The Birth of Chronometric Power

One of the most consequential shifts in modernity was the transformation of time from lived rhythm into measurable commodity. Medieval agrarian economies organized work by natural cycles: sunrise and sunset, seasons, communal festivals. Time was qualitative and task-based: a peasant harvested until the crop was gathered, not until the bell tolled. With the rise of industrial capitalism, however, this regime gave way to what E.P. Thompson (1967) called time-discipline. Mechanical clocks proliferated; punctuality was enforced; wages were tied not to tasks completed but to hours worked.

This was not a neutral innovation. As Marx observed in Capital (1867/1976), capitalism thrives on the extraction of surplus labor-time. To commodify labor, time itself had to be commodified. Chronometry became an apparatus of power: the factory siren, the school timetable, the bureaucratic schedule. Michel Foucault (1975/1995) described this as a technology of discipline: time partitioned into intervals, activities codified by hours, bodies synchronized into docile collectives.

Thus, rebellion against authority in modern societies was always also rebellion against the clock.

Thompson (1967) documented early labor struggles as fights over temporal sovereignty. Workers resisted fines for lateness, sabotaged machinery, and rioted against changes to work hours. “Saint Monday” (the practice of taking Mondays off as an unofficial holiday) was one form of everyday rebellion against the rigidity of factory schedules. Such practices reveal that rebellion begins not only in ideological contestation but in the defense of lived time.

In the Paris Commune of 1871, time itself was symbolically contested. Louise Michel recalled that “the clock faces were smashed” as insurgents resisted the temporal order of the bourgeois state (Ross, 2015). Similarly, in Russia 1917, factories seized by workers often rewrote their schedules, abolishing foremen’s control of hours.

These examples show that rebellion manifests as a refusal of alien time: a demand that life not be measured solely by productivity.

Chronometric domination was not limited to Europe. Colonial regimes imposed European calendars and work schedules upon colonized populations. In India, the British standardized time zones to facilitate railways and administration (Prasad, 2014). In Africa, colonial authorities replaced indigenous ritual calendars with Gregorian systems, eroding cyclical understandings of time (Mbembe, 2001).

Rebellion against colonialism often included temporal reclamation. Gandhi’s satyagraha emphasized not only political independence but also rhythms of life outside the colonial workday: spinning cloth, fasting, cultivating seasonal agriculture. Fanon (1961/2004) described colonial domination as a “compartmentalized world” where the colonized lived in arrested time; rebellion shattered this compartmentalization, allowing the colonized to “create history.”

Thus, temporal refusal was integral to decolonial struggles.

Contemporary Labor and the Fragmentation of Time

If nineteenth-century rebellion was directed against factory clocks, twenty-first century rebellion confronts the algorithmic time of digital capitalism. Gig workers live under the control of platforms like Uber or Deliveroo, where algorithms dictate shifts, wages, and availability. The boundary between work and rest collapses: workers are expected to remain “on call,” their time fragmented into micro-intervals of productivity.

Shoshana Zuboff (2019) calls this the age of “surveillance capitalism,” where not only labor but also attention is commodified. Time spent scrolling, waiting, or even sleeping is harvested as data. Jonathan Crary (2013) argues that late capitalism aims at a 24/7 society, erasing the natural cycles of night and day.

In this context, rebellion takes new forms: strikes of platform workers, “logout days” on social media, demands for digital disconnection. Each is a refusal of the endless colonization of time.

Rebellion against chronometric domination affirms that time belongs to life, not to capital or empire. When workers slow down, when colonized peoples restore ritual calendars, when digital users demand autonomy from algorithms, they are not simply resisting exploitation: they are creating new temporalities.

As Rosa (2013) suggests, modern subjects long for “resonance,” a relation to time that is neither acceleration nor stagnation but meaningful engagement. Rebellion against chronometric domination thus becomes rebellion for resonance.

Examples:

The 8-Hour Movement (19th c.): The slogan “Eight hours for work, eight hours for rest, eight hours for what we will” framed rebellion as temporal redistribution.
The Zapatista Uprising (1994–present): Indigenous rebels in Chiapas spoke of creating a world where “many worlds fit,” reviving cyclical and communal time against neoliberal schedules.
The Arab Spring (2011): Occupations of squares transformed nights into continuous assemblies, suspending ordinary time and generating kairotic moments of collective decision.

Each demonstrates that rebellion temporalizes otherwise.

Chronometric domination is one of the deepest structures of modern power. Rebellion against it is not nostalgia for premodern rhythms but an affirmation that time must be lived, not merely measured. Whether through smashing clocks, refusing factory schedules, reclaiming indigenous calendars, or resisting digital colonization, rebellion asserts a temporal right: the right to refuse imposed chronologies and to affirm novel modes of time.

