Sirius!

Over the past couple of weeks, I've been chipping away at an
article on Canis Major for Night Sky Magazine. Obviously, the
first thing one has to talk about is Sirius, and the primary
piece of lore about that star is that the ancient Egyptians
used its heliacal rising to predict the floods of the Nile.

For those who don't know, "heliacal rising" means the first
day in the year when a star is visible immediately before
sunrise. It was a critically important concept in Egyptian,
Babylonian, and Greek astronomy, and I've always wondered why.

Part of the reason, I realized recently, is astrology. It's
an unpallatable fact to most modern astronomers, but there's
very little doubt that astrology was the primary motivation
for the amazing theoretical and practical astronomy that was
done by the ancient Greeks. Mind you, astrology was controversial
even back then; there were plenty of people who scorned it.
But Ptolemy, the greatest ancient astronomer by far, was
not one of them. Indeed, the Tertabiblios, his work on
astrology, has sold far more copies than the Almagest.

In order to know what your "sign" is, you need to know where
the Sun was in relation to the fixed stars on your birthday.
That may sound simple, but understanding that there *are*
stars near the Sun during the daytime is a stretch that most
modern, presumably sophisticated people have never made.
And figuring out the Sun's exact position was a remarkable
technologic and intellectual feat, especially considering
that accurate clocks wouldn't be invented for another
couple of millenia. The key step, of course, is to note
which stars are visible at sunrise and sunset. Knowing
that, and knowing the star's positions, you can triangulate
in on the position of the Sun.

Anyway, on Monday or Tuesday, while I was contemplating
what to write about Canis Major, I woke up around 5:30
and looked out the window to see if I would have had
clear skies if I had stayed up late the night before.
And there, low in the east, in a bright blue sky, was
a lone, bright, twinkling light. I knew it couldn't be
Venus or Jupiter, because those are evening planets now.
Mars would have been much higher. That left only Sirius
as a possibility. And straining my eyes, I confirmed that
by observing Rigel and Betelgeuse to its upper right,
vastly fainter even though they were much higher, and
in a much darker part of the sky.

A thrill ran through me, seeing for the first time this
year the star that will be dominating the sky five or
six months from now. And for the first time, I really
understood at a gut level why the ancient astronomers
were so excited about the heliacal rising of Sirius.

- Tony Flanders

wrote:

A thrill ran through me, seeing for the first time this
year the star that will be dominating the sky five or
six months from now.

Dude, you really need to get out more. ;-)

And for the first time, I really understood at a gut level
why the ancient astronomers were so excited about the
heliacal rising of Sirius.

Food. Nothing ever changes.


--
"University of Tennessee engineering final exam:
6. The front porch on a 1963 single-wide in Hickory Hollow,
Sullivan County is constructed of 2x8 pine on 24-inch centers
with a field rock foundation. The span is 8 feet and the porch
length is 16 feet. The porch floor is 1-inch rough sawn pine.
When the porch collapses, how many Black and Tan hounds will be
killed?" - SPQR

wrote:
Over the past couple of weeks, I've been chipping away at an
article on Canis Major for Night Sky Magazine. Obviously, the
first thing one has to talk about is Sirius, and the primary
piece of lore about that star is that the ancient Egyptians
used its heliacal rising to predict the floods of the Nile.

For those who don't know, "heliacal rising" means the first
day in the year when a star is visible immediately before
sunrise. It was a critically important concept in Egyptian,
Babylonian, and Greek astronomy, and I've always wondered why.

Part of the reason, I realized recently, is astrology. It's
an unpallatable fact to most modern astronomers, but there's
very little doubt that astrology was the primary motivation
for the amazing theoretical and practical astronomy that was
done by the ancient Greeks. Mind you, astrology was controversial
even back then; there were plenty of people who scorned it.
But Ptolemy, the greatest ancient astronomer by far, was
not one of them. Indeed, the Tertabiblios, his work on
astrology, has sold far more copies than the Almagest.

