tag:theconversation.com,2011:/africa/topics/origins-of-the-calendar-48025/articles
Origins of the calendar – The Conversation
2019-04-08T03:26:53Z
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/113558
2019-04-08T03:26:53Z
2019-04-08T03:26:53Z
Curious Kids: how did the months get their names?
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/265784/original/file-20190326-36264-4orrbi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C3799%2C2508&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">In the very beginning of the Roman calendar (more than 2000 years ago), there were only 10 months in the year.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Jule Berlin/Shutterstock</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em><a href="https://theconversation.com/au/topics/curious-kids-36782">Curious Kids</a> is a series for children. If you have a question you’d like an expert to answer, send it to curiouskids@theconversation.edu.au You might also like the podcast <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/kidslisten/imagine-this/">Imagine This</a>, a co-production between ABC KIDS listen and The Conversation, based on Curious Kids.</em> </p>
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<blockquote>
<p><strong>How did the months get their names? - Sylvie, age 8, Brisbane.</strong> </p>
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<p>The names of the months are very old and they come from ancient Rome. Rome is the capital of Italy and several thousand years ago it was the heart of a very powerful empire (which is like a kingdom, only bigger). </p>
<p>In the very beginning of the Roman calendar (more than 2000 years ago), there were only 10 months in the year. The Romans based this version on the ancient Greek calendar. Later, however, the Romans added in two more. The names of some of the months also changed a few times.</p>
<p>Here’s how the early version would have looked.</p>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266955/original/file-20190401-177193-pa58ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266955/original/file-20190401-177193-pa58ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266955/original/file-20190401-177193-pa58ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=947&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266955/original/file-20190401-177193-pa58ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=947&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266955/original/file-20190401-177193-pa58ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=947&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266955/original/file-20190401-177193-pa58ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1190&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266955/original/file-20190401-177193-pa58ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1190&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266955/original/file-20190401-177193-pa58ty.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1190&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">This fancy fellow is Mars, the Roman god of war. March is named after him.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>In the early days</h2>
<p>MARCH: Happy New Year! March was the start of the year for the Romans. The beginning of spring was the time when everyone could go out and start fighting each other, so the month was named after Mars – the Roman god of war.</p>
<p>APRIL: The name for this month may come from a Roman word for “second” – aprilis – as it was the second month of the Roman year.</p>
<p>MAY: Spring is in full bloom for the Romans in May, and this month is named after Maia – a goddess of growing plants.</p>
<p>JUNE: This month is named after Juno, the queen of the Roman gods.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266961/original/file-20190401-177187-1vmzp0p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266961/original/file-20190401-177187-1vmzp0p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266961/original/file-20190401-177187-1vmzp0p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=437&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266961/original/file-20190401-177187-1vmzp0p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=437&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266961/original/file-20190401-177187-1vmzp0p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=437&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266961/original/file-20190401-177187-1vmzp0p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=549&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266961/original/file-20190401-177187-1vmzp0p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=549&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266961/original/file-20190401-177187-1vmzp0p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=549&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Here’s a statue of Juno, the Roman queen of the gods. June is named after her.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>JULY: This month used to be called Quintilis – the Roman word for “fifth” as it was the fifth month of the Roman year. It was later changed to July by the ruler of Roman world, Julius Caesar, after his family name (Julius).</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266966/original/file-20190401-177175-ruviir.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266966/original/file-20190401-177175-ruviir.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266966/original/file-20190401-177175-ruviir.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266966/original/file-20190401-177175-ruviir.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266966/original/file-20190401-177175-ruviir.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=900&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266966/original/file-20190401-177175-ruviir.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266966/original/file-20190401-177175-ruviir.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266966/original/file-20190401-177175-ruviir.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1131&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Here’s the Roman leader Julius Caesar, who decided to name a month after his family name (Julius). He called it July.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>AUGUST: This month was first called Sextillia – the Roman word for “sixth”, as it was the sixth month of the Roman year. It was later changed to August by the Emperor Augustus, and he named it after himself.</p>
