A couple of years ago, I wrote a book called Time Tamed. In retrospect it is an ambitious title. Even at the time I realised as much, describing man’s efforts to tame time as being a task as Sisyphean as it is Canute-like.
Humankind invented time to make sense of the world around us. It can be argued that an understanding of time – and the ability, however rudimentary, to track it and act according to it – is right up there alongside the ability to fashion tools and communicate using spoken language, as one of the characteristics setting humans aside from the other species with which our planet is shared. In the beginning at least, the extent of our relationship with time was a cognitive reaction to phenomena that permitted the prediction of cyclical seasonal events such as the migration of animals, and later forecasting the effect of variations in terms of temperature and daylight hours on the flowering and fruiting of crops.
The triumph of human intellect, and the beginning of our species’ march to its position at the apex of life on our planet, was to make conscious use of this intellectual edge that allowed us to benefit from the recurring patterns of events foretold by observation of such astronomical phenomena as the rising and setting of the sun, the waxing and waning of the moon, and the lengthening and shortening of the diurnal span. Lunar phases repeat themselves in a cycle of 29½ days; the tropical year as measured, say, from winter solstice to winter solstice (when the day is shortest and night longest) is approximately 365¼ days. The interaction of the solar and lunar calendars, providing, respectively, the year and the 12 months in it, gave us the framework upon which to build civilisation.
“If time was conceived as the precise measure of an ordered succession of states, it should come as no surprise to find that its first criterion of measurement in every known civilization should have been the movement of the stars (which is both movement and return, in other words a ‘constant periodical appearance’)”, wrote Umberto Eco. He next posed the rhetorical question: “Even if there were nothing more to time than this, it would still be interesting to ask why, for so many centuries, men measured out the years, the months, and the days, but came so late to measuring hours and minutes. The main stumbling block was the need for mechanically precise instruments to measure them.”
Calendars of varying degrees of sophistication have been in use for millennia. In my book, I wrote about a series of 12 fire pits in Scotland that – in conjunction with the known location of sunrise through a mountain pass on the morning of the winter solstice – functioned as a calendar in the Mesolithic period, 10,000 years ago. Compared to that, widely available accurate timekeeping is only a relatively recent phenomenon. Had you asked a medieval peasant the time, he would have probably told you what season it was and, as recently as the mid 19th century, time was measured according to local meridians that gave a local solar noon. Britain, at the time the world’s preeminent industrial power, only got its first real taste of unified national time in 1851, when millions visited the Great Exhibition, travelling from all corners of the Kingdom by trains that ran to a single national time.
But in the last couple of centuries the pace has hastened: we have become, as Eco put it, “children of a clock civilization”, and I am sure there are those who would argue that it is from there that many of our problems have arisen.
The industrialisation of time was of particular interest to Karl Marx. “The clock is the first automatic machine applied to practical purposes,” he wrote to Friedrich Engels in 1863, “and the whole theory of production of regular motion was developed on it.” Even though abstract, time had become the ultimate economic commodity. Life became lived according to the maxim ‘time is money’ and with a Gradgrindian myopia we have concentrated on ever smaller divisions of time until we have become not children but slaves of the clock.
Time was never tangible, but in the past it linked human experience to the cosmos through the tracking of solar and lunar cycles. The division of time into units that are independent of astral cycles has distanced us from the natural rhythms of life. Division of time into small units standardised around the world has facilitated the synchronisation of activities that enable us to live in our modern world of ‘just-in-time’ production, conurbations with populations of millions, and a network of integrated transport systems that allow us to travel from one side of the world to the other well within the span of a single day.
It has taken the recent and as yet unresolved upheaval wrought upon our carefully organised world by the COVID-19 pandemic to reveal the humbling fragility of the system by which we live and regulate our lives. Moreover, one could argue that it is the application of monetised time that is responsible for the ravages that we have perpetrated on our planet in pursuit of our industrial goals.
But before we blame the rise of the timepiece for the ills of the world, there is an aspect to watchmaking that can enable us to reconnect with the cosmos in a way that is familiar to those conversant with the world of biodynamic winemaking. So, when the editor of FONDATA suggested biodynamic winemaking as the prism through which to view watchmaking, I was intrigued.
