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The correlation between light and safety may never be fully explained, for what light can do and what we imagine light can do are not entirely separate things. Our insistence on bright night lighting is inextricably linked with our feelings of safety, but those feelings are relative to our accustomed surroundings. Michel Siffre, living with one small light deep in his glaciated cavern, felt assured by his meager illumination. "Yes, my tent became my universe," he wrote. "Its effect upon my mind was remarkable. When I left the lightbulb on and went outside, the tent glowed in the cold darkness with a redness that was singularly comforting. From the moraine I often looked back at it with a feeling of love. It represented security and shelter—no matter how specious that security and shelter, which was threatened constantly by the cave-ins of rock and ice."

Even over the course of our own lives, the amount of light that makes us feel safe is a moving frontier: the more light we're accustomed to, the more we feel we need for security. For many of us now, abundant artificial light, not darkness, feels natural after the sun goes down. We not only walk in bright light; we also leave it behind us. Our houses are lit when we go out at night, and in the deserted small hours, light dazzles at rural crossroads, gas stations, empty parking lots, and shut-up summer homes and hotels. We turn our lights on in the early dusk and leave exterior house lights burning while we sleep. The lamps that assured our ancestors in the gaslight era would not be enough for us today.

Given the history of light's steady increase, nothing less than a conscientious, international effort will ensure a future in which the brilliance we live by stays the same, or—as astronomers David Crawford and Tim Hunter hope—markedly decreases. Crawford and Hunter were among the first voices calling for a return to darker nights, and in 1988 they established the International Dark-Sky Association for the express purpose of abating light pollution and increasing public awareness of the consequences of excess light. The association suggests strategies to reduce lighting—simply shutting off unnecessary lights would go a long way toward achieving this goal. (In the United States alone, wasted light costs more than $1 billion a year, and a 100-watt bulb left burning through all the dark hours in a year creates about five hundred pounds of carbon dioxide.) The group also promulgates the control of light through shielding and by directing essential light so that it illuminates only what it's intended to. For any new lighting, the association advocates extensive planning that takes into account an understanding of how illumination affects the surrounding environment.

In twenty years, the influence of the International Dark-Sky Association has grown far beyond a circle of stargazers, having gained the support of architects, city planners, and lighting designers:

A growing number of businesses are rethinking their attitudes toward the environment.... This shift has had some influence on the business of government, as well, including how we plan our day and night urban landscape.... Sustainability's emphasis in urban design and artificial night lighting is to improve the quality of lighting, not its quantity. [A more] holistic view of lighting design produces less environmental impact than poorly designed, more traditional approaches: it requires less energy from power plants.... And, ultimately, there is a net economic savings.... Because most of the Earth's population lives in cities or urban centers, nighttime lighting needs to be one of the key components of any city policy for urban development and for increasing the quality of life for its citizens.... While community planners remain firm in their mandate for safety, utility, and ambiance, some are beginning to examine the myths of night lighting, the meaning of utility, and the requirements necessary to create an effective and