<p>SEPTEMBER: The name for this month comes from the Roman word for “seventh” – septimus – as it was the seventh month of the Roman year.</p>
<p>OCTOBER: The name for this month comes from the Roman word for “eighth” - octavus - as it was the eighth month of the Roman year.</p>
<p>NOVEMBER: The name for this month comes from the Roman word for “ninth” – nonus – as it was the ninth month of the Roman year.</p>
<p>DECEMBER: The name for this month comes from the Roman word for “tenth” – decimus – as it was the tenth month of the Roman year.</p>
<h2>Then a few extra months were added…</h2>
<p>JANUARY: This was one of the extra months that the Romans added to the year. This month was named after Janus – the god of beginnings and endings. He is often depicted as having two faces.</p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266968/original/file-20190401-177181-ojgcf0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266968/original/file-20190401-177181-ojgcf0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/266968/original/file-20190401-177181-ojgcf0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266968/original/file-20190401-177181-ojgcf0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266968/original/file-20190401-177181-ojgcf0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266968/original/file-20190401-177181-ojgcf0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266968/original/file-20190401-177181-ojgcf0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/266968/original/file-20190401-177181-ojgcf0.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Janus, the god of beginning and endings, is often shown as having two faces.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=7404342">By Loudon dodd - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>FEBRUARY: This is another extra month that the Romans added to the calendar. They put it right after January. Its name comes from a festival that was held at this time called Februa. The festival aimed to cleanse the city of evil spirits and welcome health and fertility.</p>
<p>Because the Romans put two new months into the year, the names of the months do not make sense anymore. If our year started in March as it did for the Romans, December would still be the tenth month. </p>
<p>But 450 years ago, people who used this calendar started thinking that January was the first month of the year. So now December in the twelfth month for the Western calendar. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/curious-kids-why-are-there-different-seasons-at-specific-times-of-the-year-109380">Curious Kids: why are there different seasons at specific times of the year?</a>
</strong>
</em>
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<p><em>Hello, curious kids! Have you got a question you’d like an expert to answer? Ask an adult to send your question to curiouskids@theconversation.edu.au</em></p>
<hr>
<p><em>An earlier version of this article incorrectly described Julius Caesar as an emperor instead of the ruler of the Roman world. It also said the lead picture showed Caesar, instead of Augustus. These errors were introduced in the editing process and have now been corrected.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/113558/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Chris Matthew does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
December is named for the Roman word for “tenth”. So, why is it the twelfth month?
Chris Matthew, Lecturer in Ancient History, Australian Catholic University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/93876
2018-03-28T12:44:59Z
2018-03-28T12:44:59Z
Is it really 2018? The evidence suggests otherwise
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/212425/original/file-20180328-109196-ybrxfl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/alarm-clock-disintegrates-717888439?src=aSjFWpPjdxl6VpUsl8VQhA-1-59">lassedesignen/Shutterstock</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>According to scholars throughout history, we actually aren’t living in the year that is printed on our calendars. The more the origins and development of dating systems have been and are studied, the more it becomes apparent that time is only what we make it.</p>
<p>In the Western world, the year – be it 1066 or 2018 – predominantly refers to the number of years it has been since <a href="https://theconversation.com/what-history-really-tells-us-about-the-birth-of-jesus-89444">the birth of Jesus Christ</a>. This is either referred to using the centuries-old “anno domini”, or AD (a shortened form of “year of our Lord’s incarnation”), or by the more recent “common era”, or CE. But given that we don’t actually know with 100% certainty which year Christ was born in, how do we know that it has been 2018 years since that time?</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/212412/original/file-20180328-109175-nn15be.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/212412/original/file-20180328-109175-nn15be.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/212412/original/file-20180328-109175-nn15be.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=873&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/212412/original/file-20180328-109175-nn15be.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=873&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/212412/original/file-20180328-109175-nn15be.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=873&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/212412/original/file-20180328-109175-nn15be.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1097&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/212412/original/file-20180328-109175-nn15be.