January: the month named by the Romans after the two-faced god, Janus, who looks both backwards and forwards. He’s the god of gateways and doorways, looking simultaneously at past and future paths.

The Romans shifted the time of New Year’s resolutions to the month of Janus. The ancient practice of resolutions is traceable to the Babylonians, whose Akitu festival occurred in late March at the beginning of the agricultural cycle. Akitu was a 12-day period in which the victory of order over chaos was celebrated and blessings and prosperity were prayed for.

In the Roman calendar, the new year was preceded by the Saturnalia, the feast of misrule ending around December 23. Medieval Christianity practised its own version but transferred the date to January 1.

The Feast of Fools was a carnival of chaos, with adults behaving like children while children were the adults in the room. A boy was elected bishop for the day while friars ran amok in church, whooping like exhilarated devils.

At first glance, our own New Year’s resolutions seem to have little in common.

Ever since a 1947 Gallup poll listed the 10 most popular resolutions in the US, the top 10 have scarcely varied. Today, these resolutions repeat themselves almost word for word: lose weight; quit smoking; don’t drink as much; embark on self-improvement; get organised; manage finances better; spend more time with family and friends.

Others differ in wording, reflecting the fads of the day, but differ little in substance. In 1947, it was “go to Church more regularly”. Today, it might read “practise self-care” or even “explore new places” –secular language but otherwise concerned with deepening and broadening one’s horizons.

Such resolutions are typical of a mobile, individualist society. Few of them would have made much sense to medieval Europeans. They hadn’t yet discovered tobacco. Not going to church would have cut them off from most entertainment  –  the idea of non-participation hardly arose.

Self-improvement made sense if it meant conversion. But ‘getting organised’ or ‘getting ahead in one’s professional career’ made little sense in feudal times when your birth determined your status. Try to explain seeking more “educational opportunities” or “personal autonomy and choices” to a serf – or even the Sheriff of Nottingham.

So much of our lives are tangled up with technology that we should expect a break with the past. Many of our resolutions today involve going on a “digital diet” and cutting down on the hours we spend sitting (“the new smoking”) at a computer screen.

New Year’s resolutions breathe the language of magical thinking

However, there are deeper continuities. We still celebrate victory over chaos –  only this time the gods are Oprah, telling us she wants to practise more “gratitude” and Michelle Obama, telling us how to set personal goals and seek personal growth.

The language of the new gods is that of modern science and technology. We’re told how the latest from neuroscience will help us “hack” our way to losing weight. Oh, and here’s how this new app will help keep track of your progress. Subscribe now and get a discount.

And, yet, new year resolutions breathe the language of magical thinking. They invest everything in a magical starting date for personal transformation. We believe the promise that change will come almost instantaneously –  a new habit in three weeks, 20 kilos off in six.

The truth is personal change can’t be achieved in a season of frenetic effort if the new habits can’t be kept up in normal times. If you need willpower to achieve something – that is, to strain against the odds – then you’re probably going to fail.

That’s the story behind the unused gym memberships; discarded weight-loss goals; relapsed smokers and drinkers; resumed spending habits; and forgotten resolutions to learn a new language.

It’s our culture’s take on Janus: facing towards science and magical thinking at the same time.

There’s a reason why we remain fascinated by the resolutions of Oprah, Michelle Obama, Richard Branson, Mark Zuckerber, and Serena Williams. It’s because our resolutions usually fail; we return to see what we missed the last time.

The celebrities’ secret –  when they succeed – is that they leave out some of what they actually do. They don’t just have personal goals. They rearrange their lives, with the help of staff, so that their dietician-approved organic food is served prepared, their friends and acquaintances are filtered and their days are professionally planned to the hour.

In short, they don’t just exercise willpower. In fact, they minimise day-to-day choices. They restructure their environment and surround themselves with trainers, cooks and “life coaches” – paying them from the wealth they accumulate by telling the rest of us how to do it.

The ancients – among others, Greeks, Romans, Chinese, and Indian; Stoics, Jews, Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, and Daoist  –  had an alternative solution. Do not focus on goals and well-thought plans, they said, because life is too uncertain. Do not commit to changing your life by a set date.

Instead, learn to make do with less. Do not resolve to bend reality to your will; learn how to respond to surprises and disorder. Do not fixate on dates; embark on a lifetime project, one step at a time. Practise your new philosophy and the rest will change in its wake.

New Year’s resolutions belong to the two-faced world of Janus, where it’s possible to believe that science can teach us magic. No wonder that, as soon as the month of Janus comes to an end, so do the resolutions of most of us.

ranier.fsadni@europe.com