People have been asking since I announced that I would be chasing the eclipse for he to try and summarize my experience here. So, without further delay, here are my thoughts on the subject, muddled and disjointed though they may be.
It’s difficult to describe what seeing an eclipse feels like. A total eclipse, that is. A partial eclipse actually isn’t that noticeable until you get up to about 80% totality. You might feel slightly cooler than you’d otherwise expect for the middle of the day, and the shade of blue might look just slightly off for mid day sky, but unless you knew to get a pair of viewing glasses and look at the sun, it’d be entirely possible to miss it entirely.
A total eclipse is something else entirely. The thing that struck me the most was how sudden it all was. Basically, try to imagine six hours of sunset and twilight crammed into two minutes. Except, there isn’t a horizon that the sun is disappearing behind. The sun is still in the sky. It’s still daytime, and the sun is still there. It’s just not shining. This isn’t hard conceptually, but seeing it in person still rattles something very primal.
The regular cycle of day and night is more or less hardwired into human brains. It isn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but it is a part of normal healthy human function. We’re used to having long days and nights, with a slow transition. Seeing it happen all at once is disturbing in a primeval way. You wouldn’t even have to be looking at the sun to know that something is wrong. It just is.
I know this wasn’t just me. The rest of the crowd felt it as well. The energy of the crowd in the immediate buildup to totality was like an electric current. It was an energy which could have either came out celebratory and joyous, or descended into riotous pandemonium. It was the kind of energy that one expects from an event of astronomical proportions. Nor was this reaction confined to human beings; the crickets began a frenzied cacophony chirping more intense than I have yet otherwise heard, and the flying insects began to confusedly swarm, unsure of what to make of the sudden and unplanned change of schedule.
It took me a while to put my finger on why this particular demonstration was so touching in a way that garden variety meteor showers, or even manmade light shows just aren’t. After all, it’s not like we don’t have the technology to create similarly dazzling displays. I still don’t think I’ve fully nailed it, but here’s my best shot.
All humans to some degree are aware of how precarious our situation is. We know that life, both in general, but also for each of us in particular, is quite fragile. We know that we rely on others and on nature to supplement our individual shortcomings, and to overcome the challenges of physical reality. An eclipse showcases this vulnerability. We all know that if the sun ever failed to come back out of an eclipse, that we would be very doomed.
Moreover, there’s not a whole lot we could do to fix the sun suddenly not working. A handful of humans might be able to survive for a while underground using nuclear reactors to mimic the sun’s many functions for a while, but that would really just be delaying the inevitable.
With the possible exception of global thermonuclear war, there’s nothing humans could do to each other or to this planet that would be more destructive than an astronomical event like an eclipse (honorable mention to climate change, which is already on track to destroy wide swaths of civilization, but ultimately falls short because it does so slowly enough that humans can theoretically adapt, if we get our act together fast). Yet, this is a completely natural, even regular occurrence. Pulling the rug from out under humanity’s feet is just something that the universe does from time to time.
An eclipse reminds us that our entire world, both literally and figuratively, is contained on a single planet; a single pale blue dot, and that our fate is inextricably linked to the fate of our planet. For as much as we boast about being masters of nature, and eclipse reminds us that there is still a great deal over which we have no control. It reminds us of this in a way that is subtle enough to be lost in translation if one does not experience it firsthand, but one which is nevertheless intuitable even if one is not consciously aware of the reasons.
None of this negates the visual spectacle; and indeed, it is quite a spectacle. Yet while it is a spectacle, it is not a show, and this is an important distinction. It is not a self-contained item of amusement, but rather a sudden, massive, and all enclumpassing change in the very environment. It’s not just that something appears in the sky, but that interferes with the sun, and by extension, the sky itself. It isn’t just that something new has appeared, but that all of the normal rules seem to be being rewritten. It is mind boggling.
As footage and images have emerged, particularly as video featuring the reactions of crowds of observers have begun to circulate, there have been many comments to the effect that the people acting excited, to the point of cheering and clapping, are overreacting, and possibly need to be examined, . I respectfully disagree. To see in person a tangible display of the the size and grandeur of the cosmos that surround us, is deeply impressive; revelatory even. On the contrary, I submit that between two people that have borne witness to our place in the universe, the one who fails to react immediately and viscerally is the one who needs to be examined.
