Bureau, THE metric bureau

Posted on by wanderer

The humble metric system, as we have seen, was not established immediately. The legacy of the metric that I want to focus on is how it came to be, and what bureau was created to establish, motitor, standarize and update the metric.

The metric gathered support little by little from 1795, until, by 1875, the infamous Metre Convention, with the US being one of its founders! made it the International standard we all know and love, well at least one of these two is true.

The convention did not just stop at pushing for an international, standarised, metric system, no, they created one of the first bureaus. That we will be evaluating for now.

The 1875 one is the Weights and Measures: the International Bureau of Weights and Measures, or in its original french Bureau . They also established a conference (General Conference on Weights and Measures) and a committee (International Committee for Weights and Measures). Again, more on bureaus later, and committees, and conferences, and…

But why, by 1875, was it needed for a French mostassaf to be in charge of an international bureau at all? This is the interesting question. What is relevant for the metric system is not the use of units for measurement set by a national administration, but the fact that it implanted the idea that we all must use it and be raised in it.

The french Weights and Measures mostassaf did not came out of nowhere. Going back to the scientific homogenisation, we need to add the germans to the mix.

By 1841, 28 measurements of the magnetic field of the Earth where taken over a six year period. These measurements, all over the planet, where centralised by the “Magnetic Society”, or  Magnetische Verein in the original german. This was a society not a bureau, yet. As a society, the compromise was just to gather, standarise and share the measurements, so they could be useful across the planet. There was an extra benefit for endeabour, navigation. Like with the making of accurate clocks to measure longitude, an accurate description of the magnetic field allowed better seafaring transits, as the north and south magnetic poles of the Earth do not coincide with the geographical poles of the planet. Actually, the magnetic ones have a tendency to wander, quite fast indeed (hundreds of kilometres per decade), and even flip! (north becoming south). This was know for decades, or centuries, but was Gauss who in the 1830s started measuring its strength, and latter instigated the creation of the society, with international aims and ambitions.

Later on, the also german based Mitteleuropäische Gradmessung (Central European Arc Measuremen), linked with the need to measure the meridian to estimate the circunference of the Earth, and hence, the metre, was created on 1862. Interestingly, the Mitteleuropäische Gradmessung still exists in the form of the International Association of Geodesy, again, an association and not a bureau. By 1859 it was known that several meridians had not the same length, and that as measurement techniques would advance, the nominal definition of the metre would constantly change, even if so slightly.

A Catalan office —well aware of the Barcelona lie— Calos Ibañez e Ibañez de Ebro, was in charge of the International Association of Geodesy when in 1875 the Meter Convention was stablished. At the time of Carlos running these two pioneering international organisms, these were planned as contributing to increase precision in navigation, cartography and geography, as well as the emerging railways and telegraphs. Railways and telegraphs will come hunting us, but that’s for later.

So, despite the logic of unification being a concept from the particular French Revolution — which linked the metric with revolutionary ideas to make their political movement of decapitating kings (and many others) universal — the universalisation cached up four generations later, and, for the first time the particular Catalan mostassaf was not to be for a town, or state, but for all the planet!

From this story what I want to emphasise is that the importance is the base of knowledge of the standard, more than the standard itself, whatever it is.

How a continuously fighting world of nations came to decide that they could trust a base of knowledge? Moreover, how for the first time —unlike with mathematical, temporal, musical, and punctuational spontaneous standardisation — these nations decided to bureaucratise the process of standardisation with scientific geeks at the front of the first modern international institutions. This how process boils down to write laws that would be shared across borders and mutually understood, plus trust that the mostassaf would be available and willing to keep, share and not abuse its privative and privileged knowledge. Again, remember that the term mostassaf comes from an Arab religious figure of moral and measurement accountability.