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1097&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/212412/original/file-20180328-109175-nn15be.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1097&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">An illustrated calendar page from the breviary of Queen Isabella of Castile, produced in the late 1480s in Bruges.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Additional_18851,_f._2v_calendar_page_for_March.jpg">Wikimedia/British Library</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The problem derives from our sources: the four Gospels and the Pauline Epistles. Matthew and Luke’s Gospels tell us that Christ was born “in the days of King Herod the Great”, who died in what we would call 4BC. Luke adds that it was also during the census of Augustine and Quirinius’ governance of Syria – which began after 6AD. Using this logic, Jesus would have been born either before or after what we use as our year zero, which is meant to signify his date of the birth.</p>
<p>The Gospels also tell us that Christ began his ministry in his 30th year, and that it lasted three years until the Passion. However, the claim that Christ’s Passion and Resurrection occurred at Passover (which are dated according to lunar and solar cycles) also leaves holes in the date of Jesus’s death had he been born in the year zero: 33AD. Using Matthew and Luke’s dates, the Passion should have happened in either 29AD or after 39AD. So how do we reconcile this mess? What year are we really in, according to the AD system?</p>
<h2>Decades ahead</h2>
<p>This dating controversy fascinated Christian theologians and thinkers throughout the Middle Ages. In their attempts to reconcile it, the Scythian monk Dionysius Exiguus (who died c.544AD) and then the <a href="http://blogs.bl.uk/digitisedmanuscripts/2016/05/bede-the-greatest-hits.html">English scholar, Bede</a> (died 734AD), worked out that the solar and lunar cycles – which gave the day of the week and date of the full moon, respectively – used to <a href="https://theconversation.com/fix-the-date-of-easter-the-venerable-bede-would-be-spinning-in-his-grave-54096">calculate when Easter would be</a> each year, repeated themselves every 532 years. </p>
<p>This 532-year cycle – based on multiplying the 19-year cycle of the moon and the 28-year cycle of the sun – was <a href="https://iiif.durham.ac.uk/index.html?manifest=t1m2f75r801v">laid out in tables</a>, and records of well-known historical events were added to the margins in an effort to match up that particular year’s date of Easter with historical events which were known to have occurred in that same year.</p>
<p>And so the search for the date of long past and future Easters (usually referred by medieval authors to as the science of “computus”, meaning “calculation” or “computation”) became irrevocably linked with the study of dated historical events, and of history. But in using this method, Dionysius and Bede both came to find that their version of the annus domini and their placement of the birth of Christ contained errors.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/212415/original/file-20180328-109172-1ougeat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/212415/original/file-20180328-109172-1ougeat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=430&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/212415/original/file-20180328-109172-1ougeat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=430&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/212415/original/file-20180328-109172-1ougeat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=430&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/212415/original/file-20180328-109172-1ougeat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=540&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/212415/original/file-20180328-109172-1ougeat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=540&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/212415/original/file-20180328-109172-1ougeat.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=540&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Page from a practical manual of late medieval computational science and astrological medicine, compiled in the early 15th century.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tables_and_treatises_on_the_computation_of_the_calendar%2e%2e_Wellcome_L0073770.jpg">Wikimedia/Wellcome Images</a>, <a class="license" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/4.0/">CC BY</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In what we would call the year 1076, an Irish monk and chronicler, Marianus Scotus, completed a sprawling chronicle of world history. Crunching the numbers on all known dated historical events, Marianus demonstrated that Christ was in fact born 22 years earlier than previously acknowledged, meaning that he was writing in what should have been dated 1098AD, not 1076AD.</p>
<p>Marianus’ chronicle was circulated throughout Christian Europe, and although his revised annus domini was well received, the whole of Western Europe did not suddenly change their numbering of the year. It seems that the accuracy of this dating system was less important than the fact that it existed, and worked as a means of locating dates of past and future events in an intelligible framework. To overhaul thousands of years’ worth of recorded history and centuries of legal and administrative documentation, just does not seem to have been deemed worth the effort for Marianus’ contemporaries.</p>
<p>So, how do we know what year we are in? Clearly, we are in whatever year we say we are, according to whatever dating system we choose to use. While 2018AD/CE dominates current dating measures, we might just as well choose to use the measures <a href="https://www.dawn.com/news/776432">provided by other religions, beliefs or cultures</a>. And who knows what measures may be deemed more applicable to future generations.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/93876/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Charles C. Rozier does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>
Since the middle ages, scholars have been saying that our dates might be out by decades.
