The earliest records
Our first entry is the earliest solar eclipse for which we have a record. The account appears in the ancient Chinese text Shujing, traditionally said to have been compiled by the philosopher Confucius, which reads: “On the first day of the last month of autumn, the Sun and Moon did not meet harmoniously in Fang.” What an understated way to describe an eclipse!
Pinning the exact date of this event is somewhat problematic; originally, scholars stated it occurred either in 2136 B.C. or 2128 B.C. The mention of “Fang,” though, ultimately holds the key: This term refers to a section of the sky mainly in Scorpius. Furthermore, we know the eclipse happened during the reign of Zhong Kang, an emperor of the Xia Dynasty. Based on these details, the only eclipse that could have been seen from the capital city was Oct. 22, 2137 B.C.
There’s also a long-standing tale — which may be true but very probably isn’t — about this eclipse and two royal astrologers, He and Ho. In at least one version, they were drunk prior to the event and didn’t warn the emperor that the eclipse was coming. Whether or not they even knew it was coming is debatable. Long story short, they reportedly were killed for their mistake.
Our next entry is recorded in the Shijing, a collection of ancient poetry whose compilation is also credited to Confucius. The eclipse in question occurred during the Zhou dynasty, though the exact date is uncertain. Some astronomers have pointed to the total eclipse of June 4, 781 B.C., though this would have only been a partial eclipse in Zhou territory. Another candidate is the eclipse of Nov. 30, 735 B.C., which was annular in the Western Zhou capital of Hao, near modern-day Xi’an.
About the same time in Greece, Plutarch writes about an annular eclipse that occurred around the death of Romulus in 716 B.C. Such an eclipse happened Dec. 10. The path of annularity crossed northern Africa, while in Athens, a bit more than one-third of the Sun was obscured by the Moon.
More than a century later, a total solar eclipse May 28, 585 B.C., might have ended a war between the Lydians and the Medes. Greek historian Herodotus wrote about the conclusion of the conflict in Book I of his Histories: “As the balance had not inclined in favor of either nation, another engagement took place in the sixth year of the war, in the course of which, just as the battle was growing warm, day was suddenly turned into night. … When the Lydians and Medes observed the change they ceased fighting, and were alike anxious to conclude peace.”
A later solar eclipse had a similar effect when it cast a shadow on a conflict over Corinth between the Spartans, led by Cleombrotus, and the invading Persians, led by Xerxes I. Herodotus wrote that, “while [Cleombrotus] was offering sacrifice to know if he should march out against the Persians, the Sun was suddenly darkened in mid-sky.” As you might imagine, some 2,500 years ago, eclipses were not seen as good omens. This one, which astronomers now think occurred Oct. 2, 480 B.C., rattled Cleombrotus and caused a full retreat of the Spartan forces.
Nearly half a century later, a solar eclipse nearly stopped the army of Athens from attacking the Spartans. In his History of the Peloponnesian War, Greek historian Thucydides writes, “in the same summer, at the beginning of a new lunar month (at which time alone the phenomenon seems possible) the Sun was eclipsed after mid-day, and became full again after it had assumed a crescent form and after some of the stars had shone out.” This eclipse best matches one on Aug. 3, 431 B.C. From northern Greece, the Moon would have covered more than 91 percent of the Sun. The “stars” that shone out were almost certainly Venus, which was 20° from our daytime star, and Jupiter, which was twice as far away from the eclipsed Sun.