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  Blood, Sweat, and Fears

  Making loud noises was standard practice in many cultures around the world to ward off the demons or monsters that were believed to cause an eclipse. The Aztecs did their share of screaming and crying, but they also had a few unique reactions to their eclipse fears.

  Pregnant women, afraid that evil effects of the eclipse could cause their unborn children to become deformed, would put pieces of obsidian between their breasts to protect them (the unborn children that is, not their breasts). Another concern was that the celestial event could cause women to give birth to rodents, but apparently a well-placed rock was also sufficient to avert that fate.

  The Aztec people, never known for being squeamish, also decided that making everyone bleed was a good way to protect the general populace. However, even this practice is tame in comparison to their ultimate response, human sacrifice. If there was ever any bad luck occasioned by an eclipse, it fell upon the hapless prisoners who were ritually murdered by the superstitious Aztecs—not only a very rude practice, but one of the worst cases of Bad Astronomy ever recorded.

  You Think Your Job Is Tough?

  (The following is most likely only a legend, but most legends have a kernel of truth and this one was too tasty not to be popped.)

  The ancient Chinese were known for their meticulous astronomical observations, yet were by no means free from the superstitions that permeated less educated and disciplined cultures. Eclipses were events to be feared and accurately predicting their occurrence was imperative so that the learned men could immediately begin conducting the ceremonies designed to stave off any evil effects. (It was common knowledge that high officials burning incense and candles, while striking gongs and praying, were always able to bring back the sun or Moon. Talk about job security!)

  Such predictions were part of the job description of Hi and Ho, two court astronomers who imprudently spent too much time with the wrong kind of moonshine. Failing to predict an eclipse because of their drunkenness, the Emperor was forced to mete out stiff disciplinary action, as any conscientious employer would have done. Indeed, the punishment was most effective, for after beheading both negligent astronomers, they never made another mistake.

  Eclipsing Reason

  The Peloponnesian War was fought between Athens and Sparta during the years 431-404 BC. The story of the war contains rousing accounts of bravery and treachery, tragic tales of plague and starvation, and a single episode of Bad Astronomy in which the Moon inadvertently turned the tide of war—and possibly the course of all of Greek history.

  A peace agreement of 421 BC was broken when the clever, but overly ambitious, Alcibiades persuaded his fellow Athenians to attack Syracuse. After the fleet was launched, Alcibiades’ enemies made some false accusations that were disturbing enough to have him removed from command—a command which fatefully fell into the superstitious and incapable hands of Nicias.

  While Alcibiades quietly slipped away and joined forces with the Spartans, Nicias was getting the Athenian fleet into deep trouble. It seems that in August of 413 BC, the inept Athenian general was about to become trapped by the Spartan fleet in the harbor of Syracuse. There appeared to be a good opportunity for Nicias to escape the trap and save his fleet, were it not for a dreaded lunar eclipse. Terrified by the omen, Nicias consulted his astrologers who advised him to stay where he was—for twenty-seven more days! Despite a lack of food and a strategically suicidal position, Nicias abandoned reason, took their advice, and refused to set sail.

  Apparently, the Spartans weren’t the least bit intimidated by the celestial event, and promptly on the following day, they surrounded the Athenian forces and destroyed them. The battle proved disastrous to Athens (half their fighting force was effectively lost), who after gallantly struggling for several more years, ultimately surrendered to Sparta.

  As for Nicias, the eclipse became a self-fulfilling prophesy, as he was captured in the battle and executed. The Athenian captives perhaps fared even worse. They were sent to work in the mines—a virtual sentence of death. On the bright side, the Athenian defeat encouraged twenty thousand slaves working in Athens’ mines to revolt and gain their freedom. Not surprisingly, the irrepressible Alcibiades continued switching sides several more times, and was finally assassinated in 404 BC.

  It is impossible to say that the outcome of the war would have been different had Nicias not been immobilized by the shadow of the earth—chances are he would have eventually done something else stupid which would have led to defeat. However, this episode does prove that while a little knowledge may be a dangerous thing, a complete lack of knowledge can be fatal.