Charles C. Rozier, Lecturer in Medieval History, Swansea University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/87246
2018-01-10T19:33:45Z
2018-01-10T19:33:45Z
Explainer: where do the names of our months come from?
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/201250/original/file-20180108-83563-1gpd415.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Detail from the Roman-era Sousse Mosaic Calendar, El Jem, Tunisia. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Ad Meskens / Wikimedia Commons</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Our lives run on Roman time. Birthdays, wedding anniversaries, and public holidays are regulated by <a href="https://www.britannica.com/topic/Gregorian-calendar">Pope Gregory XIII’s Gregorian Calendar</a>, which is itself a modification of <a href="https://www.britannica.com/science/Julian-calendar">Julius Caesar’s calendar</a> introduced in 45 B.C. The names of our months are therefore derived from the Roman gods, leaders, festivals, and numbers. If you’ve ever wondered why our 12-month year ends with September, October, November, and December – names which mean the seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth months – you can blame the Romans.</p>
<h2>The calendar of Romulus</h2>
<p>The Roman year originally had ten months, a calendar which was ascribed to the legendary first king, Romulus. Tradition had it that Romulus named the first month, <em>Martius</em>, after his own father, Mars, the god of war. This month was followed by <em>Aprilis</em>, <em>Maius</em>, and <em>Iunius</em>, names derived from deities or aspects of Roman culture. Thereafter, however, the months were simply called the fifth month (<em>Quintilis</em>), sixth month (<em>Sixtilis</em>) and so on, all the way through to the tenth month, December. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/201252/original/file-20180108-83553-1u16ta.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/201252/original/file-20180108-83553-1u16ta.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/201252/original/file-20180108-83553-1u16ta.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=460&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201252/original/file-20180108-83553-1u16ta.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=460&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201252/original/file-20180108-83553-1u16ta.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=460&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201252/original/file-20180108-83553-1u16ta.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=578&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201252/original/file-20180108-83553-1u16ta.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=578&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201252/original/file-20180108-83553-1u16ta.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=578&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Mars and Rhea Silvia by Peter Paul Rubens, c. 1617/20.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikimedia Commons</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The institution of two additional months, <em>Ianuarius</em> and <em>Februarius</em>, at the beginning of the year was attributed to Numa, the second king of Rome. Despite the fact that there were now 12 months in the Roman year, the numerical names of the later months were left unchanged. </p>
<hr>
<p><em>Further reading: <a href="https://theconversation.com/explainer-the-gods-behind-the-days-of-the-week-87170">Explainer: the gods behind the days of the week</a></em></p>
<hr>
<h2>Gods and rituals</h2>
<p>While January takes its name from <a href="https://theconversation.com/who-was-janus-the-roman-god-of-beginnings-and-endings-86853">Janus</a>, the Roman god of beginnings and endings, February comes from the word <em>februum</em> (purification) and <em>februa</em>, the rites or instruments used for purification. These formed part of preparations for the coming of Spring in the northern hemisphere.</p>
<p>The <em>februa</em> included spelt and salt for cleaning houses, leaves worn by priests, and strips of goat skin. These strips were put to good use in the festival of the Lupercalia, held each year on February 15. Young men, naked except for a goat-skin cape, dashed around Rome’s sacred boundary playfully whipping women with the strips. This ancient nudie run was designed to purify the city and promote fertility. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/201254/original/file-20180108-83559-1087lp5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/201254/original/file-20180108-83559-1087lp5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/201254/original/file-20180108-83559-1087lp5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=596&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201254/original/file-20180108-83559-1087lp5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=596&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201254/original/file-20180108-83559-1087lp5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=596&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201254/original/file-20180108-83559-1087lp5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=748&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201254/original/file-20180108-83559-1087lp5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=748&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201254/original/file-20180108-83559-1087lp5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=748&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Detail from Lupercalia by Andrea Camassei, c. 1635.