Tag: astronomy

Eclipse Reactions

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.

For reference: this was the beginning of totality.
This was exactly 30 seconds later.

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.

Afterword to Incremental Progress

Unless I am struck by a pressing need to add something in the next few days, I reckon that part 4 of the Incremental Progress series will be the last, at least for now. I may add to it in the future, or restart it after the next conference, but for the time being I have no plans to add to it.

While this mini-series has been fun to write in some respects, it has also nearly driven me to abandon it, and possibly even take a break from writing entirely and fall back on my buffer of prewritten posts to avoid losing my postaweek credentials. Having a preselected topic and an idea of when and how I want to release stuff has some upsides, certainly, but creatively, it’s a double-edged sword.

These frustrations are amplified by my aversion to constraint. Part of this aversion is based on the unpredictable nature of my handicap, as I have described at length elsewhere, but this also cuts to the heart of my technique. My creative process, if you can call it a conscious process, is generally one of waiting for inspiration to strike me, and then writing for precisely as long as it sticks with me. This usually produces somewhere between 0.9 and 2.1 posts per week, only about 1.4 of which are truly coherent enough to be considered for publication, and my loose versions of editing and scheduling cuts that down to a nice, predictable one post per week.

My capital-P Professional author contacts tell me that this frustration is a normal part of the writing process that sets in during any suitably large project that involves deadlines and staying on topic, which is to say, any project much more extensive than a casual blog. The good news is that allegedly getting through these frustrations is a large part of what separates the true masters of the art from the amateurs. That, and, you know, getting paid. But allegedly it’s the former that enables the latter down the road. I can’t really testify to that part, at least not on my own behalf.

All that said, I’m glad I decided to do this. I think it has helped me flex my writing muscles a bit, so to speak, and I am reasonably satisfied with the end result. I made the decision to split up my thoughts on the conference and structure it like I did because the alternatives would have been cutting down dramatically to only one or two subtopics, or waiting several weeks until the whole thing could be compiled and posted at once; an approach which had historically been less successful.

Starting today I will be setting off on a new set of adventures, starting with a family expedition into the White Mountains, and followed shortly by a tour of the Midwestern United States, which is expected to include reunions with several local relatives, and an attempt to view that astronomical event which has been recently dubbed by the papers as “the Great American Eclipse”.

Though I will, as always, try to maintain my habit of posting, it seems quite likely that I may miss a post or two, even after I return. I do not know whether I shall come back from these trips with new experiences to write about at length, similar to last month’s conference at Disney World, or whether the stresses of another family trip will push me over the brink and sap my creative abilities for some time.

I appreciate all the support I have gotten from this series, and hope to continue to work on similar projects in the future.

Scientific Optimism

This past week I had the honor of attending Neil deGrasse Tyson’s 2016 Year in Review lecture alongside several comrades from our local astronomy club. While I’m not sure I can genuinely say I learnt anything I didn’t already know, it was nonetheless engaging to have the major successes and failures of the past year presented by one who has played such a large role in moving science into the popular vogue.

Science in pop culture was, in fact, one of the main topics of the lecture. The consensus reached was that while there remains a great deal to be done in terms of science literacy, being able to inspire people to be excited about scientific discoveries in the same way that people become excited about new blockbuster movies or the Oscars is a major step in reinvigorating the zeitgeist which enabled such massive leaps in scientific exploration and discovery of the 1960s and 70s. The photo above is from one such effort- Tyson’s cameo appearance in Zoolander 2.

There were, of course, less optimistic moments. Astrophysics has not been exempt from the slew of deaths that 2016 hath wrought, and concerns about the political situation, in particular the election of new leaders who have publicly denied scientific consensus on issues such as climate change and the origins of the cosmos, were overtly mentioned.

“Florida is basically at sea level, so Florida will be the first to go.” Tyson said in response, citing the elevation and terrain of the state in relation to rising sea levels. “That’s where his golf courses are. It’s going to be pretty hard for him to swim from hole to hole, and say it’s a Chinese hoax.”

