What Day Is It?

Last week a friend of mine pointed out that Rosh Hashanah comes early this year. She went on to bemoan the fact that the first day of Hanukkah falls on the day before Thanksgiving*: a result of the disjunction between a lunar and solar calendar over the long haul.**

The discussion reminded me of a topic that I've been wanted to talk about here for a long time--calendars and history.

Dates and calendars can be a vexatious issue for the historian, unless you write exclusively about the Western world post-1800. For the rest of us, there is always a question of just what calendar was/is in use. Here are a few examples of how a calendar can give a historian a headache :

1. The Gregorian calendar, also known as the Western calendar or the Christian calendar, is the international standard today.*** It was first introduced in 1582 in Italy, Poland, Portugal and Spain--replacing the earlier, less accurate Julian calendar. (itself an effort to reform the Greek and Roman calendar.) In order to make the calendar line up with the seasons, the powers that be dropped ten days in October, 1582. **** Not everyone went along with the change--either because they disagreed or because the lack of mass media as we know it meant they didn't hear about it. To add to the confusion, it took time for other Western countries to make the change: Great Britain and its American colonies didn't accept the Gregorian reform until September, 1752. By then the difference between the Julian and Gregorian systems had increased: the British lost eleven days instead of ten with the change, giving new meaning to the phrase you snooze, you lose. Once again, sticks in the mud and those living in the sticks took a while to catch up. Assuming that everyone made the switch within ten years, there is a period of roughly 180 years when a historian can't be sure if the date on a document is under the Julian or Gregorian system. Most of the time it doesn't matter whether something happened on December 1 or ten days earlier; sometimes it does.

2. The Mayan calendar got a lot of press in 2012. But the Mayans weren't the only culture to have their own calendar outside the Roman/Christian calendrical system. Every culture from Babylon on had its own calendar. Some were based on solar cycles. Some were based on lunar cycles. Some on a complicated combination of the two. More important from the historian's point of view, each calendrical system needs a way to count the passage of years. Most count from an initial epoch tied to a historical or legendary event.***** A few count years in cycles. Others don't count years at all, but name each year after an event that characterizes the year. In order to know what year an event happened in the modern calendar system, we have to know how the system in question relates to ours. Building the calendar of a different time and place from inscriptions, coins and documents is a painstaking process; finding a moment at which it connects to our own requires luck as well as skill.

3. The past isn't the only place to have a different calendar. Just because the Gregorian calendar is the international standard doesn't mean that it's the only one people are still using. Roughly 40 calendar systems are in use around the world today. The lunisolar Hebrew calendar is not only the liturgical calendar of Judaism, but the official calendar of Israel. The purely lunar Islamic calendar does not track with the seasons and dates from the Prophet's flight to Mecca--2013 CE is 1434 in the Islamic calendar. The Republic of India had its own calendar reform in 1952, trying to find a common ground between the 30 some Hindu calendars then in use. The Indian National Calendar is a twelve month cycle that does not match the months of the Gregorian calendar and is counted from the Saka era, a traditional epoch of Indian chronology. It's 2013 in Chicago, but it's 1935 in New Delhi. ****** Then there's the Chinese calendar, the Buddhist calendar…..

In short, calendars are cultural constructs derived from human observation of the natural world--not an immovable natural fact.

What day is it? It depends.

*Or at least speculated about the impact on retailers.

**I'm not going to try to explain how this works, but over time the difference between 12 solar months and 12 lunar months adds up. Instead of adding a leap day every four years, the Jewish calendar adds an extra month seven times over the course of a nineteen year cycle. This is necessary to keep the calendar in line with the seasons.

***Another by-product of Western imperialism

****Think about how much people complain about losing one hour when Daylight Savings Time goes into effect in the spring. Imagine the complaints about the loss of Ten Whole Days.

***** The Gregorian calendar counts from the birth of Christ--or at least from an inaccurate calculation of the birth of Christ by sixth century scholar Dionysius Exiguus, who did the best he could with the information he had. Johannes Kepler later corrected the date to what is now 4BCE. Did I mention that dates and calendars are vexatious things?