In order to know what your "sign" is, you need to know where
the Sun was in relation to the fixed stars on your birthday.
That may sound simple, but understanding that there *are*
stars near the Sun during the daytime is a stretch that most
modern, presumably sophisticated people have never made.
And figuring out the Sun's exact position was a remarkable
technologic and intellectual feat, especially considering
that accurate clocks wouldn't be invented for another
couple of millenia. The key step, of course, is to note
which stars are visible at sunrise and sunset. Knowing
that, and knowing the star's positions, you can triangulate
in on the position of the Sun.

Anyway, on Monday or Tuesday, while I was contemplating
what to write about Canis Major, I woke up around 5:30
and looked out the window to see if I would have had
clear skies if I had stayed up late the night before.
And there, low in the east, in a bright blue sky, was
a lone, bright, twinkling light. I knew it couldn't be
Venus or Jupiter, because those are evening planets now.
Mars would have been much higher. That left only Sirius
as a possibility. And straining my eyes, I confirmed that
by observing Rigel and Betelgeuse to its upper right,
vastly fainter even though they were much higher, and
in a much darker part of the sky.

A thrill ran through me, seeing for the first time this
year the star that will be dominating the sky five or
six months from now. And for the first time, I really
understood at a gut level why the ancient astronomers
were so excited about the heliacal rising of Sirius.

- Tony Flanders


Thanks Tony!
-Sam

wrote in news:1125443129.749629.123770
@o13g2000cwo.googlegroups.com:

Over the past couple of weeks, I've been chipping away at an
article on Canis Major for Night Sky Magazine. Obviously, the
first thing one has to talk about is Sirius, and the primary
piece of lore about that star is that the ancient Egyptians
used its heliacal rising to predict the floods of the Nile.

For those who don't know, "heliacal rising" means the first
day in the year when a star is visible immediately before
sunrise. It was a critically important concept in Egyptian,
Babylonian, and Greek astronomy, and I've always wondered why.

Part of the reason, I realized recently, is astrology. It's
an unpallatable fact to most modern astronomers, but there's
very little doubt that astrology was the primary motivation
for the amazing theoretical and practical astronomy that was
done by the ancient Greeks.

I'm pretty sure that most modern astronomers are aware of the historical
association of their science with astrology. I wouldn't say they find this
unpallatable any more than a modern chemist finds with the historical
association of chemistry with alchemy. It is interesting that even some of
the big names like Tycho Brahe and Kepler were known to cast horroscopes.
From what I have read Tycho Brahe actually did think there was something to
it. On the other hand Kepler considered it to be bunkum but practiced it
anyway to put food on the table.

Mind you, astrology was controversial
even back then; there were plenty of people who scorned it.
But Ptolemy, the greatest ancient astronomer by far, was
not one of them. Indeed, the Tertabiblios, his work on
astrology, has sold far more copies than the Almagest.


SNIP

Anyway, on Monday or Tuesday, while I was contemplating
what to write about Canis Major, I woke up around 5:30
and looked out the window to see if I would have had
clear skies if I had stayed up late the night before.
And there, low in the east, in a bright blue sky, was
a lone, bright, twinkling light. I knew it couldn't be
Venus or Jupiter, because those are evening planets now.
Mars would have been much higher. That left only Sirius
as a possibility. And straining my eyes, I confirmed that
by observing Rigel and Betelgeuse to its upper right,
vastly fainter even though they were much higher, and
in a much darker part of the sky.

A thrill ran through me, seeing for the first time this
year the star that will be dominating the sky five or
six months from now. And for the first time, I really
understood at a gut level why the ancient astronomers
were so excited about the heliacal rising of Sirius.

- Tony Flanders

I happened to wake early yesterday morning well before dawn. I peered through
the kitchen window and saw a fabulous starry view in the East. Starting from
Mars to the North, through Taurus, Orion, Canis Major, Argo Navis. I had to
go outside to see (still in my PJ's even though it was quite cold). It made
me feel summer approaching in my bones. (I'm in the Southern hemisphere BTW).

Klazmon.

