What is “below the fold” (carry on, Deleuzian) is unadulterated ChatGPT 4o running in Deep research mode. This was produced by it in 9 minutes. It will run deep research quite longer than that. I’ve had it run for 40 minutes or more on other requests. I guess this was an “easy” one?

It’s produced around 6000 words. My view is that I’ve read plenty of journal article submissions that were further from publishable than this. So graduate student seminar papers, undergraduate work? You tell me.

And as we always say about AI, tomorrow it will be better at this because it did it today.

It’s not going to work to simply say you shouldn’t. Why? Because it isn’t cheating or dishonest. It’s differentiating in the way that using a calculator or a word processor is from using pen and paper. I will kick your pen-and-paper-using ass up and down the street all day. That is where we are headed with this. In my view, thinking you are just not going to use these technologies is just scheduling your own ass-whoopin’.

I’m not saying that what is below great or insightful. It took 9 minutes and worked from a very short prompt. I first just asked it to “Generate a Deleuzian style short essay that makes the following claim. The chronology of the ultra stable optical lattice clock rests upon a mythopoetic, state geophilosopical Earth.” It did that, and then I asked it to use what it generated as a prompt for writing this article. I am confident that I could take this draft and revise it into something publishable in a few days. I think the primary problem for me with the draft is that it misunderstands the audience and has gone too general. But maybe I’m wrong about that! If you read it, let me know.

Of course I could revise this into something because I am already writing and researching these things. I couldn’t revise it into something publishable without my expertise. Nor could I have engineered the prompt without my expertise. The other hidden aspect is that I’ve been experimenting with ChatGPT this year and so it is certainly responding to its internal representation of that history.

Abstract

Ultra-stable timekeeping technologies – epitomized by the optical lattice clock – are more than neutral instruments of precision; they are embedded in what may be called a mythopoetic, state-centered geophilosophy of the Earth. This article argues that achieving unprecedented temporal stability depends on conceptions of Earth as an immovable reference framework, a notion that is simultaneously technical, political, and mythical. Drawing on Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari’s concept of geophilosophy, we examine how the Earth functions as a foundational “plane” for thought and measurement. We integrate insights from media archaeology and infrastructure studies (Wolfgang Ernst, Jussi Parikka, Shannon Mattern, Lisa Parks) to situate the optical lattice clock within a broader landscape of technical media – from GPS satellite constellations to atomic time networks – that rely on geostabilized infrastructures. These systems demand a “fixed” Earth to synchronize and function with extreme precision, an assumption that carries territorial and epistemic implications. National states and international agencies actively maintain the fiction of a stable Earth through bureaucratic standards and networks of sensors, effectively “reterritorializing” time and space. The article discusses how the pursuit of ultra-precise time entwines with state power, territorial control, and the philosophical grounding of knowledge in Earth. In doing so, it illuminates the politically charged mythos undergirding our most advanced clocks and the global infrastructures of time.

Introduction

The quest for ever more precise timekeeping has reached a point where time itself must be anchored to the Earth in new ways. Optical lattice clocks – the latest generation of atomic clocks – boast stabilities and accuracies so high that even minute gravitational differences or elevation changes on Earth measurably affect their ticking rate  . To operate these clocks and compare them globally, scientists must invoke a notion of a “fixed” or reference Earth: a stable geoid or coordinate frame against which time and frequency can be synchronized. This requirement is as philosophical as it is technical. It suggests that ultra-precision in time depends on a certain idea of the Earth – an idea that is mythopoetic (grounded in narrative and imagination) and state-centered (maintained through state institutions and territorial frameworks). In other words, behind the engineering of optical clocks lies a geophilosophy of the Earth: a way of conceptualizing the planet that enables and legitimates these temporal feats.

Why call this geophilosophy mythopoetic? The term indicates that the seemingly objective notion of a perfectly stable Earth reference frame is, in part, a human construct – a “myth” we tell ourselves to tame the chaos of time and space. It harkens back to ancient cosmologies of a fixed Earth, repurposed now for scientific precision. And why state-centered? Because it is largely through state-sponsored laboratories, international standards bodies, and global infrastructure projects that this stable Earth is defined, monitored, and enforced. Government agencies and intergovernmental organizations decide how to coordinate clocks, when to insert leap seconds to reconcile atomic time with Earth’s rotation, and how to define the reference geoid or coordinate grid for global navigation  . The endeavor of precision timekeeping is thus deeply entwined with political territory and authority. As media scholar Lisa Parks and others have observed, technologies like satellites and time networks are not just technical systems but geopolitical instruments that map and control space . The Earth that optical clocks rely on is one measured and managed by states – a politically delineated Earth.

