Michaelmas

Michaelmas (Michael's Mass) honors St. Michael the Archangel. He is credited with defeating Lucifer during the war in Heaven that led to angels being cast down into Hell. A basilica dedicated to him was built near Rome and completed on 30 September in the 5th century. Celebrations in honor of that day began on the eve, and so 29 September is now Michaelmas. It is also known as Feast of Saints Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael; also as the Feast of the Archangels; also as the Feast of Saint Michael and All Angels.

It was a Holy Day of Obligation until the 18th century, but it is still noted and celebrated. Because it comes shortly after the autumn equinox it is associated with the start of fall. It became the day when a reeve was chosen on a manor to oversee the peasants. In Ireland it was the day rent was due.

Certain foods became associated with Michaelmas, especially because of a legend of St. Patrick. Supposedly, Patrick brought back to life the son of an Irish king who had choked on a goose bone during dinner. The king ordered that a goose be cooked annually in honor of the saint's feat. Starting in the time of Edward IV (1442 - 1483), geese were presented to the landlord by his tenants. Michaelmas was also a day for sheep to be slaughtered and "St. Michael's portion" given to the poor.

Traditionally, Michaelmas was the last day to pick blackberries, after which they were inedible. The legend behind this was that Lucifer, when cast down by Michael, landed in a blackberry bush whose prickles hurt him, so he cursed it to be inedible. Blackberries picked prior to 29 September are fine.

In this post I referred to the date of Michaelmas being different. Because of the correction in the Julian to the Gregorian Calendar. "Old Michaelmas Day" falls on 10 October.

For my next post: you may have heard some version of the phrase "Kill them all and let God sort it out." The man first credited with expressing that idea died on Michaelmas Day in 1225. I'll tell you about an early proponent of mass murder tomorrow.

The Tridentine Calendar

The term "Tridentine" refers to the Council of Trent (1545 through 1563), the 19th ecumenical council of the Roman Catholic Church convened in response to the Protestant Reformation. 

Among other things, Trent determined the liturgical calendar (see illustration). Part of this process involved establishing definitive feast days for saints, which may not be altered or added to except by the pope.

In the process, it was necessary to decide definitively which saints deserved feast days or other types of mention. Pope Pius V (ruled 1566 to 1572) removed some names he considered insignificant, such as St. Elizabeth of Hungary (mentioned here) and St. Anthony of Padua (mentioned here). How to determine of saints were worthy of inclusion in the liturgical year, with their names to be specifically mentioned at Mass, was to rank them. The 13th century created a ranking system of Double, Semidouble, and Simple. Pope Clement VIII created the rank of Major Double in 1602. Over the centuries, popes added or subtracted (mostly added) saints' rankings to the calendar. What do these terms signify about the saint in question?

As it happens, we do not know why the word "double" is used; it may have to do with the antiphon (a chant used as a refrain) were doubled before and after the psalms. Another theory is that in Rome before the 9th century it was customary to have two sets of Matins (prayers at dawn) on major feast days. Whatever the origin, the importance of a saint's feast day could be designated (in ascending order) as Simple, Semidouble, and Double; the Double rank included further strata (in ascending order) of Double, Greater/major Double, Double of the II Class, Double of the I Class.

With "semantic satiation" occurring by now, and the word "double" looking and sounding strange to the reader, we have to ask "Why?" What need was satisfied by ranking saints' days?

Well, a saint's feast day had its own liturgy, unique from the ordinary Sunday Mass. If a saint's day feel on Sunday, which Mass do you celebrate? Easter had a special Mass; what do you do if Easter Sunday happens to fall on 17 April, the Feast Day of the 2nd century Pope Anicetus? Sure, he fought against Gnosticism and was (supposedly) martyred—and already has more than one mention in this blog—but is he worth more than Easter? Well, his rank is Simple, so no, Easter liturgy takes precedence. (Actually, Easter takes precedence over every saint; I just wanted an example of a floating holiday.) This overlapping of important days was called an "occurrence"; the lower-ranking day could be referred to as a "commemoration" during the liturgy of the higher-ranking day.

On an ordinary weekday, the priest celebrating Mass can choose to use a liturgy of his choice: either a normal "votive Mass" or Mass for the dead (if a funeral was needed), or he could choose the liturgy for martyrs Cosmas and Damian on 27 September.

There were so many changes to this system that going into more detail would require listing all the revisions over the years, so we will just jump to the later 20th century. Pope Pius XII in 1955 abolished the Semidouble rank, turning them all to Simples (making the choice of which liturgy to perform easier), and reduced all Simples to Commemorations (so no liturgy, just an "honorable mention" during Mass if desired). Pope Paul VI in 1969 further simplified the liturgical choices, eliminating Commemorations and reforming other ranks to Solemnities (truly important days involving the Trinity, or Jesus, Mary, Joseph, or VIP saints; these days include a Vigil), Feasts (pretty much just the Nativity and the Resurrection), and Memorials, most of which were optional.

