In his book, Under the Stars: A Journey into Light (Elliott &
Thompson, 2020), Matt Gaw takes on how artificial lighting and light pollution
have changed the natural world and the human condition. He travels the length and breadth of the
United Kingdom to study this phenomenon, and astutely describes how human
beings seek to control their environment.
His experiences detailed here involve walking the landscape in darkness
and appreciating the gift of the night that most of us fail to recognize. “The snow, the cloud, the clear skies,
moonlight and murk, starfall and darkrise,” he writes near the end of his
book. “Each night, whether it contained
happiness, wonder, fear or frustration, has been unique; each experience has
shown me darkness in a different light.”
The book is packed
with scientific, cultural, and historical gems.
He details the collision 4.5 billion years ago of the earth and another
planetary body the size of Mars, and how the mantle and core of the two entities
became one prehistoric earth. The moon
was formed from the leftover debris of this colossal collision. The moon now edges away from us,
approximately 3.78 cm into space each year.
“In billions of years’ time,” he says, “her light will be invisible to
us and the earth, abandoned, will spin slow and lifeless.” Poetry, indeed, but more importantly, this is
science as poetry, both lyrical and factual.
The moon is earth’s
companion in the universe. It is the
all-important shadow, a celestial body we believe we know intimately. She is a strange other world; even the word “lunatic”
comes from the Latin word for moon: luna.
“It has long been believed that her silvering light brings with it
madness and mayhem,” Gaw writes. Her
craters and geographical features are illuminated by a combination of light
from the sun and by the reflected light of the earth. Moon and earth are symbiotic.
Part of the difficulty
with climate change and the preservation of natural resources falls on our
outsized view of ourselves in the universe.
We are the alleged masters of this universe when, in fact, we live in
constant ebb and flow with the stars, the oceans, the shifting tectonic
plates. Gaw focuses on this and believes
that in studying light, darkness, and the universe, we are “forced to
acknowledge the vast scale” of that universe, “and the tiny space we occupy in
it.” We have trouble understanding this
underlying precept. Most people do not
fathom their insignificance, in the greater whole. And therein lies the problem.
The book is about
getting in touch with this smallness, even if it is only a partial
understanding of the yin and yang of the natural world. Where Gaw excels is in looking at the night
sky and communicating the sense of awe and wonder glimpsed from his window on
the universe. He travels to places with
no light pollution, parts of England and Scotland that have sworn off
artificial light in favor of darkness at night.
There he gazes up at the wonders of the heavens, the constellations, the
purity of natural light from the moon and stars. This perspective becomes his Holy Grail, his
ultimate realization of what abounds in starlight and primordial dust. Because of our incessant need to light up the
night, we have lost our appreciation of those secret hours when our part of the
earth is in shadow. Gaw writes, “The
baseline for what we expect at night, the starlight that we expect to see, has
over time warped and fallen to new lows.
The constellations have come unstrung, the shared cultural experience of
generations, a sense of place and perspective, along with a light older than
humans, gods, the earth, have all been lost.”
Gaw follows out where
this thesis leads us, even to a discussion of religion. He explains how darkness is present in much
of the Bible, how it is associated with evil, and those creatures who dwell in
darkness are always inherently destructive.
Those who sin live in darkness.
Gaw finds this binary designation—dark and light, black and white, good
and evil—shortsighted and rooted in our fears of night and incipient darkness.
One of the more
interesting parts of the text is Gaw’s discussion of the human need for sleep,
and how that need has fared in history. He
discusses the origins of curfews, and how with the Industrial Revolution, our
sleep patterns were forever altered. We
did not always sleep in one solid block; our ancestors slept for half the night
and woke for an interlude where one might “talk, tell stories, pray, have sex,”
and then engage in a second sleep for the remainder of the dark. The average person rose with the sun and slept
after the sun set. Working the so-called
graveyard shift, or pulling all-nighters is unhealthy and leads to conditions
that threaten our lives. In our world,
foregoing sleep is a false badge of honor.
Gaw cites several well-known human beings who claimed to never sleep,
like Thomas Edison and Nikola Tesla.
Gaw ends his rumination
with his family on vacation on the Isle of Coll in Scotland. There he ventures out onto the sands of the
beach and studies the heavens. He
convinces his wife and family to join him, and they take in the swirling haze
of the Milky Way and the stars that arc across the sky. It is a fitting and meditative end to this
study. Matt Gaw awakens us to the world
of shadows and night. He reassures us
the dark is nothing to fear, and to the contrary, is something to welcome and
revel in.
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