This article elaborates the thesis that ultra-stable timekeeping technologies depend on a geophilosophical stance toward Earth that is both mythic and state-driven. In making this case, we will draw on the theoretical framework of Deleuze and Guattari, who proposed “geophilosophy” as thinking with the Earth, and on media archaeology and infrastructure studies that highlight the material and political underpinnings of media systems. First, we outline the concept of geophilosophy and how it helps us understand the nexus of Earth, time, and technology. We then examine the optical lattice clock as a case study, describing its operation and situating it within the wider ensemble of geostabilized technical media – notably the Global Positioning System (GPS), atomic clock networks, and nascent quantum communication grids. In the discussion, we explore the political, territorial, and epistemic implications of requiring a ‘fixed Earth’ for these systems to function. Finally, we conclude by reflecting on how the marriage of cutting-edge physics and age-old territorial imaginaries challenges our understanding of both time and Earth in the contemporary era.

Theoretical Framework: Geophilosophy and Media Infrastructure

Geophilosophy: Earth as the Ground of Thought. The term geophilosophy originates from Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari’s work, particularly in What is Philosophy?, where it denotes an approach to philosophy that takes the Earth as the implicit ground for thought. Rather than treating ideas as floating free of context, geophilosophy insists that thinking is always situated – that concepts arise in relation to spatial and territorial conditions. Deleuze and Guattari suggest that philosophy is tied to the Earth not in a literal geocentric sense, but in the sense of territoriality: thought happens on the “plane of immanence” that is mapped onto the Earth  . As one commentator summarizes, “Geophilosophy is [Deleuze and Guattari’s] attempt to dig into the conditions on the earth required for forming societies/assemblages and the complex processes they undergo” . In other words, to understand a social or intellectual system, we must consider its earthly foundations – the territorial and material conditions that make it possible.

In the context of timekeeping technologies, a geophilosophical perspective directs our attention to the planetary ground of these systems. The optical lattice clock, like any clock, does not operate in a vacuum of pure science alone; it operates in an assemblage that includes lab buildings anchored to bedrock, power grids, satellite links, and reference maps of the Earth’s gravitational field. The conditions on the Earth required for this assemblage range from an ultrastable laboratory environment (isolated from seismic vibrations and temperature fluctuations) to a consensus reference frame for sea level and latitude. Geophilosophy encourages us to see the optical clock not just as a marvel of atomic physics, but as an artifact of an Earth-bound assemblage – one that encodes assumptions about what the Earth is (a stable platform) and how it can be partitioned and measured (via state-sponsored geodesy). If, as Deleuze and Guattari hold, concepts are tied to territories, then the concept of ultra-stable time is tied to the territory of a fixed Earth.

Moreover, Deleuze and Guattari distinguish between deterritorialization and reterritorialization, processes that are useful for interpreting the history of time standards. The shift from astronomical time (based on Earth’s rotation) to atomic time in the mid-20th century can be seen as a deterritorialization of time: time was lifted out of its age-old anchor in the day-night cycle and the motion of Earth. Atomic clocks liberated the second from the uneven rotation of our planet, defining it instead by the vibration of cesium atoms. This was a profound epistemic shift – time became, in a sense, placeless, tied to the constant laws of quantum mechanics rather than the parochial rhythms of one planet. And yet, almost immediately, a reterritorialization occurred: atomic time had to be reconciled with Earth once more. The adoption of Coordinated Universal Time (UTC) ensured that atomic time would not drift too far from the solar day. Leap seconds – a mechanism added since 1972 – were the tools of reterritorialization, periodically yoking atomic clocks back to the Earth’s rotation (Universal Time 1)  . In Deleuzian terms, the state (through the Bureau International des Poids et Mesures, BIPM, and national observatories) re-imposed Earth’s territory onto deterritorialized atomic time. This push-pull between freeing time from Earth and re-grounding it on Earth is at the heart of our current temporal infrastructure. It reveals the geophilosophical tension: even as technology deterritorializes, geopolitical and epistemic needs reterritorialize. The concept of a stable Earth remains a necessary reference, a terra firma to prevent time from “floating” away.