Chronos, Kairos, and Aion

The Greeks distinguished between three modalities of time:

Chronos — quantitative, sequential time, measurable and divisible.
Kairos — the opportune or decisive moment, charged with meaning.
Aion — eternal or cyclical duration, associated with divinity.

Rebellion often appears as the irruption of kairos into the monotony of chronos. It is the sudden moment when possibility crystallizes, when ordinary time is interrupted and historical agency accelerates. Paul Tillich (1948) described kairos as the “fulfillment of the right time,” an eschatological breakthrough within history. In rebellion, the masses recognize such a moment and act decisively.

Walter Benjamin’s Theses on the Philosophy of History (1940/2007) provides the most influential articulation of rebellion as temporal rupture. Against the “homogeneous, empty time” of historicism, Benjamin posits “Jetztzeit” (now-time), where the past flashes up at a moment of danger. Revolutionary subjects, he argues, redeem past struggles by seizing this moment, blasting history open.

Benjamin’s theory implies that rebellion temporalizes differently: it does not simply move forward but folds past and future into the present. The Paris barricades, for example, were not only events of 1848 but also the return of earlier revolutions, reanimated in the present. Rebellion thus generates kairotic temporality where history converges in an instant.

Hannah Arendt (1963) likewise conceptualizes revolution as the creation of new time. In On Revolution, she insists that the essence of revolution lies not in liberation from tyranny but in the institution of beginnings. Human beings, she argues, are endowed with natality: the capacity to initiate the unprecedented. Revolt actualizes this capacity by transforming the flow of chronos into the creation of kairos.

For Arendt, rebellion is significant when it inaugurates a durable political order. Unlike insurrections that dissipate, revolutions that endure succeed in stabilizing new calendars, new anniversaries, new memories. Thus, the American Revolution gave rise to Independence Day, the French to Bastille Day each inscribing kairos into chronos.

Revolutionary History as Kairotic Intensification

Historical examples illustrate rebellion as kairos:

1789 (French Revolution): The storming of the Bastille condensed centuries of grievances into one symbolic moment, becoming a perpetual marker of revolutionary possibility.
1917 (Russian Revolution): Lenin described the October insurrection as seizing the “weakest link” of imperialism at its decisive moment. His insistence that revolution requires recognizing the “revolutionary situation” reflects a kairotic logic (Lenin, 1977).
1968 (Global Revolts): From Paris to Prague to Mexico City, 1968 epitomized the intensity of kairos. Though many uprisings failed politically, they generated new temporal imaginaries: a youth culture, new pedagogical models, feminist and anti-colonial insurgencies.

In each case, rebellion is experienced as acceleration: nights stretch into eternities, minutes decide centuries.

The kairotic temporality of rebellion is not abstract but embodied. Protesters often describe uprisings as collapsing ordinary distinctions of day and night, compressing time into dense moments of decision. The experience of occupying squares in the Arab Spring or Hong Kong was marked by sleepless nights, continuous assemblies, and the suspension of ordinary rhythms (Castells, 2012).

Maurice Merleau-Ponty (1945/2012) emphasizes that lived temporality is embodied. Rebellion exemplifies this: bodies in motion, voices raised, gestures coordinated, all creating a collective kairos. The revolutionary moment is not simply thought; it is performed.

Kairotic temporality is fragile. Revolts that fail to institutionalize their kairos risk dissipating. Rosa Luxemburg (1906/1971) warned that spontaneity, though necessary, must be joined with organization. Otherwise, kairos collapses back into chronos, leaving repression to restore order.

Yet even failed rebellions leave behind residues of time. Benjamin (1940/2007) suggests that unrealized kairos can be redeemed later. Thus, 1968 may have failed politically but transformed culture; 1989 may have closed one revolutionary horizon but opened others.

To affirm rebellion as kairos is to affirm the human capacity to seize time against inevitability. It is to declare that history is not fixed sequence but open field, where decisive action can redirect trajectories. Kairos does not replace chronos—it interrupts it, revealing its contingency.

By affirming kairos, rebellion asserts that no order is eternal. Each system is vulnerable to the sudden moment when the many say no.

Eschatology and the Politics of the End

The term eschatology derives from the Greek eschatos, meaning “last.” Traditionally associated with theology, eschatology refers to doctrines of ultimate ends, like of history, of the world, of humanity. Ernst Bloch (1959/1995), in The Principle of Hope, argued that every rebellion contains utopian surplus, a forward-looking anticipation of transformation. Rebellion is thus eschatological not because it predicts a literal apocalypse, but because it imagines the collapse of one world and the emergence of another.

