The Book of the Damned

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--