1.
We are only promised a slice of the solar eclipse here in the UK tonight, but people are desperate to see it. Through hard-to-find glasses and pinholes in paper. Plans are changing and meet-ups are shifting to the best vantage points.
Even those who won’t be poking holes in cereal boxes or carrying their colanders to cliff tops are making a point to bear witness to it. Maybe they won’t even attempt to look at the sliver of the sun at all, but they’ll be outside to bask in that eerie glow only an eclipse can cast. To hear birds quieten and feel the whole of the world hold its breath.
2.
Yesterday, I was reminded of one of my favourite facts about the universe. What Brian Cox calls “the craziest coincidence of our time.” Our sun is exactly 400 times larger than the Moon. But the Moon is exactly 400 times closer to us than the sun. Which means that out of all of the hundreds of moons in our solar system, our Moon is the only one from our perspective here on Earth that allows us to witness a total solar eclipse.
But this wondrous cosmic coincidence doesn’t end there. The Moon has slowly been moving away from the Earth for billions of years. Which means billions of years in the distant past and billions of years into the distant future, there will be no solar eclipses. This moment, right now, in this space and in this time, is incredibly special.
I don’t think the pull to witness even a tiny piece of the eclipse should be underestimated. I think it speaks to a deeper, more primal and more urgent call within us all. To witness something rare, to get out into nature, to take part in something that is simultaneously impacting each and every person around you, to witness something wondrous and be reminded of your cosmic insignificance.
3.
I think the way we talk about tech can be a litmus test. That what we use, what we value, what we’re wowed by and what we dismiss can reveal hidden secrets about how we’re really doing and who we really are.
And you all know by this point that I write about AI, I think about AI and, most revealing of all, I talk to a lot of people who use, and these days used to use, AI. And last night, as I was thinking about the eclipse and what makes it so special, I realised that what draws people to AI and what draws us to an eclipse sit at almost opposite ends of a spectrum.
Now, not every AI user is the same. Please don’t “bean soup” me in the comments. But what I mean is the eclipse is rare, it is natural, it is beyond our control, we need to get outside to see it, and although we can witness it on our own, there is a strong sense of being connected to each other and the natural world while we witness it. More than anything, there are no guarantees. We only see a fraction of it in the UK, a cloud might cover it or you might have worked out the best spot to see it all wrong.
Notice if you were to flip each of those qualities, you’d get a list of what many people tell me are the benefits of AI. It is accessible all the time, it is totally within our control to prompt whatever we need, we don’t need to leave our rooms to use it, it requires nothing of anyone else, and it’s almost always guaranteed to give us what we want, whether that’s ideas, connection, partnership, advice and comfort.
4.
These days, I don’t doubt AI can do a good impression of wonder. I’m sure you could prompt a chatbot to make a very convincing photo of the eclipse tonight so you don’t have to step outside at all. It’s all very Plato’s cave coded, isn’t it? You don’t have to move. You can sit inside the cave and look at a simulation of the eclipse, the shadows of the eclipse on the wall.
I bet it could create a “photo” of the eclipse with a level of verisimilitude that would fool even the biggest of naysayers. But this idea of whether something can pass for real entirely misses the point. I bet if Plato was around right now, he’d say what we need to be wary of isn’t shadows being projected onto the walls of the cave, but hyper-realistic images being, I dunno, projected into our retinas.
It can probably do a damn good job at simulating the visual cues of wonder too, like beauty and vastness. Novelty and impossibility. And I suspect when you increasingly retreat into AI and spend less time in the real world, it can be very easy to make do with that kind of fake wonder and manufactured magic. Just like it’s very easy to make do with AI relationships. Because when you are so starved for something, you will accept any stand-in for it. And I empathise, I really do.
But there’s something strange about the idea of wonder summoned on demand. Because AI never pushes back. Make the eclipse look bigger, bolder, brighter, give it all the hallmarks of the most miraculous experience. Oh and make it purple.
AI can certainly reproduce many of the aesthetic signals of wonder, like beauty, vastness, novelty, impossibility, spectacle, and probably even provoke some of the sensations associated with it. But it also removes all of the conditions that produce it, like rarity, resistance, uncertainty, discovery and contact with something that exists independently of our desires. It can do a good impression of wonder, like it can do an impression of relationships.
5.
Going out and seeking things that might actually wow us, might actually fulfil us, isn’t as easy. You have to find them, notice them, pay attention, relinquish control. And there’s no guarantee they’ll make you feel anything at all. I think that uncertainty, that discomfort, is part of what so many people are trying to avoid and protect against by turning to AI.
But does that make us any happier? I don’t know the answer to that, and it depends how you’d define happy. Maybe it makes us feel more comforted. Our wants and needs and desires are smoothed away. We are satiated in that moment for the things we think we’re lacking. So it makes us happy in the way humans-in-Wall-E kind of are, sure. But see, I’m so keen to explore wonder as the antidote to AI because it promises so much more than that.
A growing body of research links wonder, the real, visceral kind you experience with your whole body, to reduced stress, greater kindness, curiosity and learning, and even changes in our perception of time. Most importantly, I think, researchers believe it gives us a diminished sense of self. Sometimes called the small self, or my personal favourite, a feeling of cosmic insignificance. I believe, through no fault of our own, we have become so focused on ourselves that we forget we are part of a much bigger story. Maybe wonder will give us a way back. Maybe the eclipse can be your first step.
Look, I feel like I’m really hyping up the eclipse now. The thing is, especially if you’re in the UK, it’s not guaranteed to wow you. But I promise that’s the point. Because the universe exists independently of whether we find it interesting. It doesn’t regenerate itself when we’re bored or make the moon bigger because we asked or give us 50 versions of the sunset. We have to pay attention.
As I was writing this, I had a quote from Rachel Carson, a marine biologist, writer and conservationist, written on a Post-It on my laptop:
“The more clearly we can focus our attention on the wonders and realities of the universe about us, the less taste we shall have for destruction.”
We don’t need an infinite supply of comfort-giving, wondrous-seeming things on demand. We need to step outside our screens, our caves and ourselves to witness the cosmic coincidences that are already out there.
Further reading:
Awe: The Transformative Power of Everyday Wonder by Dacher Keltner
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