Methods, Aesthetics, Purpose
If you have studied other languages, or studied in
detail the grammar of your own, then you’ll have discovered the irregularities
associated with the commonest words. The
most basic word of all, “is”, conjugates and declines in ways counter to the
general patterns of lesser verbs. I’m no
linguist, but I’ve long believed that happened because of the high frequency of usage. Practices shared constantly among so many can
(often must) adapt quickly to the idiosyncrasies of each participant under innumerable
changing circumstances. Words and
practices subjected to that much stress will differ from those that are not, like
hoodoos standing above mere sand.
This pattern where regularity of
use causes irregular form also shows up in the calendar—yes, that collection of days and months. My noticing of this came on a random Friday
the 13th years ago, when curiosity prompted me to question some basics
about the calendar that normally go unnoticed.
For example, if it’s bad for things to end with 13, shouldn’t we fear
Saturday the 13th? And why 7
days in a week? Why not something more
convenient, or at least not a prime
number. Why not make every month the
same length, say 28 days so the weeks fit in evenly? Why do some moths have numeric prefixes and
others don’t? Do we really need a leap
day?
So I gradually began a project to make a calendar
that had more symmetry and regularity, one that enables mental calculations
between dates. In the end, I came around
to what amounts to a rearrangement of the Gregorian calendar, having the same
core features, moving leap day to the end of the leap year. As it turned out there were lots of good,
practical reasons for the calendar’s anomalies.
For my project I decided to put my calendar to the
test, setting it up in Excel, using its dates on my personal documents, and trying
the mental calculations when planning.
On balance it worked pretty well, with exception of having to constantly
convert, or track in parallel, the standard Gregorian calendar that we use. Locating the dates of moon phases was
cumbersome because I could only get them in Gregorian time. Then birthdays, holidays, Holy Days, all in
Gregorian time, the time-language of my society.
That was a LOT of effort to have a “nice”
calendar. And it was. If only I could get all the rest of the country
to go along with me! But, I couldn’t,
not without some well publicized, compelling reason, and momentum from
influential institutions and people.
That’s when I realized a calendar’s deeper purpose as a touchstone of
shared thought and activity. A calendar
does not exist to measure time, but
to mark time. To be more precise it’s a
tablet on which the whole society (and the individuals) marks time, and by
which it coordinates shared experience. My efforts to improve the aesthetics
and symmetry of the calendar completely missed this!
The experience taught me yet again about the importance
of purpose to human activity. I also
noticed that our instinct tends to takes purpose for granted, skipping directly
to the improving of either the methods or aesthetics. The latter resulted in my project; the former
results in the proverbial Rube Goldberg machine. Both of these approaches account for many
excesses of religious devotion. And yet
in God’s highly resilient world, following these instinctive prompts (method or
aesthetic) can lead to a clearer view
of, or better appreciation for, purpose.
Domed cathedrals, for example, follow the aesthetic impulse to create
structures that speak loudly of God’s glory, in a language unspoken. But we do better not leaving these things
entirely to chance.
Our greater task lies in rightly ordering our
impulses to the glory of God. For this we
must practice trusting in God through countless small acts of adoration, supplication, repentance, and by renouncing our perceived stake in the outcomes we cherish. In short, resting in the Holy
Trinity we have better odds at keeping His
purpose before us, and choosing better actions to take, whether for practical
improvements or beautification, or simply to wait.
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