So what makes the metric stand? Truly, a handful of things:
i) It was the first one designed from the get-go to be universal;
ii) it was based on natural units accessible, in principle, to anyone who had the time to finance the measure;
iii) it was easy to learn, aligning with mathematical notation, already quite universal and on base 10;
iv) it was set to work with technical and scientific communities;
v) the scientific communities were expanding, encompassing industrial and geodesical needs for better instruments, better measurements, faster and easier comparisons and sharing of technical information and better land and sea surveys for better administrative oversight (more on administrations later);
vi) its creators also kinda pushed for it to be adopted universally, following the spirit of revolution;
vii) there were not many alternatives at the time, to be honest.

Let us look at the last option (vii), alternatives? The only real contender for standard measurement used for scientific and technical applications by the end of the XIXc was the British Imperial system (still slightly kept by the US and Liberia). The imperial traces its roots to the standardisation of English measures, as designed by the 13th-century Magna Carta, but standardised by 1496, rectified in 1588 and made the British Imperial system by 1826.

We have the imperial length units. Let us look at these!. The basis is the foot, abbreviated as ft. The multiples are a yard as 3 ft, chain 3×22 ft, furlong 3×220 ft, mile 3×1760 ft, league 3x3x1760 ft. Well, it seems they were trying a base 3, but kinda gave up on it, soon. For the sub-units: twip 1/3^3×640 ft, thou 1/3×4000, barleycorn 1/3^2×4, inch 1/3×4, hand 1/3. OK, OK, kinda keeping with the basis 3 there, sometimes 4 as well, maybe inspired by the 60 for time — 3x4x5 — but also not quite. Now let us look at the distance units at sea: we have the fathom 6.0761 ft, cable 607.61 and nautical mile 6076.1… Now there is a base ten! But not much sense otherwise.

But a visual is better than thousands of words, and words of measures. Here is a side-by-side comparison of units of length in the traditional English system vs the metric one.

Comparison of English customary english and their interrelation with metric

For mass, the basic unit is the pound. Fair enough. But the shorthand for pound is lb. Yeah, we have seen that pound and livre are, in theory, referring to the same old Roman unit, but still, lb looks quite different than p or pn. Anyway, let us see its divisions: grain is 1/7000 lb, drachm is 1/256 lb, stone is 14 lb, quarter 28 lb, hundredweight 112 lb and ton 2240 lb. Little sense, but in base 12 or 60, like time, still makes no sense. For multiples it has base 14 (1, 2, 4, 800). Yet for divisions it has a basis, ehem, no consistent basis. A grain is 1/(14×500) — why 500? Well, a drachm is 1/2^8…

Sorry, I tried.

I will not even try the volume units. A beer pint is just a large half-litre drink.
Cheers to that!

The other option could have been the Burmese system. Myanmar still has traditional Burmese units of measurement. The Burmese system maybe has been maintained, in part, because for mass and volume it follows a neat base-two system, in which each unit is a factor 2 bigger than the previous — the metric being a factor 10 between units. Unfortunately, this is not the case for length and area; no, for length the Burmese system is a mess. For example, as of 2010, the state used miles to describe the length of roads, square feet for the size of houses, square kilometres for land area in cities, acres for agricultural areas, kilometres for the dimensions of the country. Still, when I was travelling there in 2015 I did check if they were the US of Asia for the metric, but for reasonable driving they did use km for distances to places and km/h as road speed limit indicators.

So, form the above list, let us focus on points (iv) to (vi): the need, willingness and expansion of technical and scientific domains beyond national borders (more on nations later).

The expansion of the metric is interlinked with these technical and national advancements and ended with some of the first bureaus on the planet.

The republican French, to celebrate the 10th anniversary of the Revolution, did a technical and industrial fair in 1798. This was not much international, as they were in the middle of intense wars, still not called Napoleonic. At the exposition they showed devices demonstrating the new metric system of metres, grams and litres, and, following European fair traditions, they had prizes for outstanding products, mostly fabrics and textiles, but now including innovative technical and industrial devices. One of them was the precursor of the modern pencil, and pencil colours.

They held three more expositions until 1806, and then new ones shall happen every 3 years; this allowed for enough new inventions, geographical explorations, arts, sciences and devices to be developed between events. But by 1809 France was indeed in the middle of the Napoleonic wars.