Thousands of men and women were designated saints in the first 1400 years of Christianity, and at least one dog. Recent centuries trimmed down that list, recognizing that many were likelynot real people, but simply anecdotes intended to teach a moral lesson.

Except the dog; that one happened. You probably want that one explained.

Why January 1?

It seems obvious to Westerners that the new year should start on the first of January, which we then named New Year's Day. This is fairly arbitrary, however. If it is truly a "new year" why do we start it in the middle of winter? Why not in Spring when things truly seem "new"? Or, if you like another astronomical reason, why not after the winter solstice (usually 21-22 December) after which nights shorten and more light returns to our waking day?

The Romans named the first month starting after the winter solstice after Janus, the god of doorways, and therefore of openings and beginnings. His two-headed demeanor was appropriate for looking back at the old year and forward to the new. Roman consuls chose 1 January as the start of their term in office as of 153 BCE.

Not everyone was attached to the January date, however. The Babylonians celebrated their new year on the first new moon following the vernal equinox (the date on which night and day are of equal length in Spring). In Egypt, the new year started with the annual flooding of the Nile in Spring.

Christians in medieval Europe frequently used dates of religious significance, celebrating Christmas, or 25 March (the Feast of the Annunciation), which also coincided with the return of Spring, since it would have been shortly after the vernal equinox. It was Pope Gregory XIII who reestablished our modern New Year's Day in 1582, when he reformed the calendar.

Of course, we don't celebrate the start of the new year so much as we celebrate the end of the old year. Celebrations begin in the waning hours of the old year, on the final day of December, extend briefly into the hours of the new year, and then the celebrants usually fall asleep and spend the 1st of January recovering!

Aprille

It is the first of April, and while you might expect something about pulling pranks and acting the fool, instead we are going to talk about...April. Chaucer's most famous poem starts with a mention of April and its sweet showers, but did he know what "April" meant?

April lovers from the Margaret de Foix Book of Hours

We are not sure why it is called April, from the Latin Aprilis. The Greeks call this month άνοιξη [ánoixé], which means "opening." This is because April is traditionally when the earth starts to renew itself and flowers and buds begin to open. Based on this, April might come from Latin aperture, "to open," from which we get words like aperture.

On the other hand, since the Romans liked to name their months for practical reasons, either after gods (January) or Caesars (July and August) or simply numerically (September, October, etc.), maybe we should see if April fits the pattern. Perhaps Aprilis was actually Aphrilis, as in Aphrodite, the Greek name of Venus. After all, Venus had a festival, the Veneralia, held on 1 April, in honor of Venus Verticordia ["Venus the Changer of Hearts"].

Maybe the Middle Ages knew of this origin, since illustrated calendars and books of hours often had pairs of lovers to represent April, as we see above. (To be honest, this was a later medieval trend; earlier, April just had someone holding a green branch to show life coming back to Nature.)

The Anglo-Saxons called it ēastre-monaþ; we don't know why. Bede tells us that it was named for a goddess, Eostre, and that this is why the Anglo-Saxons called the Resurrection "Easter." Einhard says the same, but he probably got it from Bede.

The Leap Saint

Following on the heels of yesterday's discussion of Leap Day, I thought we should give some attention to the poor saint whose feast day happened to fall on a day that only appeared in the calendar every four years.

Matthias, from the workshop of the
Italian painter Simone Martini (c.1284-1344)

St. Matthias was not a medieval saint. He was one of the Apostles, and is thought to have died in 80 CE. That is the only quantitative piece of data that is agreed upon. He died in either Jerusalem or Judea or Colchis. Chosen by lot to replace Judas, he was called either Matthias (Acts 1:24-25) or Zacchaeus (by Clement of Alexandria), or Tolmai (by Eusebius), or Barnabas (by literature ascribed to Pope Clement I); and a 19th century German scholar thinks he is the Nathanael in the Gospel of John.

One thing that is not in dispute, however, is that his feast day was 24 February. To modern readers, that does not ring any bells. In the Classical Era and the Middle Ages, however, this put him in an unusual spot in the calendar: Leap Day.

That's right: Leap Day used to be 24 February, which you can read about here. The unusual thing about 24 February being the extra day in a Leap Year wasn't so much that it was not placed at the end of the month, but that—it being an "extra" day of the year—it was treated as a "bonus" and was simply repeated; that is, 24 February appeared twice in a row in Leap Years.

