Sample Answer

At the point when I was an adolescent, one of my preferred books was “The Time Machine” by Herbert Wells. I recall how shocked and even amazed I was by the possibility of the developmental division of humankind into Morlocks and Eloi. The previous, as you may recall, are animals abiding underground, keeping up and controlling old machines, while the last are a position of light-disapproved, glad creatures living superficially. The advantageous interaction between these two species (Eloi got their garments, nourishment, and merchandise from Morlocks, while filling in as nourishment to them) stunned me the most, just as the possibility that these two species rose up out of the class division existing in Great Britain during the occasions when Herbert Wells lived. At any rate, “The Time Machine” was the principal novel to have awoken my enthusiasm for time traveling.

As I grew up, I read numerous different books and stories on a similar subject. I recall Howard Lovecraft’s characters going into the antiquated profundities of time to meet abnormal creatures that administered Earth some time before humankind existed; I recollect Ray Bradbury’s safari in the ancient time, when a man coincidentally stepped on a bug, causing inconceivable changes later on; I recall innumerable sci-fi films about time traveling, beginning from the “Eliminator” establishment, and winding up with the surrealistic “Twelve Monkeys,” horrid “Looper,” and strange and upsetting “Donnie Darko.” One basic component about practically all of such motion pictures is the possibility that by bringing out changes previously, one can change what’s to come. This idea has consistently appeared to be somewhat upsetting to me; I accept that what has just happened ought to stay before. Obviously, I am mindful of the way that time traveling is incomprehensible, and it will remain so in the closest future; in any case, at whatever point somebody asks me whether I would need to go back or advance in time, I can’t resist the opportunity to think about the results of such an excursion.

I know individuals who, while talking about this subject, make claims like, “On the off chance that I could just return in time, I would kill Hitler,” or “I would forestall the formation of atomic weapons,” or even “I would spare Kennedy.” When I hear this, I frequently wonder: how might they be so thoughtless and light-disapproved? Just yesterday, I was pondering the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki; without a doubt, it was a horrible disaster, and maybe for individuals living in those days, this occasion could have resembled the start of the apocalypse. However, as it turned out, the world didn’t quit turning; it proceeded onward, it by one way or another acclimated to the nearness of atomic risk. The equivalent can be said about World War II, the passing of probably the most brilliant government official, and about whatever else: the world has constantly proceeded onward, and there has been no such debacle that mankind has not had the option to endure and acclimate to.

The most shocking chronicled occasions molded the world as we probably am aware it today. It is amazingly advantageous to be living in the 21st century, appreciating the entirety of its advantages and progress, and offer expressions like, “I would change the course of history.” But, how might one be certain that their activities would not cause unforeseen damage? Verifiable procedures are so confounded and flexible that nobody can foresee the results of one’s activities. For a concise model: can a normal individual foresee how their activities will influence their own life in the following five years? I assume not. All in all, how is it conceivable to envision a particular outcomes (and, all the more critically, constructive outcomes) when meaning to change the course of history, with billions of individuals’ lives included? In this way, all these “I would slaughter Hitler” talks are gibberish. In actuality, on the off chance that you could go back in time and change something, the outcomes of this would doubtlessly be so flighty and uncommon that it would have potentially been exceptional to leave everything for what it’s worth.

Simultaneously, making a trip to the future would presumably have no negative outcomes. There is an incredible distinction between the past and the future as far as theory (and likely material science): the past is now decided, it occurred, while what’s to come is only a yet non-existent total of the considerable number of conceivable outcomes. You can’t ruin something that doesn’t exist; in any case, it may likewise imply that going to what’s to come is just unimaginable.

In the event that I could return in time, I would change nothing. I would be incredibly mindful so as to not contact anything, since who comprehends what it may result in. I would prefer to be a visitor, a visitor—ideally an imperceptible and strong phantom, capable just to spectate occasions, yet not to partake in them. I couldn’t imagine anything better than to see the ice age, the Triassic and Cambrian time frames, the beginning of the Universe, Victorian England, the United States of the 1930s, Mayan and Aztec human advancements in the tissue, Japan during the Sengoku time frame, visit the renowned Alexandrian library and see the Colossus. I might want to see Einstein chipping away at his general relativity hypothesis, and hear one of Adolf Hitler’s discourses—just to check whether he was as charming and influential the same number of history specialists guarantee; I would need to see Picasso or Matisse taking a shot at their showstoppers, or hear The Doors singing live. There are such a significant number of things I would need to see, hear, or in any case observer before, yet I have no aim to transform them, or to impact them by one way or another; to me, history is nevertheless a film screen, and regardless of how fortunate or unfortunate the motion picture is, it has just been recorded, so nothing can (and should) be changed in it.

I just wish at times that I could caution myself about specific occasions throughout my life. On the off chance that I could compose a letter to myself when I was more youthful, I figure I would in any event attempt to offer help to myself. I would state something like this: “Hello man, what’s going on with you? I realize you are at present agonizing over X, however don’t trouble yourself—it will all end up incredible. What’s more, this person, he appears to be pleasant and genuine, yet don’t work with him: he will twist you around his finger and vanish with all the cash. Also, unquestionably charm that young lady: you will separate at last, however this will be the best relationship in your life.” But… isn’t this no different as attempting to change history all around?

Let the past stay before. At last, on the off chance that I could return in time, I would just think about. That would get the job done.