Media Archaeology and Infrastructure: Deep Time and Hidden Grounds. Alongside philosophy, insights from media archaeology and media infrastructure studies help deepen our analysis. Scholars like Wolfgang Ernst have characterized certain technologies as time-critical media – systems that operate on micro-temporal scales and demand rigorous synchronization beyond direct human perception  . Clocks are exemplary time-critical media. Ernst notes, for instance, the distinction between the “non-human” timescale of atomic clocks and the “cultural technique” of civil timekeeping that still ties time to human rhythms and Earth’s cycles . The leap second, in his view, is an intervention to bridge machine precision and human/worldly irregularity. By “smearing” the leap second gradually, as Google once did to avoid disrupting systems, engineers explicitly acknowledge the disjuncture between an abstract, machine-perfect time and the irregular rotation of the Earth . Media archaeology thus uncovers how our clocks embody not just physics, but a negotiation between different temporal regimes – one abstract and universal, one tied to Earth’s material realities. In this negotiation, we see again the myth of a stable Earth: the cultural insistence that our 12:00 noon should roughly align with the sun at its apex, even if atomic physics would march to a different beat. The Earth, with all its wobble and drift, must still haunt atomic time so that human life and scientific time can stay in sync.

Jussi Parikka’s notion of a “geology of media” further extends this perspective. Parikka urges us to consider the earthly materials and deep timescales embedded in our media systems  . He reminds us that media technologies are not immaterial – they are made of earth elements (silicon, rare metals), and they operate within geological and atmospheric environments. In Parikka’s words, media theory can expand to include “earth, light, air, and time as media” . This provocative idea helps us frame ultra-stable clocks as media that use Earth and time itself as part of their operation. For instance, the optical lattice clock uses light as a medium (laser light forms the lattice trapping the atoms) and it is sensitive to earth in that gravity (a property of Earth’s mass) affects its time. The clock is even being turned into a tool for earth science: as precision improves, optical clocks can measure gravitational potential differences, essentially using time flow as a medium to sense the Earth’s shape and density  . In this sense, the Earth is not just a passive reference but an active element in the apparatus – the Earth “writes” its gravity into the ticking rate of the clock. Here we see a literal realization of Parikka’s insight that geology and media converge: the optical clock doubles as a geodetic instrument, collapsing the divide between measuring time and measuring Earth. The Earth’s deep time (its slow-changing geoid and gravity field) directly informs the clock’s operation.

Media infrastructure studies, represented by scholars like Shannon Mattern and Lisa Parks, also emphasize the often invisible material grids that undergird digital and global systems. Parks, for example, has described satellites as a “structuring absence” – overhead and unseen, yet structuring daily life by distributing signals (be they TV broadcasts or GPS timing) across the globe . The GPS system, intimately related to atomic clock technology, is a case in point. GPS satellites orbit above the earth transmitting time signals from on-board atomic clocks to receivers worldwide . These signals enable not just navigation but also timing for critical infrastructures on Earth. Indeed, as a U.S. Space Force account notes, “the majority of [critical infrastructure sectors] are dependent on GPS in some way… Most of them are actually dependent not on positioning, but on timing” . Electric power grids, communication networks, financial trading systems – all synchronize via GPS timing pulses. What this means is that an infrastructure of satellites, ground stations, and atomic clocks has become a global timebase, effectively supplanting the spinning Earth as the source of temporal unity. Yet paradoxically, that infrastructure must itself be constantly aligned and calibrated. GPS satellite clocks are regularly steered and adjusted to remain synchronized with a common reference (a composite “GPS time” and ultimately UTC) . The entire enterprise is managed by state or quasi-state entities: the U.S. Space Force for GPS, Roscosmos for GLONASS, etc., with international agreements to link their time scales within tolerances  . Media infrastructure research reveals how much administrative and physical labor goes into stabilizing this system – a vast bureaucratic and technical apparatus dedicated to making time appear universal and continuous. As Eyal Weizman astutely observed (in a context Parikka cites), the calculation of the Earth today relies not on divine order but on an “increasingly complex bureaucracy of calculations” with sensors and networks spread across the globe . That bureaucracy, one can add, includes the maintainers of time infrastructure who monitor Earth’s rotation, tectonic drift, and clock drift to keep the entire system aligned.