Does that mean that the feast day of St. Matthias was celebrated twice? Yes. The Smithfield Decretals, an expansive book on ecclesiastical law, explains:

A standard solar year has 365 days and six hours, so in four years’ time these hours make 24 extra hours, which must be added as a new day to every fourth year. This additional day is what we call “double-sixth-day”, because, although it is counted as an addition, it stands under the same number as the previous day in the calendar, so that the two days are regarded as one and the same. The extra day is inserted in the calendar after 24 February (six days before the first day of March) so that we celebrate the memory of St Matthias the Apostle (24 February) on the next day, too. [link]

Lucky Matthias! Little is known about him, but he gets to be venerated two days in a row! Well, not anymore. The Church of England has kept him at 24 February, but in 1969 the Roman Catholic Calendar moved him to 14 May so that he could be celebrated outside of Lent and on a post-Easter day that would be closer to what would have been the day of his choosing.

The Leap Day That Wasn't

Bernard of Botone (d.1266) gloss on Leap Day

Most of you know that Julius Caesar in the 1st century BCE wanted to fix the fact that solstices and equinoxes were "sliding" from their original locations in the calendar, due to the fact that Earth's orbit around the Sun did not take place in an even 365 days. The extra six hours meant that, every four years, the calendar was "off" by an entire day. "Everyone knows" that the extra day was added to the end of February, creating February 29th every four years.

Except it wasn't.

Truth is, it just wasn't that simple. The standard Roman year at the time of Julius was 355 days. A "intercalary month" was added every three years or so to even things out and restore some normalcy to the spacing of festivals. The new year started on 1 March, and so the "extra month," which was called Mercedonius, was inserted prior to 1 March.

But that would throw things off even more—adding that month made those years 377-8 days long. So that the year would not get too long, they shortened February to just a little over three weeks. A year that needed Mercedonius had a February that ended on the 23rd. Why the 23rd? because that was Terminalia, the festival of Terminus, god of boundaries, and therefore a fitting end to the month.

Julius realized that this was a mess of overcorrecting for the astronomical inequality, and so he demanded that his scholars figure out what the calendar needed. They shifted some months, rewarded him for his wisdom by naming the seventh month after him, and told him the calendar could be kept stable by adding a single day every 4th year.

But where to add it?

Well, since inserting a correction in February was already a common practice, why not there? Excellent! So it was added—right after the day after Terminalia. There was no interest, however, in giving this new day its own identity—after all, it was only going to be around every four years, so who would count on it? Therefore, instead of calling it 24 February, they called it bis septum [Latin: "twice sixth"] because 24 February would have been the sixth day before the Kalends of March, so they would simply have 24th February repeated.

Therefore, even after the Leap Day was introduced into February, there was no 29 February until the Middle Ages, with the widespread European adoption of a sequential system of numbering, rather than counting forward and backward from the Ides and Kalends of the Roman system.

The "First Christmas"

We have looked at some of the possible reasons for dating Christ's birth to December 25th, but how early was that dating settled upon?

Month of December; the figure is playing
dice on a table, which was only allowed
during festivals.

Eastern churches (especially Egypt) liked to celebrate on 6 January, but usually because that was the day of the Epiphany, when the Magi showed up and acknowledged the baby's special significance. The church at Constantinople accepted 25 December for the Nativity in 379, and Antioch followed in 386. Alexandria and the rest of Egypt accepted the December date in 431.

The official choice of date did not come before the  practice of celebrating it, however. There is a document called the Chronography of 354 that offers a clue. The Chronography was made for a wealthy Roman, Valentines, by one of the best-known scribes of the day, Furius Dionysius Filocalus (for that reason, copies of the manuscript through the ages have sometimes been called the Calendar of Filocalus).

The Chronography is an illustrated calendar and almanac in several parts. Its 16 sections contain, among other bits of information, pictures of cities, pictures and important dates of emperors, the planets and the zodiac, calculated dates for Easter from 312 to 411 CE, and an error-prone catalogue of early popes.

Section six is a straightforward calendar, with each month and day listed, along with their important events.  Here is listed, on 25 December, "N INVICTI"; it stands for Dies Natalis Solis Invictus, the "Day of Birth of the Unconquered Sun," a reference to Mithras. (Note: The Saturnalia festival is, of course, mentioned, but that ran from the 17th to 23rd, so early persecuted Christians using it to mask Christmas, when Christmas was listed as the 25th, seems like a hypothesis that has outlived its usefulness.)

Section 12 is what interests us. It is a list of the feast days of martyrs. The very first entry is:

VIII kal. Ian. natus Christus in Betleem Iudeae

This means "On the 8th Kalends of January, birth of Christ in Bethlehem of Judea"

The 8th Kalends of January is 25 December. So a generation before the early churches started declaring 25 December  the day of Christ's birth, it was already being celebrated as such by Christians.

Sol Invictus

Was December 25th the default date for Christmas because of a Roman Saturnalia or because of deliberate copying with Mithraism?