Rebellion, in this sense, temporalizes history not as continuity but as rupture. It anticipates an “end time” for systems of domination, inaugurating horizons of new possibility.

Christianity links rebellion to the adventus: the arrival of the Kingdom of God within history. The Gospels portray Jesus announcing the reversal of orders: “the last shall be first” (Matthew 20:16). Early Christian communities often interpreted rebellion against Roman domination as anticipation of divine eschaton (Horsley, 1993).

Liberation theology recovers this dimension. Gustavo Gutiérrez (1973/2001) argued that rebellion against oppression is not marginal but central to Christian faith, a form of praxis that anticipates the eschatological Kingdom by enacting justice in history. Leonardo Boff (1987) described rebellion as “resurrectional praxis,” bringing forth life from death.

In this view, rebellion temporalizes eschatology as praxis: the end of injustice is not awaited but enacted.

Islamic eschatology also links rebellion to unveiling (kashf) and justice. The Qur’an describes the Hour (as-saʿah) when hidden deeds will be revealed (Qur’an 99:6–8). Historically, this horizon inspired insurgent movements: the Abbasid Revolution (8th c.) framed itself as restoring justice before the end; Shiʿi traditions speak of the return of the Mahdi, who will establish justice before the Day of Judgment (Sachedina, 1981).

For Seyyed Hossein Nasr (1989), rebellion can align with fidelity to Tradition against the desacralization of modern time. Here rebellion affirms eschatological temporality by restoring the sacred order obscured by secularism.

Thus, in Islamic contexts, rebellion often temporalizes as unveiling: the exposure of hidden injustices and the anticipation of ultimate justice.

Hindu cosmology understands time as cyclical, divided into vast yugas (ages). The present age is the Kali Yuga, marked by decline and corruption. Rebellion within this cosmology often takes the form of dharmic reassertion: a refusal to accept decay as destiny. As Sri Aurobindo (1914/1997) argued, spiritual and social struggles alike participate in the “dawn of a new Satya Yuga.”

Satprem (1982) radicalized this perspective by interpreting rebellion as evolutionary necessity: the refusal of stagnation becomes the vehicle for species-transformation. In this framework, rebellion temporalizes eschatology not as final collapse but as mutation: the end of one mode of consciousness, the beginning of another.

Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels (1848/2010) framed proletarian revolution as the “end” of prehistory and the beginning of truly human history. For Marx, capitalism imposed linear, accumulative time, abstracting labor into exchangeable hours. Revolution ends this regime by abolishing wage-labor and opening classless temporality.

Georg Lukács (1923/1971) interpreted class consciousness as eschatological: the proletariat recognizes itself as the subject-object of history, collapsing alienated temporality. Walter Benjamin (1940/2007) read Marxist revolution as messianic interruption: a secular eschatology where rebellion redeems the silenced dead.

Thus, rebellion in Marxist terms is the eschaton of capital: an end that inaugurates new historical time

Frantz Fanon (1961/2004) articulated rebellion in colonial contexts as eschatological rupture. Colonialism, he argued, imposes a “compartmentalized world” where the colonized are trapped in suspended time. Revolt annihilates this stasis: “Decolonization is truly the creation of new men” (p. 2).

Fanon’s eschatology is not otherworldly but historical. The end of the colonial world is simultaneously the beginning of a new humanity. Rebellion here is temporal apocalypse: destruction as renewal.

Achille Mbembe (2001) extends this, describing postcolonial rebellion as the attempt to escape the “time of commandment,” opening futures beyond imposed delay.

The eschatological temporality of rebellion is dialectical:

Destruction: Rebellion ends one order: whether empire, capital, or colonialism.
Disclosure: Rebellion unveils hidden truths and suppressed histories.
Beginning: Rebellion inaugurates another world, inscribing new calendars and horizons.

This dialectic is visible in the French Revolution’s adoption of a new calendar (Shaw, 2011), in the Haitian Revolution’s reconfiguration of historical time (Nesbitt, 2008), and in liberation movements’ celebration of independence days. Each inscribes eschatological rupture into chronometric memory.

To affirm rebellion in eschatological terms is to affirm the possibility of endings that are also beginnings. It is to recognize that apocalypse is not mere catastrophe but unveiling (apokalypsis). Rebellion temporalizes justice by ending one order and opening another.

Eschatological rebellion thus affirms the dignity of rupture: the human power to bring worlds to a close, and to create time anew.