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikimedia Commons</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The origins of some months were debated even by the Romans themselves. One tradition had it that Romulus named April after the goddess Aphrodite, who was born from the sea’s foam (<em>aphros</em> in Ancient Greek). Aphrodite, known as Venus to the Romans, was the mother of Aeneas, who fled from Troy to Italy and founded the Roman race. The other version was that the month derived from Latin verb <em>aperio</em>, “I open”. As the poet Ovid <a href="http://www.hup.harvard.edu/catalog.php?isbn=9780674992795">wrote</a>:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>For they say that April was named from the open season, because spring then opens all things, and the sharp frost-bound cold departs, and earth unlocks her teeming soil …</p>
</blockquote>
<p>There were similar debates about the origins of May and June. There was a story that Romulus named them after the two divisions of the Roman male citizen body, the <em>maiores</em> (elders) and <em>iuniores</em> (juniors). However, it was also believed that their names came from deities. The nymph Maia, who was assimilated with the earth, gave her name to May, while Juno, the goddess of war and women, was honoured by the month of June. </p>
<hr>
<p><em>Further reading: <a href="https://theconversation.com/explainer-the-seasonal-calendars-of-indigenous-australia-88471">Explainer: the seasonal calendars of Indigenous Australia</a></em> </p>
<hr>
<h2>Imperial pretensions</h2>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/201255/original/file-20180108-83567-1lonzi2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/201255/original/file-20180108-83567-1lonzi2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/201255/original/file-20180108-83567-1lonzi2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201255/original/file-20180108-83567-1lonzi2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201255/original/file-20180108-83567-1lonzi2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=800&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201255/original/file-20180108-83567-1lonzi2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201255/original/file-20180108-83567-1lonzi2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/201255/original/file-20180108-83567-1lonzi2.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1005&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Cameo of the emperor Augustus.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">© Marie-Lan Nguyen / Wikimedia Commons</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The numerical names of the months in the second half of the year remained unchanged until the end of the Roman Republic. In 44 B.C., <em>Quintilis</em> was rebranded as <em>Iulius</em>, to celebrate the month in which the dictator Julius Caesar was born. </p>
<p>This change survived Caesar’s assassination (and the outrage of the orator M. Tullius Cicero, who complained about it in his letters). In 8 B.C., Caesar’s adoptive son and heir, the emperor Augustus, had <em>Sextilis</em> renamed in his honour. This was not his birth month (which was September), but the month when he first became consul and subjugated Egypt.</p>
<p>This change left four months – September, October, November and December – for later emperors to appropriate, though none of their new names survive today. Domitian renamed September, the month he became emperor, to <em>Germanicus</em>, in honour of his victory over Germany, while <em>October</em>, his birthday month, he modestly retitled <em>Domitianus</em>, after himself. </p>
<p>However, Domitian’s arrogance paled in comparison with the megalomaniacal Commodus, who <a href="http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Cassius_Dio/73*.html#ref12">rebranded all the months</a> with his own imperial titles, including <em>Amazonius</em> (January) and <em>Herculeus</em> (October).</p>
<p>If these titles had survived Commodus’s death, we would not have the problem of our year ending with months carrying the wrong numerical names. But we would be celebrating Christmas on the 25th of <em>Exsuperatorius</em> (“All-Surpassing Conqueror”).</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/87246/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Caillan Davenport receives funding from the Australian Research Council. </span></em></p>
If you’ve ever wondered why our 12-month year ends with names that mean the seventh, eighth, ninth, and tenth months, you can blame the Romans.