In sum, our theoretical frame combines geophilosophy’s focus on Earth-as-foundation with media studies’ focus on the concrete infrastructures of time. This sets the stage to examine how an optical lattice clock embodies these ideas in practice. The optical clock is at once a pinnacle of micro-temporal precision and a node in a macro-system that treats the Earth in a particular way. To unpack the myth and politics at work, we now turn to the case of the optical lattice clock itself and its entanglement with geostabilized infrastructure.

Case Study: The Optical Lattice Clock and the Fixed Earth

An optical lattice clock traps neutral atoms (here, strontium) in a standing wave of laser light, forming an “optical lattice.” The strontium atoms (visible as a faint red glow) are isolated in an ultrahigh vacuum chamber to preserve their fragile quantum states . Such a clock measures time by laser interrogation of atomic transitions, achieving extreme precision – but only by conceptually “freezing” the Earth beneath it.

The optical lattice clock represents the state of the art in timekeeping. Unlike traditional atomic clocks that use microwaves to probe atoms (e.g., the cesium fountain clocks defining the current SI second), optical lattice clocks use lasers at optical frequencies to interrogate atoms like strontium or ytterbium. The higher frequency of light (hundreds of trillions of oscillations per second, versus billions for microwaves) allows these clocks to divide time into much finer increments, yielding accuracies and stabilities at the 10^(-18) level or better . To put this in perspective, an optical lattice clock could run for tens of billions of years and lose only on the order of a second  – far longer than the age of the universe. While this staggering precision might seem purely a triumph over time, it is equally a triumph over space and environment: every influence that could perturb the atoms must be eliminated or accounted for. The clock’s atoms are cooled to micro-Kelvin temperatures and suspended in a lattice of light, all inside a vibration-isolated, vacuum-sealed chamber (as illustrated by the image above) . The device is often housed deep in a laboratory basement to shield it from temperature fluctuations and even subtle seismic tremors. These engineering feats amount to stabilizing a piece of Earth around the clock, turning the local lab into an artificial pocket of stillness.

However, even after isolating the clock from its immediate surroundings, the scientists must reckon with the broader context: the gravity of Earth. General relativity tells us that clocks tick at different rates in different gravitational potentials – the stronger the gravity (closer to a massive body), the slower the clock. On Earth, this means height matters. A clock on a mountain runs slightly faster than a clock at sea level, all else being equal. For ordinary clocks the effect is infinitesimal, but for an optical lattice clock at 10^(-18) precision, a height difference of just 1 centimeter produces a measurable frequency shift . Indeed, experiments have confirmed that raising an optical clock by even a few centimeters changes its tick rate exactly as relativity predicts . This spectacular sensitivity turns a fundamental physics theory into a practical concern: if you want two optical lattice clocks to agree, you must know their height difference relative to Earth’s geoid to within centimeters, and correct for it. In other words, achieving a consistent time across multiple laboratories demands precise knowledge of the Earth’s gravity field – a geodetic task. The clock is no longer just about time; it’s about mapping the Earth.

Researchers have flipped this insight around to create a new application: “chronometric geodesy.” By comparing the ticking rates of two optical lattice clocks at different locations, one can deduce the difference in gravitational potential between those sites – effectively measuring the height difference without a traditional survey. In a 2016 landmark experiment, scientists in Japan linked two transportable optical lattice clocks via fiber optic cable and determined their altitude difference (15 km apart) with 5 cm uncertainty purely through clock comparisons  . Over half a year of data collection, they measured a fractional frequency difference of ~1.65×10^(-18) between the clocks, corresponding to a height difference of ~1,516 cm (about 15.16 m), which matched independent measurements by leveling . This demonstrated “geopotential surveying” by clocks – essentially using time as a probe of Earth. The vision arising from such work is an “internet of clocks” in which a network of optical lattice clocks across the globe continuously monitors changes in Earth’s gravity and shape (for example, due to tectonic shifts or groundwater movement) . The optical clock thus becomes a node in a planetary sensor network. But to realize this vision, the network of clocks must share a common reference: effectively, they must all be calibrated to an agreed-upon model of Earth’s gravitational potential (the geoid) and reference frame. This brings us to the role of state-based standardization.

