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That night, it was Harry's turn to be the instructor. The subject: Astronomy.
"Oh, how I wish I had my eight inch Newtonian reflector here," he lamented under the brilliant starlit sky. "However, for thousands of years before Galileo, people had to make do without telescopes, so I suppose we can as well."
Harry pointed southwards. "That star that seems to be part of the tail of the constellation that looks like a kite, the Southern Cross, that is Alpha Centauri."
"That's the closest star to us. It's about 4.3 light years away. That's right, isn't it?" I asked, confident that I was.
He smiled and shook his head. "As you should realize, things aren't always the way they seem to be. Alpha Centauri is really a triple star, with Proxima Centauri circling the other two stars. However, with the naked eye you can only see...." He suddenly stopped and shook his head in dismay. "I don't believe it. That's also impossible! However, I can now actually see Proxima Centauri, along with the other two stars in the Alpha Centauri system."
I also looked where he pointed, then peered closely at the star, now also seeing three pins of light, two bright, and one very faint. "Yes, I can also see them. We've got better eyes now, don't forget. But how do we know how far these stars really are?" I chuckled. "After all, it's not like we've actually traveled there and measured the distance."
Harry shook his head pitifully. "It's a matter of understanding trigonometric parallax. By knowing the distance from the sun, and measuring the star against the background of other stars, and then measuring the same star six months later when the earth is on the other side of its orbit around the sun, the star will seem to have been displaced in its position. This is called the annual parallax. By then knowing the angle of parallax, and the distance the earth is from the sun, we thus have a theoretical triangle by which the one side of the triangle, that is the actual distance of the star, may be calculated. Do you understand?"
I laughed. "No, not really. But how do you know all of these things?" I retorted. "I mean, you're a historian, not an astronomer."
"Yes, but both astronomy and archeoastronomy fascinate me. It's also important in the study of chronology, a subject which likewise intrigues me."
"You mean dating methods, like when they recorded an eclipse, or that sort of thing?"
He nodded. "That's right, chiefly eclipses of the moon. Several ancient civilizations kept accurate records of their astronomical observations."
"So what about these rocks around us? Do they mark the angles of the stars, or something like that?"
"Yes. However, with your mind's eye, you have to imagine a celestial sphere. You can see that Alpha Centauri is just by that third rock, in line with that distant hill, which to my reckoning is 30 degrees from due South. This is the star's azimuth." He shook his head. "I'm not too sure if that position...er...no, never mind!" He then pointed down towards the quadrant, which he had fastened to the wooden upright stake, which during the day served as his sundial. "Here are the angles going from 0 degrees at the horizon, to 90 degrees, which points directly above us. As you can see, Alpha Centauri is approximately 45 degrees above the horizon, which is its altitude. Thus, we have the star's position. Of course, it changes as the night progresses. You have to also realize that the star's position is only relative to where you are in the world, that is your longitude and latitude, as well as the time of year, and the actual time itself in hours and minutes. Not knowing these things, nor, of course, having any clocks, makes precise astronomy impossible. Yet, these were the only tools the ancients like the Mesopotamians had. They supposedly were the ones that invented the concept of 360 degrees of a circle, equal to their belief of 360 days in a year. They came to that conclusion because they noticed that the stars moved one degree each day at the observatory they, in my opinion, would have used on top of their ziggurats. Of course, it's rather crude, but it adequately served their calendric and astrological needs. The ancient Greeks, on the other hand, were more scientific and sophisticated with their use of mathematics. Thus Ptolemy, a Greek scholar living in Alexandria, for instance, was able to create his great Almagest, which proved useful even until the era of Galileo and Copernicus."
"And that's what you're trying to do? I mean, map the stars?"
"Partly, but mostly I'm trying to calculate how many days there are in your year."
I stifled a laugh. "That's easy. It's now 336. Everything is now in perfect harmony. You see, each week has seven days, and there are four weeks in a month, and twelve months in a year, thus adding up to 336 days in a year. Therefore, we don't have to worry about leap years, solar years, lunar years, or any of that sort of thing. The heavenly bodies are all perfectly synchronized."
"Your father had made the same claim. But that's ridiculous! No, more than that, it's impossible! And I'll prove it with astronomy. With the movement of the stars, after a specified period of perhaps a week or two, I should be able to calculate the days in a solar year."
I nodded. "I think I understand, but it won't make any difference. It will still come to 336 days."
"If that is the case, I shall then know that I'm still in a dream."
I laughed, then patted him on the shoulder. "Oh, Harry, you just don't give up! Anyway, what about your sundial? How does that work?"
"I copied an ancient Egyptian method which was used at the time of Thutmose III, about 1500 BC. He then pointed to his sundial. "Of course, without the sun it doesn't work. However, during the day, the sun's shadow would be cast from that -"
"From that 'T' piece at the top."
"Yes, precisely, and a shadow would be cast onto this horizontal bar, where I have attempted to calibrate the hours. But it's rather imprecise. Better sundials were later invented by the Greeks and Romans."