Caillan Davenport, Senior Lecturer in Roman History, Macquarie University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/87170
2018-01-01T22:37:49Z
2018-01-01T22:37:49Z
Explainer: the gods behind the days of the week
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/198107/original/file-20171207-31546-w0673k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">The Roman weekday 'dies Veneris' was named after the planet Venus, which in turn took its name from Venus, goddess of love. Detail from Venus and Mars, Botticelli, tempera on panel (c1483).</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Venus_and_Mars.jpg">Wikimedia Commons</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>The origins of our days of the week lie with the Romans. The Romans named their days of the week after the planets, which in turn were named after the Roman gods:</p>
<ul>
<li><em>dies Solis</em> “the day of the sun (then considered a planet)”</li>
<li><em>dies Lunae</em> “the day of the moon”</li>
<li><em>dies Martis</em>, “the day of Mars” </li>
<li><em>dies Mercurii</em>, “the day of Mercury”</li>
<li><em>dies Iovis</em>, “the day of Jupiter” </li>
<li><em>dies Veneris</em>, “the day of Venus”</li>
<li><em>dies Saturni</em>, “the day of Saturn”</li>
</ul>
<p>When the Germanic-speaking peoples of western Europe adopted the seven-day week, which was probably in the early centuries of the Christian era, they named their days after those of their own gods who were closest in attributes and character to the Roman deities. </p>
<p>It was one of those peoples, the Anglo-Saxons, that brought their gods and language (what would become English) to the British Isles during the fifth and sixth centuries AD. </p>
<figure class="align-right ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/197277/original/file-20171201-10110-1knn5w2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/197277/original/file-20171201-10110-1knn5w2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=1093&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/197277/original/file-20171201-10110-1knn5w2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=1093&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/197277/original/file-20171201-10110-1knn5w2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=1093&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/197277/original/file-20171201-10110-1knn5w2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1373&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/197277/original/file-20171201-10110-1knn5w2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1373&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/197277/original/file-20171201-10110-1knn5w2.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1373&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Hendrik Goltzius, Mercury, oil on canvas (1611).</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mercurybyhendrickgoltzius.jpeg">Wikimedia Commons</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In English, Saturday, Sunday and Monday are named for Saturn, the sun and moon respectively, following the Latin.</p>
<p>The remaining four days (Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday) are named for gods that the Anglo-Saxons probably worshipped before they migrated to England and during the short time before they converted to Christianity after that. </p>
<p>Tuesday is named for the god Tiw, about whom relatively little is known. Tiw was probably associated with warfare, just like the Roman god Mars.</p>
<p>Wednesday is named for the god Woden, who is paralleled with the Roman god Mercury, probably because both gods shared attributes of eloquence, the ability to travel, and the guardianship of the dead. </p>
<p>Thursday is Thunor’s day, or, to give the word its Old English form, Thunresdæg “the day of Thunder”. This sits beside the Latin <em>dies Iovis</em>, the day of Jove or Jupiter. Both of these gods are associated with thunder in their respective mythologies. </p>
<p>You may recognise a similarity here with the name of the famous Norse god Thor. This may be more than coincidence. Vikings arrived in England in the ninth century, bringing their own very similar gods with them. Anglo-Saxons were already Christian by this time, but may have recognised the similarity between the name of their ancestors’ deity Thunor and the Norse god. We don’t know, but the word Thor does appear in written texts from the period.</p>
<figure class="align-center ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/197072/original/file-20171130-12059-193qau6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/197072/original/file-20171130-12059-193qau6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/197072/original/file-20171130-12059-193qau6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/197072/original/file-20171130-12059-193qau6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/197072/original/file-20171130-12059-193qau6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/197072/original/file-20171130-12059-193qau6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/197072/original/file-20171130-12059-193qau6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=502&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Chris Hemsworth as famous Norse god Thor in the 2011 film of the same name.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0800369/mediaviewer/rm2799616">IMDB</a></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Friday is the only weekday named for a female deity, Frig, who is hardly mentioned anywhere else in early English. The name does appear, however, as a common noun meaning “love, affection” in poetry. That is why Frig was chosen to pair with the Roman deity Venus, who was likewise associated with love and sex, and was commemorated in the Latin name for Friday. </p>
<h2>Of gods and weekdays</h2>
<p>The concept of the week, that is, a cycle of seven numbered or named days with one of them (usually Sunday or Monday) fixed as the first, was originally probably associated with the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hebrew_calendar#Weeks">Jewish calendar</a>. This was complicated by the fact that early medieval Europe inherited its idea of the week from imperial Rome, via the Christian church. </p>
<p>In early Christianity the reckoning of time was crucial to the proper celebration of the church’s feast days and holidays, especially the variable feast of Easter.</p>
<p>We find day names similar to English in related European languages, like Dutch, German, and all the Scandinavian or Norse languages. Gods with comparable names, like Tyr, Othinn, Thor and Frigg, were certainly known to the Scandinavians and gave their names to weekdays in Scandinavian languages (compare Modern Danish <em>tisdag</em>, <em>onsdag</em>, <em>torsdag</em>, <em>fredag</em>). </p>
<p>The Latin names for the days of the week, and the Roman gods for which they were named, still live on in all the European Romance languages, like French, Spanish and Italian. Think of French <em>lundi</em>, <em>mardi</em>, <em>mercredi</em>, <em>jeudi</em> and <em>vendredi</em>, for example, and you will find the Latin <em>Luna</em>, <em>Mars</em>, <em>Mercurius</em>, <em>Iovis</em> and <em>Venus</em> hidden behind them.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/87170/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Margaret Clunies Ross receives funding from The Australian Research Council. </span></em></p>
The origins of our days of the week lie with the Romans. Three are named for planets, the other four gods.
