The Sleepwalkers (5 page)

The
world
of
the
Babylonians,
Egyptians
and
Hebrews
was
an
oyster,
with
water
underneath,
and
more
water
overhead,
supported
by
the
solid
firmament.
It
was
of
moderate
dimensions,
and
as
safely
closed
in
on
all
sides
as
a
cot
in
the
nursery
or
a
babe
in
the
womb.
The
Babylonians'
oyster
was
round,
the
earth
was
a
hollow
mountain,
placed
in
its
centre,
floating
on
the
waters
of
the
deep;
above
it
was
a
solid
dome,
covered
by
the
upper
waters.
The
upper
waters
seeped
through
the
dome
as
rain,
and
the
lower
waters
rose
in
fountains
and
springs.
Sun,
moon
and
stars
progressed
in
a
slow
dance
across
the
dome,
entering
the
scene
through
doors
in
the
East
and
vanishing
through
doors
in
the
West.

The
universe
of
the
Egyptians
was
a
more
rectangular
oyster
or
box;
the
earth
was
its
floor,
the
sky
was
either
a
cow
whose
feet
rested
on
the
four
corners
of
the
earth,
or
a
woman
supporting
herself
on
her
elbows
and
knees;
later,
a
vaulted
metal
lid.
Around
the
inner
walls
of
the
box,
on
a
kind
of
elevated
gallery,
flowed
a
river
on
which
the
sun
and
moon
gods
sailed
their
barques,
entering
and
vanishing
through
various
stage
doors.
The
fixed
stars
were
lamps,
suspended
from
the
vault,
or
carried
by
other
gods.
The
planets
sailed
their
own
boats
along
canals
originating
in
the
Milky
Way,
the
celestial
twin
of
the
Nile.
Towards
the
fifteenth
of
each
month,
the
moon
god
was
attacked
by
a
ferocious
sow,
and
devoured
in
a
fortnight
of
agony;
then
he
was
re-born
again.
Sometimes
the
sow
swallowed
him
whole,
causing
a
lunar
eclipse;
sometimes
a
serpent
swallowed
the
sun,
causing
a
solar
eclipse.
But
these
tragedies
were,
like
those
in
a
dream,
both
real
and
not;
inside
his
box
or
womb,
the
dreamer
felt
fairly
safe.

This
feeling
of
safety
was
derived
from
the
discovery
that,
in
spite
of
the
tumultuous
private
lives
of
the
sun
and
moon
gods,
their
appearances
and
movements
remained
utterly
dependable
and
predictable.
They
brought
night
and
day,
the
seasons
and
the
rain,
harvest
and
sowing
time,
in
regular
cycles.
The
mother
leaning
over
the
cradle
is
an
unpredictable
goddess;
but
her
feeding
breast
can
be
depended
on
to
appear
when
needed.
The
dreaming
mind
may
go
through
wild
adventures,
it
may
travel
through
Olympus
and
Tartarus,
but
the
pulse
of
the
dreamer
has
a
regular
beat
that
can
be
counted.
The
first
to
learn
counting
the
pulse
of
the
stars
were
the
Babylonians.

Some
six
thousand
years
ago,
when
the
human
mind
was
still
half
asleep,
Chaldean
priests
were
standing
on
watch-towers,
scanning
the
stars,
making
maps
and
time-tables
of
their
motions.
Clay
tablets
dating
from
the
reign
of
Sargon
of
Akkad,
around
3800
B.C.,
show
an
already
old-established
astronomical
tradition.
¹
The
time-tables
became
calendars
which
regulated
organized
activity,
from
the
growing
of
crops
to
religious
ceremonies.
Their
observations
became
amazingly
precise:
they
computed
the
length
of
the
year
with
a
deviation
of
less
than
1.001
per
cent
from
the
correct
value,
²
and
their
figures
relating
to
the
motions
of
sun
and
moon
have
only
three
times
the
margin
of
error
of
nineteenth-century
astronomers
armed
with
mammoth
telescopes.
³
In
this
respect,
theirs
was
an
Exact
Science;
their
observations
were
verifiable,
and
enabled
them
to
make
precise
predictions
of
astronomical
events;
though
based
on
mythological
assumptions,
the
theory
"worked".
Thus
at
the
very
beginning
of
this
long
journey,
Science
emerges
in
the
shape
of
Janus,
the
double-faced
god,
guardian
of
doors
and
gates:
the
face
in
front
alert
and
observant,
while
the
other,
dreamy
and
glassy-eyed,
stares
in
the
opposite
direction.

The
most
fascinating
objects
in
the
sky
–
from
both
points
of
view
–
were
the
planets,
or
vagabond
stars.
Only
seven
of
these
existed
among
the
thousands
of
lights
suspended
from
the
firmament.
They
were
the
Sun,
the
Moon,
Nebo
–
Mercury,
Ishtar
–
Venus,
Nergal
–
Mars,
Marduk
–
Jupiter,
and
Ninib-Saturn.
All
other
stars
remained
stationary,
fixed
in
the
pattern
of
the
firmament,
revolving
once
a
day
round
the
earth-mountain,
but
never
changing
their
places
in
the
pattern.
The
seven
vagabond
stars
revolved
with
them,
but
at
the
same
time
they
had
a
motion
of
their
own,
like
flies
wandering
over
the
surface
of
a
spinning
globe.
Yet
they
did
not
wander
all
across
the
sky:
their
movements
were
confined
to
a
narrow
lane,
or
belt,
which
was
looped
around
the
firmament
at
an
angle
of
about
twenty-three
degrees
to
the
equator.
This
belt
–
the
Zodiac
–
was
divided
into
twelve
sections,
and
each
section
was
named
after
a
constellation
of
fixed
stars
in
the
neighbourhood.
The
Zodiac
was
the
lovers'
lane
in
the
skies,
along
which
the
planets
ambled.
The
passing
of
a
planet
through
one
of
the
sections
had
a
double
significance:
it
yielded
figures
for
the
observer's
time-table,
and
symbolic
messages
of
the
mythological
drama
played
out
behind
the
scenes.
Astrology
and
Astronomy
remain
to
this
day
complementary
fields
of
vision
of
Janus
sapiens.