The Book of the Damned (17 page)
Read The Book of the Damned Online
Authors: Charles Fort
Now to us of the initiated, or to us of the wider outlook, there is nothing incredible in the thought of shoemakers in other worlds—but I suspect that this characterization is tactical.
This object of worked stone, or this shoemaker’s lapstone, was made of Vesuvian lava, Dr. Johnstone-Lavis thinks: most probably of lava of the flow of 1631, from the La Scala quarries. We condemn “most probably” as bad positivism. As to the “men of position,” who had accepted that this thing had fallen from the sky—“I have now obliged them to admit their mistake,” says Dr. Johnstone-Lavis—or it’s always the stranger in Naples who knows La Scala lava better than the natives know it.
Explanation:
That the thing had been knocked from, or thrown from, a roof.
As to attempt to trace the occurrence to any special roof—nothing said upon that subject. Or that Dr. Johnstone-Lavis called a carved stone a “lapstone,” quite as Mr. Symons called a spherical object a “cannon ball”: bent upon a discrediting incongruity:
Shoemaking and celestiality.
It is so easy to say that axes, or wedge-shaped stones found on the ground, were there in the first place, and that it is only coincidence that lightning should strike near one—but the credibility of coincidences decreases as the square root of their volume, I think. Our massed instances speak too much of coincidences of coincidences. But the axes, or wedge-shaped objects that have been found in trees, are more difficult for orthodoxy. For instance, Arago accepts that such finds have occurred, but he argues that, if wedge-shaped stones have been found in tree trunks, so have toads been found in tree trunks—did the toads fall there?
Not at all bad for a hypnotic.
Of course, in our acceptance, the Irish are the Chosen People. It’s because they are characteristically best in accord with the underlying essence of quasi-existence. M. Arago answers a question by asking another question. That’s the only way a question can be answered in our Hibernian kind of an existence.
Dr. Bodding argued with the natives of the Santal Parganas, India, who said that cut and shaped stones had fallen from the sky, some of them lodging in tree trunks. Dr. Bodding, with orthodox notions of velocity of falling bodies, having missed, I suppose, some of the notes I have upon large hailstones, which, for size, have fallen with astonishingly low velocity, argued that anything falling from the sky would be “smashed to atoms.” He accepts that objects of worked stone have been found in tree trunks, but he explains:
That the Santals often steal trees, but do not chop them down in the usual way, because that would be to make too much noise: they insert stone wedges, and hammer them instead: then, if they should be caught, wedges would not be the evidence against them that axes would be.
Or that a scientific man can’t be desperate and reasonable too.
Or that a pickpocket, for instance, is safe, though caught with his hand in one’s pocket, if he’s gloved, say: because no court in the land would regard a gloved hand in the same way in which a bare hand would be regarded.
That there’s nothing but intermediateness to the rational and the preposterous: that this status of our own ratiocinations is perceptible wherein they are upon the unfamiliar.
Dr. Bodding collected fifty of these shaped stones, said to have fallen from the sky, in the course of many years. He says that the Santals are a highly developed race, and for ages have not used stone implements—except in this one nefarious convenience to him.
All explanations are localizations. They fade away before the universal. It is difficult to express that black rains in England do not originate in the smoke of factories—less difficult to express that black rains of South Africa do not. We utter little stress upon the absurdity of Dr. Bodding’s explanation, because, if anything’s absurd everything’s absurd, or, rather, has in it some degree or aspect of absurdity, and we’ve never had experience with any state except something somewhere between ultimate absurdity and final reasonableness. Our acceptance is that Dr. Bodding’s elaborate explanation does not apply to cut-stone objects found in tree trunks in other lands: we accept that for the general, a local explanation is inadequate.
As to “thunderstones” not said to have fallen luminously, and not said to have been found sticking in trees, we are told by faithful hypnotics that astonished rustics come upon prehistoric axes that have been washed into sight by rains, and jump to the conclusion that the things have fallen from the sky. But simple rustics come upon many prehistoric things: scrapers, pottery, knives, hammers. We have no record of rusticity coming upon old pottery after a rain, reporting the fall of a bowl from the sky.
Just now, my own acceptance is that wedge-shaped stone objects, formed by means similar to human workmanship, have often fallen from the sky. Maybe there are messages upon them. My acceptance is that they have been called “axes” to discredit them: or the more familiar a term, the higher the incongruity with vague concepts of the vast, remote, tremendous, unknown.
In
Notes and Queries,
2-8-92, a writer says that he had a “thunderstone,” which he had brought from Jamaica. The description is of a wedge-shaped object; not of an ax:
“It shows no mark of having been attached to a handle.”
