and thus find something counted or enumerated directly at each place in the transition of the moving thing, we do not uncover time with this device. Or do we? I take my watch out of my pocket and follow the change of place of the second hand, and I read off one, two, three, four seconds or minutes. This little rod, hurrying on, shows me time, points to time for me, for which reason we call it a pointer, a hand. I read off time from the motion of a rod. Where then is this time? Somewhere inside the works, perhaps, so that if I put the watch into my pocket again I have time in my vest pocket? Naturally not, the answer will be. Yet we ask in return, Where then is time, since it is certainly undeniable that we read it from the watch? The watch, the clock, tells me what time it is, so that I find time in some way present there.
We see that in the end Aristotle is not so wrong when he says that time is what is counted in connection with motion. As evidence we do not need for it something as refined as a modern pocket watch. When a human being in natural, everyday existence follows the course of the sun and says "It is noon," "It is evening," he is telling the time. Time now, suddenly, is in the sun or in the sky and no longer in my vest pocket. But really, then, where is this prodigy at home? How does it happen that we should find time wherever we follow a motion, that we find time somehow attached to the motion and yet do not find it present right at the place where the moving object is? What are we attending to, toward which horizon are we looking, when—to keep to a simple example—we say at sunset that evening is coming on and thus determine a time of day? Are we looking only toward the particular local horizon, toward the west, or does our encounter with the moving object, the sun here in its apparent motion, look toward a different horizon?
The definition of time given by Aristotle is so ingenious that it also fixes this horizon, within which we are supposed to find, along with what is counted in connection with the motion, none other than time. Aristotle says: ἀριθμὸς κινήσεως κατὰ to πρότερον καὶ ὕστερον. We translate this as: time is something counted in connection with encountered motion with a view to the before and after, in the horizon of the earlier and later. Time is not only what is counted about the motion, but it is counted there so far as that motion stands in the prospect of the before and after when we follow it as motion. The horizon sought for is that of the earlier and later. Πρότερον and ὕστερον are translated as earlier and later, but also as before and after. The first determination, the πρότερον and ὕστερον taken as earlier and later, seems to be impossible. "Earlier" and "later" are time-determinations. Aristotle says, time is what is counted about the motion we encounter in the horizon of time (of earlier and later). But this simply means that time is something met within the horizon of time. Time is counted time. If I say that time is that pertaining to motion which shows itself when I follow it as