In earlier sections, rebellion was framed against capitalist chronos (Section I), as kairos (Section II), and as eschaton (Section III). Yet rebellion also generates temporalities that exceed linear or cyclical models, pointing toward transformation and becoming. These are evolutionary and spiritual temporalities, in which rebellion signifies not only political change but the mutation of humanity and the emergence of new consciousness.

Satprem (1982) described rebellion as an evolutionary imperative: the refusal of stagnation by which the species transcends its old shell. Similarly, Sri Aurobindo (1914/1997) envisioned revolution not merely as social upheaval but as part of the supramental transformation of time. Rebellion here temporalizes as mutation: the end of one form of humanity, the beginning of another.

Rebellion as Evolutionary Necessity

Darwinian evolution emphasizes adaptation, but Aurobindo and Satprem frame evolution as conscious and spiritual. For Aurobindo, “the law of progress is not to repeat but to surpass” (The Life Divine, 1914/1997). Rebellion participates in this surpassing: each refusal of domination is also refusal of the half-being that clings to survival rather than growth.

Satprem (1982) portrays rebellion as “the adventure of consciousness,” in which the species confronts its evolutionary bottleneck. Just as amphibians once emerged from water to land, humanity must rebel against its current condition to evolve. Political revolts echo this deeper evolutionary revolt: a striving toward the not-yet, the possible human.

Thus, rebellion affirms evolutionary temporality: not recurrence, but leap.

Henri Corbin (1964/1998) described the mundus imaginalis, a realm between material time and eternity. In this imaginal temporality, symbols, visions, and archetypes carry ontological weight. Rebellion can be understood as an imaginal act: an unveiling of hidden worlds that reshape lived time.

For example, Sufi uprisings in Persia often drew upon imaginal visions of the Mahdi’s justice (Corbin, 1964/1998). Similarly, indigenous rebellions invoke mythic ancestors whose presence is real in imaginal temporality. These are not “fantasies” but temporal inventions: the rebel acts as though the other world is already here, thereby temporalizing it into the present.

Rebellion, in this sense, is a crossing of thresholds between times empirical and imaginal.

Mircea Eliade (1949/2005) emphasized that rebellion often functions as recommencement. In archaic societies, ritual rebellion symbolically destroyed the king, reset the calendar, and returned society to mythical origins. This “eternal return” framed rebellion as cyclical renewal.

While modern rebellions may not replicate mythic cycles literally, they often symbolically restart time. The French Revolutionary Calendar (Shaw, 2011) abolished the Christian order, recommencing time at Year I. Indigenous uprisings likewise revive seasonal rituals to reclaim time from colonial impositions (Coulthard, 2014).

Thus, rebellion reopens mythical temporality: the capacity to reset, to return, to begin anew.

Indigenous traditions often emphasize relational and cyclical temporalities. Rebellion against settler colonialism thus often entails reclaiming ecological time: planting, harvesting, ceremonies aligned with lunar or seasonal cycles (Simpson, 2017).

The Standing Rock uprising (2016) against the Dakota Access Pipeline, for instance, framed rebellion as protection of “water is life.” Here rebellion was ecological temporality: aligning politics with the river’s flow, the seasons, the ancestral presence.

Eco-theologians like Thomas Berry (1999) argue that rebellion against ecological devastation is eschatological and evolutionary: humanity must refuse industrial temporality to align with “Earth time.” In this sense, ecological rebellion temporalizes as planetary rhythm.

Mystical traditions also affirm rebellion as temporal transcendence. Meister Eckhart spoke of the “breakthrough” (durchbruch) into timelessness (McGinn, 2001). In Zen Buddhism, rebellion against ordinary mind reveals suchness (Suzuki, 1956). Krishnamurti (1969) described rebellion as freedom from psychological conditioning, which is freedom from chronological time.

Each frames rebellion as liberation not only from oppression but from temporal captivity itself.

Rebellion’s spiritual temporality also intersects with political theology. Carl Schmitt (1922/2005) claimed that modern concepts of sovereignty are secularized theological concepts. Giorgio Agamben (2005) reverses this, suggesting rebellion reclaims messianic temporality against sovereign control. Eschatological and evolutionary rebellion thus overlap: both assert new orders of time beyond sovereignty.

Liberation theology (Gutiérrez, 1973/2001) exemplifies this synthesis: rebellion is sacred duty, enacting God’s time in the world. Thus, spiritual rebellion temporalizes political justice.

To affirm rebellion in evolutionary-spiritual terms is to affirm humanity’s capacity to mutate temporally. Rebellion is not only refusal of injustice; it is refusal of stagnation. It affirms that time is not fixed but plastic, capable of new rhythms, cycles, and leaps.