By 1819 the now French kingdom restarted the expositions, which happened roughly every 4 years.

Then the Kingdom of France decided to revolutionise a bit again and become the kingdom “of the French”. Notice the difference; it will be important later on. Then they decided to make an exposition every 5 years, starting in 1834.

The 1844 one was quite a success internationally, spawning similar fairs in other nations — Bern (1845), Madrid (1845), Saint Petersburg (1848), Lisbon (1849). Then in 1849 there would be the last national exhibition, as in 1851 the British did their Great Crystal Palace Exhibition, which for the first time had the dimension of a world, and not national, fair. From there on, world exhibitions would happen regularly, a bit like the Olympic Games now, and cities would compete with each other to host the event.

These World Fairs, or “the Expos” for us old enough to remember them being a thing, initially were great opportunities for showcasing the most advanced scientific and technological discoveries of the time. This was especially important in an era when more efficient and powerful steam engines, steel, locomotives, rails, and later electricity and telegraph were taking over the European nations and their colonies. In these events, industrialists and scientists from around the world could meet and agree on stuff.

That stuff, my friends, was the metric system, which by the end of the Napoleonic Empire, like decimal time, had gone down the drain. Napoleon reintroduced the customary units, but retained the metre and kilogram for these units to be compared against. The metric systen was also taught at schools and academia. It was simple to teach, as we have seen.

Meanwhile, the metre lived on in other states that were under the influence of the French Empire and retained the metric system, like the Netherlands, Switzerland, and Piedmont, later the Italian kingdom.

And the US, of all places, had a central role for the metre. The Coastal Survey Office, since its inception in 1807, but really by 1836, standardised all the coastal measurements with the metre as its basis.

And even nations that escaped Napoleon, like Portugal, by 1814 adopted the metre, though retaining the traditional names when needed.

Spain, as we have seen with the Catalan measures, had a diverse set of systems. But by 1849 decided to standardise measurements with the metre and kilogram, and by 1851 decided to conduct a survey of the state. The Spanish bureau of measures also adopted and developed new measurement tools to compensate for thermal expansion of the standard metre rods. That made the use of the metre more precise and more manageable. Then it provided standard metres to the Egyptians, and the standard was used throughout France and the German Confederation.

On the first French Universal Exposition in 1855, the Swiss had finished, and presented, their official map with the metre adopted as unit of length, and this was awarded a medal.

Moreover, the Congress of Statistics was held in Paris at the same time as the exposition. There, statisticians, probably tired of wasting time making conversions of units, and probably not happy with the metre being kept by a France-based mostassaf, decided to settle on a uniform decimal system of measures, weights and currencies.

Again, the US pushed for the metric system by 1866. One of the bases of precision balances was in grams and kilograms. In 1866 (made in Bangor, Maine, where I’m writing this now) the legislative organ passed the Metric Act, which defined the metric system in terms of customary units rather than with reference to the international prototype. Interestingly, this anchored the customary measurement units to that of the metre, even if it legislated the other way around.

Then, at the 1867 Exposition Universelle, again in Paris, the statistician geeks formalised the universalisation desire with the creation of a Committee for Weights and Measures and Monies. Now it would not be the French revolutionaries calling for universalisation, but a bunch of geeks with the ears of wealthy industrialists interested in easier technical standards.

That committee finally, after the Franco-Prussian War, created the Bureau, the International Bureau of Weights and Measures, with two governing organs and the headquarters. The newly created German and Italian states already adopted the metric system as their standard. These nations now were part of the bureau, which was tasked to facilitate the standardisation of weights and measures around the world. The bureau had three parts: a conference as a forum for representatives of member states; a committee of metrologists as an advisory board of high standing; the headquarters as the meeting place and laboratory facilities that inform the decision and advisory bodies for decision-making. Corporations, interestingly, often work similarly to that: the conference would be the shareholders’ meeting, and the committee the board of directors.

