Time's Tapestry: Weaving through Calendars, Watches, and Hermeticism
part one
In the hallowed halls of literary exploration, where the shelves sag under the weight of unread tomes, I embarked on a quest. A quest to disentangle the intricacies of time and calendars, a journey as challenging and mysterious as finding your way out of a hedge maze on a foggy British morning.
As I navigated through the labyrinth of references, I faced a dilemma – the subject matter was as overwhelming as a British afternoon tea with too many scones and not enough clotted cream. But fear not, for I, armed with a cuppa and a resolve sturdier than a well-brewed Yorkshire tea, ventured forth.
Why this sudden plunge into the depths of temporal complexity, you ask? Picture this: a room adorned with the chaos of scattered books, a literary landscape resembling the aftermath of a spirited cricket match. This clutter – I came to realise - is the manifestation of my struggle with 'Tsundoku,' a condition the Japanese so aptly named for stacking books and leaving them be – a plight that turns bookshelves into libraries of good intentions.
And so, with a pen in one hand (actually a mouse) and a teacup in the other (more likely a keyboard), I decided it was high time to bring order to this bibliophilic mayhem. Why write, you inquire? Well, it's not just about organizing knowledge; it's about unraveling the half-baked ideas and untangling the wisdom tucked away in the crevices of those unread pages. You see, the mind may play tricks, leaving one with a false sense of understanding, whereas writing is the compass that guides through the fog, revealing the clarity hidden within the misty realms of thought. – downright poetic –
And as I embark on this literary escapade, I hope to not only organize my own chaos but to share the awe, the insights, the curiosities, the rhetorical questions and perhaps a touch of humour, for what's an exploration of time without a dash of wit and a well-timed quip?
Anyway, onwards!
In my secluded corner of the digital realm, where the only whispers are the echoes of my own musings, I initially launched this blog adorned with the tagline, "Conversations on culture, science, and time." Now, one might raise an eyebrow at the use of "conversations" in a space so far devoid of external voices; however, the intention is to open the floodgates to comments and debates, should the outside world express interest.
Speaking of time, my journey finds inspiration in the tagline itself, borrowed verbatim from the pages of dialogues spun by two French philosophers – Bruno Latour and Michel Serres. The latter, with a penchant for philosophical wanderings, has long been enamored with Hermes, the mythical messenger of the gods. Hermes, donned in the garb of communication, travel, and commerce, weaves his way into the fabric of time. In the mystical corridors of thought, Serres connects the deity to the "Hermeticism of Time*," where the subject matter* becomes the messenger and mediator between the divine and the mortal.
And as I traverse the corridors of time, I can't help but reflect on the fascination that has grown with each passing year. The concept of time, though captivating, carries an inherent 'abstractness' that invites questions. How did humanity, in its diverse tapestry of cultures, agree upon the current norms regulating timekeeping? A conundrum as intricate as a Rubik's Cube in the paws of a curious feline.
And what if, as the years tick by and wrinkles deepen, humanity evolves beyond its current dependencies on religious influences? Picture a future where education flourishes, intellects soar, and poverty becomes a relic of the past. In this utopian vision, what kind of calendar will humanity adopt? A calendar divorced from the shackles of religious holidays and the like, standing tall on the pillars of mathematics and astronomy. Humanity, ever the seeker of progress, gradually detaches from the religious orbits and sets sail into a celestial sea of logic.
Now, indulge me in this whimsical pondering: what would be the logical approach in this scenario? Perhaps, in the future, we'll find ourselves scheduling appointments based on the alignment of celestial bodies, our watches becoming instruments of precision as dependable as a British butler with a well-polished silver tray.
And so, the dance continues – a twirl through the musings of philosophers, the enigma of early calendars, the legacy of Dionysius Exiguus (more on this chap later on), and the promise of a future where timekeeping transcends the realms of tradition. But how does one embark on this intellectual journey without stumbling into the pitfalls of dilettantism? It requires a deft touch, a thematic ballet where each step flows seamlessly into the next. Well, fear not, for if ambition stays with me, we shall draw thematic connections and build a cohesive narrative bridge, allowing us to traverse this landscape of ideas with grace and coherence.
But let’s not linger now too long in the theoretical ether; it’s time to dive into the heart of our musings. How did humanity agree upon the current norms regulating timekeeping? The answer involves a Christian monk named Dionysius Exiguus, a figure not from the lofty halls of Rome or Athens but, quite intriguingly, from the humble lands of Dobrogea. Yes, the same Dobrogea that today graces our maps with its serene landscapes once hosted the monk who would reshape the way we mark time.