Of ten “thunderstones,” figured upon different pages in Blinkenberg’s book, nine show no sign of ever having been attached to a handle: one is perforated.
But in a report by Dr. C. Leemans, Director of the Leyden Museum of Antiquities, objects, said by the Japanese to have fallen from the sky, are alluded to throughout as “wedges.” In the
Archaeologic Journal,
11-118, in a paper upon the “thunderstones” of Java, the objects are called “wedges” and not “axes.”
Our notion is that rustics and savages call wedge-shaped objects that fall from the sky, “axes”: that scientific men, when it suits their purposes, can resist temptations to prolixity and pedantry, and adopt the simple: that they can be intelligible when derisive.
All of which lands us in a confusion, worse, I think, than we were in before we so satisfactorily emerged from the distresses of—butter and blood and ink and paper and punk and silk. Now it’s cannon balls and axes and disks—if a “lapstone” be a disk—it’s a flat stone, at any rate.
A great many scientists are good impressionists: they snub the impertinences of details. Had he been of a coarse, grubbing nature, I think Dr. Bodding could never have so simply and beautifully explained the occurrence of stone wedges in tree trunks. But to a realist, the story would be something like this:
A man who needed a tree, in a land of jungles, where, for some unknown reason, everyone’s very selfish with his trees, conceives that hammering stone wedges makes less noise than does the chopping of wood: he and his descendants, in a course of many years, cut down trees with wedges, and escape penalty, because it never occurs to a prosecutor that the head of an ax is a wedge.
The story is like every other attempted positivism—beautiful and complete, until we see what it excludes or disregards; whereupon it becomes the ugly and incomplete—but not absolutely, because there is probably something of what is called foundation for it. Perhaps a mentally incomplete Santal did once do something of the kind. Story told to Dr. Bodding: in the usual scientific way, he makes a dogma of an aberration.
Or we did have to utter a little stress upon this matter, after all. They’re so hairy and attractive, these scientists of the 19th century. We feel the zeal of a Sitting Bull when we think of their scalps. We shall have to have an expression of our own upon this confusing subject. We have expressions: we don’t call them explanations: we’ve discarded explanations with beliefs. Though everyone who scalps is, in the oneness of allness, himself likely to be scalped, there is such a discourtesy to an enemy as the wearing of wigs.
Cannon balls and wedges, and what may they mean?
Bombardments of this earth—
Attempts to communicate—
Or visitors to this earth, long ago—explorers from the moon—taking back with them, as curiosities, perhaps, implements of this earth’s prehistoric inhabitants—a wreck—a cargo of such things held for ages in suspension in the Super-Sargasso Sea—falling, or shaken, down occasionally by storms—
But, by preponderance of description, we cannot accept that “thunderstones” ever were attached to handles, or are prehistoric axes—
As to attempts to communicate with this earth by means of wedge-shaped objects especially adapted to the penetration of vast, gelatinous areas spread around this earth—
In the
Proc. Roy. Irish Acad.,
9-337, there is an account of a stone wedge that fell from the sky, near Cashel, Tipperary, Aug. 2, 1865. The phenomenon is not questioned, but the orthodox preference is to call it, not ax-like, nor wedge-shaped, but “pyramidal.” For data of other pyramidal stones said to have fallen from the sky, see
Rept. Brit. Assoc.,
1861-34. One fell at Segowolee, India, March 6, 1853. Of the object that fell at Cashel, Dr. Haughton says in the
Proceedings:
“A singular feature is observable in this stone, that I have never seen in any other:—the rounded edges of the pyramid are sharply marked by lines on the black crust, as perfect as if made by a ruler.” Dr. Haughton’s idea is that the marks may have been made by “some peculiar tension in the cooling.” It must have been very peculiar, if in all aerolites not wedge-shaped, no such phenomenon had ever been observed. It merges away with one or two instances known, after Dr. Haughton’s time, of seeming stratification in meteorites. Stratification in meteorites, however, is denied by the faithful.
I begin to suspect something else.
A whopper is coming.
Later it will be as reasonable, by familiarity, as anything else ever said.
If someone should study the stone of Cashel, as Champollion studied the Rosetta stone, he might—or, rather, would inevitably—find meaning in those lines, and translate them into English—
Nevertheless I begin to suspect something else: something more subtle and esoteric than graven characters upon stones that have fallen from the sky, in attempts to communicate. The notion that other worlds are attempting to communicate with this world is widespread: my own notion is that it is not attempt at all—that it was achievement centuries ago.