The Catalan Carlos Ibáñez e Ibáñez de Ibero — the head of the Spanish survey and national measures institute, and maybe familiar with the mostassaf concept — was one of the main pushers of an international standard based on the metre. By the bureau’s creation, he was made the initial president of the committee, the Permanent Committee of the International Metre Commission (confusingly, also named International Committee for Weights and Measures and General Conference on Weights and Measures; do not ask). Being Catalan of origin, Ibáñez, since 1853, also impulsed the remeasurement of the “Barcelona lie”, that is, the Paris meridian, extending the measurement from the Shetland to the Sahara. That effort, and other European meridian measurements, awarded him the first presidency of the International Geodetic Association by 1867.

The 1875 Metre Convention put the decision-making of the standard measurement of the planet in a bunch of nation states’ hands. The original signatories being Argentina, Austria-Hungary, Belgium, Brazil, Denmark, France, Germany, Italy, Peru, Portugal, Russia, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, Ottoman Empire, United States of America (yeah, you have seen it well, US is here!), and Venezuela (which no longer ratifies the Metre Convention).

Metre Convention on the planet. Dark green, member states; light green, associate states; red, former member states; light red, former associate states.

Interestingly enough, the metre is also not completely dominant in the UK, where the standards for the metric system, and the metal piece that defined the kilogram for 160 years, were made.

In the US there is also the fun fact that, unlike the UK, industry is not forced to use the metric system for all their products, despite being one of the original seventeen signatory nations to the Metre Convention.

Therefore, when NASA asked its suppliers to work with the metric system, but one of its suppliers, who procured thrusters for a probe to Mars, worked with customary units of pound-force-seconds, the result of such an integration of two different systems was that the poor Mars Climate Orbiter probe simply went on its sweet way to Mars just to descend to about 57 kilometres above Mars’ surface, instead of its planned orbit at about 150 kilometres. At that height, and without enough angular velocity, and with the drag of the tenuous Martian atmosphere, the orbiter simply produced a nice flame in the atmosphere.

That is the price of not having a unified unit system.

So being the first, and not having many alternatives, plus being relatively memorable and accessible (had to knock at the Parisian mostassaf from time to time, but was a cool person), made the whole system go global, or pay the price if not.

The metric system simply illustrates how national administrations and gatherings of world representatives agree to standards. In the metric case this quasi-standard emerged through technological need, the ease of communication that allowed repeated forums where actors interested in standardisation and sharing could gather and lobby in a uniform way, the relative ease of the new system and its spirit of universalisation, and a specific individual with the right connections and maybe aware of the connection between moral and measurement accountability through an old mostassaf legacy in our lands.

If we compare the metric to the other standards that we have seen — mathematical and musical notation, francas, timekeeping and punctuation — all of these share similarities. Technical advancements for clocks creation and the need of better measurements for navigation and trains in the case of timekeeping; more communication, new instruments and bigger orchestras for music; economic interest for francas; facilitation and economic dissemination for punctuation. With the exception of the calendar, none of these standards had behind them the will of the states or nations. And even the legislation for calendars happened at a customary and slow attrition, state by state, without an international gathering, convention or bureau leading it.

Like the weights and shekel 3000 years ago, we can look at more modern cases of this seemingly spontaneous standardisation originating by the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th. For example, if you ever used headphones, the connector, or “jack”, to the sound device might have always been the same diameter 1⁄4 in and shape, or have only two–three standards (1/8). Another piece quite familiar to most of us nowadays is the keyboard I am typing this on, which is an almost international standard, called QWERTY, named after the order of the letters on the first keys’ row. Looking elsewhere, the bicycle chain is 0.5 in between pins and 5⁄16 in for roller diameter. The size of cargo containers, 8 ft wide by 8 ft 6 in high and 20 or 40 ft long. Yeah, metric did not make it for jack, bikes and cargo, damn.

More on the emergence of these (and other) standards later.

