The Book of the Damned (18 page)
Read The Book of the Damned Online
Authors: Charles Fort
So there have, or haven’t, been found upon this earth things that fell from the sky, or that were left behind by extra-mundane visitors to this earth—
A yarn in the London
Times,
June 22, 1844: that some workmen, quarrying rock, close to the Tweed, about a quarter of a mile below Rutherford Mills, discovered a gold thread embedded in the stone at a depth of eight feet: that a piece of the gold thread had been sent to the office of the
Kelso Chronicle.
Pretty little thing; not at all frowsy; rather damnable.
London
Times,
Dec. 24, 1851:
That Hiram De Witt, of Springfield, Mass., returning from California, had brought with him a piece of auriferous quartz about the size of a man’s fist. It was accidentally dropped—split open—nail in it. There was a cut-iron nail, size of a six-penny nail, slightly corroded. “It was entirely straight and had a perfect head.”
Or—California—ages ago, when auriferous quartz was forming—super-carpenter, a million miles or so up in the air—drops a nail.
To one not an intermediatist, it would seem incredible that this datum, not only of the damned, but of the lowest of the damned, or of the journalistic caste of the accursed, could merge away with something else damned only by disregard, and backed by what is called “highest scientific authority”—
Communication by Sir David Brewster
(Rept. Brit. Assoc.,
1845-51):
That a nail had been found in a block of stone from Kingoodie Quarry, North Britain. The block in which the nail was found was nine inches thick, but as to what part of the quarry it had come from, there is no evidence—except that it could not have been from the surface. The quarry had been worked about twenty years. It consisted of alternate layers of hard stone and a substance called “till.” The point of the nail, quite eaten with rust, projected into some “till,” upon the surface of the block of stone. The rest of the nail lay upon the surface of the stone to within an inch of the head—that inch of it was embedded in the stone.
Although its caste is high, this is a thing profoundly of the damned—sort of a Brahmin as regarded by a Baptist. Its case was stated fairly; Brewster related all circumstances available to him—but there was no discussion at the meeting of the British Association: no explanation was offered—
Nevertheless the thing can be nullified—
But the nullification that we find is as much against orthodoxy in one respect as it is against our own expression that inclusion in quartz or sandstone indicates antiquity—or there would have to be a revision of prevailing dogmas upon quartz and sandstone and age indicated by them, if the opposing data should be accepted. Of course it may be contended by both the orthodox and us heretics that the opposition is only a yarn from a newspaper. By an odd combination, we find our two lost souls that have tried to emerge, chucked back to perdition by one blow:
Pop. Sci. News,
1884-41:
That, according to the
Carson Appeal,
there had been found in a mine, quartz crystals that could have had only fifteen years in which to form: that, where a mill had been built, sandstone had been found, when the mill was torn down, that had hardened in twelve years: that in this sandstone was a piece of wood “with a nail in it.”
Annals of Scientific Discovery,
1853-71:
That, at the meeting of the British Association, 1853, Sir David Brewster had announced that he had to bring before the meeting an object “of so incredible a nature that nothing short of the strongest evidence was necessary to render the statement at all probable.”
A crystal lens had been found in the treasure-house at Nineveh.
In many of the temples and treasure houses of old civilizations upon this earth have been preserved things that have fallen from the sky—or meteorites.
Again we have a Brahmin. This thing is buried alive in the heart of propriety: it is in the British Museum.
Carpenter, in
The Microscope and Its Revelations,
gives two drawings of it. Carpenter argues that it is impossible to accept that optical lenses had ever been made by the ancients. Never occurred to him—someone a million miles or so up in the air—looking through his telescope—lens drops out.
This does not appeal to Carpenter: he says that this object must have been an ornament.
According to Brewster, it was not an ornament, but “a true optical lens.”
In that case, in ruins of an old civilization upon this earth, has been found an accursed thing that was, acceptably, not a product of any old civilization indigenous to this earth.