Once upon a time, a long time ago, I did work in the wine trade. However, we parted company during the 1980s, some time before biodynamic winemaking became what I believe is called ‘a thing’. Obviously, all readers of FONDATA understand the basic principles of biodynamics, but I needed to undergo a quick crash course in what is just one of the legacies of the quite extraordinarily colourful and at times controversial Rudolf Steiner; the late 19th- and early 20th-century Austrian philosopher, social reformer, writer, educationalist, editor, architect, spiritualist, scientific spiritualist, mystic, Goethe superfan, campaigner for the independence of upper Silesia – and much more besides. He came up with everything from a new, quasi-religious movement called ‘Anthroposophy’, to a new approach to medicine; a new artform, ‘Eurythmy’, to a new form of agriculture, ‘Biodynamics’.
Steiner turned his fecund and agile mind to the problem of agriculture in the early 1920s and addressed many of the concerns that we are still grappling with a century later, advocating a sustainable ecologically-oriented approach to farming that eschewed chemical pesticides and fertilisers in favour of natural alternatives and conducting agriculture based on an astronomical and astrological calendar.
Steiner is memorable because he could enliven even the relatively practical activity of growing things with woo-woo mumbo jumbo of a level to which even Gwyneth Paltrow can only aspire: for instance, burying manure in a cow horn over winter and then exhuming it; or controlling infestations of field mice by sprinkling fields with the ashes obtained by burning the skin of a “fairly young mouse” obtained “at a time when Venus is in the sign of Scorpio”. And yet, such was the power of his way of thinking that it would be wrong to characterise him as a total crank: Steiner was apparently taken seriously by Hitler as a threat to National Socialism.
But back to wine.
Prima facie, there is little to link the joyous celebration and bounteousness of viniculture with the mechanical slicing of hours into minutes, into seconds into milliseconds. However, to view watchmaking as being just about the business of telling the time is to underestimate what is in my opinion one of the most engrossing areas of human ingenuity and creativity, where science, mathematics, mechanics and art meet.
I like to think about watchmaking as being connected to the detection and calibration of rhythms and patterns … biodynamic farming is all about rhythms and patterns, especially those of the lunar calendar. In his writings, there are times when Steiner could be writing the script for Star Wars – when he talks of entering into “the forces that regulate growth, crucially the ‘fully-evolved Moon-force’”.
The Biodynamic Association uses less picturesque language to summarise the approach, saying that the philosophy of biodynamic farming is founded on “the influences of the moon, planets and constellations on plant growth”. “Each month the moon moves through all twelve constellations of the zodiac in turn. This is referred to as the moon’s sidereal cycle and forms the basis of the biodynamic calendar. Although the waxing and waning (synodic) cycle is the most well-known lunar rhythm, it plays a small part in this calendar.”
The indication of moon phases has long been a feature of watchmaking, and even if knowing whether one is living under a waxing gibbous moon is not of primary importance to most of us, the function is undeniably decorative when artistically transferred to a watch face – the moon disc, often decorated with a background of stars, making a complete rotation once every 29½ days. Watches with more advanced astronomical functionality feature sidereal time as well. And this year, the long-established watchmaker Jaeger-LeCoultre demonstrated that it is capable of getting seriously cosmological.
To celebrate the 90th anniversary of its famous Reverso model, it released the world’s first four-sided watch, the Hybris Mechanica Quadriptyque. As its name suggests the Reverso flips over to reveal its back. Initially conceived as a protective measure, more recently the back has been used to display other information (another time zone for instance). Now, the cradle in which the watch sits on the wrist has also been mechanised to offer two further planes for display – much in the way that one can connect multiple screens to a single computer rather than having to be constantly opening and closing windows. And Jaeger’s watchmaking wizards have turned faces three and four into a banquet of lunar information.
On the interior face of the cradle there are three displays giving the synodic cycle in the northern hemisphere, the draconic cycle (the height of the moon) and the anomalistic cycle (apogee and perigee, when the moon is respectively furthest from and nearest to the Earth), while the fourth side of the watch gives the synodic cycle in the southern hemisphere.
It sounds like an observatory on the wrist and according to the makers: “the Hybris Mechanica Quadriptyque can predict the next global incidence of astronomical events such as supermoons and eclipses – the world’s first wristwatch to provide such a deep reading of the cosmos.” I imagine even Steiner would be impressed especially as in biodynamic circles cosmological connections are crucial. Biodynamic agricultural activity is governed by knowledge of the behaviour of celestial bodies: ascending moon days favour certain agricultural activities while other tasks are better performed on descending moon days. Eclipses, apogee, perigee, and new moons all have their associated agricultural messages for the biodynamic farmer.