I should like to send out a report that a “thunderstone” had fallen, say, somewhere in New Hampshire—
And keep track of every person who came to examine that stone—trace down his affiliations—keep track of him—
Then send out a report that a “thunderstone” had fallen at Stockholm, say—
Would one of the persons who had gone to New Hampshire, be met again in Stockholm? But—what if he had no anthropological, lapidarian, or meteorological affiliations—but did belong to a secret society—
It is only a dawning credulity.
Of the three forms of symmetric objects that have, or haven’t, fallen from the sky, it seems to me that the disk is the most striking. So far, in this respect, we have been at our worst—possibly that’s pretty bad—but “lapstones” are likely to be of considerable variety of form, and something that is said to have fallen at some time somewhere in the Dutch West Indies is profoundly of the unchosen.
Now we shall have something that is high up in the castes of the accursed:
Comptes Rendus,
1887-182:
That, upon June 20, 1887, in a “violent storm”—two months before the reported fall of the symmetric iron object of Brixton—a small stone had fallen from the sky at Tarbes, France: 13 millimeters in diameter; five millimeters thick; weight two grammes. Reported to the French Academy by M. Sudre, professor of the Normal School, Tarbes.
This time the old convenience “there in the first place” is too greatly resisted—the stone was covered with ice.
This object had been cut and shaped by means similar to human hands and human mentality. It was a disk of worked stone—“tres regulier.” “Il a été assurement travaillé.”
There’s not a word as to any known whirlwind anywhere: nothing of other objects or débris that fell at or near this date, in France. The thing had fallen alone. But as mechanically as any part of a machine responds to its stimulus, the explanation appears in
Comptes Rendus
that this stone had been raised by a whirlwind and then flung down.
It may be that in the whole nineteenth century no event more important than this occurred. In
La Nature,
1887, and in
L’Année Scientifique,
1887, this occurrence is noted. It is mentioned in one of the summer numbers of
Nature,
1887. Fassig lists a paper upon it in the
Annuaire de Soc. Met.,
1887.
Not a word of discussion.
Not a subsequent mention can I find.
Our own expression:
What matters it how we, the French Academy, or the Salvation Army may explain?
A disk of worked stone fell from the sky, at Tarbes, France, June 20, 1887.
9
My own pseudo-conclusion:
That we’ve been damned by giants sound asleep, or by great scientific principles and abstractions that cannot realize themselves: that little harlots have visited their caprices upon us; that clowns, with buckets of water from which they pretend to cast thousands of good-sized fishes have anathematized us for laughing disrespectfully, because, as with all clowns, underlying buffoonery is the desire to be taken seriously; that pale ignorances, presiding over microscopes by which they cannot distinguish flesh from nostoc or fishes’ spawn or frogs’ spawn, have visited upon us their wan solemnities. We’ve been damned by corpses and skeletons and mummies, which twitch and totter with pseudo-life derived from conveniences.
Or there is only hypnosis. The accursed are those who admit they’re the accursed.
If we be more nearly real we are reasons arraigned before a jury of dream-phantasms.
Of all meteorites in museums, very few were seen to fall. It is considered sufficient grounds for admission if specimens can’t be accounted for in any way other than that they fell from the sky—as if in the haze of uncertainty that surrounds all things, or that is the essence of everything, or in the merging away of everything into something else, there could be anything that could be accounted for in only one way. The scientist and the theologian reason that if something can be accounted for in only one way, it is accounted for in that way—or logic would be logical, if the conditions that it imposes, but, of course, does not insist upon, could anywhere be found in quasi-existence. In our acceptance, logic, science, art, religion are, in our “existence,” premonitions of a coming awakening, like dawning awarenesses of surroundings in the mind of a dreamer.
Any old chunk of metal that measures up to the standard of “true meteoritic material” is admitted by the museums. It may seem incredible that modern curators still have this delusion, but we suspect that the date on one’s morning newspaper hasn’t much to do with one’s modernity all day long. In reading Fletcher’s catalogue, for instance, we learn that some of the best-known meteorites were “found in draining a field”—“found in making a road”—“turned up by the plow” occurs a dozen times. Someone fishing in Lake Okeechobee, brought up an object in his fishing net. No meteorite had ever been seen to fall near it. The U.S. National Museum accepts it.
If we have accepted only one of the data of “untrue meteoritic material”—one instance of “carbonaceous” matter—if it be too difficult to utter the word “coal”—we see that in this inclusion-exclusion, as in every other means of forming an opinion, false inclusion and false exclusion have been practiced by curators of museums.
There is something of ultra-pathos—of cosmic sadness—in this universal search for a standard, and in belief that one has been revealed by either inspiration or analysis, then the dogged clinging to a poor sham of a thing long after its insufficiency has been shown—or renewed hope and search for the special that can be true, or for something local that could also be universal. It’s as if “true meteoritic material” were a “rock of ages” to some scientific men. They cling. But dingers cannot hold out welcoming arms.
