Some people seem to have found the partial solar eclipse underwhelming. I, however, found it enjoyably weird: the way the light faded without its colour changing as it does at sunset. I enjoyed projecting many crescents of the partly obstructed Sun onto a tree with a colander. Of course, there’s a world of difference between an awe-inspiring total eclipse and the 93% partial eclipse we experienced – 7% of the Sun’s normal light is still quite a lot of light.
What is most remarkable is the degree of coincidence required for that famous photograph of a total eclipse, with the Moon exactly overlapping the Sun, and huge plumes of gas visible erupting from it. The Moon is 400 times closer to us than the Sun; the Sun is 400 times bigger. That makes them look exactly the same size from our perspective, allowing the Moon to block the Sun’s surface, precisely and no more. And because the Moon is receding ever so slowly from us, we know that many millions of years ago, before the emergence of humans, the beautiful view of those plumes didn’t exist; and long after us, as the Moon’s apparent size shrinks, it will no longer block the Sun’s light. It is almost as if God is leaving us a calling card.
Such coincidences are all over creation. Physics tells us that the fundamental physical constants have to be fine-tuned within minute fractions of a percentage point, to make matter even possible.
When we appreciate how unlikely our existence is, even in the vastness of this ancient universe, we feel awe.
We also feel awe when we encounter beauty, whether in the Wiltshire landscape from the top of the downs or a baby’s first giggle. There’s no particular reason why we should feel awe, at least if we look at it narrowly in terms of evolutionary biology. Awe doesn’t help us win the struggle to survive, nor, for that matter, does an instinct for beauty.
Our lives and the world we live in are full of signs that we are made to be more than biological machines, designed only to feed and reproduce.
Yet we are increasingly detached from how wrenchingly fragile our lives are. Mostly, we experience life as comfortable, convenient; death before old age is ever rarer. That is a wonder and a mercy, and a result of the power science and engineering have given us.
But our power has also made us dangerous to the web of life that supports us. We can only hope that summers like this one will not become our new normal. Oh, sure, I like taking the Sun myself, but our crops are failing, our reservoirs are running dry, and our landscape is parched. England was never meant to be like this.
Can we learn to use responsibly the vast power that our cleverness has won us? Perhaps to inspire us to do so, we need to take a deep breath and contemplate the beauty all around us.
The Rev’d Gerry Lynch
Rector
Recent Sermons and Writing
- I spoke to our Diocesan Clergy Conference about how the Church of England can navigate a Britain of a transforming party system, transforming demographics, and increasing division. Read more.
- There are times when we need to admit we’re out of our depth before God can rescue us. Read more.
- Sometimes, the Bible can be challenging. How do we reconcile “Nothing will separate us from the love of God” with “the bad fish will be thrown in the furnace of fire”? Read more.
- Why do we sometimes find ourselves doing the very opposite of what our highest principles call us to. Read more.