That we have indication that there is such a shell around our existence.
The Gegenschein is a round patch of light in the sky. It seems to be
reflected sunlight, at night, because it keeps position about opposite
the sun’s.
The crux:
Reflected sunlight—but reflecting from what?
That the sky is a matrix, in which the stars are openings, and that,
upon the inner, concave surface of this celestial shell, the sun casts
its light, even if the earth is between, no more blotted out in the
middle by the intervening earth, than often to considerable degree is
its light blotted out upon the moon during an eclipse of the moon,
occupying no time in traveling the distance of the stars and back to
this earth, because the stars are near, or because there is no velocity
of light.
Suppose the Gegenschein could be a reflection of sunlight from anything
at a distance less than the distance of the stars. It would have
parallax against its background of stars.
_Observatory_, 17-47:
“The Gegenschein has no parallax.”
* * * * *
At the meeting of the Royal Astronomical Society, Jan. 11, 1878, was
read a paper by W. F. Denning. It was, by its implications, one of the
most exciting documents in history. The subject was: “Suspected
repetitions in meteor-showers.” Mr. Denning listed twenty-two radiants
that lasted from three to four months each.
In the year 1799, Humboldt noticed that the paths of meteors, when parts
of one display, led back to one point of common origin, or one point
from which all the meteors had radiated. This is the radiant-point, or
the radiant. When a radiant occurs under a constellation, the meteors
are named relatively. In the extraordinary meteoric display of November
13-14, 1833, there was a circumstance that was as extraordinary as the
display itself: that, though this earth is supposed to rotate upon its
axis, giving to the stars the appearance of revolving nightly, and
supposed to revolve around the sun, so affecting the seeming motions of
the stars, these meteors of November, 1833, began under the
constellation Leo, and six hours later, though Leo had changed position
in the sky, had changed with, and seemed still coming from, Leo.
There was no parallax along the great base line from Canada to Florida.
Then these meteors did come from Leo, or parallax, or absence of
parallax, is meaningless.
The circumstance of precise position maintained under a moving
constellation upon the night of Nov. 13-14, 1833, becomes insignificant
relatively to Denning’s data of such synchronization with a duration of
months. When a radiant-point remains under Leo or Lyra, night after
night, month after month, it is either that something is shifting it,
without parallax, in exact coincidence with a doubly shifting
constellation, which is so unthinkable that Denning says, “I can not
explain,” or that the constellation is the radiant point, in which case
maintenance of precise position under it is unthinkable if it be far
away—
That the stars are near.
Think of a ship, slowly sailing past a seacoast town, firing with
smokeless powder, say. Shells from it burst before quite reaching the
town, and all explosion-points are in line between the city and the
ship, or are traceable to one such radiant. The bombardment continues.
The ship moves slowly. Still all points of exploding shells are
traceable to one point between the ship and the town. The bombardment
goes on and goes on and goes on, and the ship is far from its first
position. The point of exploding shells is still between the ship and
the town. Wise men in the town say that the shells are not coming from
the ship. They say this because formerly they had said that shells could
not come from a ship. They reason: therefore shells are not coming from
this ship. They are asked how, then, the point of explosion could so
shift exactly in line with the moving ship. If there be a W. F. Denning
among them, he will say, “I can not explain.” But the other wise men
will be like Prof. Moulton, for instance. In his books, Prof. Moulton
writes a great deal upon the subject of meteors, but he does not mention
the meteors that, for months at a time, appear between observers and a
shifting constellation.
There are other considerations. The shells are heard to explode. So then
they explode near the town. But there is something the matter with that
smokeless powder aboard ship: very feeble projectile-force, because also
must the shells be exploding near the ship, or the radiant point would
not have the same background, as seen from different parts of the town.
Then, in this town, inhabitants, provided they be not wise men, will
conclude that, if the explosion-point is near the town, and is also near
the ship, the ship is near the town—
Leo and Lyra and Andromeda—argosies that sail the sky and that bombard
this earth—and that they are not far away.
And some of us there may be who, instead of trying to speculate upon an
unthinkable remoteness, will suffer a sensitiveness to proximity
instead; enter a new revolt against a black encompassment that glitters
with a light beyond, and wonder what exists in a brilliant environment
not far away—and a new anguish for hyperæsthesia upon this earth: a
suffocating consciousness of the pressure of the stars.
The Sickle of Leo, from which come the Leonids, gleams like a great
question-mark in the sky.