Margaret Clunies Ross, Eneritus Professor of English Language and Early English Literature, University of Sydney
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.
tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/86853
2017-12-31T14:17:52Z
2017-12-31T14:17:52Z
Who was Janus, the Roman god of beginnings and endings?
<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/199858/original/file-20171219-27554-bfct0u.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Detail from The Temple of Janus by Peter Paul Rubens. Wikimedia Commons.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikimedia Commons</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>January 1 can be a day of regret and reflection – did I really need that fifth glass of bubbly last night? – mixed with hope and optimism for the future, as we make plans to renew gym memberships or finally sort out our tax files. This January ritual of looking forward and backward is fitting for the first day of a month named after Janus, the Roman god of beginnings and endings.</p>
<h2>Doorkeeper of the heavens</h2>
<p>In Roman mythology, Janus was a king of Latium (a region of central Italy), who had his palace on the Janiculum hill, on the western bank of the River Tiber. According to the Roman intellectual <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Ambrosius-Theodosius-Macrobius">Macrobius</a>, Janus was given divine honours on account of his own religious devotion, as he set a pious example for all his people.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/199859/original/file-20171219-27562-wg1lsi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/199859/original/file-20171219-27562-wg1lsi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/199859/original/file-20171219-27562-wg1lsi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=573&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199859/original/file-20171219-27562-wg1lsi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=573&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199859/original/file-20171219-27562-wg1lsi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=573&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199859/original/file-20171219-27562-wg1lsi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=720&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199859/original/file-20171219-27562-wg1lsi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=720&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199859/original/file-20171219-27562-wg1lsi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=720&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Roman coin showing the two-headed Janus.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikimedia Commons</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Janus was proudly venerated as a uniquely Roman god, rather than one adopted from the Greek pantheon. All forms of transition came within his purview – beginnings and endings, entrances, exits, and passageways. The name Janus (<em>Ianus</em> in Latin, as the alphabet had no j) is etymologically related to <em>ianua</em>, the Latin word for door. Janus himself was the <em>ianitor</em>, or doorkeeper, of the heavens. </p>
<p>The cult statue of Janus depicted the god bearded with two heads. This meant that he could see forwards and backwards and inside and outside simultaneously without turning around. Janus held a staff in his right hand, in order to guide travellers along the correct route, and a key in his left to open gates. </p>
<h2>War and Peace</h2>
<figure class="align-right zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/199860/original/file-20171219-27554-g2patg.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/199860/original/file-20171219-27554-g2patg.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/199860/original/file-20171219-27554-g2patg.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=601&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199860/original/file-20171219-27554-g2patg.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=601&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199860/original/file-20171219-27554-g2patg.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=601&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199860/original/file-20171219-27554-g2patg.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=756&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199860/original/file-20171219-27554-g2patg.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=756&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199860/original/file-20171219-27554-g2patg.JPG?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=756&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Shrine of Janus, as depicted on a coin of the emperor Nero.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikimedia Commons</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Janus is famously associated with the transition between peace and war. <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Numa-Pompilius">Numa</a>, the legendary second king of Rome, who was famed for his religious piety, is said to have founded a shrine to Janus Geminus (“two-fold”) in the <a href="http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Gazetteer/Places/Europe/Italy/Lazio/Roma/Rome/_Texts/PLATOP*/Forum_Romanum.html">Roman Forum</a>, close to the Senate House. It was located in the place where Janus had bubbled up a spring of hot boiling water in order to thwart an attack on Rome by the Sabines. </p>