Connected with the Winter Solstice was Mithraism, an early competitor to Christianity. Mithras, a favorite of Roman soldiers, was connected to the Sun, which, because it returned every December 25th, was called Sol Invictus [Latin: "Unconquered Sun"]. Mithras' was celebrated on December 25th, called Dies Natalis Solis Invictus [Latin: "Birthday of the Unconquered Sun"].

Mithras being born from
a rock, 2nd century

The first few centuries of the Common Era debated over the divinity of Christ and the extent to which Christ was God and/or human. By the 4th century, the divinity had been largely agreed upon, but since Christ became human, it was important to pick a date of birth. December 25th was settled upon.

A persistent idea that the iconography of Christ was based on Mithras is interesting, but inconsistent, as the picture here suggests. True, both religions involved a communal meal (Mass, the Last Supper), and a sacrifice, but Christ was not said to be born from a rock bearing a sword and torch, nor did he perform Mithras' other great feat, killing a bull.

And association of Christianity with the Sun did not require "imitation" of Mithraism. After all, Constantine converted when he saw the sign of the Cross over the Sun at Milvian Bridge, and the book of Malachi mentions the "sun of righteousness," associated with Jesus. Early churches were oriented toward the Sun, and some early Christian graves in the Roman catacombs have sun imagery on them, from before the Church settled on the Winter Solstice-related date for the Nativity.

One theory says that the persecuted Christians celebrated on the 25th to conceal their subversive worshipping among the pagan Roman festivities. By the time the 25th of December had been chosen by Christianity, however, Constantine had made Christianity an official religion in the Roman Empire. Also,

...while the winter solstice on or around December 25 was well established in the Roman imperial calendar, there is no evidence that a religious celebration of Sol on that day antedated the celebration of Christmas. [S.E.Hijmans, The Sun in the Art and Religions of Rome]

Also, the Feast of the Annunciation, when the angel told Mary that she had conceived, is on March 25th. (Note: March 25th for many cultures was the start of the New Year, since it marks the point after the Vernal Equinox when days become longer than nights.) Putting the birth of Christ nine months after the Annunciation just made sense, a theory accepted by the Church of England Liturgical Commission.

So how early was Christmas celebrated on December 25th? Tomorrow we will look at the earliest known reference.

Sun Stands Still

Sunrise on the Winter Solstice at Stonehenge

Sol stitium [Latin: "sun standing still"] is the origin of the Modern English solstice. It describes the day when the sun—which during the course of the year changes the position on the horizon where it rises and sets—seems to "stand still" because its forward movement seems not to have changed from the previous day. In the days to follow, its course seems to reverse, and whereas it seemed to rise (or set) further and further south (or north) each day, it now seems to be coming back.

To early peoples, who (in the Northern Hemisphere) noticed the days getting shorter as the sun moved south on the horizon, it was good to know that the trend would reverse and the days would get longer again. They did not know that the reason was the tilt of the Earth's axis and the fact that it was pointed away from the Sun. All they knew was that the nights got longer.

Memory told them that the same thing happened last year, and the Sun always paused for a day, and then returned. To the naked eye, it was not always easy to be certain that the Sun was returning and the days were lengthening; four days was a sufficient span to be certain. Therefore, although the 21st of the month (by the reckoning of people who used the ancestor of our current calendar) was the Solstice, it was the 25th of the month that was celebrated as a certainty of the return of the Sun.

Some cultures designed ways to be certain that they had reached the "darkest part" of the year. The arrangement of rocks on Salisbury Plain that we call Stonehenge was apparently designed (among other reasons) to mark the Solstice.

The day that they were certain the Sun was "returning" was a time for feasting. With winter established, livestock were slaughtered because they could not be easily fed during the next few months; fresh meat was now plentiful and it was a time for a mid-winter feast before hunkering down to wait out the harsh cold months until planting should begin.

500

This is the 500th post on the Daily Medieval blog. In its honor, let us look at the year 500 CE and how it overlaps some of the previous 499  posts.

500 was a leap year. January 1st was a Saturday. July 4th was a Tuesday.

It was the birth year of Gildas, a monk, who wrote the De Excidio et Conquestu Britanniae ["On the Ruin & Conquest of Britain"], a chief source of history for early Britain, although much is called into question. A life of St. Gildas written later by a friend of Geoffrey of Monmouth makes Gildas out to be a contemporary of King Arthur, and yet Gildas never mentions him. He does mention the Battle of Mount Badon, for which 500 is a possible date.

It is the year that Clovis I pursues King Gundobad of the Burgundians after a military engagement, forcing him to pay annual tribute.

It is the approximate date of the formation of the Kingdom of the Franks, that reached a high point a few centuries later with the family of Charles Martel.

It is the approximate birthdate of Aregund, whose jewelry provided an impressive grave excavation.