  Now You See It, Now You Don’t

  (In all fairness, the following is not technically a case of Bad Astronomy. However, it is so unethical that it has earned the right to be dishonorably mentioned. Let your conscience be your guide.)

  During Columbus’ four voyages to the New World, the natives generally treated him and his men with kindness and generosity. In return, when the Spaniards began grumbling about living conditions and the lack of gold on the Caribbean islands, Columbus pacified them with a few perks—namely giving them the natives’ land and throwing in the natives themselves to work as slaves. Occasionally, some of the local inhabitants failed to appreciate the honor of serving their new masters, but Spanish steel and a volley of hot lead often resolved the misunderstanding.

  Columbus, dazzling the natives with a bell.

  On May 9, 1502, Columbus embarked on his final voyage, hoping to recoup the prestige that had been so tarnished during the decade since his first voyage. Convinced that South America was only a stone’s throw away from China, he sailed his men up and down the coast of Central America looking for a passage to the Far East.

  Conditions were horrific. Not only were worms eating his ships, but as his son, Ferdinand, related, “What with the heat and wet, our hardtack became so wormy that, God help me, I saw many sailors who waited till darkness to eat it so they would not see the maggots.”

  The ships became so badly damaged and waterlogged they could go no further than Jamaica. While waiting almost a year for new ships, Columbus and his men once again treated the natives in their time-honored, high-handed manner. The ungrateful natives, failing to recognize the innate nobility and superiority of the Europeans, became quite peeved and refused to supply any more food. Faced with a hundred starving, mutinous men, Columbus resorted to the oldest trick in the astronomer-priest book.

  Picture a beach in Jamaica in the early evening of February 29, 1504. Donning his finest suit of clothes (probably the one with the least amount of worm holes), Columbus proclaimed to the natives that God was not happy with their lack of hospitality, and was going to take the Moon away to punish them. At first skeptical, few natives gathered to watch the rising Moon. However, it quickly turned an ominous, blood red, and then began to slowly disappear. Suitably intimidated by the awesome power of the European Admiral, the locals rushed baskets of food to the Spaniards, begging for forgiveness and asking them to intercede with God and return the Moon.

  Columbus coolly replied he would think about it, and let the terrified natives sweat for a while. Finally, to their great relief, he agreed to ask God to bring the Moon back, and miraculously it was restored, right on schedule.

  Everyone was happy—the Spaniards got their food, Columbus got back home, and the natives of the New World eventually met virtual extinction through foreign diseases such as small pox, but were better people for having known the Europeans.

  Some may argue that Columbus was clever and had every right to use the knowledge of the impending eclipse to his advantage. After all, why be nice to people when you can use information and technology to scare the hell out them instead?

  While Columbus cannot really be convicted of Bad Astronomy for this Jamaican shell game, it is doubtful that he will ever be posthumously granted any Advancement of Science or humanitarian awards for the event.

  (Note: The book from which
Columbus obtained his eclipse information was Ephemerides written by Regiomontanus in 1474. The book contained many errors, but fortunately for Columbus, the date and time of this eclipse was accurate.)

  Aiming To Please

  William Herschel began his career as a musician and therefore knew how to please an audience. This training was to come in handy when he was summoned to the court of King George III of England.

  During one of Herschel’s four "sweeps" of the sky (each of which took years as he laboriously catalogued every object), he came across something new near Eta Geminorum on March 13, 1781. He reported it to be a comet, but after other astronomers studied the object, it was identified as a new planet. Herschel's discovery of Uranus was monumental—since antiquity, only five planets had been known and Europe’s waning interest in astronomy was instantly reignited.

  Herschel was catapulted out of the ranks of amateurs, into the Royal Society, and the rarefied atmosphere of the court. The king was most anxious to meet the celebrated astronomer and look through his telescope, so Herschel packed up his best one and went off to Windsor Castle.