Today, primary time standards and optical clock experiments are maintained by national metrology institutes (such as NIST in the USA, NPL in the UK, PTB in Germany, NICT in Japan, etc.) and often in university labs supported by state funding. These institutes are part of a global ensemble that produces International Atomic Time (TAI) and Coordinated Universal Time (UTC). Approximately 450 atomic clocks worldwide contribute to UTC by continuous comparison and averaging . The inclusion of optical clocks in this ensemble is on the horizon; metrologists are already discussing a redefinition of the SI second based on optical transitions . Once optical clocks start contributing to TAI, the demand for precise geodetic calibration will increase, since time transfer between any two clocks must factor in their position in Earth’s gravity well to reach 10^(-18) accuracy . This is why international working groups (like those under BIPM and the International Telecommunication Union) are developing protocols for “relativistic time transfer,” ensuring that when labs compare clocks (via satellite links, fibers, or transportable devices) they also exchange the necessary geophysical data to correct relativistic offsets  . In effect, the world’s timing system is integrating an Earth model into its core. The Earth’s shape, rotation, and gravitational potential become part of the timekeeping apparatus. We witness a fascinating convergence of metrology and geoscience: measuring time demands measuring the Earth.

Yet, this integration is not merely a neutral scientific exercise; it occurs through international agreements and power structures. The “fixed Earth” that optical clocks require is defined by reference frames like the International Terrestrial Reference Frame (ITRF), which is maintained by the International Earth Rotation and Reference Systems Service (IERS). The ITRF itself is a product of geopolitical collaboration: it relies on observation stations around the world (very long baseline interferometry stations, GPS fiducial stations, etc.) contributed by various nations. Adjustments to the reference frame (for continental drift, for example) are published periodically, effectively redefining the coordinates of “fixed” points. Thus, the stability of Earth in these systems is a carefully managed fiction – one updated through consensus in scientific assemblies. It is mythopoetic in the sense that we collectively agree to treat something dynamic as if it were stable, for the sake of order. And it is state-centered in that these observatories and networks are funded and overseen by national or international authorities. We can draw an analogy to the prime meridian at Greenwich in the 19th century: establishing a zero longitude was a technical necessity for navigation, but it was also a political decision made at an international conference and reflecting British naval dominance. Similarly, establishing a zero for time and a fixed Earth frame now involves international bodies where states vote and negotiate – as seen recently in the decision to abolish leap seconds by 2035, which was voted on by BIPM’s member states  . Notably, Russia voted against the initial timeline (preferring a delay) while the U.S. and France led the push to move sooner , revealing that even the adjustment of a second can become entangled in international politics.

The optical lattice clock, then, sits at the intersection of cutting-edge science and this vast sociotechnical infrastructure. On one hand, it is a marvel of quantum precision isolated from the world; on the other, it is entirely dependent on frameworks that span the globe. Its successful operation and usefulness (for instance, in contributing to UTC or detecting geophysical changes) require the Earth to be conceptually stable – a single reference globe – even as the empirical Earth moves and oscillates. The next section will delve into the broader implications of this state-centered geophilosophy of Earth that underlies ultra-precise timekeeping. What does it mean, politically and epistemologically, that our most advanced clocks demand a fixed Earth? How does this reconfigure our understanding of territory and knowledge? We address these questions by looking at the wider array of geostabilized technical media and their entwinement with state power and myth.

Discussion: Political, Territorial, and Epistemic Implications

Temporal Infrastructure as State Territory. Timekeeping has long been a tool of political power – from the institution of standard time zones by colonial and industrial states to the use of precise time signals in military operations and finance. Ultra-stable clocks intensify this dynamic. The requirement of a “fixed Earth” reference for optical clocks and related systems effectively turns the planet into a calibrated machine part, a component of the time infrastructure. The calibration of Earth is carried out by national agencies and international bureaus, which is a form of territorial governance. It is the state (or a consortium of states) that declares, for example, where 0 meters elevation lies (by defining the geoid), or what the official global time is (UTC). In maintaining these standards, states exercise what might be called chronopolitical power – the power to define temporal regimes in conjunction with spatial reference frames. The fact that GPS is operated by the U.S. Space Force, and that other great powers felt the need to launch their own satellite navigation constellations (Galileo for the EU, Beidou for China, etc.), is telling  . It underscores that control over time distribution and geospatial reference frames is seen as strategic. These systems may speak in the language of science and public service (navigation, precision timing for all), but underlying them is a classic geopolitical motive: autonomy and control. Europe’s Galileo, for instance, was explicitly justified so that Europeans would not have to rely on U.S. GPS, which could be degraded or shut off in times of conflict  . Here we see a state-centered geophilosophy in action – the idea that each sovereign bloc should secure its own slice of the Earth’s reference system, its own assured access to the “fixed” Earth infrastructure of coordinates and clocks. The Earth becomes partitioned not by visible borders, but by overlapping fields of satellite coverage and timing signals, each backed by a state or coalition.

