The Delaware Gazette

As time goes by

When the ball drops on New Year’s Eve, time will be on our col­lec­tive mind.

Astronomers can mea­sure these tem­po­ral mile­stones with incred­i­ble accu­racy, of course. All you time afi­ciona­dos will prob­a­bly note that the ball will drop a few sec­onds too late or too early. It always does.

On one level, time is inex­tri­ca­bly woven into the fab­ric of the uni­verse. To exist, a thing must have height, width, and breadth, but it must also have dura­tion. It must con­tinue to exist in time. Hence, astronomers don’t call space “space.” They call it “spacetime.”

The way we mea­sure time is another mat­ter entirely. Most of us assume that God low­ered the cal­en­dar down from heaven on a string, but that assump­tion is far from the truth.

In fact, astronomers invented time, or at least our way of mea­sur­ing its pas­sage. Time and astron­omy are thus inex­tri­ca­bly inter­twined, much to the detri­ment of time, I am sorry to say. A sin­gle orbit of the Earth around the sun, for exam­ple, deter­mines the year, about 365.25 days.

The “moonth, ” or “month” as you Earth­lings call it, was orig­i­nally mea­sured by the orbit of the moon around the Earth. A set of lunar phases, the ancient way of deter­min­ing a month, takes about 29.5305882 days. The trou­ble comes because 29.5305882 days doesn’t divide evenly into the 365.25-day year. We sim­ply can’t have months of equal days. Also, what do we do with that pesky .25 of a day when we mea­sure out the year on a calendar?

Adding to the mind-numbing com­plex­ity, Earth’s orbit is a seam­less path. There are no con­ve­nient tick marks to tell us when the new year begins. Why then do we begin the year in the mid­dle of the blessed winter?

The log­i­cal time to begin the cal­en­dar year is on the first day of spring, when the world begins to come alive again after its win­ter dor­mancy. In fact, the ancient Romans, from whom we get our basic cal­en­dar, began the year in March.

The Roman cal­en­dar was only 355 days long, i.e., 12 months of, on aver­age, 29.58 days each — pretty close if all you care about is the length of the month. Unfor­tu­nately, that left the prob­lem of that 365-day solar year.

Thus, the priest-astronomers who were in charge of the cal­en­dar peri­od­i­cally added an extra month after Feb­ru­ary 23. The trou­ble was that they often did so for polit­i­cal rea­sons. If some favored bureau­crat wanted to lengthen his term in office, the priests would add a month.

By 46 B.C., the cal­en­dar year was a cou­ple of months out of sync with the solar year. Their month of March was hap­pen­ing dur­ing the dead of win­ter in the month we call Jan­u­ary. At the advice of astronomers, Julius Cae­sar, the cur­rent Roman dic­ta­tor, added 67 days to Novem­ber that year, essen­tially stop­ping the motion of the cal­en­dar for two months. Voila! The year now began in Jan­u­ary, but at least spring began in March again.

To elim­i­nate future prob­lems, the wise Julius stan­dard­ized the year at 365.25 days, adding a leap day every four years. But there was another prob­lem. The solar year is actu­ally 365.242199 days. Julius’s year was 11 min­utes and 14 sec­onds too long.

The extra 11 min­utes may not seem like much, but they add up over the cen­turies. By 1582, the first day of spring was 10 days removed from the tra­di­tional date of March 21.

So in 1582 Gre­gory, the Pope at the time, decreed that years that begin cen­turies, like 1900, would not be leap years. Excep­tions would be made for years divis­i­ble by 400. Thus, the year 2000 WAS a leap year.

In addi­tion, Gre­gory removed 10 days from Octo­ber 1582 to bring the cal­en­dar back into sync with the sea­sons, a deci­sion that caused con­sid­er­able con­ster­na­tion, espe­cially among folks who had to pay a full month’s rent on their land for an Octo­ber that lasted only 21 days.

Sadly, only a few Catholic coun­tries accepted the reform. Cen­turies passed before Protes­tant nations were fully in line. By 1752, when Britain finally accepted the con­ven­tion, 11 days had to be removed from the cal­en­dar. The farm­ers who paid rent on their land were not happy about the change. Accord­ing to an old paint­ing by William Hog­a­rth, they rioted. “Give us our 11 days,” they chanted.

The last hold­out, Korea, accepted the reform in 1895.

Recall, these prob­lems hap­pened because Earth doesn’t take an even num­ber of days to orbit the sun, and the moon takes an uneven num­ber of days to orbit the Earth. The way we mea­sure time is a con­stant reminder that we live on a planet in space orbit­ing a star.

Please remem­ber those cos­mic facts when the ball drops a few sec­onds too late on New Year’s Eve. Things could be worse.

Tom Burns is direc­tor of Ohio Wes­leyan University’s Perkins Obser­va­tory in Delaware. He can be reached at tlburns@owu.edu.

Tom Burns Posted by on Dec 26 2011. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS Feed. Comments can be made below.

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