Antique and Vintage Mechanical Clocks

Some time ago, I posted an article on Minimal Invasive Intervention, in which I posed a question that often haunts clock collectors: how far should one go to repair, restore, or conserve a clock without changing it in a significant way?

This question came up in a conversation with my daughter, a civil engineer, who raised a fascinating philosophical point: if every component of a clock is eventually replaced, does it remain fundamentally the same object?

This is essentially the Ship of Theseus paradox. Plutarch, the Greek philosopher, posed the question in terms of a ship that had all of its wooden parts replaced over time:

“The ship wherein Theseus and the youth of Athens returned from Crete had thirty oars, and was preserved by the Athenians down even to the time of Demetrius Phalereus, for they took away the old planks as they decayed, putting in new and stronger timber in their places, in so much that this ship became a standing example among the philosophers, for the logical question of things that grow; one side holding that the ship remained the same, and the other contending that it was not the same.”
— Plutarch, Theseus

The same dilemma exists in clock collecting. Take lantern clocks, for example. These weight-driven wall clocks, shaped like a lantern, were the first type of clock widely used in English homes during the 17th century. When long-case clocks with 8-day movements arrived, lantern clocks became obsolete. Today, they are highly collectible—but almost all have been altered, even those considered “totally genuine.”

D. & J. Benson, specialists in early English clocks, offer guidance to the collector:

“We are strong believers that if a clock was converted to a different escapement many years ago, this should be retained, being part of the history of the clock, rather than reconverting clocks back to former guises. Only under compelling circumstances would a clock be returned to a former state. Only absolutely necessary restoration work is carried out in order that the original clock survives for future generations. We conserve rather than replace.”

Yet the reality is complicated. Some of the more expensive lantern clocks they offer have early conversions—from verge to anchor escapement—or even entirely new fusee movements installed. During these changes, original mechanisms, including alarm components, may be removed; single hands replaced with two, broken finials or door handles restored, chapter rings re-silvered, and doors often lost. With so many changes, how original is the clock? Does it retain its identity?

But there is a more fundamental reason why clocks were altered or changed. Historically, most alterations were not done to deceive or “improve” originality; they were done to keep clocks working in everyday life. Lantern clocks were converted because anchor escapements were better. 30-hour Ogee movements were swapped simply because a household needed a reliable timekeeper, not an artifact.

Collectors vary in their opinions. One might argue that a clock ceases to be fundamentally the same if too much is replaced, even when new parts are made with the same materials and methods as the originals. Another might argue that a restoration that returns a clock to its original appearance and function actually enhances its “originality,” making it more desirable. If the changes are seamless, unnoticeable to the casual observer, is the clock still original? For the thousands of common mechanical clocks made over the years, does it really matter?

Many collectors have faced this dilemma. When I bought my first Vienna Regulator, I quickly noticed replacement parts scattered throughout its movement and the case. It made me question how original the clock truly was. I realized it’s an unwinnable argument—important to me as a collector, but largely irrelevant to the casual observer.

In time, I learned to appreciate the clock for what it had become—an honest, imperfect assembly of parts shaped by its history.

Ultimately, these questions—of identity, authenticity, and restoration—aren’t just about clocks. They challenge our understanding of objects, history, and the stories that tie us to them. And maybe, just maybe, that’s part of the joy of collecting: embracing the paradox. In the end, the story of the clock may be more valuable than the object itself.

I shared a title photo of a 30-hour ogee clock because many of these clocks have had their movements replaced over time. It’s common to find a movement from a different maker in the case, and hands, weights, coil gongs, suspension springs, or dial faces were often swapped as they wore out. Does that make it original, or does it simply reveal the many hands—and many years—that kept it running?