At the same time, these separate systems must interoperate at some level to maintain a globally unified time (since commerce and science demand interoperability). That brings states back to the negotiating table in venues like the BIPM and the International Telecommunication Union. The recent agreement to eliminate leap seconds by 2035, approved by 59 member states of the BIPM  , illustrates how a global temporal order is collectively managed. The practical reason for eliminating leap seconds was that they disrupt continuous time flow for digital systems , but the decision could only be made via a political process. Russia’s dissent and the compromise on date  hint that different countries had different stakes – perhaps related to how their systems handle time or simply a desire to assert influence. The outcome – to let atomic time run free of leap second interruptions for at least a century – marks a subtle shift in geophilosophy: a move to let time drift from Earth’s rotation. This is a deterritorializing step (in D&G’s terms) insofar as human timekeeping will no longer chase Earth’s exact rotation after 2035. Yet even this is framed as a provisional, bureaucratically managed move, with assurances that “the connection between UTC and the rotation of the Earth is not lost” . In other words, we postpone reterritorialization (perhaps inserting a leap minute or hour in the far future), but conceptually still acknowledge the Earth as a reference backdrop. We witness a negotiation between two geophilosophical orientations: one that favors the abstract, non-earthbound continuity of atomic time, and one that holds onto the historical, territorial time of the astronomical day. The resolution required diplomacy and scientific consensus – a reminder that even at the heights of precision, time is governed.

Myth of the Stable Earth. The idea of a fixed Earth underlying these technologies can be regarded as a modern myth – a necessary fiction that guides technological practice. Obviously, geodesists and physicists know the Earth is not literally a rigid, unchanging object in space. Earth rotates irregularly (with the length of day fluctuating by milliseconds), its poles wander, its crust shifts, its mass distribution changes (affecting gravity slightly) – in short, Earth is dynamic. Yet, to make a global system of synchronized clocks feasible, one treats Earth as if it were a stable frame, and then applies finely calculated corrections for its known instabilities. The myth is that there is a singular “Earth time” or reference that underlies all clocks. In truth, it is an assemblage of many clocks and reference points constantly reconciled. Still, the user of these systems experiences something akin to the myth: your smartphone can tell you the precise time and position, implicitly claiming, “This is the time everywhere and your location on the one true Earth grid.” The enchantment here is the presentation of a unified Earth – a globe mastered by technology, where time and space are indexed seamlessly. It’s a mythopoetic vision because it echoes ancient dreams of cosmic order. Consider how ancient cultures spoke of an “axis mundi” or world axis holding the cosmos together; today’s secular version might be the International Celestial Reference Frame and its terrestrial counterpart anchoring all coordinate calculations. The language may be scientific, but the effect is reminiscent of myth – imposing order on chaos. As Deleuze and Guattari might observe, it is a refrain sung to keep darkness at bay . The boy lost in the woods of their parable sings to create a center of stability around him . In our case, the song is the relentless ticking of atomic clocks, and the center of stability is the notional fixed Earth to which we bind those ticks. The myth is productive: it produces real, material order (GPS works; clocks agree to nanoseconds). Yet it remains, fundamentally, an approximation of reality enforced by consensus.