It is the birthdate of the Byzantine historian Procopius, from whom we learn how the West got the secret of silk from Nestorian monks.

500 was, of course, only the year according to the Julian calendar.
For the Romans, it was 1253 Abs urbis condita ["from the city's founding"].
Jews considered it the year 4260-61.
The Byzantines numbered years from the founding of the world, 5509 years before Christ, so to them it was 6008-09 (the year started on 1 September).

Thanks for reading!

Dating

Month of May from
British Library MS Harley 2332

I don't mean locating a mate, but the practice of locating a particular event somewhere in time. (And I don't refer to Phantom Time.) The Middle Ages kept records, and used dates for events, but interpreting those dates in a modern context can be tricky. The difficulty is not that they didn't have a calendar; it's that they had too many! Trying to understand dating conventions in medieval documents can be a chore because of the several methods that were in use.

DailyMedieval has already addressed one piece of the dating confusion: the shift from the Julian to Gregorian calendars, when correcting the calendar year to match the astronomical calendar required dropping 10 days from October of 1582 in Italy, Poland, Spain, and Portugal (other countries followed suit later).

Dates could be recorded in other ways that make life difficult for modern historians.

The calendar year began on 1 January, but for several centuries in England the civil and ecclesiastical year began on 25 March. (Four days after the spring equinox on 21 March was long enough for the naked eye to be certain that days were growing longer than nights.) So Chaucer could celebrate 1 January 1360 at home, but the Exchequer records would call it 1 January 1359; as far as the Exchequer was concerned, 1359 didn't end until 24 March.

Regnal years were the practice of starting a calendar with the coronation of the king. Henry VIII came to the throne on 22 August 1485. Therefore, events and records dated in "1 Henry VIII" took place from 22 August 1485 until 21 August 1486.

Things weren't always that simple, though. Events could be described in official documents by their relationship to known anniversaries, such as saints' feast days. "Five days after Michaelmas" (29 September) would be 4 November. Of course, one of the major ecclesiastical feast days around which events revolved was easter, but Easter was a movable date, and so altered each year.

These issues and more make translating dates found in medieval documents tricky.

Happy Birthday, Son

[source]

In the Middle Ages, birthdays were not usually marked by the common people. They didn't keep calendars on the kitchen wall. Most people had some idea of when they were born, but "early May in the third year of King So-and-so's reign" was a common way of determining age.

Nobility were more likely to keep track of birth dates.

Bernard Plantapilosa was mentioned briefly once, as the brother of William of Septimania; their mother, Dhuoda, wrote a book of advice for her sons, the Liber Manualis. William did not do so well in his life; Bernard, as well, did not have a stellar career.

Even Bernard's nickname refers to appearance rather than actions. We don't know when he first earned the nickname Plantapilosa, which comes from Old Aquitainian and means "Hairy appearance," but it stuck.

While he was Margrave of Septimania, he married and had a son, William. William had a more distinguished career than his father, but that's not why I mention him. He was born on 22 March 875.

Did the Middle Ages think it interesting to have father and son sharing a birthday? Did they take note of coincidences the same way we do? Is there a good reason for both men to be born on the same date? Is there some significance that the birthdays are on the Vernal Equinox? Nine months prior to the vernal equinox is the summer solstice. In 9th century Francia, did christians still see June 24th, Midsummer's Day, as a time for celebrations?

Old New Year

Clearly, Old New Year is still a big deal!

Happy New Year!

Today, 14 January,* is the "original" New Year's Day in the Julian calendar at the time that the Gregorian calendar was devised to replace it. (This switch was discussed in several places, most notably here and here.) As can be expected, not everyone adopted the new calendar system right away. Some hung onto the Julian calendar for a long time; in fact, it wasn't until 24 January 1918 that Lenin made the Gregorian calendar the law of the land in Russia.

By the early 20th century, the Julian and Gregorian calendars were separated by two weeks (not the 7 days that were the case centuries earlier in the time of Gervase of Canterbury, or even the 10 days that were the case in the 16th century when a whole chunk of October disappeared from European countries).

It turns out that Lenin did not actually change New Year's Day in Russia so much as he created a second one. In Russia it is the Old New Year, a day of nostalgia and feasting. In the Eastern Orthodox liturgy, it is the Leave-taking of the Christmas season: the final "wrap-up" of Christmas.

The Old New Year is still remembered in Serbia, Georgia, Bosnia-Herzegovina and Ukraine. It is celebrated in Wales as Hen Galan ["old new year"] (at least in Gwaun Valley in Pembrokeshire) when children receive sweet treats and sing carols. Likewise, some parts of Switzerland keep up the old tradition of Alter Sylvester, described and illustrated here.

Thanks to the refusal of protestant countries to change their dating systems based on a Roman Catholic idea, some very old customs have survived into modern times.

*Sometimes Old New Year is the 13th.

