second.
We can look in all directions spatially, but we can only see backwards in time. We remember our past; we can only guess our future. Our relationship with time, compared to space, is extremely limited. Metaphysically, I regularly have flashbacks (anomalous qualia-memory events that I recognise and connect with the past), but have yet to have a flashforward.
I am minded of this when I receive, as I do at this time each year, The Economist's The World Ahead. Journalists, commentators and analysts weigh in to describe the key trends that will define 2025. Yet despite the brain-power that goes into this publication, it's often overtaken by events by the end of the first quarter of the year in question.
An innovation in recent years is the inclusion of a panel of 'superforecasters', who answer a series of geopolitical and macroeconomic questions relating to the year ahead. The weighted results of this poll is more accurate than the musings of individual experts showcasing a pet theory. The aggregated wisdom of the crowds, especially if the crowd consists of individuals outside of the big institutions, without commercial or ideological agendas, is more accurate. But only if the right questions are asked. Questions for 2025 are quite bland; China's inflation rate, Nvidia's share price, Germany's ruling coalition. That sort of thing.
The Economist's superforecasters got four and half out of eight with their forecasts for 2024, correctly calling the UK election, continued conflict in Ukraine, no clash between China and the West, and no euro-zone recession. But global GDP growth outpaced their forecast of 1.5%-3%; they said Narendra Modi’s alliance would win at least 300 seats in India’s election (it won just 240); and they wrongly predicted a Democrat would win the US presidency. But beyond asking a panel of superforecasters, looking ahead at 2025, The Economist raises some interesting outlier possibilities; among that of a supervolcano exploding or a new pandemic, two are intriguing – a lost text from antiquity is discovered; and evidence of alien life is detected.
Here I'd like to touch on the role of intuition in guiding us towards the future. All the intellects on earth, all the analytical powers, can sift through potential scenarios; they can work through the known knowns, the known unknowns and guessing the unknown unknowns – and still get it wrong. But if one is open to the power of intuition, a inspired glimpse into the future can prove as accurate as that a forecast based on pure analysis.
The butterfly effect – one seemingly trivial incident leading to a major event through a cascade of causal links – makes it impossible to empirically plot a future timeline that will inevitably happen. Even the most powerful supercomputer, even Laplace's demon, is unable to write the news headlines for, say, 10 August 2025. This makes an intuition-led seer's premonition just as valid as any professional forecaster.
Given the bind that theoretical science is currently in, as the physicalist/reductionist/materialist paradigm runs out of road, it would make sense to investigate what's currently considered flaky woo-woo and look more deeply at the role of our intuition in gauging the future.
I'd suggest starting locally with some n =1 experiment, to see whether we can intuit what happens to us over the next week. The key thing: don't overthink it.
This time last year:
First snow, 2023
This time two years ago:
The Algorithm of Fate
This time three years ago:
Non-local consciousness - science and spirituality
This time four years ago:
Fenced in at last
This time seven years ago:
Poznań's Old Market
Brexit, Trump and negative emotions
This time 13 years ago:
Premier Tusk's second exposé
This time 14 years ago:
Into Poland's former Heart of Darkness
Commuter schadenfreude
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