The only seemingly conclusive utterance, or seemingly substantial thing to cling to, is a product of dishonesty, ignorance, or fatigue. All sciences go back and back, until they’re worn out with the process, or until mechanical reaction occurs: then they move forward—as it were. Then they become dogmatic, and take for bases, positions that were only points of exhaustion. So chemistry divided and sub-divided down to atoms; then, in the essential insecurity of all quasi-constructions, it built up a system, which, to anyone so obsessed by his own hypnoses that he is exempt to the chemist’s hypnoses, is perceptibly enough an intellectual anemia built upon infinitesimal debilities.
In
Science,
n.s., 31-298, E.D. Hovey, of the American Museum of Natural History, asserts or confesses that often have objects of material such as fossiliferous limestone and slag been sent to him. He says that these things have been accompanied by assurances that they have been seen to fall on lawns, on roads, in front of houses.
They are all excluded. They are not of true meteoritic material. They were on the ground in the first place. It is only by coincidence that lightning has struck, or that a real meteorite, which was unfindable, has struck near objects of slag and limestone.
Mr. Hovey says that the list might be extended indefinitely. That’s a tantalizing suggestion of some very interesting stuff—
He says:
“But it is not worthwhile.”
I’d like to know what strange, damned, excommunicated things have been sent to museums by persons who have felt convinced that they had seen what they may have seen, strongly enough to risk ridicule, to make up bundles, go to express offices, and write letters. I accept that over the door of every museum, into which such things enter, is written:
“Abandon Hope.”
If a Mr. Symons mentions one instance of coal, or of slag or cinders, said to have fallen from the sky, we are not—except by association with the “carbonaceous” meteorites—strong in our impression that coal sometimes falls to this earth from coal-burning super-constructions up somewhere—
In
Comptes Rendus,
91-197, M. Daubree tells the same story. Our acceptance, then, is that other curators could tell this same story. Then the phantomosity of our impression substantiates proportionately to its multiplicity. M. Daubree says that often have strange damned things been sent to the French museums, accompanied by assurances that they had been seen to fall from the sky. Especially to our interest, he mentions coal and slag.
Excluded.
Buried unnamed and undated in Science’s potter’s field.
I do not say that the data of the damned should have the same rights as the data of the saved. That would be justice. That would be of the Positive Absolute, and, though the ideal of, a violation of, the very essence of quasi-existence, wherein only to have the appearance of being is to express a preponderance of force one way or another—or inequilibrium, or inconsistency, or injustice.
Our acceptance is that the passing away of exclusionism is a phenomenon of the twentieth century: that gods of the twentieth century will sustain our notions be they ever so unwashed and frowsy. But, in our own expressions, we are limited, by the oneness of quasiness, to the very same methods by which orthodoxy established and maintains its now sleek, suave preposterousnesses. At any rate, though we are inspired by an especial subtle essence—or imponderable, I think—that pervades the twentieth century, we have not the superstition that we are offering anything as a positive fact. Rather often we have not the delusion that we’re any less superstitious and credulous than any logician, savage, curator, or rustic.
An orthodox demonstration, in terms of which we shall have some heresies, is that if things found in coal could have got there only by falling there—they fell there.
So, in the
Manchester Lit. and Phil. Soc. Mems.,
2-9-306, it is argued that certain roundish stones that have been found in coal are “fossil aerolites”: that they had fallen from the sky, ages ago, when the coal was soft, because the coal had closed around them, showing no sign of entrance.
Proc. Soc. of Antiq. of Scotland,
1-1-121:
That, in a lump of coal, from a mine in Scotland, an iron instrument had been found—
“The interest attaching to this singular relic arises from the fact of its having been found in the heart of a piece of coal, seven feet under the surface.”
If we accept that this object of iron was of workmanship beyond the means and skill of the primitive men who may have lived in Scotland when coal was forming there—
“The instrument was considered to be modern.”
That our expression has more of realness, or higher approximation to realness, than has the attempt to explain that is made in the
Proceedings:
That in modern times someone may have bored for coal, and that his drill may have broken off in the coal it had penetrated.
Why he should have abandoned such easily accessible coal, I don’t know. The important point is that there was no sign of boring: that this instrument was in a lump of coal that had closed around it so that its presence was not suspected, until the lump of coal was broken.
No mention can I find of this damned thing in any other publication. Of course there is an alternative here: the thing may not have fallen from the sky: if in coal-forming times, in Scotland, there were, indigenous to this earth, no men capable of making such an iron instrument, it may have been left behind by visitors from other worlds.
