Lying back in a hot tub under the stars produces a moment of contemplation which our forefathers would recognise. True, they would not have had the benefit of the surrounding hot water unless they were taking advantage of Nature's bounty by luxuriating in a mineral spring emerging from far below in the earth's crust, but the view of the heavens would be as recognisable as it is to the modern wild sleeper, lying back in the open air, admiring the heavens sparkling above.
Our ancestors were not slow to see patterns in the stars. They saw the shapes of their heroes and characters from their myths and legends in the apparently random arrangement of the tiny points of light. Thus they passed on to future generations the names of Orion, Cassiopeia, Perseus, Pegasus and the Great Bear, long after the heroes themselves had ceased to have relevance to the watchers. An occasional shooting star no doubt added texture to their stories in the same way that a passing space station, satellite or distant airplane adds romance to a modern watcher.
It would not have taken them long to have taken comfort and reassurance from the warming sun by day and the stars by night, both symbols of the predictability and continuity of existence. Perhaps uncomprehending, they would have recorded the lengthening and shortening of days, the gentle rotation of the stars each night and the longer phases of the heavens as certain shapes or constellations rose and fell at different times of the year. If the Seven Sisters were appearing or disappearing then it was time to plant or to harvest. Thus the days and years could be measured.
They also told stories about the warming sun which made trees and crops grow, as the power which gave life to all things. The colours of dawn gave way to the heat of the day and, in turn, these faded into the myriad hues and dying light of the end of the day as the gentle stars emerged to begin their nightly vigil. This was obviously a powerful character on his chariot, driving the sun through the sky by day and resting at night.
But what of the moon? Why did our ancestors not tell stories about the moon and its changing shape?
The sun and stars were, in many ways, explicable. One was a large ball of light, the other tiny points of twinkle, but what was the moon? She - for she is usually referred to in legend as having a feminine form in contrast to the masculine sun - changed her shape each month, waxing and waning, disappearing completely and reappearing. How could a source of light do such a thing? How did they understand the changes and why did they not create some narrative to explain it?
And what did our ancestors make of the marks on the face of the moon? There are stories about the beauty and serenity of the moon, her gentleness as she passes across the heavens, but these do not mention or attempt to explain her changing shape. The main stories we have inherited are those which tell of the Man in the Moon for it takes little imagination to see the vague marks of a face upon the shape of a full moon, or of a Mr Punch-like nose and mouth on a waxing or waning crescent.
And what did our ancestors make of the marks on the face of the moon? There are stories about the beauty and serenity of the moon, her gentleness as she passes across the heavens, but these do not mention or attempt to explain her changing shape. The main stories we have inherited are those which tell of the Man in the Moon for it takes little imagination to see the vague marks of a face upon the shape of a full moon, or of a Mr Punch-like nose and mouth on a waxing or waning crescent.
The crescent shape is romantic and convenient for Hollywood starlets to sit on as they are lowered to the stage below, usually clad in a long white dress and crooning some melodious number, or for Peter Pan to settle on when he needed a rest from his frantic flying but these are modern images and do no more than emphasise the connection between the moon and serenity.
Why did they not do better than werewolves? Why is there no narrative of a young maiden who grows and renews herself each month, perhaps fading as her love fades or as the life blood drains from her body, only to be renewed, like Sleeping Beauty or the dying swan, by the kiss of her lover? It could so easily be linked to the tradition that one should not view the new moon through glass.
When did our ancestors realise that the moon was not changing shape as it waxed and waned? Today, we understand that, of all these objects, the moon and the planets are unique in not having their own sources of light. A Greek called Anaxagoras suggested that the phases of the moon might be caused by sunlight and was promptly put into prison for his temerity. Such was ever the fate of visionaries and scientists. Pythagoras, apparently agreed with him. It was not until the European renaissance that Leonardo da Vinci revived the idea and we eventually incorporated the reality into our thinking.
Can we still see the shadow of the full disc on a dark clear night or is this our imagination? Was this what inspired Anaxogoras?
A cloud crosses the sky and the face of the moon is temporarily obscured, her soft white light diluted ... the pumps turn off and it is time to go back indoors. Farewell dear moon, farewell. Travel safely on your nightly path across the heavens. I wave to those remnants of our civilisation you carry with you, tiny pimples on serene face.