“It’s connected into the cosmos,” explains Philippa Hegarty of Hegarty Chamans, a vineyard in the foothills of the Montagne Noire in the Minervois. “We find an explanation that people respond to is; if the Moon has such a strong tidal influence then it can certainly move sap up and down a vine and that’s what we work with at different times of the year.”
Providing timing of the movement of the tides is another function that the mechanical clock or watch can perform; indeed it is one of the oldest, predating the minute hand, the second hand, the wristwatch and even the pocket watch. The provision of times of high tide by a mechanical timepiece can be traced back to the 14th century and the famous Astronomical Clock designed by Richard of Wallingford, Abbot of St. Albans – which as well as showing the fixed stars and charting the movements of the sun and moon (complete with ecliptic nodes – another important feature for biodynamic winemakers) gave the times of the tides at London Bridge.
In fact, the technical leap forward accomplished by clockmakers in the 14th century rivals that of computer networks in our own time: at the end of the 13th century time was still being told by clepsydrae (like an hour glass but with water instead of sand) and by the middle of the following century, man was mapping the cosmos using mechanical machines of unimaginable complexity. If Giovanni de Dondi’s Astrarium of 1364 looks a little like a lunar landing module, then that was not the only thing it predicted. About a metre high and standing on protruding feet, the Astrarium featured seven panels with dials that showed the movements of the sun, moon and the then-known planets: Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn. Further dials indicated dates of fixed and moveable religious feast days, the intersections of the solar and lunar orbits, and time of sunrise and sunset. In comparison, the 24-hour clock seems prosaic, almost otiose.
Another common feature of these miracle machines of the Middle Ages was the zodiac. Rather than being relegated to the horoscope section of the tabloid press, astrology was as much of a science as astronomy, and a medieval megaclock could not take itself seriously without a dial or two depicting the signs of the zodiac. The celebrated Three Kings Clock of Strasbourg Cathedral was no exception. As well as its astrolabe dial, ecclesiastical calendar, carillon mechanism that filled the air with religious music, and the automata that replicated the nativity, an illustrated panel linked signs of the zodiac to body parts, connecting human health with the movements of the celestial bodies, thus indicating propitious or hazardous times for that key medical procedure of the times: bloodletting.
The influence of the zodiac constellations is an important part of the biodynamic playbook. “Since ancient times the twelve zodiac constellations have been associated with each of the four elements: earth, water, air and light,” observes the Biodynamic Association. “Three constellations are connected to each element, and each element is related to a part of the plant: thus, Earth – root; water – leaf; air – flower; fire – fruit.”
“For example, for sowing or harvesting carrots, an earth – root day should be chosen; for lettuce, a water – leaf day; for beans and apples, a fire – fruit day; and for flowers and broccoli, an air – flower day.”
As the example of the Jaeger-LeCoultre Hybris Mechanica Quadriptyque shows, thanks to the technological advances that have accrued during the last 20 or 30 years, the miracle of modern mechanical watchmaking is that it is able to miniaturise cosmological functions and place them on the wrist. Recent years have seen some truly spectacular wristwatches enter the market. Patek Philippe’s double-faced Sky Moon Tourbillon is regarded as one of the trophies of modern watchmaking: featuring minute repeater with ‘cathedral gongs’; tourbillon; perpetual calendar with retrograde date hand; day, month, leap year in apertures; hours and minutes of mean solar time; moon phases; and on the reverse, moon-focused watch face, sidereal time, sky chart, and phases and orbit of the moon.
Van Cleef & Arpels caused a stir when it released a watch that condensed the workings of a planetarium onto the wrist with a watch charting the movement of the five planets visible to the naked eye from Earth: Mercury, Venus, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn; each planet orbiting on its own disc in its real rotation time. Blancpain, meanwhile, has tackled the notoriously complex lunisolar Chinese calendar to create a watch that displays the ten celestial pillars, the five celestial elements, the phases of the moon, the animal associated with the year and the date as given by the Gregorian calendar.
I am neither watchmaker nor winemaker, but given the approaching centenary of Steiner’s 1924 series of agricultural lectures which gave birth to biodynamics, now might be a propitious time to consider a mechanical timepiece that displays the cosmological information pertinent to biodynamic viticulturists and farmers.
This article was originally published in FONDATA, Issue Two.