He looked upwards and pointed straight above us. "That star, as you know, is the Pole Star, which is also called Polaris, as well as the North Star."
"And that always stays in the one position."
"Yes, true. However, you have to remember that the Earth's axis wobbles in somewhat the same manner as the axis of a spinning top. This is called processional movement, caused by the gravitational pull of the sun and the moon. It takes roughly 26,000 years to complete one cycle. At the moment, the Pole Star is, as you said, Polaris, but five thousand or so years ago, it used to be Alpha Draconis, in the Draco constellation. Supposedly, in about 12,000 years from now, the Pole Star would be Vega. You can see, therefore, that star systems and their relative positions can vary over time. That's why the ecliptic coordinates in Ptolemy's Almagest for the fixed stars are now no longer correct, but were correct in the second century."
I started to laugh. "Come on, Harry, must you always be the lecturer?"
Indignation suddenly flashed across his face. "I don't interrupt you when you're teaching me the guitar."
"No, I'm sorry, Harry, but here we are, under the greatest starry sky imaginable, and with eyesight like eagles. Why don't we just lie in the grass and just look up into the starry heavens and enjoy it like a miraculous piece of art that it is? It's like listening to a great piece of music by Bach or Mozart. Sure, we can analyze it, study its harmony, its counterpoint, its cadences, its modulation and so forth. But isn't it also nice to just listen to it for the sheer pleasure of it, to feel its greatness, to even be moved by its beauty and grandeur? I know that's how you view music, or any piece of great art. The starry night above us is the same. In fact, everything in this world now is a great piece of art that is now perfect again, and existing for our enjoyment."
He stared at me. "But that's just it! Everything in nature now seems too perfect, and nothing like what the real world should be like."
"Come on, Harry, like I keep on telling you, you've got to learn to relax and enjoy. Let's step out from this Stonehenge and just lie down and stare into this brilliant starlit sky. Then let's discover what emotions we feel."
Reluctantly, he agreed. For a long time we were both silent, deep i
n thought, letting the sheer beauty that was above us soak into our very beings. A shooting star suddenly streaked above us, and then another. I pointed it out to Harry.
"They're not shooting stars, they're meteors, pieces of rocks that are being burnt up in our atmosphere," he corrected me. "Paradoxically, science did not know that until the early part of the nineteenth century." He paused for a moment, then added, "If there are pieces of space junk out there in space, then perhaps the universe is not as perfect now as you may think."
I shrugged. "I don't know what's outside the Earth in space, but I do know that everything on the Earth is perfect, even the shooting stars, which I've been told, never now reach the ground."
"They're not shooting stars, they're called meteors," he emphasized again.
I forced a laugh. "Yes, Professor Marston. But isn't calling them shooting stars more poetical?"
"Perhaps, but less accurate."
"Come on, Harry, loosen up," I reminded him yet again. "Just let your imagination run away with you for a little bit. Take in the beauty."
He agreed, and we became totally silent, hearing now only the occasional hoot of an owl, or the rustling of the leaves on the nearby trees. Finally, I asked, "So, how do you feel now? What are you thinking about?"
"I'm thinking how vast and mysterious our universe is. Lying here, I could even start to believe that out there in this vast universe, even just in our Milky Way Galaxy, with its estimated 100 billion or more stars revolving around a supposed black hole every 200 million years, that some of them at least would have orbiting planets that could support life, perhaps even intelligent life. However, our galaxy is supposed to be just a part of a cluster of galaxies, within a supercluster galaxy, and that there are, God knows, how many other of these supercluster galaxies in the universe, and you can see what I mean. Perhaps we're not alone down here."
Harry shook his head and grinned mockingly. "Roger would even have me believe that there's already sufficient evidence by the number of credible and inexplicable UFO reports, including those that have been recorded by the U.S. Air Force over many years, such as in the so-called 'Project Blue Book,' which he believes was mostly just a cover-up. He even accepts that one of these UFOs may have even crashed not too far away from the town of Roswell, New Mexico." He gave another sarcastic grin. "Yet another crackpot conspiracy theory! Then he tells me about mysterious crop circles, and of the thousands who claimed to have been abducted by aliens. However, these must surely be just hallucinations and lucid dreams of people, just they don't know it, unlike...." He suddenly became deadly silent.
"No, not like you," I finished his sentence.
"No, maybe not."
"But what about God?" I asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Doesn't lying here somehow draw you close to God, or perhaps in your case, something at least divine and majestic?"
Harry suddenly laughed.
"Why, what's so funny?"
"Nothing. I just felt like laughing. It must be sitting under this blanket of stars in this paradise of yours."
"What? Lying in your hammock with a martini in your hand?"
"Yes, it really seems that way, although I must admit, it now feels good, like suddenly being immersed by that mystical light up on that mountain."
"Yes, you're right. It sure does feel good!" I said, likewise laughing.
After the laughter finally settled, Harry then said the most incredible thing I've heard him yet say. "Dream or not, lying here with you under this incredible night sky, and all that I've now seen and experienced, I really believe that there may well be a God after all!"