How a Volcanic Eruption Helped Unleash the Black Death in Europe in 1347

The flap of a but­ter­fly­’s wings on one side of the world can cause a hur­ri­cane on the oth­er, or so they say. If we take it a bit too lit­er­al­ly, that old obser­va­tion may make us won­der what a hur­ri­cane can cause. Or if not a hur­ri­cane, how about anoth­er kind of large-scale nat­ur­al dis­as­ter? If new find­ings by researchers from the Uni­ver­si­ty of Cam­bridge and the Leib­niz Insti­tute for the His­to­ry and Cul­ture of East­ern Europe are to be believed, a vol­cano’s erup­tion helped lead to the out­break and spread of the Black Death across Europe in the four­teenth cen­tu­ry. In the video above, British his­to­ry and envi­ron­men­tal sci­ence spe­cial­ist Paul Whitewick explains the evi­dence on a vis­it to one of the aban­doned medieval vil­lages strick­en by that plague.

As Cam­bridge’s Sarah Collins writes, “the evi­dence sug­gests that a vol­canic erup­tion — or clus­ter of erup­tions — around 1345 caused annu­al tem­per­a­tures to drop for con­sec­u­tive years due to the haze from vol­canic ash and gas­es, which in turn caused crops to fail across the Mediter­ranean region.” Des­per­ate Ital­ian city-states thus fell back on trad­ing with grain pro­duc­ers around the Black Sea. “This cli­mate-dri­ven change in long-dis­tance trade routes helped avoid famine, but in addi­tion to life-sav­ing food, the ships were car­ry­ing the dead­ly bac­teri­um that ulti­mate­ly caused the Black Death, enabling the first and dead­liest wave of the sec­ond plague pan­dem­ic to gain a foothold in Europe.”

An impor­tant clue came in the form of “infor­ma­tion con­tained in tree rings from the Span­ish Pyre­nees, where con­sec­u­tive ‘Blue Rings’ point to unusu­al­ly cold and wet sum­mers in 1345, 1346 and 1347 across much of south­ern Europe.” Records of lunar eclipses and lay­ers of sul­fur locked into ice cores dat­ing to about the same time fur­ther height­en the prob­a­bil­i­ty of vol­canic activ­i­ty. Key to tying these dis­parate pieces of evi­dence togeth­er are changes in trade routes: on a map, Whitewick traces “move­ment increas­ing along these cor­ri­dors, grain imports to the mar­itime republics of Venice and Genoa from north of the Black Sea and beyond, in 1347.” Accord­ing to writ­ten records, the Black Death came to Britain the fol­low­ing year, arriv­ing in “a coun­try already shaped by failed har­vests, weak­ened com­mu­ni­ties, and ris­ing move­ment of peo­ple and goods.”

Some com­mu­ni­ties weath­ered the plague and, in the full­ness of time, even bounced back; oth­ers, like the vil­lage amid whose remains Whitewick stands, prac­ti­cal­ly van­ished alto­geth­er. “This was a glob­al prob­lem that became very much a local one,” he says, under­scor­ing its rev­e­la­tion of the risk fac­tors present even in the ear­ly stages of what we now call glob­al­iza­tion. “A vol­canic erup­tion thou­sands of miles away altered cli­mate pat­terns, and that cli­mate reshaped har­vest and trade, and trade car­ried dis­ease. And here, in the qui­et Eng­lish fields, the con­se­quences have set­tled into the ground:” not quite as poet­ic an image as the but­ter­fly and the hur­ri­cane, grant­ed, but hard­ly less rel­e­vant to our own world for it.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The His­to­ry of the Plague: Every Major Epi­dem­ic in an Ani­mat­ed Map

A 1665 Adver­tise­ment Promis­es a “Famous and Effec­tu­al” Cure for the Great Plague

The Strange Cos­tumes of the Plague Doc­tors Who Treat­ed 17th Cen­tu­ry Vic­tims of the Bubon­ic Plague

How the Sur­vivors of Pom­peii Escaped Mount Vesu­vius’ Dead­ly Erup­tion: A TED-Ed Ani­ma­tion Tells the Sto­ry

The 1883 Kraka­toa Explo­sion Made the Loud­est Sound in His­to­ry — So Loud It Trav­eled Around the World Four Times

1,000 Years of Medieval Euro­pean His­to­ry in 20 Min­utes

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

“The Most Intelligent Photo Ever Taken”: The 1927 Solvay Council Conference, Featuring Einstein, Bohr, Curie, Heisenberg, Schrödinger & More