While not exactly reassuring for the short term, this reflects the kind of quiet optimism that dominated the talk. It was reiterated that it does not particularly matter whether or not politicians deign to believe in scientific fact. Those who refuse to believe in observable phenomena will continue to be proven wrong. So long as they do not attempt to legislate their wrongness, or to use it to supplant the facts, he stated, we need not be particularly concerned with what others believe.

I have strongly mixed feelings about this attitude, as I fear it breeds complacency and elitism of the kind that has contributed to the political divide in this country, and which has been blamed partially for the rise of the “alt-right” and “post-truth” enclaves. In point of fact, I had the opportunity to discuss this point with a former member of the Clinton campaign shortly after the results of the election. I was adamant that it did not particularly matter the religious beliefs of those who had been elected; that it was their duty to govern based on the facts, and not what people claimed they wanted.

“That attitude is why Trump won.” He stated solemnly.

While I appreciate having faith that the scientific process will prevail, I think faith that people will always accept results is misplaced. Whether or not there is an objective truth to the universe one way or another, the fact remains that human observation and understanding of reality is colored and limited by our individual perceptions of reality. If human understanding, therefore, is limited by human perception, it is critical that we ensure that human perception is up to snuff.

While it may not be necessary for an absolute consensus on all subjects, if human progress is to be made most efficient, then it is necessary that enough people have an understanding of the facts to both make informed decisions on a political and social level, and to ensure the timely application of new discoveries on a technological and industrial level. In other words, in order for science and technology to genuinely improve our lives, it is required that they be widely understood enough to be applied. Prospective entrepreneurs need to be aware of technology in order to exploit it, and investors need to understand what there is to be gained by putting capital into cutting edge fields.

This, interestingly enough, was also touched upon in the talk, albeit not directly, when discussing the Nobel prizes awarded this year. The prizes awarded in physics had something to do with the geometric patterns of ultra-thin sheets of carbon; something which seems to most of us quite arcane and esoteric. To someone making a living in construction or farming, or even law or medicine, this work has no apparent application, and indeed might seem like a waste of effort to pursue; certainly not something work winning a Nobel prize over. Professor Tyson explained that this was precisely the same position that quantum physics was in through the first half of the 20th century. In contrast, today roughly a third of the world’s GDP relies directly on the discoveries of quantum physics.

In a perfect world, the truth would be easily recognizable when seen for the first time, and scientists and their followers could rest secure in the knowledge that their discoveries would be disseminated and understood without conscious effort. Unfortunately, we do not live in such a world. While I do fully expect that science and technology will continue advancing regardless of the sociopolitical climate, it remains paramount that we continue our efforts to ensure that the largest number of people are educated to a level to understand and participate in mankind’s drive for advancement. The battle for hearts and minds today is not merely a matter of determining research funding for the next four years, although this is certainly relevant; it is a matter of determining who will be in a position to make tomorrow’s next great discoveries and breakthroughs. It is in the interests of all humanity for that number of people to be as large as possible.

In closing, I would like to mention a brief incident which transpired towards the end of the event. Having finished with the main lecture, the floor was opened up to questions from the audience. A flamboyantly dressed man took the microphone, stating that he had “travelled over many thousands of miles” to present Dr. Tyson with a disc containing evidence he had collected while crossing the Nevada desert, of something in the sky “unlike any system we’ve ever seen”. The room was silent as the man explained that he had taken the evidence to various news outlets, and to NASA, all of whom had turned him away. Ever the scientist, Tyson explained that, while skeptical that such an alien phenomenon as the man seemed to imply would not have also been noticed by many others, he would nonetheless accept the disk and review it.

After the whole thing had finished, the astronomy teacher who had been with us asked us what we had taken away. My response was unequivocally that, should it come to pass in two weeks or so, that an announcement is made from NASA or the like regarding the discovery of extraterrestrial life, we would know that the man was right, and we would all have been present for a critical moment in scientific history. That notion is perhaps more inspiring than anything else that evening; that such a discovery could conceivably be made within our lifetime, and that, by being up to date and educated, we might be able to share in the new discovery. This is why I feel science literacy is critical to our future – because it will enable such terrific discoveries, and increase the likelihood that they will have a positive benefit on all of us.