10
Early explorers have Florida mixed up with Newfoundland. But the confusion is worse than that still earlier. It arises from simplicity. Very early explorers think that all land westward is one land, India: awareness of other lands as well as India comes as a slow process. I do not now think of things arriving upon this earth from some especial other world. That was my notion when I started to collect our data. Or, as is a commonplace of observation, all intellection begins with the illusion of homogeneity. It’s one of Spencer’s data: we see homogeneousness in all things distant, or with which we have small acquaintance. Advance from the relatively homogeneous to the relatively heterogeneous is Spencerian Philosophy—like everything else, so-called: not that it was really Spencer’s discovery, but was taken from von Baer, who, in turn, was continuous with preceding evolutionary speculation. Our own expression is that all things are acting to advance to the homogeneous, or are trying to localize Homogeneousness. Homogeneousness is an aspect of the Universal, wherein it is a state that does not merge away into something else. We regard homogeneousness as an aspect of positiveness, but it is our acceptance that infinite frustrations of attempts to positivize manifest themselves in infinite heterogeneity: so that though things try to localize homogeneousness they end up in heterogeneity so great that it amounts to infinite dispersion or indistinguishability.
So all concepts are little attempted positivenesses, but soon have to give in to compromise, modification, nullification, merging away into indistinguishability—unless, here and there, in the world’s history, there may have been a super-dogmatist, who, for only an infinitesimal of time, has been able to hold out against heterogeneity or modification or doubt or “listening to reason,” or loss of identity—in which case—instant translation to heaven or the Positive Absolute.
Odd thing about Spencer is that he never recognized that “homogeneity,” “integration,” and “definiteness” are all words for the same state, or the state that we call “positiveness.” What we call his mistake is in that he regarded “homogeneousness” as negative.
I began with a notion of some one other world, from which objects and substances have fallen to this earth; which had, or which, to less degree, has a tutelary interest in this earth; which is now attempting to communicate with this earth—modifying, because of data which will pile up later, into acceptance that some other world is not attempting but has been, for centuries, in communication with a sect, perhaps, or a secret society, or certain esoteric ones of this earth’s inhabitants.
I lose a great deal of hypnotic power in not being able to concentrate attention upon some one other world.
As I have admitted before I’m intelligent, as contrasted with the orthodox. I haven’t the aristocratic disregard of a New York curator or an Eskimo medicine-man.
I have to dissipate myself in acceptance of a host of other worlds: size of the moon, some of them: one of them, at least—tremendous thing: we’ll take that up later. Vast, amorphous aerial regions, to which such definite words as “worlds” and “planets” seem inapplicable. And artificial constructions that I have called “super-constructions”: one of them about the size of Brooklyn, I should say, offhand. And one or more of them wheel-shaped things a goodly number of square miles in area.
I think that earlier in this book, before we liberalized into embracing everything that comes along, your indignation, or indigestion would have expressed in the notion that, if this were so, astronomers would have seen these other worlds and regions and vast geometric constructions. You’d have had that notion: you’d have stopped there.
But the attempt to stop is saying “enough” to the insatiable. In cosmic punctuation there are no periods: illusion of periods is incomplete view of colons and semi-colons.
We can’t stop with the notion that if there were such phenomena, astronomers would have seen them. Because of our experience with suppression and disregard, we suspect, before we go into the subject at all, that astronomers have seen them; that navigators and meteorologists have seen them; that individual scientists and other trained observers have seen them many times—
That it is the System that has excluded data of them.
As to the Law of Gravitation, and astronomers’ formulas, remember that these formulas worked out in the time of Laplace as well as they do now. But there are hundreds of planetary bodies now known that were then not known. So a few hundred worlds more of ours won’t make any difference. Laplace knew of about only thirty bodies in this solar system: about six hundred are recognized now—
What are the discoveries of geology and biology to a theologian?
His formulas still work out as well as they ever did.