******Though not everywhere in India. Some regions still use other calendars. Calendar reform? What reform?

Word With A Past: Parchment

For hundreds of years papyrus was the principal material on which books (or at least hand-copied scrolls) were written. Since it could only be made from the pith of freshly harvested papyrus reeds, native to the Nile valley, Egypt had a monopoly on the product--and a potential monopoly on the written word.

In the second century BCE, the kingdoms of Egypt and Pergamum* got into an academic arms race.

The library at Alexandria had been an intellectual power house since it was founded by King Ptolemy I Soter in 295 BCE. Ptolemy set out to collect copies of all the books in the inhabited world. He sent agents to search for manuscripts in the great cities of the known world. Foreign ships that sailed into Alexandria were searched for scrolls, which were confiscated and copied.**

Thirty years later, King Eumenes of Pergamum founded a rival library in his capital. Both kingdoms were wealthy and the two libraries competed for sensational finds.

In 197 BCE, King Ptolemy V Epiphanies took the rivalry to a new level by putting an embargo on papyrus shipments to Pergamum. The idea was that without papyrus, scholars in Pergamum could not make scrolls and therefore could not copy manuscripts. The Pergamum library would be crippled.

In response, Pergamum turned to a more expensive, but more durable, material made from the skin of sheep and goats. We know it as parchment, from the medieval Latin phrase for "from Pergamum".

Librarians are a resourceful lot.

* "Where?" you ask. Here:

As you can see, not a small place.
** Alexandria kept the originals*** and gave the owners the copies. Piracy of intellectual property is not new.
*** According to Galen, they were catalogued under a special heading: "books of the ships".

The Profligate Son

From Jane Austen's Wickham through Charles Dicken's array of extravagant cads to the latest Regency romance, the dissipated wastrel who throws away his family fortune, or at least his good name, is a familiar character to anyone who reads novels written (or set) in Britain in the first half of the nineteenth century. They drink, whore, gamble, lie, cheat, and steal. Some attempt to marry--or kidnap--heiresses. Some attempt to push the rightful heir out of the family fortune. A desperate few take to the High Toby.* When they fail, as they generally do, some flee to the Continent. Others are shipped off to the colonies, either by weary families or the legal system. A few reform.**

Fictional black sheep are fascinating, but they often left me wondering whether anyone ever really acted that way. According to historian Nicola Phillips, the answer is yes. In The Profligate Son or, A True Story of Family Conflict, Fashionable Vice, & Financial Ruin in Regency England, she tells the story of a real-life Regency wastrel, tracing his downfall in agonizing detail. His story is as gripping, and more tragic, as that of any of his fictional counterparts.The only thing missing is the highway robbery.

William Jackson, born in 1791 at the height of Georgian excess, was the son of a successful East India Company merchant. He had every advantage that a child of the merchant classes could ask for--and wasted them with an abandon that equalled that of any fictional ne'er-do-well. At the age of fifteen, he revolted against the increasingly spartan boarding schools in which his father placed him and set out on the path that would lead to his transportation to Australia at the age of twenty for forgery. Phillips leads her reader through the seedy world of London brothels, alehouses and debtors prison*** to the cramped hold of a convict transport and the slums of colonial Sydney. Jackson died in Australia at the age of thirty-seven, a penniless alcoholic survived by his mother, a widow, two young children,and his creditors. The effects of his profligacy lived on after his death in a Chancery Court suit over his inheritance that tied up his family's assets for years--a twist that will be familiar to readers of Bleak House.

The story is fascinating, though it is ultimately hard to feel much sympathy for Jackson, who repeatedly chooses to transgress. Be warned, once you've read The Profligate Son, Recency wastrels will never look dashing again.

* Highway robbery on horseback for those of you who don't hang out in Georgian England.

** Reform is more common in modern novels set in the period than in novels written in the period. Nineteenth century writers liked their sinners to suffer. Even Dickens' Sidney Carton reforms only on his way to the guillotine: "It's a far, far better thing that I do than I have ever done…."

***With a side trip to a bookstore, where Jackson and a friend worked a shady scheme for getting erotic books on credit.