What we can infer, however, is that standardisation follows a mixed route of informal conformity by useful means of exchange, plus a forcing pace by institutional action. Then, in an interconnected, and colonially dominated, world, the metric system in particular shows the first, or one of the first instances, of how slow attrition to shared standards could be hastened by gatherings and lobbying committees. And how that commitment results in autonomous bureaus that horn in their task. In the experience of THE Metric, the legislative power of national institutions could be weaponised to steer reluctant populations that were happy with their local traditions and units, however clumsy, to adopt new and bureaucratised standards countries away, instead of their local mostassaf. Or shield them, as in the US, however clumsy. A new state-sponsored universal education could get away with old traditions by educating children in new, maybe more memorable, systems.

With the dreaded metric we can see how all the pieces are falling into place to have the ruleset to ask our question: what does humanity want? But before that we need to go through the emerging bureaus and other international organisms that, for now, rule, the World.

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THE Metric, system

Time keeping

Posted on by wanderer

One interesting predecessor to unified measurement and standardisation is that of time. Most people might not be aware how puzzling it is that, as of now, across the whole planet we share a common timekeeping system spread throughout most societies of the world. When you look at your watch, you see it divided into 12 or 24 segments, denoting hours, and each hour is divided into 60 units, called minutes. Again, each minute is divided into 60, and we call that division a second. None of this is new to you, but what should surprise all of us is that it is not surprising for most people on the planet! And that’s just it—seconds are the basic unit of measurement of time across the entire world. Why, and how this fact came to be, is not a given. In fact, timekeeping is an extremely aberrant, arbitrary, and silly system if we compare it to the more common numerical system in divisions of 10 (we will see the metric system later on). Why aren’t there 100 seconds in a minute, 100 minutes in an hour, and 10 hours in a day? We could all stop dividing by 60! Our system seems complicated, and it’s not only our adult selves that feel so. My father, who has worked in the educational system all his life, told me that children learn the decimal system quite quickly; however, it takes them much longer to internalise timekeeping. You might have experienced this difficulty yourself as a child, or seen it in your own children if you’ve raised them. Then why does this strange and somewhat difficult system not only exist but is also the same everywhere? Didn’t other parts of the world create different timekeeping systems that made more sense? Why are these no longer around? As we will see, in large part it is because our current international timekeeping standard comes from one of the oldest measures.

Timekeeping is quite common across cultures—perhaps it is a human universal. The easiest division of time is into days, as it is a cycle that dominates all our actions in life, especially our sleep cycles. The next division of time across cultures is usually the cycle of the moon. About 29.3 days have to pass for us to see the moon in the same phase and position in the sky. This moon cycle gives us a close approximation to our current month lengths of 30–31 or 28–29 days. The third rhythm that many cultures pick up on is the annual cycle of the Earth orbiting the Sun. For higher latitudes in both hemispheres, that annual revolution—together with the tilt of the Earth’s axis—gives strong variations between seasons. Days become noticeably longer and shorter along that rhythm, and the weather and natural world follow these changes, with cold during the short days, and heat during the long days. In tropical latitudes, where the variation in the length of the day is not as pronounced, the coming and going of the rainy seasons usually plays a similar role to the cold and hot cycles. In short, most humans around the planet adopted these three naturally occurring cycles as the basic units of time division. When combining the Moon and Sun cycles, this gives us the numbers 12 and 13—i.e. the number of lunar months in a solar year. But this concerns the calendar more than the clock.

We have two main methods of temporal measurement: the calendar and continuous timekeeping, which could in principle be independent of natural cycles. But the calendar is a kind of timekeeping and has given us two numbers to play with. The number 12 is prominent in many counting systems; it even has a specific name in English: a dozen. The number 13, not so much—it is even seen as a “bad luck” number in some cultures. Why is 12 popular and 13 hated, then? This difference is also due to boring calculus. It is easy to divide 12 by 2, 3, 4, and 6. Try doing that with 13—any luck? If you remember your prime numbers, 13 is one of them—only divisible by 1 and itself. Probably, most nerdy ancient people who had to do the tedious task of measuring time preferred the “neat” 12 instead of the unfriendly 13.

But why 60, then, for continuous timekeeping on a watch or clock? Why the 60, 60, 24 division?