  Lords and Ladies flocked to see the wonders of the heavens and Herschel planned a gala observing night in hopes of satisfying them all at once. Of course, on the planned night the unwritten Law of Observation was in effect—the one stating that the quality of weather is inversely proportional to the importance of the viewing event. Mere clouds and the threat of rain wouldn’t stop Herschel from pleasing the royals, however, and he arrived upon an ingenious solution.

  No doubt after sizing up the intellectual capacity of his audience, Herschel decided that if they would be unable to see the real planet Saturn, he would create his own. Making a mock-up out of paper, he hung it at some distance in the garden and illuminated it from behind with a lamp. It was upon this pseudo-Saturn that Herschel aimed his telescope, much to the delight of his dim, yet regal, audience. Apparently, you actually can please all of the people some of the time.

  Joseph Gyscek

  Et Tu, Augustus?

  Julius Caesar was stabbed to death in the senate by a group of his friends and allies on March 15, 44 BC. In September of the following year, a comet was spotted over Rome and immediately interpreted to be the soul of the murdered hero ascending to heaven.

  Unfortunately, records give no explanation as to why Caesar's soul put off the spectacular journey for 18 months, but who are we mere mortals to question such things?

  There is another slight glitch in the story. The meticulous Chinese astronomers did note a comet in May-June of 43 BC, but none in September. The Romans claimed that this auspicious “star of the mightiest Julius” would make its appearance around 4pm and remained visible for five to seven days. It is unlikely that such conscientious observers as the Chinese could have missed a comet brilliant enough to be seen in daylight for a week, but they may have just been jealous since none of their emperors had thought about making such a grand entrance into heaven.

  Twenty-five years later, Caesar’s comet/soul was still fresh in the memory of his grandnephew, Emperor Augustus (who had been Caesar’s sole heir, thereby ensuring a healthy memory). Augustus was holding games called the Saeculares, when lo and behold, another comet appeared. Anybody with half a Roman brain obviously realized that this was Caesar’s soul returning to proclaim what a great emperor Augustus was.

  The coin bearing Caesar’s comet/soul.

  American Numismatic Society

  Associating yourself with the comet/soul of a murdered legend makes for good press in any age, and Augustus promptly ordered silver coins to be struck commemorating the divine event. The coins, bearing the portrait of Augustus and a representation of Caesar’s comet/soul, remain as a witness to the fact that while some things are clearly Bad Astronomy, they nonetheless are Good Politics.

  Good Comet, Bad Comet

  When it comes to war, one man’s evil omen is another’s divine blessing. Such was the case with the appearance of Comet Halley in the year 1066. For Harold, King of England, the comet signaled a threat to his country, his reign, and his life. To William, Duke of Normandy, it appeared as a messenger from the heavens affirming that his cause (the invasion of England) was just. Obviously, there was a lot more going on there than just a comet sighting.

  To briefly summarize one of the most pivotal events in English history:

  1. Harold’s predecessor, Edward the Confessor, spends thirty years in Normandy before becoming King of England. In gratitude for the protection afforded Edward by the Norman nobles during his lengthy stay, he promises to make William heir to the throne of England.

  2. In his pre-king days, Harold is knighted by William, and in the process swears his allegiance and promises to support William’s claim to the throne once Edward passes away.

  3. Edward dies on January 5, 1066. Harold grabs the throne and becomes king. William becomes royally miffed.

  4. On April 24, Comet Halley appears and is visible for a week. Harold is frightened by the “long haired star.” The Normans think it’s a sign that the lying Harold is going to get what’s coming to him.

  5. As the Normans prepare to invade England, Harold’s exiled brother Tosti jumps on the bandwagon and sides against his regal sibling. While Harold’s army defeats Tosti’s army at Stamford Bridge on September 25, the victory is costly.

  6. William lands 1400 vessels on the English coast. The Norman army meets Harold’s weakened forces near Hastings. On October 14, during a battle that lasts all day, Harold gets what’s coming to him. After being blinded by an arrow in the eye, he is promptly hacked to pieces. The English flee and William earns the title “The Conqueror.” He is crowned king on Christmas Day.