Every year becomes a cycle, a cycle of work, challenges, opportunities,
one following the other as registered by the stars. For those of us
familiar with stars, after a time (years of living), you begin to
register your life by the stars.
oh well I digress .... nobody much cares these days. Your essay was
nice.
Jerry





wrote:

Over the past couple of weeks, I've been chipping away at an
article on Canis Major for Night Sky Magazine. Obviously, the
first thing one has to talk about is Sirius, and the primary
piece of lore about that star is that the ancient Egyptians
used its heliacal rising to predict the floods of the Nile.

For those who don't know, "heliacal rising" means the first
day in the year when a star is visible immediately before
sunrise. It was a critically important concept in Egyptian,
Babylonian, and Greek astronomy, and I've always wondered why.

Part of the reason, I realized recently, is astrology. It's
an unpallatable fact to most modern astronomers, but there's
very little doubt that astrology was the primary motivation
for the amazing theoretical and practical astronomy that was
done by the ancient Greeks. Mind you, astrology was controversial
even back then; there were plenty of people who scorned it.
But Ptolemy, the greatest ancient astronomer by far, was
not one of them. Indeed, the Tertabiblios, his work on
astrology, has sold far more copies than the Almagest.

In order to know what your "sign" is, you need to know where
the Sun was in relation to the fixed stars on your birthday.
That may sound simple, but understanding that there *are*
stars near the Sun during the daytime is a stretch that most
modern, presumably sophisticated people have never made.
And figuring out the Sun's exact position was a remarkable
technologic and intellectual feat, especially considering
that accurate clocks wouldn't be invented for another
couple of millenia. The key step, of course, is to note
which stars are visible at sunrise and sunset. Knowing
that, and knowing the star's positions, you can triangulate
in on the position of the Sun.

Anyway, on Monday or Tuesday, while I was contemplating
what to write about Canis Major, I woke up around 5:30
and looked out the window to see if I would have had
clear skies if I had stayed up late the night before.
And there, low in the east, in a bright blue sky, was
a lone, bright, twinkling light. I knew it couldn't be
Venus or Jupiter, because those are evening planets now.
Mars would have been much higher. That left only Sirius
as a possibility. And straining my eyes, I confirmed that
by observing Rigel and Betelgeuse to its upper right,
vastly fainter even though they were much higher, and
in a much darker part of the sky.

A thrill ran through me, seeing for the first time this
year the star that will be dominating the sky five or
six months from now. And for the first time, I really
understood at a gut level why the ancient astronomers
were so excited about the heliacal rising of Sirius.

- Tony Flanders

Tony,

I suppose I'm jaded. When I noted Sirius last week before crawling
into my sleeping bag after spending most of the night observing, l was
merely exhausted.

Dave Mitsky

Dave Mitsky wrote:

Tony,

I suppose I'm jaded. When I noted Sirius last week before crawling
into my sleeping bag after spending most of the night observing, l was
merely exhausted.

I suspect that the difference is largely that I saw it when I was
fresh-eyed and bushy-tailed, whereas you saw it when you were
exhausted.
Also, you had been watching the heavens revolve all night, so you knew
exactly what was going to rise next. For me, seeing Sirius was an
unexpected treat.

- Tony

It's an unpallatable fact to most modern
astronomers, but there's very little doubt
that astrology was the primary
motivation for the amazing theoretical
and practical astronomy that was done
by the ancient Greeks.

As has been pointed out, I don't think the historical association with
astrology bothers most astronomers. The maddening part is that there
are still so many people that believe in it... Chemists aren't faced
with a large segment of the population wanting to turn their wheel
weights into gold bars.
Marty

Marty wrote:
... wanting to turn their wheel
weights into gold bars.
Marty

Hey, speak for yourself!!

Esmail

Esmail Bonakdarian wrote:
Marty wrote:

... wanting to turn their wheel
weights into gold bars.
Marty


Hey, speak for yourself!!

Esmail

Yeah! Marty's golden Martyshine... makes people hope there's
a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow!