Shouldn't September be the seventh month, October the eighth, November the ninth, December the tenth?

By the BeAwakeAwareAlive.com team

It’s a question that strikes most of us in a moment of idle curiosity, perhaps while writing a date on a check or staring at a calendar on a dreary Tuesday. We learn the months in order from a young age, a rhythmic chant of "January, February, March..." But then, a logical stumble. We arrive at September, the ninth month, and a nagging thought emerges. Sept means seven. Like a septagon, a seven-sided shape. Oct means eight, as in an octopus. Novem is nine, like a novena. Decem is ten, like a decimal.

So why, in our modern calendar, are these months named for numbers that are two places off? The ninth month is named "Seven," the tenth is "Eight," and so on. It feels like a cosmic typo, a fundamental error baked into the very fabric of how we organize our lives. The answer, like so many of history’s quirks, isn't a mistake at all. It’s a fascinating story of empire, ego, and a calendar that was, for centuries, a complete mess.

To understand this numerical misalignment, we have to travel back to the very beginning, to the legendary founding of Rome.

The Original Roman Calendar: A Ten-Month Year

The early Roman calendar, attributed to the city's founder Romulus around the 8th century BCE, was not a twelve-month affair. It was a ten-month calendar, beginning in March (Martius), which was fittingly named after Mars, the god of war. This made sense for an agrarian society; March signaled the start of the spring planting season and the time for military campaigns.

The original ten months were:

1.  Martius (March)

2.  Aprilis (April)

3.  Maius (May)

4.  Iunius (June)

5.  Quintilis (from quinque, meaning five)

6.  Sextilis (from sex, meaning six)

7.  September (from septem, meaning seven)

8.  October (from octo, meaning eight)

9.  November (from novem, meaning nine)

10. December (from decem, meaning ten)

In this system, the names were perfectly logical. September was the seventh month, October the eighth, November the ninth, and December the tenth. There was no confusion. The problem was that this calendar was only 304 days long. It completely ignored the roughly 60 days of winter, a period that was considered "monthless." This created a massive drift, and the calendar quickly fell out of sync with the seasons.

The Fix: Adding January and February

The need for a calendar that aligned with the solar year became undeniable. According to Roman tradition, it was the second king of Rome, Numa Pompilius (c. 715–673 BCE), who is credited with reforming the calendar. He addressed the "monthless" winter by adding two new months at the beginning of the year: Januarius (named for Janus, the two-faced god of beginnings and endings) and Februarius (named for Februalia, a festival of purification).

Crucially, these new months were placed before Martius. The Romans, pragmatic as they were, did not renumber the existing months. They simply tacked the new ones onto the front. The year was now twelve months long, but the last four retained their original numerical names.

Think of it like a line of people. You have ten people in line, and the seventh person is named "Seven." Then, two people cut to the front of the line. The person named "Seven" is now ninth in line, but their name hasn't changed. This is exactly what happened to September, October, November, and December. They were now the 9th, 10th, 11th, and 12th months, but their names were relics of a bygone era.

The Julian and Augustan Reforms: The Ego of Emperors

The calendar, however, was still a political and religious tool, and it remained a mess for centuries. The Pontifex Maximus, the chief priest, had the power to add days or intercalary months to extend a year, often for political gain - to keep allies in office longer or to shorten a rival's term. By the time of Julius Caesar, the calendar was off by about three months.

Caesar, a man of decisive action, looked to the Egyptians and their solar calendar for a solution. With the help of the astronomer Sosigenes, he introduced the Julian Calendar in 46 BCE. This new system established a 365-day year with a leap day every four years, bringing stability and finally aligning the calendar with the seasons.

In the midst of these reforms, the Roman Senate decided to honor Caesar by renaming the month of Quintilis (the fifth month) to Julius (July) in his honor. This was a purely political and sycophantic move, but it set a precedent.

After Caesar's assassination, his grand-nephew and adopted heir, Augustus, ascended to power. Not to be outdone by his predecessor, the Senate (again, eager to please) renamed the month of Sextilis (the sixth month) to Augustus (August) in 8 BCE, honoring the emperor for his many victories.

This is where the calendar's numerical names took their final, fatal blow. Any lingering logic in the months' names was now completely abandoned. The months of July and August were named after men, not gods or numbers. The calendar had become a monument to imperial ego, with the numerical names of the later months serving as a permanent, albeit confusing, historical artifact.

A Living Fossil of History

So, to answer our original question: September, October, November, and December are named for numbers that are two places off because our calendar is a palimpsest - a manuscript written over an older, erased text. The names are fossils from a ten-month Roman year that began in March.

We are, in a sense, speaking a linguistic echo of a calendar that was abandoned over two thousand years ago. Every time we write "September 1st," we are honoring a Roman tradition that has been obsolete since the days of Numa Pompilius. It’s a small but profound reminder that the systems we take for granted - our ways of measuring time itself - are not born of pure logic. They are products of history, a messy and human story of gods and kings, of agricultural needs and political vanities.

So the next time you find yourself puzzled by the misplaced names, you can smile. You're not just marking a date; you're connecting with a 2,500-year-old Roman tradition. It's a beautiful, illogical, and perfectly human quirk. The calendar isn't wrong; it’s just telling us a story.

With thanks to Pixabay at pexels.com for the great image

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