Now, imagine a monk with a quill, hunched over his parchment in Dobrogea, attempting to unravel the mysteries of the calendar. Dionysius Exiguus, in his zeal to create a standardised way of dating events, concocted calculations that, when read, feel like deciphering the secret code of a cryptic medieval alchemist. Honestly, it's the most complicated bit of thinking and mathematics I've ever stumbled upon – a labyrinth of numbers and symbols that seems more perplexing than explaining quantum physics to a cat. I can't even replicate it, for I find it needlessly convoluted. It's as if he took a simple recipe for time and turned it into an intricate puzzle, challenging even the most seasoned Sudoku enthusiasts. Fueled by a desire to establish a standardised way of dating events in Christian religious history, he introduced the "Anno Domini" (AD) system or the "Common Era" (CE) system in the 6th century (keep that in mind, for I shall return to this not-so-minor detail). His quest? To determine a consistent date for the celebration of Easter, anchored in the resurrection of Jesus. Calculating what he believed to be the year of Jesus' birth, he designated that year as "1 AD" (or "1 CE" in the Common Era system). All dates before this pivotal moment were retroactively labeled as BC (Before Christ), marking a chronological watershed in our shared history.
And so, with the stroke of a monk's quill in the quiet corners of Dobrogea, a new chapter in the book of time began. Sounds simple, right? I wondered then, how did a monk's suggestion for counting years become so widely accepted and adopted?
As you will see, the reasons were plenty: Christian influence, Church Authority, Continuity, Lack of Alternatives, as well as Cultural and Historical Momentum. Let's peel these layers of reasoning one by one.
Firstly, Christian influence played a significant role. The AD system anchored events in the Christian narrative, making it a natural choice for a society deeply influenced by religious doctrines. The Church, with its authority and widespread reach, further endorsed this temporal framework. Imagine the medieval town crier, ringing his bell in the square, proclaiming, "In the year of our Lord, 1100..." – a declaration that echoed from the cathedral spires to the humblest hamlets.
Continuity became a key factor in the widespread acceptance of this dating system. Once established, a calendar gains a momentum of its own, becoming part of the cultural fabric. Picture trying to introduce a new calendar at your office – chaos would ensue, akin to trying to herd a dozen of cats. Now magnify that challenge on a societal scale, where every institution, from the Church to the royal court, adheres to a shared temporal structure.
Lack of alternatives also played a role. In the bustling marketplace of ideas, the AD system faced little competition. Other proposals might have been complex, impractical, or lacked the backing of influential institutions. It's like being the only vendor selling umbrellas during a rainstorm – you've got the market cornered.
And finally, cultural and historical momentum sealed the deal. Once a society invests centuries in a particular temporal framework, changing it becomes akin to altering the course of a mighty river. The AD system became deeply ingrained in the cultural identity, intertwined with the tapestry of history.
Today we're still living in the shadow of a monk's ink-stained quill, the AD/CE system is used internationally and is the de facto standard for dating historical events, even in non-Christian contexts, due to historical continuity and practicality. But hold onto your historical hats – it's not the only calendar in town. Other calendars, like the Islamic Hijri and Jewish calendars, still get their time in the celestial spotlight, showing that the world of timekeeping is as diverse as a medieval marketplace.
Right now, it all seems as straightforward as teaching a goldfish to do algebra, but let's wind the clock back to the 6th century, when our monk and the Church decided to give time a makeover. I found myself pondering, what kind of calendars were swaying to the rhythm of historical events before this celestial revamp? I had a vague notion about the Roman calendar – you know, the one that made Julius Caesar's scheduling decisions seem like child's play. But alas, the details had taken a detour through the foggy alleys of my memory.
As I delved into the archives of antiquity, it became clear that the original Roman calendar was yet another perplexing puzzle that would make even a seasoned historian break a sweat. The Romans, in their infinite wisdom, didn't bother with sequential numbering for years. No, no, that would be too mundane. Instead, they opted for the ancient version of namedropping – citing specific consuls or notable events in a given year. It's like saying, "Ah yes, that happened in the year of Caesar's fabulous toga party."
And so, with these ancient 'events' swirling in the cauldron of history, I bring the curtain down on the first act of this historical drama. But fear not, for the sequel promises even more intrigue, and maybe a touch of comedic relief. Join me in the next installment as we embark on a journey through ancient calendars, waltz through medieval timekeeping, and pirouette into the dawn of watchmaking. Our destination? One of my favorite towns – Nuremberg. Get ready for a historical rollercoaster, my friends!