In this affirmation, rebellion becomes not mere politics but anthropogenesis: the making of new human forms, new times, new worlds.

Rebellion has long been analyzed as a pursuit of political or social justice. Yet as this article has argued, rebellion also concerns time: its imposition, disruption, and re-creation. To affirm rebellion is to affirm that human beings have the capacity not only to inhabit time but to produce time. This recognition leads to the proposal of temporal justice—the equitable distribution of temporal resources and the collective right to temporal invention.

Temporal justice extends Nancy Fraser’s (1995) idea of “parity of participation” into the temporal field: just as material and cultural resources must be distributed for democratic participation, so too must temporal resources. Rosa (2013) demonstrates that acceleration erodes autonomy by colonizing lived time; temporal justice requires reclaiming resonant time against acceleration. Similarly, Zuboff (2019) shows how surveillance capitalism expropriates attention-time, suggesting that privacy and autonomy must be defended as temporal rights.

Rebellion thus emerges as the praxis by which temporal justice is enacted.

Principles of Temporal Justice

Drawing upon the preceding analysis, five principles can be articulated:

(a) The Right to Refuse Chronometric Domination.
Following Thompson (1967) and Postone (1993), capitalist time-discipline transforms hours into commodities. Temporal justice requires the right to resist alienated time, such as through shorter workdays, recognition of care-time, and protection against algorithmic scheduling (Crary, 2013; Woodcock & Graham, 2019). Rebellion affirms this right by refusing imposed chronologies.

(b) The Right to Kairotic Participation.
As Benjamin (1940/2007) and Arendt (1963) emphasize, rebellion creates kairotic moments where history is open. Temporal justice requires that such moments not be monopolized by elites but shared by all. Mechanisms of direct democracy, assemblies, and horizontal decision-making (Graeber, 2013) institutionalize kairotic agency.

(c) The Right to Eschatological Horizons.
Eschatology, whether religious or secular, frames rebellion as unveiling new futures (Gutiérrez, 1973/2001; Fanon, 1961/2004). Temporal justice affirms the right of communities to articulate horizons of ending and beginning. This implies recognition of indigenous temporalities (Simpson, 2017; Coulthard, 2014), revolutionary anniversaries, and liturgical times as legitimate sites of political articulation.

(d) The Right to Evolutionary Transformation.
Satprem (1982) and Aurobindo (1914/1997) interpret rebellion as evolutionary necessity. Temporal justice affirms the right to transform consciousness beyond given horizons. Policies that enable education, cultural experimentation, and ecological attunement become sites of evolutionary temporal justice.

(e) The Right to Plural Temporalities.
Koselleck (2004) emphasized the multiplicity of “temporal layers” in history. Temporal justice affirms pluralism: linear, cyclical, kairotic, eschatological, evolutionary. No single temporal order (state, capital, religion) should monopolize life. Rebellion creates plural time by rupturing dominant regimes.

Examples:

Labor Movements. The demand for the eight-hour day exemplifies temporal justice: rebellion redistributed hours across work, rest, and leisure (Thompson, 1967). Contemporary struggles against platform capitalism continue this demand, seeking protection against perpetual availability (Woodcock & Graham, 2019).

Decolonial Struggles. Fanon (1961/2004) and Mbembe (2001) show how colonialism imposes arrested time; rebellion reclaims eschatological and cyclical horizons. Indigenous resurgence movements (Simpson, 2017; Coulthard, 2014) exemplify temporal justice as reclamation of seasonal and ritual time.

Climate Activism. Ecological rebellions (Extinction Rebellion, Standing Rock) frame climate crisis as eschatological kairos: the end of one epoch, the urgency of immediate transformation (Latour, 2018). Temporal justice here requires resisting “fossil-fuel time” (Malm, 2016) and aligning politics with ecological rhythms (Berry, 1999).

If social justice concerns distribution of resources, temporal justice concerns distribution of duration. The politics of temporal justice implies:

Institutional Reforms: guaranteed leisure time, sabbaticals, universal basic time-rights (Fraser, 1995; Rosa, 2013).
Cultural Recognition: legitimation of indigenous, religious, and revolutionary temporalities (Coulthard, 2014; Simpson, 2017).
Psychological Liberation: refusal of acceleration and cultivation of resonant practices (Krishnamurti, 1969; Rosa, 2013).
Spiritual Affirmation: recognition of rebellion as evolutionary praxis (Satprem, 1982; Aurobindo, 1997).

Rebellion provides the praxis by which such justice is enacted: interrupting domination and inaugurating new times.

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