Changing the Year

[Notate bene: this post is based on one that originally appeared on 30 June 2012.]

Pope Paul III, as played by
Peter O'Toole in "The Tudors"

In 2012, June 30th had one extra second added to it. This is only the latest in a long list of calendar corrections. We'll avoid the modern arguments about what actually constitutes a "year" (a problem resolved by designer of the Jalali calendar) and go back to a simpler time.

Readers of this blog are probably familiar with the pope's work to "fix" the calendar when he realized that the Julian calendar was "off" by several days. Sure, the Julian took into account that a "year" is actually 365 and a quarter days, but it wasn't exactly a quarter-day off, and so adding a day every four years wasn't sufficient to even things out. Every 131 years, the solstices and equinoxes would be off by a day. This was a real problem for the Church, because over the centuries Easter started shifting to summer, rather than spring.

Pope Paul III (1468-1549) saw the problem and gathered several astronomers to develop reforms.* Then Paul III died, five popes came and went, and in 1572 Pope Gregory XIII was elected and found himself faced with a growing problem and several possible solutions. He mulled it over for a few years, and then declared to the world:

• The Leap Day would move to after February 28 (it had been tucked in before February 25).
• The date of Easter would be calculated differently.
• A Leap Year that is divisible by 400 will not have a Leap Day.
• Ten days needed to be omitted from the calendar, to bring it back into alignment with the solstices. Accordingly, in 1582, the day after Thursday, October the 4th, was Friday the 15th....and then everything was fine. Except when it isn't, like when we have to add an extra second here or there. (And can you imagine trying to explain to someone 1000 years ago that the year gained about 45 seconds every 10 millennia because the Earth's rotation was slowing?)

The 1582 change gave rise to a slight oddity for historians, because technically, every date prior to October 4th, 1582 is a Julian date, but also has a corresponding Gregorian date that is several days different. How you count it depends on whether you consider the date to be just a label given by those who were there at the time, or a certain number of days prior to the present day. Or it's important if you want to declare the anniversary of an event.

Anyway, the extra second was added just before midnight. You may not have noticed it, but you can say you lived at a time when a minute was 61 seconds long!

*Copernicus had dedicated his work De revolutionibus orbium coelestium [On the Revolutions of the Celestial Spheres] to Pope Paul III, hoping it would save him from potential hostility for his radical thoughts. Had Paul called him, Copernicus probably would have come running to join the team of calendar reformers; alas, he had died in 1542.

The Date of Christmas

Way back here we mentioned Pope Liberius, sent into exile by Constantius II because he wouldn't censure St. Athanasius for condemning Arianism (Constantius was an Arian). Liberius went to Beroea (modern Véroia in northern Greece), and Felix II became (an anti-)pope.

Liberius' fourteen-year papacy (352 - 366) is usually mentioned in relation to the Arian controversy and his replacement by Felix. But he is given credit for at least one other decision that has endured to modern times: the date of Christmas. The topic of the pagan date of Christmas gets mentioned every year in media, but the details are never revealed. Here they are.

It was clear, according to the mention of shepherds in the Gospel of Luke, that the birth likely happened in springtime. That didn't mean the birth had to be celebrated then; the Church could afford to be pragmatic about that, in its own way. By the 3rd century, Christians were already celebrating January 6th as the day when Jesus was revealed as divine, the Feast of the Epiphany. We now turn to one scholar:

About the beginning of the third century there arose in the Western countries a new opinion on the person of the Saviour. He was now held to have been a God from birth, His Father having been God Himself. [...] Within little more than a century that new dogma conquered the countries round the Mediterranean, [...] In the face of that view it could scarcely any longer appear proper to celebrate the memory of the deification of Christ in the festival of Epiphany on January 6. [Yule and Christmas: their place in the Germanic year, by Alexander Tille, p.120]

In 354, Liberius celebrated not only January 6 as "the appearance of Christ in God-like glory," but also he enforced December 25 as the actual birth, to reinforce the idea that Jesus was God from birth, not deified 12 days later. (And there's a bonus explanation: the 12 days of Christmas exist because of the dual celebrations from 25 December to 6 January.)

Liberius could not have been unaware of the long-term affects of this positioning. He knew that he was appropriating a day that was important to the Roman calendar: the old Dies Natalis Solis Invicti ["Day of Birth of the Unconquered Sun"]. By taking over that celebration he would eventually replace the Roman pagan festival with the Roman Christian one. I say "Roman" Christian because, in the Eastern Church the date of the Epiphany remained the primary date to celebrate.

The Jalāli Calendar

Syrian Astrolabe

Yesterday I mentioned that Omar Khayyam spent some of his time working on calendar reform. This was not the same calendar reform being done in the Christian world, however. The Persian calendar was—and still is—far more accurate than the Gregorian calendar.