If the Law of Gravitation could be stated as a real utterance, it might be a real resistance to us. But we are told only that gravitation is gravitation. Of course to an intermediatist, nothing can be defined except in terms of itself—but even the orthodox, in what seems to me to be the innate premonitions of realness, not founded upon experience, agree that to define a thing in terms of itself is not real definition. It is said that by gravitation is meant the attraction of all things proportionately to mass and inversely as the square of the distance. Mass would mean interattraction holding together final particles, if there were final particles. Then, until final particles be discovered, only one term of this expression survives, or mass is attraction. But distance is only extent of mass, unless one holds out for absolute vacuum among planets, a position against which we could bring a host of data. But there is no possible means of expressing that gravitation is anything other than attraction. So there is nothing to resist us but such a phantom as—that gravitation is the gravitation of all gravitations proportionately to gravitation and inversely as the square of gravitation. In a quasi-existence, nothing more sensible than this can be said upon any so-called subject—perhaps there are higher approximations to ultimate sensibleness.
Nevertheless we seem to have a feeling that with the System against us we have a kind of resistance here. We’d have felt so formerly, at any rate: I think the Dr. Grays and Prof. Hitchcocks have modified our trustfulness toward indistinguishability. As to the perfection of this System that quasi-opposes us and the infallibility of its mathematics—as if there could be real mathematics in a mode of seeming where twice two are not four—we’ve been told over and over of their vindication in the discovery of Neptune.
I’m afraid that the course we’re taking will turn out like every other development. We began humbly, admitting that we’re of the damned—
But our eyebrows—
Just a faint flicker in them, or in one of them, every time we hear of the “triumphal discovery of Neptune”—this “monumental achievement of theoretical astronomy,” as the textbooks call it.
The whole trouble is that we’ve looked it up.
The textbooks omit this:
That, instead of the orbit of Neptune agreeing with the calculations of Adams and Leverrier, it was so different—that Leverrier said that it was not the planet of his calculations.
Later it was thought best to say no more upon that subject.
The textbooks omit this:
That, in 1846, everyone who knew a sine from a cosine was out sining and cosining for a planet beyond Uranus.
Two of them guessed right.
To some minds, even after Leverrier’s own rejection of Neptune, the word “guessed” may be objectionable—but, according to Prof. Peirce, of Harvard, the calculations of Adams and Leverrier would have applied quite as well to positions many degrees from the position of Neptune.
Or for Prof. Peirce’s demonstration that the discovery of Neptune was only a “happy accident,” see
Proc. Amer. Acad. Sciences,
1-65.
For references, see Lowell’s
Evolution of Worlds.
Or comets: another nebulous resistance to our own notions. As to eclipses, I have notes upon several of them that did not occur upon scheduled time, though with differences only of seconds—and one delightful lost soul, deep-buried, but buried in the ultra-respectable records of the Royal Astronomical Society, upon an eclipse that did not occur at all. That delightful, ultra-sponsored thing of perdition is too good and malicious to be dismissed with passing notice: we’ll have him later.
Throughout the history of astronomy, every comet that has come back upon predicted time—not that, essentially, there was anything more abstruse about it than is a prediction that you can make of a postman’s periodicities tomorrow—was advertised for all it was worth. It’s the way reputations are worked up for fortunetellers by the faithful. The comets that didn’t come back—omitted or explained. Or Encke’s Comet. It came back slower and slower. But the astronomers explained. Be almost absolutely sure of that: they explained. They had it all worked out and formulated and “proved” why that comet was coming back slower and slower—and there the damn thing began coming faster and faster.
Halley’s Comet.
Astronomy—“the perfect science, as we astronomers like to call it.” (Jacoby.)
It’s my own notion that if, in a real existence, an astronomer could not tell one longitude from another, he’d be sent back to this purgatory of ours until he could meet that simple requirement.
Halley was sent to the Cape of Good Hope to determine its longitude. He got it degrees wrong. He gave to Africa’s noble Roman promontory a retroussé twist that would take the pride out of any Kaffir.
