The Book of the Damned (27 page)
Read The Book of the Damned Online
Authors: Charles Fort
Prof. Watson and Prof. Swift published their observations.
Then the disregard that we cannot think of in terms of ordinary, sane exclusions.
The textbook systematists begin by telling us that the trouble with these observations is that they disagree widely: there is considerable respectfulness, especially for Prof. Swift, but we are told that by coincidence these two astronomers, hundreds of miles apart, were illuded: their observations were so different—
Prof. Swift
(Nature,
Sept. 19, 1878):
That his own observation was “in close approximation to that given by Prof. Watson.”
In the
Observatory,
2-161, Swift says that his observations and Watson’s were “confirmatory of each other.”
The faithful try again:
That Watson and Swift mistook stars for other bodies.
In the
Observatory,
2-193, Prof. Watson says that he had previously committed to memory all stars near the sun, down to the seventh magnitude—
And he’s damned anyway.
How such exclusions work out is shown by Lockyer
(Nature,
Aug. 20, 1878). He says: “There is little doubt that an Intra-Mercurial planet has been discovered by Prof. Watson.”
That was before excommunication was pronounced.
He says:
“If it will fit one of Leverrier’s orbits”—
It didn’t fit.
In
Nature,
21-301, Prof. Swift says:
“I have never made a more valid observation, nor one more free from doubt.”
He’s damned anyway.
We shall have some data that will not live up to most rigorous requirements, but, if anyone would like to read how carefully and minutely these two sets of observations were made, see Prof. Swift’s detailed description in the
Am. Jour. Sci.,
116-313; and the technicalities of Prof. Watson’s observations in
Monthly Notices,
38-525.
Our own acceptance upon dirigible worlds, which is assuredly enough, more nearly real than attempted concepts of large planets relatively near this earth, moving in orbits, but visible only occasionally; which more nearly approximates to reasonableness than does wholesale slaughter of Swift and Watson and Fritsche and Stark and De Cuppis—but our own acceptance is so painful to so many minds that, in another of the charitable moments that we have now and then for the sake of contrast, we offer relief:
The things seen high in the sky by Swift and Watson—
Well, only two months before—the horse and the barn—
We go on with more observations by astronomers, recognizing that it is the very thing that has given them life, sustained them, held them together, that has crushed all but the quasi-gleam of independent life out of them. Were they not systematized, they could not be at all, except sporadically and without sustenance. They are systematized: they must not vary from the conditions of the system: they must not break away for themselves.
The two great commandments:
Thou shalt not break Continuity;
Thou shalt try.
We go on with these disregarded data, some of which, many of which, are of the highest degree of acceptability. It is the System that pulls back its variations, as this earth is pulling back the Matterhorn. It is the System that nourishes and rewards, and also freezes out life with the chill of disregard. We do note that, before excommunication is pronounced, orthodox journals do liberally enough record unassimilable observations.
All things merge away into everything else.
That is Continuity.
So the System merges away and evades us when we try to focus against it.
We have complained a great deal. At least we are not so dull as to have the delusion that we know just exactly what it is that we are complaining about. We speak seemingly definitely enough of “the System,” but we’re building upon observations by members of that very system. Or what we are doing—gathering up the loose heresies of the orthodox. Of course “the System” fringes and ravels away, having no real outline. A Swift will antagonize “the System,” and a Lockyer will call him back; but, then, a Lockyer will vary with a “meteoric hypothesis,” and a Swift will, in turn, represent “the System.” This state is to us typical of all intermediatist phenomena; or that not conceivably is anything really anything, if its parts are likely to be their own opposites at any time. We speak of astronomers—as if there were real astronomers—but who have lost their identity in a System—as if it were a real System—but behind that System is plainly a rapport, or loss of identity in the Spirit of an Era.
Bodies that have looked like dark bodies, and lights that may have been sunlight reflected from interplanetary—objects, masses, constructions—
Lights that have been seen upon—or near?—the moon:
In
Philosophical Transactions,
82-27, is Herschel’s report upon many luminous points, which he saw upon—or near?—the moon, during an eclipse. Why they should be luminous, whereas the moon itself was dark, would get us into a lot of trouble—except that later we shall, or we shan’t, accept that many times have luminous objects been seen close to this earth—at night.
But numerousness is a new factor, or new disturbance, to our explorations—
A new aspect of interplanetary inhabitancy or occupancy—
Worlds in hordes—or beings—winged beings perhaps—wouldn’t astonish me if we should end up by discovering angels—or beings in machines—argosies of celestial voyagers—
In 1783 and 1787, Herschel reported more lights on or near the moon, which he supposed were volcanic.
