3 Things I Learned Covering the Eclipse for NPR

How Einstein Became Einstein; the Real Star of the Show; the Power of Pause

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I was touched and a bit taken aback when I received a call from NPR a few days ago asking if I would offer real time perspective and commentary of the solar eclipse happening across the United States this week. I had made a similar appearance during the eclipse in August 2017 from my family’s home on Tybee Island, Georgia, and the producers apparently thought enough of that appearance to ask me again. I think this back-to-back booking makes me the Official Eclipse Correspondent of NPR [TM], which is a pretty cushy gig, considering that I have to go into the office only once every seven years.

The office, in this case, was the Brooklyn Botanical Garden, which was not exactly in the zone of totality but was in the zone of clear skies and peak cherry blossoms, as well as being in the zone of knowing where people wanted to be. A whopping 10,000 people showed up and spread out across the 50 acres.

In the hour or so before I went live on the air, I spoke to several dozen of these visitors. The best family I met: a 92-year-old woman from Guyana in a wheelchair, who had come out with her daughter, granddaughter, and great-granddaughter. The most 2024 story I encountered: two people who were remote working using their phone as a hotspot for their laptops. “Don’t use my name so my boss doesn’t find out.” The most timeless story: a 34-year-old unemployed actor and personal assistant who brought four crystals to charge in the sun, nevermind that the whole point of coming out was to see the sun disappear. “I’m in a life transition,” she said, “and events like this should are supposed to help.”   

Helping a life transition. Now that’s my kind of event! Here are the top three things I learned from this experience:

1. Einstein Became Einstein Because of the Solar Eclipse of 1919

Major news events create unexpected stars. But not until this week did I learn that the otherwise unheralded solar eclipse of 1919 created one of the biggest stars in history.

Albert Einstein was an overlooked, just divorced scientist in 1919 who had published a theory of relativity four years earlier. The idea, which challenged Newton’s conception of gravity, was that any light traveling in the vicinity of a massive object is bent along spacetime. The best way to test this idea, Einstein wrote, was during a solar eclipse. Here’s how Smithsonian captured what happened next:

Einstein laid out the challenge as follows: Chart the positions of stars around the sun during totality, those precious moments when the sun’s direct light is totally blocked by the moon, allowing the stars in the background to be seen. And, observe the same stars when there is no eclipse. If his theory of general relatively was indeed correct, there would be a slight difference in the positions of those stars—a change invisible to the human eye, but detectable through fine measurement.

In 1919, English astronomers Arthur Eddington and Frank Dyson organized expeditions to Africa and Brazil to test Einstein’s theory. After seven months, they released their report. The New York Times was so underwhelmed by the idea that the paper sent its golf reporter to cover the announcement. But even the editors were impressed by what they read. Their headline: “EINSTEIN THEORY TRIUMPHS.” Their declaration: “perhaps the greatest of achievements in the history of human thought.”

All because of the eclipse of 1919.

Photo courtesy of NASA

2. The Real Star of an Eclipse Is Not the Sun, the Moon, or the Earth

The more I thought about the eclipse the more I kept coming back to the same question: Who really is the star of the show. My first thought was the moon. After all, it’s the one performing the main action. Though 400 times smaller than the sun, the moon is the one passing between us and its much bigger source of light. The moon is the one doing the eclipsing.

But that answer is problematic, because the moon wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary at all; it was just going about its business, moving around its orbit.

So that means the sun is the star, right? After all, it is a star. Plus, the origin of the word eclipse comes from the Latin eclipsis, which in turn comes from from Greek ekleipsis, meaning "an abandonment," literally "a failing, forsaking.” Eclipse at its heart is passive, and in this case the sun was the one being eclipsed, which is why they event is called a solar eclipse. That makes the sun the star.

But not really. After all, the sun wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary, either; it was just going about its business, moving at its own pace.

So that leaves only one other option. The earth must be the star! And yet that answer is problematic, too, because 1) the earth wasn’t doing anything special, either; it took was just doing its regular thing; and 2) as we learned, where you are on earth entirely dictates whether you experience the eclipse in totality, in partiality, or not at all.

The moral of the story is that the event itself, like most, has no inherent star and no inherent meaning. The ones who give it meaning are us. That makes humans the star. We are the ones who decide what story to tell about this otherwise inevitable event. Whatever lens you look at the world through – science, literature, politics, adventure, love – an eclipse is an occasion to write a new story.

An eclipse, in this way, is a giant inkblot. A Rorschach test for humanity. Perhaps it’s no coincidence that this test was invented by another German, Hermann Rorschach, in 1921, just months after the eclipse of 1919 made Albert Einstein the greatest star on earth.

3. The Power of Pause

So from my point of view, the most important part of the eclipse was not the astronomical event at all; it was the human response to that event. And what a response it was! The millions who traveled to totality; the hundreds who got married in mass ceremonies [modern-day moonies; or maybe sunnies?]; the thousands who came out to a beautiful park in Brooklyn for what the forecast described as a ‘mostly sunny’ day. I’ll say.

One lingering lesson from the lockdown four years ago that I hope we don’t forget is how creatively and robustly people responded to the forced pause we all experienced: tens of millions of us quit jobs that weren’t making us happy, moved from homes that weren’t giving us the space we desired; changed lives that weren’t meeting the meaning we craved. All because for a few months, we ruptured our routines.

The eclipse was one such rupture. Not as severe or painful or destabilizing as a pandemic; not as long as what an illness or a divorce or a setback might provide; but still a potent reminder that inertia is not destiny. You can change whatever you want in your life for no other reason than you want to change it. All it takes is a few minutes to blot out the relentless routine of your day to encourage you to look around and realize that the real light is coming from within you.  

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