Originally, the Persian calendar was lunar, following the 28-day cycle of the Moon. Since the year does not fit into an equal number of lunar cycles, however, the lunar calendar creates "seasonal drift" without a lot of alterations. This calendar was begun over 1000 years BCE. Khayyam was one of several scholars using astronomical observations to create a revised version. It was approved on 15 March 1079 by the Seljuk Sultan, Malik Shah I.

Khayyam and his team calculated the length of the year to be 365.24219858156 days; modern science puts it at 365.2422464 days. Some aspects of the new calendar:

• The year started within a day of March 21st, the vernal equinox
• Months were based on when the sun transited to a new sign of the zodiac, not 12:00AM
• Months could last from 29-32 days, and
• Months could change their length from year to year

That 4th point is because of the 2nd point. Months weren't given arbitrary numbers of days as in the West. The Jalāli calendar depended on strict astronomical data, not cultural numerical choices. Therefore, the 6th month of the year might have 30 days one year and 31 days the next, depending on when the sun passed across the line in the sky that separated the zodiacal signs. It also means that seasonal drift—the tendency of seasons to start and end on widely varying dates over time—never exceeded one day. Leap years were unnecessary.

Eventually, the varying length of the months was considered a liability. The calendar—still used in Iran and Afghanistan—was changed in 1925 in order to have a more regular look and to save the hassle of applying the results of constant astronomical observation.

The New Year

Tying the start of a year to the season of spring makes perfect sense in agrarian cultures. The Romans started their year in spring for a long time, seeing March 25th as a logical "New Year's Day" because the days were clearly getting longer after that date.

The reason why they (and we) use the 25th of certain months instead of the 21st (when astronomically significant events like solstices and equinoxes take place), is because 4 days was the length of time it took for an observer without instruments to be certain that the seasons were, in fact, changing.

When Julius Caesar decided to reform the calendar in 45 BCE (adding a "leap day) each four years), he chose to start his new version on January 1. Named for Janus, the duo-visaged god of transitions and beginnings, it made sense to start a significant change at the start of his month. Friends would create good omens for the start of the year by giving each other token gifts of figs and honey, and wishing each other well for the coming year.

In the Middle Ages, the Church preferred to use a date of greater religious significance (Christian religion, that is, rather than Roman). March 25th (as The Annunciation) was sometimes used, and December 25th as Christmas, and March 1st (for convenience, since it could start a month and a year).

When Pope Gregory XIII reformed the calendar again,* he chose January 1st to be the official start of the year. He didn't cause the whole world to follow his lead. Most European countries had already settled on the "Julian solution" for the first day of the year.

Happy New Year.

*Technically, when he carried out the reforms planned by Pope Paul III.

6 October - Potpourri

A collection of notes related to the date and to this blog*:

St. Francis was first mentioned here, then the phenomenon of his stigmata here. Today is the Feast Day of St. Mary Frances of the Five Wounds (born into the very prominent Gallo family). Despite initial opposition from her family, she entered the Third Order of St. Francis in 1731, and she also experienced the stigmata.

I have mentioned, more than once, the alteration of the calendar to correct inaccuracies. Because of the change described here, and the implementation of the Gregorian reform, 6 October 1582 does not exist in the historical calendars of Italy, Poland, Spain or Portugal.

In the entry on Good King Wenceslaus, I mentioned that he was never a king, but that there was a King Wenceslaus of Bohemia. King Wenceslaus of Bohemia was born on 6 October 1289.

The entry "Not One Iota of Difference" has an image showing what is called the Trinitarian shield. That design, shown here, is the heraldic emblem attributed in the Middle Ages to St. Faith, also known as Sainte Foy to the French and Santa Fe to the Spanish. She was reputedly tortured to death in Rome in about 287 or 290 CE for refusing to make pagan sacrifices. Her name and life seem more legendary than historical, but there is an Abbey of Sainte-Foy in Conques in southern France that holds her relics, and the area has centuries of tales of miracles—often amusing and "prank-like—attributed to her.

Wycliffe's daring translation of the Bible into English was first described here. The death sentence offered or anyone with a copy kept the idea of an English language Bible "off the table" for a long time. William Tyndale (c.1492-1536) produced the first complete English language Bible that was mass-produced on a printing press and that was a translation from Greek and Hebrew versions that were earlier than the Latin version. Tyndale left England in order to be able to produce his Bible, and moved around Europe to avoid authorities who wished to stop him. He was eventually arrested, imprisoned, strangled as a heretic, and then his body burned at the stake, on this date in 1536.

*Plus two UNrelated to this blog: it is the date Frodo gets stabbed on Weathertop, and years later, the date on which Maeve is born.