<p>The shrine was an enclosure formed by two arched gates at each end, joined together by walls to form a passageway. A bronze statue of Janus stood in the middle, with one head facing towards each gate. According to the <a href="http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Perseus%3Atext%3A1999.02.0151%3Abook%3D1%3Achapter%3D19">historian Livy</a>, Numa intended the shrine:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>as an index of peace and war, that when open it might signify that the nation was in arms, when closed that all the peoples round about were pacified.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The gates of Janus are said to have stayed closed for 43 years under Numa, but rarely remained so thereafter, although the first emperor <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Augustus-Roman-emperor">Augustus</a> boasted that he closed the shrine three times. <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Nero-Roman-emperor">Nero</a> later celebrated his conclusion of peace with Parthia by minting coins showing the gates of Janus firmly shut.</p>
<h2>Happy New Year</h2>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/199861/original/file-20171219-27585-hcs7qg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/199861/original/file-20171219-27585-hcs7qg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/199861/original/file-20171219-27585-hcs7qg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=720&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199861/original/file-20171219-27585-hcs7qg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=720&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199861/original/file-20171219-27585-hcs7qg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=720&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199861/original/file-20171219-27585-hcs7qg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=905&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199861/original/file-20171219-27585-hcs7qg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=905&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/199861/original/file-20171219-27585-hcs7qg.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=905&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The God Janus by Sebastian Münster, 1550.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikimedia Commons</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Romans believed that the month of January was added to the calendar by Numa. The association between Janus and the calendar was cemented by the construction of 12 altars, one for each month of the year, in Janus’s temple in the <a href="http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Gazetteer/Places/Europe/Italy/Lazio/Roma/Rome/_Texts/PLATOP*/Forum_Holitorium.html">Forum Holitorium</a> (the vegetable market). The poet <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Martial-Roman-poet">Martial</a> thus described Janus as “the progenitor and father of the years”.</p>
<p>From 153 BC onwards, the consuls (the chief magistrates of the Republic) took office on the first day of January (which the Romans called the Kalends). The new consuls offered prayers to Janus, and priests dedicated spelt mixed with salt and a traditional barley cake, known as the <em>ianual</em>, to the god. Romans distributed New Year’s gifts of dates, figs, and honey to their friends, in the hope that the year ahead would turn out to be sweet, as well as coins – a sign of hoped-for prosperity.</p>
<p>Janus assumed a key role in all Roman public sacrifices, receiving incense and wine first before other deities. This was because, as the doorkeeper of the heavens, Janus was the route through which one reached the other gods, even Jupiter himself. The text <a href="http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/e/roman/texts/cato/de_agricultura/home.html">On Agriculture</a>, written by <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Marcus-Porcius-Cato-Roman-statesman-234-149-BC">Cato the Elder</a>, describes how offerings would be made to Janus, Jupiter, and Juno as part of the pre-harvest sacrifice to ensure a good crop. </p>
<p>So if you’re feeling caught between two worlds this January 1, why not head outside and celebrate Roman-style? Pack up some sweets to share, grab your keys, and shut the door on 2017.</p>
<p><em>Tomorrow: Explainer: the gods behind the days of the week.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/86853/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Caillan Davenport receives funding from the Australian Research Council.</span></em></p>
On January 1, we consider the origins of Janus, after whom this month is named.
Caillan Davenport, Lecturer in Roman History and ARC DECRA Research Fellow, Macquarie University
Licensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.