Epistemic Implications: Earth as Measured, Knowledge as Provincial. The reliance on a state-centered Earth framework for ultra-stable time also carries epistemological implications. It reminds us that even our most advanced knowledge – the ability to measure time to 18 decimal places – is conditioned by our planetary situation. We cannot escape the Earth. In fact, the more precisely we measure time, the more we are confronted with local particularities (altitude, latitude, geology). The dream of a universally applicable, context-free measurement meets the reality of relativity: there is no single “time” without reference to frame and gravity. Thus, what we have built is a patchwork: a tightly coordinated patchwork, but a patchwork nonetheless, stitched together by agreements and corrections. This undercuts any naive epistemology that might present scientific time as purely objective or divorced from human and earthly context. On the contrary, it shows how knowledge is infrastructural – it must be built and maintained, and it rests on choices (what do we take as our reference?) that are not dictated by nature alone but by convention and practicality. It is epistemically significant that when we push measurement to extremes, the “ghost” of the Earth reappears. For example, to compare two optical clocks, one cannot ignore even the gravitational pull of the Earth under one’s feet. Our scientific instruments force us to incorporate the Earth into our calculations at a fundamental level. We are, in a sense, measuring the Earth measuring time.

This entwining of knowledge with Earth also emphasizes the situatedness of science. There is a certain poetic irony: the optical lattice clock, which in its physical theory has nothing to do with Earth (an atom would tick the same anywhere in the universe under the same conditions), becomes practically dependent on Earth because we want to use it here, in distributed fashion. It’s reminiscent of how “standard candles” in cosmology (like certain types of supernovae) need calibration – we calibrate them using local references and then assume that standard holds across the cosmos. For time, we calibrate all clocks to an Earth-bound ensemble and then presume that as our time standard. If intelligent observers elsewhere set up an optical clock network on their planet, their “second” might eventually diverge from ours if their gravity or reference choices differ. Timekeeping, then, is revealed not as the reading of a cosmic clock, but as the construction of a terrestrial consensus. This realization can be humbling: it provincializes what might have seemed absolute. It also aligns with a strain in media archaeology that opposes the idea of smooth progress or universality, instead highlighting breaks, contingencies, and localizations in media-technological history  . The current global time infrastructure is a historical assemblage, not a necessary endpoint.

Finally, consider the implications for the philosophy of time. Newtonian physics presumed an absolute time flowing equably without relation to anything external – a god’s-eye time. Einsteinian relativity demolished that, tying time to reference frames and gravity. Yet, in everyday life and even in global tech, we effectively reconstruct a pseudo-absolute time (UTC or GPS time) that we treat as universal. We’ve come full circle in a way: from Earth-based time (solar days) to atomic time (frame-independent) and now to a hybrid that is atomic but Earth-referenced. This suggests that our need for a single timeline is as much practical (and psychological) as it is physical. We have created a myth of universal time sustained by enormous technical effort. The optical lattice clock is the latest protagonist in this long story. It extends universal time to new precision, but only by tying that time ever more intimately to the Earth’s specifics, lest the universality falls apart.

The mythopoetic aspect enters in how we speak about and justify these clocks. Notice the grand narratives: NIST’s announcement of a new record clock claimed it could “enable searches for new particles” and “unravel the secrets of the universe” . Such language casts the clock as a hero in a cosmic quest. It also mentioned that clocks could “reveal hidden underground mineral deposits”  – literally using time to see into the Earth. This almost magical capability (finding minerals by timing signals) blurs science with a kind of Promethean myth – stealing the fire of time to gain mastery over Earth’s hidden contents. The optical clock is portrayed not just as a tool but as a world-transforming innovation that will “shape our world for generations to come” . These narratives serve to rally funding and interest (hence state support), but they also situate the technology within a mythos of human progress and control over nature. The state, by funding and housing these clocks, positions itself as the custodian of this progress – the guarantor that the nation (or humanity at large) will command time itself. Indeed, national labs take pride in their clocks contributing to the international definition of time . There is prestige in hosting one of “the world’s most precise clocks,” much as there was prestige in owning famous observatories or navigation schools in earlier eras. Thus, the myth is also nationalist: countries quietly compete for primacy in timekeeping (the “clock race” analogous to the space race). It is state-centered not only structurally but symbolically.

Conclusion

The rise of optical lattice clocks and related ultra-stable timekeeping systems reveals a deep intertwining of cutting-edge technology with foundational narratives about the Earth. We have argued that these systems depend on a mythopoetic, state-centered geophilosophy: a way of imagining and managing the Earth that treats it as a stable platform for temporal order, sustained by state power and collective myth-making. At the technical level, the optical lattice clock cannot achieve its vaunted precision without an elaborate infrastructure that locks it to a fixed Earth frame – be that through fiber links that connect distant clocks with known coordinates, or through gravitational models that correct for Earth’s influence. At the conceptual level, this means reasserting something very old in a new guise: the need for a central reference, an Earth that stands still in our calculations even if it does not in reality.