Hermann of Reichenau

Hermann, with crutch & Salve Regina

Hermann of Reichenau (1013-1054) was born to Count Wolverad II and his wife Hiltrud in Upper Swabia. He was severely disabled at birth, and had to be carried around in a specially built chair. A 1999 article tried to diagnose him based on contemporary reports.

Using the biography written by his disciple Berthold, [an] unbiased analysis of the symptoms described [...] is worked out: [...] Intellectual functions were unaffected. [...] Muscle disease is considered possible, but motor neuron disease - either amyotrophic lateral sclerosis or spinal muscular atrophy - seems to be the most convincing diagnosis. [C Brunhölzl, Thoughts on the illness of Hermann von Reichenau]

Because of his condition, he was nicknamed "Contractus" or "the Lame." When he was seven years old, his parents handed him over to the cloister school of the nearby Benedictine monastery on Lake Constance, where he studied under Abbot Berno. Berno was a well-known figure at the time for, among other things, his reforms in liturgical music. Hermann became a monk in 1043 and, upon Abbot Berno's death in 1048, became Berno's successor as abbot.

Despite Hermann's extreme difficulty in moving and even speaking, he was considered a devoted monk and brilliant scholar. He wrote a great deal on music, mathematics, and astronomy. As well as a treatise on the science of music, he wrote two of the best-known of the medieval liturgical songs, the Alma Redemptoris Mater (Loving Mother of the Redeemer), and the Salve Regina (Hail Holy Queen).*

Among his other accomplishments, he is credited with speaking Arabic, because through his writings he made available to the Latin West many scientific discoveries that were previously only widely known in the Arab world. This knowledge of Arabic, however, is only an assumption. His biographer, Berthold, never mentions knowledge of Arabic, which would be unusual omission for such an accomplishment. The monastery was a center of learning in the area, and very likely held copies of works by Gerbert of Aurillac, who learned much from Arabic sources in Spain.

Hermann wrote two works on the astrolabe, previously unknown in Europe, and described a portable sundial. His works on mathematics used Roman numerals. Although this precluded the use of decimals, he still achieved some remarkable results. In his Epistola de quantitate mensis lunaris (Letter on measurement of lunar months), he tries to find the average length of a lunar month. In decimal notation, it is 29.530851 days. Hermann did not only not have decimal notation, he didn't have minutes and seconds. In his time, the hour was divided into "moments" and "atoms." He calculates the length of the lunar month to be 29 days, 12 hours, 29 moments, 348 atoms, which turns out to be exactly right.

He also wrote a history called Chronicon ad annum 1054 (Chronicle to the year 1054). The original is lost, but a 1529 edition saved the unique historical knowledge inside. After Hermann's death, it was continued by Berthold; Berthold died in 1088, but the duty was taken up by others up until 1175.

Hermann died on 24 September. In 1863, he was beatified (a step toward being recognized as a saint). As Blessed Hermann of Reichenau, he is considered the patron of unborn babies, and his Feast Day is celebrated on 25 September.

*A popular English version of Salve Regina was prominent in the Whoopi Goldberg film "Sister Act."

Autumnal Equinox Lightshow

Holy Trinity Church in Barsham, Suffolk

The equinox, from Latin aequinoctium (the time of equal days and nights), the day twice each year when the amount of daylight and darkness equalizes. We are used to marking the solstices, because the longest day of sunlight and the shortest day in winter carry real-life significance for us. But the equinoxes in spring and fall rarely get the same attention.

But in Suffolk, England, in Holy Trinity Church in the tiny town of Barsham, the equinoxes have provided a special show since the Middle Ages—if one knew where to look.

To be truthful, the "special show" was forgotten for a long time because of some changes. Holy Trinity is an early church, using stone from Caen that tells us it was built post-1066, although the round tower is by many considered to be an earlier Saxon style. The church suffered when Henry VIII broke with Rome and made changes consistent with the new Anglican Church. A rood screen, an ornate partition between the main part of the church and the nave behind the altar, was torn down, and the large crucifix that hung on it was eliminated. In 1870, however, the vicar of Holy Trinity decided to rebuild the rood screen and restore the crucifix to the same spot it hung in centuries earlier. Unfortunately, the vicar also decided to hang a large painting over a narrow west window whose significance he did not realize.

On the equinoxes, light strikes the crucifix for 4 minutes

Then, in 1979, a fire destroyed the nave roof. During the reconstruction, someone took the painting down. Years later, during a mass at dusk on the autumnal equinox, someone saw it. Now that the church was restored to its original configuration, the narrow western window throws a shaft of light for 4 minutes each equinox—and only on the equinox—right onto the crucifix near the top of the rood screen.

It was easy to miss for several years: it doesn't show when there is cloud cover at twilight, and you need to be looking up. Now that the phenomenon has been re-discovered, however, the church is filled each equinox by people waiting to see the fascinating result of an unknown medieval architect who decided to use light to illuminate his art.