The word of a Herschel has had no more weight, in divergences from the orthodox, than has had the word of a Lescarbault. These observations are of the disregarded.
Bright spots seen on the moon, November, 1821
(Proc. London Roy. Soc.,
2-167).
For four other instances, see Loomis
(Treatise on Astronomy,
p. 174).
A moving light is reported in
Phil. Trans.,
84-429. To the writer, it looked like a star passing over the moon—“which, on the next moment’s consideration I knew to be impossible.” “It was a fixed, steady light upon the dark, part of the moon.” I suppose “fixed” applies to luster.
In the
Report of the Brit. Assoc.,
1847-18, there is an observation by Rankin, upon luminous points seen on the shaded part of the moon, during an eclipse. They seemed to this observer like reflections of stars. That’s not very reasonable: however, we have, in the
Annual Register,
1821-687, a light not referable to a star—because it moved with the moon: was seen three nights in succession; reported by Capt. Kater. See
Quart. Jour. Roy. Inst.,
12-133.
Phil. Trans.,
112-237:
Report from the Cape Town Observatory: a whitish spot on the dark part of the moon’s limb. Three smaller lights were seen.
The call of positiveness, in its aspects of singleness, or homogeneity, or oneness, or completeness. In data now coming, I feel it myself. A Leverrier studies more than twenty observations. The inclination is irresistible to think that they all relate to one phenomenon. It is an expression of cosmic inclination. Most of the observations are so irreconcilable with any acceptance other than of orbitless, dirigible worlds that he shuts his eyes to more than two-thirds of them; he picks out six that can give him the illusion of completeness, or of all relating to one planet.
Or let it be that we have data of many dark bodies—still do we incline almost irresistibly to think of one of them as the dark-body-in-chief. Dark bodies, floating, or navigating, in interplanetary space—and I conceive of one that’s the Prince of Dark Bodies:
Melanicus.
Vast dark thing with the wings of a super-bat, or jet-black super-construction; most likely one of the spores of the Evil One.
The extraordinary year, 1883:
London
Times,
Dec. 17, 1883:
Extract from a letter by Hicks Pashaw: that, in Egypt, Sept. 24, 1883, he had seen, through glasses, “an immense black spot upon the lower part of the sun.”
Sun spot, maybe.
One night an astronomer was looking up at the sky, when something obscured a star, for three and a half seconds. A meteor had been seen nearby, but its train had been only momentarily visible. Dr. Wolf was the astronomer
(Nature,
86-528).
The next datum is one of the most sensational we have, except that there is very little to it. A dark object that was seen by Prof. Heis, for eleven degrees of arc, moving slowly across the Milky Way. (Greg’s Catalogue,
Rept. Brit. Assoc.,
1867-426.)
One of our quasi-reasons for accepting that orbitless worlds are dirigible is the almost complete absence of data of collisions: of course, though in defiance of gravitation, they may, without direction like human direction, adjust to one another in the way of vortex rings of smoke—a very human-like way, that is. But in
Knowledge,
February, 1894, are two photographs of Brooks’ comet that are shown as evidence of its seeming collision with a dark object, October, 1893. Our own wording is that it “struck against something”: Prof. Barnard’s is that it had “entered some dense medium, which shattered it.” For all I know it had knocked against merely a field of ice.
Melanicus.
That upon the wings of a super-bat, he broods over this earth and over other worlds, perhaps deriving something from them: hovers on wings, or wing-like appendages, or planes that are hundreds of miles from tip to tip—a super-evil thing that is exploiting us. By Evil I mean that which makes us useful.
He obscures a star. He shoves a comet. I think he’s a vast, black, brooding vampire.
Science,
July 31, 1896:
That, according to a newspaper account, Mr. W.R. Brooks, director of the Smith Observatory, had seen a dark round object pass rather slowly across the moon, in a horizontal direction. In Mr. Brooks’ opinion it was a dark meteor. In
Science,
Sept. 14, 1896, a correspondent writes that, in his opinion, it may have been a bird. We shall have no trouble with the meteor and bird mergers, if we have observations of long duration and estimates of size up to hundreds of miles. As to the body that was seen by Brooks, there is a note from the Dutch astronomer, Muller, in the
Scientific American,
75-251, that, upon April 4, 1892, he had seen a similar phenomenon. In
Science Gossip,
n.s., 3-135, are more details of the Brooks object—apparent diameter about one-thirtieth of the moon’s—moon’s disk crossed in three or four seconds. The writer, in
Science Gossip,
says that, on June 27, 1896, at one o’clock in the morning, he was looking at the moon with a 2-inch achromatic, power 44, when a long black object sailed past, from west to east, the transit occupying three or four seconds. He believed this object to be a bird—there was, however, no fluttering motion observable in it.