We hear everlastingly of Halley’s Comet. It came back—maybe. But, unless we look the matter up in contemporaneous records, we hear nothing of—the Leonids, for instance. By the same methods as those by which Halley’s Comet was predicted, the Leonids were predicted. November, 1898—no Leonids. It was explained. They had been perturbed. They would appear in November, 1899. November, 1899—November, 1900—no Leonids.
My notion of astronomic accuracy:
Who could not be a prize marksman, if only his hits be recorded?
As to Halley’s Comet, of 1910—everybody now swears he saw it. He has to perjure himself: otherwise he’d be accused of having no interest in great, inspiring things that he’s never given any attention to.
Regard this:
That there never is a moment when there is not some comet in the sky. Virtually there is no year in which several new comets are not discovered, so plentiful are they. Luminous fleas on a vast black dog—in popular impressions, there is no realization of the extent to which this solar system is flea-bitten.
If a comet have not the orbit that astronomers have predicted—perturbed. If—like Halley’s Comet—it be late—even a year late—perturbed. When a train is an hour late, we have small opinion of the predictions of timetables. When a comet’s a year late, all we ask is—that it be explained. We hear of the inflation and arrogance of astronomers. My own acceptance is not that they are imposing upon us: that they are requiting us. For many of us priests no longer function to give us seeming rapport with Perfection, Infallibility—the Positive Absolute. Astronomers have stepped forward to fill a vacancy—with quasi-phantomosity—but, in our acceptance, with a higher approximation to substantiality than had the attenuations that preceded them. I should say, myself, that all that we call progress is not so much response to “urge” as it is response to a hiatus—or if you want something to grow somewhere, dig out everything else in its area. So I have to accept that the positive assurances of astronomers are necessary to us, or the blunderings, evasions and disguises of astronomers would never be tolerated: that, given such latitude as they are permitted to take, they could not be very disastrously mistaken. Suppose the comet called Halley’s had not appeared—
Early in 1910, a far more important comet than the anæmic luminosity said to be Halley’s, appeared. It was so brilliant that it was visible in daylight. The astronomers would have been saved anyway. If this other comet did not have the predicted orbit—perturbation. If you’re going to Coney Island, and predict there’ll be a special kind of a pebble on the beach, I don’t see how you can disgrace yourself, if some other pebble will do just as well—because the feeble thing said to have been seen in 1910 was no more in accord with the sensational descriptions given out by astronomers in advance than is a pale pebble with a brick-red boulder.
I predict that next Wednesday, a large Chinaman, in evening clothes, will cross Broadway, at 42nd Street, at 9 p.m. He doesn’t, but a tubercular Jap in a sailor’s uniform does cross Broadway, at 35th Street, Friday, at noon. Well, a Jap is a perturbed Chinaman, and clothes are clothes.
I remember the terrifying predictions made by the honest and credulous astronomers, who must have been themselves hypnotized, or they could not have hypnotized the rest of us, in 1909. Wills were made. Human life might be swept from this planet. In quasi-existence, which is essentially Hibernian, that would be no reason why wills should not be made. The less excitable of us did expect at least some pretty good fireworks.
I have to admit that it is said that, in New York, a light was seen in the sky.
It was about as terrifying as the scratch of a match on the seat of some breeches half a mile away.
It was not on time.
Though I have heard that a faint nebulosity, which I did not see, myself, though I looked when I was told to look, was seen in the sky, it appeared several days after the time predicted.
A hypnotized host of imbeciles of us: told to look up at the sky: we did—like a lot of pointers hypnotized by a partridge.
The effect:
Almost everybody now swears that he saw Halley’s Comet, and that it was a glorious spectacle.
An interesting circumstance here is that seemingly we are trying to discredit astronomers because astronomers oppose us—that’s not my impression. We shall be in the Brahmin caste of the hell of the Baptists. Almost all our data, in some regiments of this procession, are observations by astronomers, few of them mere amateur astronomers. It is the System that opposes us. It is the System that is suppressing astronomers. I think we pity them in their captivity. Ours is not malice—in a positive sense. It’s chivalry—somewhat. Unhappy astronomers looking out from high towers in which they are imprisoned—we appear upon the horizon.