We need to start talking about the Babylonians, and how they counted. How do you count using your hands? Most of us would count the number of fingers on each hand, up to 10. But one can increase the amount that can be counted by using the phalanges in each finger. If you count them on the four longer fingers of one hand, that gives you 12—once again this neat nerd number derived from solar and lunar cycles. Then, what better number to divide the daylight hours than 12? But there are an equal number of hours in the night (in equatorial regions), so the number of hours when the sun is out is roughly the same as when the sun is away. If daylight is 12 units and night is 12 units, that gives us the universal 24 divisions of the day: the infamous hours.

Then the 60. Going back to the Babylonian counting, if you count a dozen on, say, your left hand, and on your right hand you keep track of the number of dozens by flexing one finger each time, that gives you five dozens—or a total of 60. If we divide that hour into 60, we get the infamous minutes. The punchline, however, is that despite the importance of 12, the Babylonian sexagesimal system was based on six groups of ten, not five groups of twelve! In any case, that sexagesimal system is the basis for the 60 divisions—or hexagesimal—which the Babylonians also used to divide a circle into angles, another of the universal measures we will examine.

Why the infamous seconds exist, and are simply 60 divisions of a minute, is not such a clear story. Why wasn’t it a division of 10, or 100, or 24? The subunit of a second—a millisecond—is divided into 1,000 units, so 60, although used to define the minutes from an hour, had no need to be used again. What might explain the 60 seconds is another natural unit, quite random at that: the standard resting human heartbeat. If you measure your heartbeat after a period of rest, or just after waking up, there is a high likelihood that you’ll have just over 60 beats per minute.

However the infamous seconds really came to be, the Babylonians standardised them, and due to their central location, vertebrating the Africa–Eurasia connection, seconds, minutes, and hours spread. The large-scale societies around Babylon—such as Egypt, the Greeks, one of their successors Iran, and the polities of the Indian subcontinent—adopted the Babylonian system early on. Crucially, it spread to all the European nations, who then forced it into the administrative apparatus of their colonies, which, as we have seen, covered most of the planet. Even the Chinese adopted a version of the Babylonian sexagesimal division when the Ming dynasty commissioned Xu Guangqi in collaboration with the Jesuits to adapt the Gregorian calendar and timekeeping to the imperial system. Although this reform was only officially adopted during the Qing dynasty in the mid-17th century, it was partly influenced by the Jesuit Johann Adam Schall von Bell and his improved methods of predicting eclipses. Astronomy, we must remember, was deeply linked to astrology in both European and Chinese courts, and astronomers performed the functions of astrologers in advising rulers.

Calendar

Concerning the universality of the Gregorian calendar, it also seems a convoluted, silly, arbitrary system. Why are some months longer than others? Why is your birthday on a Tuesday one year and on a Friday another? There are vastly superior calendar systems out there. Though, some of these alternatives tend to require the addition of a 13th month and a bizarre annual “blank day”, which doesn’t go on the calendar at all. We just chill out, have a holiday, and pretend it’s not there.

The Gregorian calendar has a complicated and protracted history. All the successors of the Roman Empire, and the Christian churches, used the Julian calendar until AD 1582. The Julian calendar, as the name suggests, comes from the Julius Caesar. He borrowed it from the Egyptians and imposed it on the Roman Republic as a more stable alternative to the Roman system. The Catholic Church adopted the Julian calendar at the First Council of Nicaea in AD 325. However, Christians had conflicting ideas on how to celebrate Easter, and it took nearly half a millennium before most Christians agreed to follow the Nicaea rules. In the Egyptian calendar, once every four years a day is added to February. That’s the year when February has 29 days—and some people still joke that those born on that day don’t get to have birthdays.

The problem with adding one day every four years is that, after a few centuries, it messes up the seasons—meaning that the spring and autumn equinoxes, and the summer and winter solstices, begin to drift on the calendar. By the 16th century, this was still a minor issue (only ten days had shifted in 1550 years), and it didn’t seriously affect agricultural practices. However, the motivation for change was religious: the Catholic Church was concerned that Easter might not be celebrated in accordance with the scriptures. Easter follows a lunisolar rule, which causes the date to shift every year: it must occur on the first Sunday after the first full moon of spring. This meant that, technically, Easter could end up being celebrated in winter if the calendar drifted too far—risking some sort of cosmic blunder. It wasn’t equally important for all Christians, as many Eastern Orthodox churches still follow the Julian calendar.