In the
Astronomische Nachrichten,
No. 3477, Dr. Brendel, of Griefswald, Pomerania, writes that Postmaster Ziegler and other observers had seen a body about six feet in diameter crossing the sun’s disk. The duration here indicates something far from the earth, and also far from the sun. This thing was seen a quarter of an hour before it reached the sun. Time in crossing the sun was about an hour. After leaving the sun it was visible an hour.
I think he’s a vast, black vampire that sometimes broods over this earth and other bodies.
Communication from Dr. F.B. Harris
(Popular Astronomy,
20-398):
That, upon the evening of Jan. 27, 1912, Dr. Harris saw, upon the moon, “an intensely black object.” He estimated it to be 250 miles long and fifty miles wide. “The object resembled a crow poised, as near as anything.” Clouds then cut off observation.
Dr. Harris writes:
“I cannot but think that a very interesting and curious phenomenon happened.”
15
Short chapter coming now, and it’s the worst of them all. I think it’s speculative. It’s a lapse from our usual pseudo-standards. I think it must mean that the preceding chapter was very efficiently done, and that now by the rhythm of all quasi-things—which can’t be real things, if they’re rhythms, because a rhythm is an appearance that turns into its own opposite and then back again—but now, to pay up, we’re what we weren’t. Short chapter, and I think we’ll fill in with several points in Intermediatism.
A puzzle:
If it is our acceptance that, out of the Negative Absolute, the Positive Absolute is generating itself, recruiting, or maintaining, itself, via a third state, or our own quasi-state, it would seem that we’re trying to conceive of Universalness manufacturing more Universalness from Nothingness. Take that up yourself, if you’re willing to run the risk of disappearing with such velocity that you’ll leave an incandescent train behind, and risk being infinitely happy forever, whereas you probably don’t want to be happy—I’ll sidestep that myself, and try to be intelligible by regarding the Positive Absolute from the aspect of Realness instead of Universalness, recalling that by both Realness and Universalness we mean the same state, or that which does not merge away into something else, because there is nothing else. So the idea is that out of Unrealness, instead of Nothingness, Realness, instead of Universalness, is, via our own quasi-state, manufacturing more Realness. Just so, but in relative terms, of course, all imaginings that materialize into machines or statues, buildings, dollars, paintings or books in paper and ink are graduations from unrealness to realness—in relative terms. It would seem then that Intermediateness is a relation between the Positive Absolute and the Negative Absolute. But the absolute cannot be the related—of course a confession that we can’t really think of it at all, if here we think of a limit to the unlimited. Doing the best we can, and encouraged by the reflection that we can’t do worse than has been done by metaphysicians in the past, we accept that the absolute can’t be the related. So then that our quasi-state is not a real relation, if nothing in it is real. On the other hand, it is not an unreal relation, if nothing in it is unreal. It seems thinkable that the Positive Absolute can, by means of Intermediateness, have a quasi-relation, or be only quasi-related, or be the unrelated, in final terms, or, at least, not be the related, in final terms.
As to free will and Intermediatism—same answer as to everything else. By free will we mean Independence—or that which does not merge away into something else—so, in Intermediateness, neither free will nor slave will—but a different approximation for every so-called person toward one or the other of the extremes. The hackneyed way of expressing this seems to me to be the acceptable way, if in Intermediateness, there is only the paradoxical: that we’re free to do what we have to do.
I am not convinced that we make a fetish of the preposterous. I think our feeling is that in first gropings there’s no knowing what will afterward be the acceptable. I think that if an early biologist heard of birds that grow on trees, he should record that he had heard of birds that grow on trees: then let sorting over of data occur afterward. The one thing that we try to tone down but that is to a great degree unavoidable is having our data all mixed up like Long Island and Florida in the minds of early American explorers. My own notion is that this whole book is very much like a map of North America in which the Hudson River is set down as a passage leading to Siberia. We think of Monstrator and Melanicus and of a world that is now in communication with this earth: if so, secretly, with certain esoteric ones upon this earth. Whether that world’s Monstrator and Monstrator’s Melanicus—must be the subject of later inquiry. It would be a gross thing to do: solve up everything now and leave nothing to our disciples.
