The End of Night: Searching for Natural Darkness in an Age of Artificial Light. Paul Bogard

dimmer seems extraordinarily dim, even dark. This is exactly what happened as artificial lighting developed through the ages. The once glorious oil lamps became dim and disgusting with the advent of wonderful gas lighting, which then became smelly and awful and unbearably dim the moment we saw electric light. In other words, once our eyes get used to seeing brighter lights, we must have brighter lights.

      Roger Narboni, a lighting designer in Paris, explained this concept to me by telling of how he’d been hired to renew the lighting in a very large, very old fish market near Paris, where the business took place between 1:00 and 3:00 a.m.

      “The plan was 400 lux on the fish. But when the people selling the fish saw it, they said, This is dull, we can’t see the fish. They were used to having big halogen lamps—which were hot lamps that were terrible for the fish, but they were used to them. With the new lights the atmosphere was totally different, and for them it was no good. So they said, Can you raise the level a little? And we said, Sure. And they said, Can we have double? And we said, Wow, double, okay.” He laughed. So, Narboni said, they raised the level of lighting to 800 lux, but when the fishmongers came to work they asked if the lights had even been changed. “I took out my light meter and showed them: 800 lux. And they said, Are you sure it’s working? Can we go higher? So we went to 1,200, then 1,600, 1,800, and they were never pleased. They kept saying, It’s dull, we want more. And finally I said, Okay, forget it, because we’re not going to go to 3,000 lux or 5,000 lux or to daytime. This is insane; I don’t want to do that. So I quit. And I told them, Your eyes are not able to understand what’s going on. And even if we put more, you cannot compare it, and you will ask for more and more and more, and it’s like addicts. And they never understood that.”

      But a fish market in the middle of the night is one thing, I said. What about in the city itself?

      “It’s the same for the urban city. If you put more lights for safety, very often and very quickly people will say, Oh, we don’t see enough, it’s not working, people are still being attacked, and we have problems and so we should put more light. And we’re going to go up and up and up. There is no limit, because the vision gets accustomed to that and we need more.”

      The fascinating thing, though, Narboni said, is that this works the other way, too.

      “If you go to darkness, the eye opens a lot, you get more focus, and even in a very dark environment you see very well.”

      It’s a fact most of us don’t know: The human eye has an amazing ability to adapt to different lighting levels, including levels we normally think of as quite dim. While the human eye will never match those of truly nocturnal or crepuscular (active at dawn and dusk) animals, in dimly lit situations our pupil expands, our iris relaxes, and thirty times more light can enter our eye. Faced with bright lights, the pupil contracts and the iris closes down for protection. But given time to adapt to low light levels—levels that would allow the stars back into our skies and make our streets safer by eliminating glare—we actually see fairly well.

      “And I try to tell the politicians, ‘Try it and you’ll see,’” Narboni explained. “In Berlin it’s like that, it’s 5 lux and everything is fine. You can see the pavement, you can see the street, and you can walk peacefully.”

      Then, Narboni echoed the point made by Alan Lewis: “We are mainly driven by contrast. This is the main thing in lighting. So, if you go with a high level of light the contrast will be very poor and you won’t feel comfortable. And if you go with contrast you can feel safe even with darkness.”

      Feeling safe with darkness is difficult when we have become so accustomed to high levels of light. As Bob Mizon, coordinator of the British Astronomical Association’s Campaign for Dark Skies (CfDS), explains, “We’re looking at a whole generation of people—even someone my age, and I’m sixty-plus—who have grown up with lots of lights, and who have grown up with lots of bad lights. So people now think that not only is lighting the norm, but that really glary crap lighting is the norm.”

      Still, a growing number of towns and villages in the United States and Europe have been experimenting with turning off some of their lights, some of the time, in an effort to save energy—that is, to save money. And despite concern about a potential growth in crime, many of these places have experienced the opposite result. In fact, police in Bristol, England, reported a 20 percent reduction in crime, and other English towns have seen crime drop up to 50 percent since lights have been turned off after midnight. When Rockford, Illinois, decided to switch off 15 percent of its streetlights, the police chief assured the city council that no studies show correlation between lighting and crime, and that he believes lighting doesn’t directly affect crime one way or the other. In Santa Rosa, California, which has decided to remove six thousand of the city’s fifteen thousand streetlights and place an additional three thousand on a timer that shuts lights off from midnight to 5:30 a.m., the city hopes to save $400,000 a year. The bottom of the Street Light Reduction Program website reads, “Several academic studies have been published on the correlation between street lighting and crime. None of the studies make a direct correlation between increased street lighting and reduced crime. In fact some of the research indicates just the opposite.”

      Other communities have had mixed success, and not because people are fearful of saving money. After Concord turned off two-thirds of its streetlights, the outcry from the populace was horrendous, Lewis tells me and the town recently voted to turn the streetlights back on, “even though most of it is pretty bad lighting.”

      How does that make sense—choosing bad lighting over saving money?

      “So much of it is people thinking that if there’s light it must be safer. And they don’t know what to look for, and they don’t know what good lighting is, they don’t know what bad lighting is.” (Lewis later tells me, “The nice thing about educating people about bad lighting is that there’s so many examples.”)

      “And so they just think that if you turn the lighting off crime is going to go up, or I’m not going to be as safe. And none of that actually is true, in fact in many cases street lighting makes things worse not better.

      “You read the letters to the editors in the local paper, and that’s what they say: You turned the lights out and now I don’t feel safe walking on the street anymore, so turn the lights back on so I feel safe. Even if, by the way,” Lewis says, “they never walk on the street.”

      I’m struck by the fact that Lewis is talking about Concord, a town with a history of famous Revolutionary War violence, but with no history of pervasive violent crime. If people don’t feel safe in a place like Concord, where will they? We forget that crime tends to be concentrated in only a few places, and most places have no crime at all. This is especially true when it comes to the violent, personal crime that we tend to fear most. In Concord I found a friendly New England town, and not any place where you would expect to be attacked by a violent predator. And yet, here were glaring streetlights that did as much to impair my vision as they did to brighten my way. “They could actually reduce the lighting by about fifty percent in the downtown area,” Lewis tells me, “and still have very, very good lighting.”

      Half a continent away from Concord, in the small northern town of Ashland, Wisconsin (population eight thousand), on Lake Superior’s Chequamegon Bay, you find Green Bay Packer jerseys, Day-Glo orange hunting vests, and camouflage hats or pants or jackets almost always within view, and beer and cheese served at nearly every meal. Once a town bustling with Northwoods logging and mining and railroad activity, it has only a single ore dock remaining, unused since 1965, jutting into the bay like a broken Roman aqueduct. A natural foods co-op, a bakery, and the Black Cat coffeehouse share a single block on a single street, and some residents claim you need never go anywhere else. Except, perhaps, for a late-night drive to Tetzner’s Dairy outside nearby Washburn to grab a chocolate ice cream sandwich from the freezer and leave your cash in the coffee can near the door. From the surrounding woods, on one of the nearby Apostle Islands, or better yet floating in a sailboat on the lake, the nights are still dark enough to welcome the Milky Way in brilliant detail.

      But in town, light abounds. Along the lake on US Route 2 shine rows of “acorn” streetlights, the Victorian fixtures that tend to show