In an extraordinary approximation to fairness and justice, which is permitted to us, because we are quite as desirous to make acceptable that nothing can be proved as we are to sustain our own expressions, we note:
That in
Notes and Queries,
11-1-408, there is an account of an ancient copper seal, about the size of a penny, found in chalk, at a depth of from five to six feet, near Bredenstone, England. The design upon it is said to be of a monk kneeling before a virgin and child: a legend upon the margin is said to be: “St. Jordanis Monachi Spaldingie.”
I don’t know about that. It looks very desirable—undesirable to us.
There’s a wretch of an ultra-frowsy thing in the
Scientific American,
7-298, which we condemn ourselves, if somewhere, because of the oneness of allness, the damned must also be the damning. It’s a newspaper story: that about the first of June, 1851, a powerful blast, near Dorchester, Mass., cast out from a bed of solid rock a bell-shaped vessel of an unknown metal: floral designs inlaid with silver; “art of some cunning workman.” The opinion of the Editor of the
Scientific American
is that the thing had been made by Tubal Cain, who was the first inhabitant of Dorchester. Though I fear that this is a little arbitrary, I am not disposed to fly rabidly at every scientific opinion.
Nature,
35-36:
A block of metal found in coal, in Austria, 1885. It is now in the Salsburg museum.
This time we have another expression. Usually our intermediatist attack upon provincial positivism is: Science, in its attempted positivism takes something such as “true meteoritic material” as a standard of judgment; but carbonaceous matter, except for its relative infrequency, is just as veritable a standard of judgment; carbonaceous matter merges away into such a variety of organic substances, that all standards are reduced to indistinguishability: if, then, there is no real standard against us, there is no real resistance to our own acceptances. Now our intermediatism is: Science takes “true meteoritic material” as a standard of admission; but now we have an instance that quite as truly makes “true meteoritic material” a standard of exclusion; or, then, a thing that denies itself is no real resistance to our own acceptances—this depending upon whether we have a datum of something of “true meteoritic material” that orthodoxy can never accept fell from the sky.
We’re a little involved here. Our own acceptance is upon a carved, geometric thing that, if found in a very old deposit, antedates human life, except, perhaps, very primitive human life, as an indigenous product of this earth: but we’re quite as much interested in the dilemma it made for the faithful.
It is of “true meteoritic material.” In
L’Astronomie,
1887-114, it is said that, though so geometric, its phenomena so characteristic of meteorites exclude the idea that it was the work of man.
As to the deposit—Tertiary coal.
Composition—iron, carbon, and a small quantity of nickel.
It has the pitted surface that is supposed by the faithful to be characteristic of meteorites.
For a full account of this subject, see
Comptes Rendus,
103-702. The scientists who examined it could reach no agreement. They bifurcated: then a compromise was suggested; but the compromise is a product of disregard:
That it was of true meteoritic material, and had not been shaped by man;
That it was not of true meteoritic material, but telluric iron that had been shaped by man;
That it was true meteoritic material that had fallen from the sky, but had been shaped by man, after its fall.
The data, one or more of which must be disregarded by each of these three explanations, are: “true meteoritic material” and surface markings of meteorites; geometric form; presence in an ancient deposit; material as hard as steel; absence upon this earth, in Tertiary times, of men who could work in material as hard as steel. It is said that, though of “true meteoritic material,” this object is virtually a steel object.
St. Augustine, with his orthodoxy, was never in—well, very much worse—difficulties than are the faithful here. By due disregard of a datum or so, our own acceptance that it was a steel object that had fallen from the sky to this earth, in Tertiary times, is not forced upon one. We offer ours as the only synthetic expression. For instance, in
Science Gossip,
1887-58, it is described as a meteorite: in this account there is nothing alarming to the pious, because, though everything else is told, its geometric form is not mentioned.
It’s a cube. There is a deep incision all around it. Of its faces, two that are opposite are rounded.
Though I accept that our own expression can only rather approximate to Truth, by the wideness of its inclusions, and because it seems, of four attempts, to represent the only complete synthesis, and can be nullified or greatly modified by data that we, too, have somewhere disregarded, the only means of nullification that I can think of would be demonstration that this object is a mass of iron pyrites, which sometimes forms geometrically. But the analysis mentions not a trace of sulphur. Of course our weakness, or impositiveness, lies in that, by anyone to whom it would be agreeable to find sulphur in this thing, sulphur would be found in it—by our own intermediatism there is some sulphur in everything, or sulphur is only a localization or emphasis of something that, unemphasized, is in all things.