I have been very much struck with phenomena of “cup marks.”
They look to me like symbols of communication.
But they do not look to me like means of communication between some of the inhabitants of this earth and other inhabitants of this earth.
My own impression is that some external force has marked, with symbols, rocks of this earth, from far away.
I do not think that cup marks are inscribed communications among different inhabitants of this earth, because it seems too unacceptable that inhabitants of China, Scotland, and America should all have conceived of the same system.
Cup marks are strings of cup-like impressions in rocks. Sometimes there are rings around them, and sometimes they have only semi-circles. Great Britain, America, France, Algeria, Circassia, Palestine: they’re virtually everywhere—except in the far north, I think. In China, cliffs are dotted with them. Upon a cliff near Lake Como, there is a maze of these markings. In Italy and Spain and India they occur in enormous numbers.
Given that a force, say, like electric force, could, from a distance, mark such a substance as rocks, as, from a distance of hundreds of miles, selenium can be marked by telephotographers—but I am of two minds—
The Lost Explorers from Somewhere, and an attempt, from Somewhere, to communicate with them: so a frenzy of showering of messages toward this earth, in the hope that some of them would mark rocks near the lost explorers—
Or that somewhere upon this earth, there is an especial rocky surface, or receptor, or polar construction, or a steep, conical hill, upon which for ages have been received messages from some other world; but that at times messages go astray and mark substances perhaps thousands of miles from the receptor;
That perhaps forces behind the history of this earth have left upon the rocks of Palestine and England and India and China records that may someday be deciphered, of their misdirected instructions to certain esoteric ones—Order of the Freemasons—the Jesuits—
I emphasize the row-formation of cup marks:
Prof. Douglas
(Saturday Review,
Nov. 24, 1883):
“Whatever may have been their motive, the cup-markers showed a decided liking for arranging their sculpturings in regularly spaced rows.”
That cup marks are an archaic form of inscription was first suggested by Canon Greenwell many years ago. But more specifically adumbratory to our own expression are the observations of Rivett-Carnac
(Jour. Roy. Asiatic Soc.,
1903-515):
That the Braille system of raised dots is an inverted arrangement of cup marks: also that there are strong resemblances to the Morse Code. But no tame and systematized archaeologist can do more than casually point out resemblances, and merely suggest that strings of cup marks look like messages, because—China, Switzerland, Algeria, America—if messages they be, there seems to be no escape from attributing one origin to them—then, if messages they be, I accept one external origin, to which the whole surface of this earth was accessible, for them.
Something else that we emphasize:
That rows of cup marks have often been likened to footprints.
But, in this similitude, their unilinear arrangement must be disregarded—of course often they’re mixed up in every way, but arrangement in single lines is very common. It is odd that they should so often be likened to footprints: I suppose there are exceptional cases, but unless it’s something that hops on one foot, or a cat going along a narrow fence-top, I don’t think of anything that makes footprints one directly ahead of another—Cop, in a station house, walking a chalk line, perhaps.
Upon the Witch’s Stone, near Ratho, Scotland, there are twenty-four cups, varying in size from one and a half to three inches in diameter, arranged in approximately straight lines. Locally it is explained that these are tracks of dogs’ feet
(Proc. Soc. Antiq. Scotland,
2-4-79). Similar marks are scattered bewilderingly all around the Witch’s Stone—like a frenzy of telegraphing, or like messages repeating and repeating, trying to localize differently.
In Inverness-shire, cup marks are called “fairies’ footmarks.” At Valna’s church, Norway, and St. Peter’s, Ambleteuse, there are such marks, said to be horses’ hoof prints. The rocks of Clare, Ireland, are marked with prints supposed to have been made by a mythical cow
(Folklore,
21-184).
We now have such a ghost of a thing that I’d not like to be interpreted as offering it as a datum: it simply illustrates what I mean by the notion of symbols, like cups, or like footprints, which, if like those of horses or cows, are the reverse of, or the negatives of, cups—of symbols that are regularly received somewhere upon this earth—steep, conical hill, somewhere, I think—but that have often alighted in wrong places—considerably to the mystification of persons waking up some morning to find them upon formerly blank spaces.
An ancient record—still worse, an ancient Chinese record—of a courtyard of a palace—dwellers of the palace waking up one morning, finding the courtyard marked with tracks like the footprints of an ox—supposed that the devil did it.
(Notes and Queries,
9-6-225.)