Deleuze and Guattari’s geophilosophy provided a lens to see how even abstract endeavors like high-precision time measurement remain rooted to the Earth and its territorial assemblages. Media archaeology and infrastructure studies helped us trace the historical layers and hidden labors that keep the fiction of a unified time and space intact. From the synchronization of satellite clocks by the U.S. Space Force  to the global votes on time standards , we see that time is not just money (as the cliché goes) – time is governance, time is territory, time is power. The optical lattice clock, far from being an autonomous scientific object, is a node where international science, state interests, and philosophical questions converge.

The political and territorial implications we discussed highlight a reality: precision time infrastructure increasingly resembles a global public utility (like a grid or an internet), but one that is tightly bound to national frameworks. Just as the internet’s physical cables and servers reside in countries and are subject to governance, the time network’s backbone – satellites, labs, frequency standards – are owned and operated by states. Yet no single state can alone furnish the global framework; cooperation (and occasional contestation) is necessary. This delicate balance will likely persist. If anything, the advent of quantum clocks and quantum communication networks will amplify the need for agreed standards and shared reference frames, because quantum information protocols can be even more time-sensitive than classical ones. The notion of an “internet of clocks” measuring the Earth in real-time  could spur new forms of international collaboration – or competition – focused on the Earth’s temporal-geodetic monitoring. Control of such an Earth-clock network might become a new form of soft power or scientific prestige.

Epistemically, the requirement of a fixed Earth reminds us that our knowledge systems contain what Bruno Latour might call black boxes – taken-for-granted constructs that are actually the product of much work. “Time” as delivered by a GPS receiver or a leap-second-free UTC is one such black box. By opening it, through analyses like the above, we see the ensemble of agreements, calculations, and myths inside. We see that the ultimate reference is not a star or an abstract spacetime grid, but our Earth – surveyed and managed by us. This does not diminish the scientific accomplishment; rather, it situates it. It also suggests a philosophical position of groundedness: even in seeking the ultra-universal, we found ourselves back to the ground (literally ground truth in geodesy). In a way, this resonates with geophilosophy’s call for philosophy (and by extension science) to always consider its ground. The ground here is both the literal Earth and the metaphorical foundation of concepts.

In conclusion, the optical lattice clock stands as a symbol of humanity’s ability to push the boundaries of measurement and thus to refine our coordination with each other and our environment. But it also stands as a reminder that no matter how far we push, we remain children of the Earth. Our most exact clocks beat to the tune of Earth’s gravity; our global time is only as good as our collective agreement on what Earth’s “zero” is. The Earth, in this regard, is not just a backdrop but an active participant in the keeping of time. This realization invites us to reflect on future endeavors: as we extend networks to the Moon or Mars, for instance, new “geophilosophies” of those bodies will be needed to keep time there. The current moment, with Earth-bound ultra-stable clocks, is laying the conceptual and infrastructural groundwork for that cosmic expansion by perfecting the art of fixing a frame of reference. It is an art that blends rationality and imagination – requiring, as we have shown, both precise formulas and grand narratives. The Earth must be both measured and envisioned, calculated and symbolized. In the optical lattice clock, we find a technological sublime: a coolly glowing lattice of lasers that holds the promise of universal time, and within that glow, the shadow of the Earth, steady and patient, giving time its ultimate meaning.

Sources: The analysis in this article has drawn on both theoretical and technical sources. Key ideas about geophilosophy were informed by Deleuze and Guattari’s work as interpreted in secondary literature . Insights from media archaeology and infrastructure are indebted to Wolfgang Ernst’s discussion of atomic versus civil time , Jussi Parikka’s “geology of media” concept  and Eyal Weizman’s observation on the bureaucracy of Earth calculation , as well as Lisa Parks’ studies of satellite infrastructure . Technical details on optical lattice clocks and their geodetic applications were drawn from recent experimental reports   and official communications on time standards and GPS  . The decision to abolish leap seconds, illustrating international governance of time, was reported by science news outlets  . These sources collectively underpin the article’s argument regarding the nexus of technology, Earth, and state in contemporary timekeeping.