  To commemorate the conquest, the famous Bayeux Tapestry was created. The impressive tapestry (which is an astounding 230 feet long) contains among its sixty scenes a depiction of the fateful comet. In this scene, Harold looks so shaken that it appears he’s about to fall off his throne. Members of his court point up at the celestial spectacle and look suitably terrified, humbled, and ready to be conquered.

  While it is possible this depiction is accurate, it must be remembered that the chronicling of history is often more of a political art than a science. Had William hidden under his bed at the sight of the comet, it is guaranteed that not a single thread of a tapestry would have shown it. That’s one of the perks of being a conqueror.

  The famous scene in the Bayeux Tapestry

  where the comet appears as a portent of doom to Harold.

  In The Eyes of the Beholder

  In terms of celestial events evoking sheer terror, it’s probably a dead heat between eclipses and comets. However, while eclipses are more frequent, they are relatively brief. Comets on the other hand, appear infrequently, but can last for days or even weeks. Throughout history, the prolonged agony of a comet apparition has actually proven to be too much for some people to bear.

  The epitome of comet-fear is wonderfully expressed in the following eyewitness account of the comet of 1528:

  It was “so horrible and produced such great terror in the common people that some died of fear and others fell sick. It appeared to be of excessive length and was the color of blood. At its summit rose the figure of a bent arm, holding in its hand a great scimitar as if about to strike. Three stars quivered near the tip of the blade. On both sides of the rays of this comet there appeared a great number of axes, knives and blood-drenched swords, among which were many hideous faces with beards and bristling hair.”

  Damn, they just don’t make comets like they used to.

  Note: The eyewitness of this comet was Ambrose Pare, a noted surgeon. His specialty was treating a relatively new kind of injury—the gunshot wound. One of his innovations was to discard the Arab treatment—namely cauterizing the wound with boiling oil or hot irons—and replaced it with ligature. As his native France seemed perpetually embroiled in war, Pare unfortunately had plenty of opportunities to test new treatments. After the unceasing horrors he
witnessed, it is no wonder he would view a comet with dread!

  It’s the “Thought Balls” that Count

  For thousands of years, comets have been accused of bringing death and destruction to Earth, but never before had they been accused of bringing aliens. Well actually, it wasn’t that the aliens were supposedly riding on the comet; they were just tagging along in their enormous planet/spacecraft to bring enlightenment to the people of Earth. But first things first.

  Comet Hale-Bopp was discovered on the night of July 23, 1995. Early predictions called for it to be one of the brightest comets of the century, but the public had heard that one before. (Astronomers’ claims such as, “This is going to be the mother of all bright comets,” were in peril of joining the ranks of such statements as, “The check is in the mail,” and “Of course I’ll respect you in the morning.”) Skeptics worried that Hale-Bopp would only last as long as a politician’s campaign promises, but fortunately for astronomers, it was indeed a brilliant and spectacular comet.

  For over a year, professionals and amateurs observed the comet as it slowly moved through the solar system, growing ever-brighter as it approached the sun. Magnificent photographs and CCD images were being taken by the thousands from every corner of the globe, but none caused as much of a stir as those taken by an amateur in Houston, Texas. Known primarily for its oil, college football, and cow-slaughtering, Texas quickly became the focal point for an alien invasion on a scale surpassing even that of the Mexican border.

  From his Houston home on the evening of November 14, 1996, amateur astronomer Chuck Shramek took a series of CCD images of Hale-Bopp through his 10-inch telescope and noticed an “odd thing” near the comet. It appeared to be star-like with small spikes of light, causing Mr. Shramek to refer to it as a “Saturn-like object,” or SLO, as it quickly came to be known. And it came to be known so quickly, because rather than diligently investigating and confirming that the object was something new in the heavens, Shramek went on the radio that same night to announce his discovery. Had he properly used his computer star catalogue, he would have immediately identified the alleged SLO as the ordinary star SAO141894. But then again, had he done that, we all would have missed the fun which was about to begin.