Diluting the Heavens

I think of primordial human. In the day, she worked and sweated and at night, before he laid his head to rest, he looked at the stars and considered what lay above. I think of Galileo, who charted the sky and mapped its constellations. I think of the myths and legends, created by countless masses who saw the innumerable lights twinkling infinitely in the night sky and gave them meaning. Only on a few occasions have I tapped into this experience shared by millions of women and men before me. At age 11, while camping in the Colorado Rocky Mountains, a midnight meteor shower affected me profoundly. A few other times, while driving cross-country, camping, or traveling, I have had the opportunity to see glorious night skies that I remember to this day.

I haven’t really gotten to see the stars in a while. In high school, I learned about dark-sky preserves, areas in the U.S. and abroad that are kept free from light pollution, and felt a yearning to experience their intensity. Occasionally, movies, books, and planetariums remind me of the beautiful artistry which is missing from my life, but in general I don’t think about it. The world around me is beautiful and the sky above me looks nice. I guess it doesn’t really matter what else it could be.

When I talk to environmentalists they often caution me of what we stand to lose if we do not change our ways. Oh life is good now, they say, but just wait and see when the ice caps melt, the animals die, the shores flood, and the crops wither. Then you’ll be singing a different tune. I see a profound pathos calling me to action concerning the great treasures that we have already lost. Who knows what the future holds? Maybe it will be nicer for humans to live in a world with fewer polar bears, acidic oceans, and ocean beaches closer to Chicago. We can’t know what will come with certainty. But all of us should mourn the loss of goods, natural wonders of the world, which all who came before us shared, but which we are denied.

Light pollution sounds like a trivial problem. It’s not such a big deal that the sky is a little dimmer in big cities, and compared to all the incredible benefits of modern electricity, lighting, power, and energy, fainter stars might be worthwhile. However, this protest falls as a straw man. Caring about light pollution and working to diminish its effect on our lives does not demand a complete cessation of using electric lights at night.

The sky can be significantly darkened through the implementation of common sense regulations on public lights to encourage physical guards which direct light downward toward intended spaces, rather than haphazardly scattering it in every direction. The International Dark-Sky Association recommends that lights only be turned on when necessary, be no brighter than necessary, and to minimize blue light emissions, which brighten the sky more than any other color and have been shown to harm humans and wildlife.

I care about the night sky. I consider it tragic that if I want to live in a city in America, I must sacrifice a regular experience of seeing the stars. How sad that we miss out on this universal experience and that the magnitude which captivated our ancestors escapes us. I do not wish to spend my nights without any light at all, but I do think that before we dismiss light politics as expensive, idealistic, and unnecessary, we should consider what we lose when we dilute the heavens.