Some sectors of the Catholic Church pushed for reform early on. In the late 15th century, the man chosen to oversee it was a German mathematician with the wonderful name Regiomontanus (Latin for “royal mountain”). Unfortunately, he died before the reform could be implemented. A century passed, during which all the Protestant wars took place. In the aftermath, a diminished Catholic Church finally agreed to set the new calendar—approved by Pope Gregory XIII, who gave the calendar its name. But the Pope could only set the liturgical calendar for the Church. The civil calendar—used by governments—had to be adopted by each administration. Moreover, the emerging Protestant denominations were deeply sceptical of anything coming from the Pope and were not eager to adopt a “papist” invention, even if it made sense. The Puritans even tried to ban Christmas for being too Catholic.

Nevertheless, Catholic powers and administrations such as the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth, the Kingdom of Spain (which then included Portugal and most of Italy), and France, as well as their colonies and dependencies, adopted the Gregorian calendar as their administrative standard. Parts of the Netherlands under Spanish control (now Belgium) also adopted it; the rest of the United Provinces followed over the next few decades. So did the Holy Roman Empire, including Austria, Hungary, Bohemia, and many of the German states.

Some Protestant nations, like Denmark and Sweden, also adopted the Gregorian calendar relatively early. Though Sweden did so in a somewhat chaotic way—switching to the Julian calendar, then to the Gregorian, then back again, and finally settling on the Gregorian in 1752, the same year Britain and its colonies adopted it. To avoid referring to the Pope, the British called it “An Act for regulating the Commencement of the Year, and for correcting the Calendar now in Use”. For years, Swiss towns just a few kilometres apart had calendars ten days out of sync—allowing people to celebrate Christmas or Carnival twice in one year!

Later on, Eastern Orthodox countries such as Greece, Serbia, and Russia adopted the Gregorian calendar for civil purposes, though many retained the Julian calendar for liturgical use—or switched to the “New Julian” calendar, making things even more confusing. This is why people in Moscow celebrate Christmas on 7 January (in the standard Gregorian calendar). Others, like Ukraine, have switched to the Gregorian calendar entirely.

The Gregorian calendar is now the de facto global calendar—though it was never formally agreed upon. Administratively, all European countries and their colonies adopted it. Even the Chinese, as we’ve seen, integrated it into imperial systems. Of the few non-colonised countries, only Nepal, Afghanistan, Iran, and Ethiopia still use different civil calendars. Others like Japan, China, Thailand, and Saudi Arabia eventually adopted the Gregorian calendar for administrative purposes—Saudi Arabia only doing so in 2016! Some of these countries still use different systems for counting years or determining the New Year, but their months, leap years, and weekdays follow the Gregorian calendar. In many places—such as the Orthodox Christian and Muslim worlds—two systems coexist: one for liturgy and another for administration. Only Iran’s Solar Hijri calendar, or Shamsi, is more astronomically accurate than the Gregorian. It sets the start of the year to within a second of the spring equinox on Iran’s standard meridian at 52.5° East.

Finally, most international institutions—the United Nations, the Olympics, global research networks—use the Gregorian calendar, reinforcing its role as the de facto global timekeeping standard. Timekeeping—both in hours–minutes–seconds and in calendar form—illustrates how ancient measurement systems, copied or adapted from long-gone administrations like Pharaonic Egypt and Babylon, are still with us and have become near-universal norms, despite never being formally imposed on the entire world.

Later we will see that something like “timekeeping” is not so unquestioned. And that this seemingly universal but rule-less agreement on time has also undergone standardisation—and even the creation of global institutions, as we will see in the case of standard time and the truly infamous leap second—imagine scary quotes. Like the second, double globals, in use and in institunionalised, is what we will need to pay attention to when asking these texts question.

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