A curi­ous thing hap­pened at the end of the 19th cen­tu­ry and the dawn­ing of the 20th. As Euro­pean and Amer­i­can indus­tries became increas­ing­ly con­fi­dent in their meth­ods of inven­tion and pro­duc­tion, sci­en­tists made dis­cov­ery after dis­cov­ery that shook their under­stand­ing of the phys­i­cal world to the core. “Researchers in the 19th cen­tu­ry had thought they would soon describe all known phys­i­cal process­es using the equa­tions of Isaac New­ton and James Clerk Maxwell,” Adam Mann writes at Wired. But “the new and unex­pect­ed obser­va­tions were destroy­ing this rosy out­look.”

These obser­va­tions includ­ed X‑rays, the pho­to­elec­tric effect, nuclear radi­a­tion and elec­trons; “lead­ing physi­cists, such as Max Planck and Wal­ter Nernst believed cir­cum­stances were dire enough to war­rant an inter­na­tion­al sym­po­sium that could attempt to resolve the sit­u­a­tion.” Those sci­en­tists could not have known that over a cen­tu­ry lat­er, we would still be star­ing at what physi­cist Dominic Wal­li­man calls the “Chasm of Igno­rance” at the edge of quan­tum the­o­ry. But they did ini­ti­ate “the quan­tum rev­o­lu­tion” in the first Solvay Coun­cil, in Brus­sels, named for wealthy chemist and orga­niz­er Ernest Solvay.

“Rever­ber­a­tions from this meet­ing are still felt to this day… though physics may still some­times seem to be in cri­sis” writes Mann (in a 2011 arti­cle just months before the dis­cov­ery of the Hig­gs boson). The inau­gur­al meet­ing kicked off a series of con­fer­ences on physics and chem­istry that have con­tin­ued into the 21st cen­tu­ry. Includ­ed in the pro­ceed­ings were Planck, “often called the father of quan­tum mechan­ics,” Ernest Ruther­ford, who dis­cov­ered the pro­ton, and Heike Kamer­lingh-Onnes, who dis­cov­ered super­con­duc­tiv­i­ty.

Also present were math­e­mati­cian Hen­ri Poin­caré, chemist Marie Curie, and a 32-year-old Albert Ein­stein, the sec­ond youngest mem­ber of the group. Ein­stein described the first Solvay con­fer­ence (1911) in a let­ter to a friend as “the lamen­ta­tions on the ruins of Jerusalem. Noth­ing pos­i­tive came out of it.” The ruined “tem­ple,” in this case, was the the­o­ries of clas­si­cal physics, “which had dom­i­nat­ed sci­en­tif­ic think­ing in the pre­vi­ous cen­tu­ry.” Ein­stein under­stood the dis­may, but found his col­leagues to be irra­tional­ly stub­born and con­ser­v­a­tive.

Nonethe­less, he wrote, the sci­en­tists gath­ered at the Solvay Coun­cil “prob­a­bly all agree that the so-called quan­tum the­o­ry is, indeed, a help­ful tool but that it is not a the­o­ry in the usu­al sense of the word, at any rate not a the­o­ry that could be devel­oped in a coher­ent form at the present time.” Dur­ing the fifth Solvay Coun­cil, in 1927, Ein­stein tried to prove that the “Heisen­berg Uncer­tain­ty Prin­ci­ple (and hence quan­tum mechan­ics itself) was just plain wrong,” writes Jonathan Dowl­ing, co-direc­tor of the Horace Hearne Insti­tute for The­o­ret­i­cal Physics.

Physi­cist Niels Bohr respond­ed vig­or­ous­ly. “This debate went on for days,” Dowl­ing writes, “and con­tin­ued on 3 years lat­er at the next con­fer­ence.” At one point, Ein­stein uttered his famous quote, “God does not play dice,” in a “room full of the world’s most notable sci­en­tif­ic minds,” Aman­da Macias writes at Busi­ness Insid­er. Bohr respond­ed, “stop telling God what to do.” That room full of lumi­nar­ies also sat for a por­trait, as they had dur­ing the first Solvay Coun­cil meet­ing. See the assem­bled group at the top and fur­ther up in a col­orized ver­sion in what may be, as one Red­di­tor calls it, “the most intel­li­gent pic­ture ever tak­en.”

The full list of par­tic­i­pants is below:

Front row: Irv­ing Lang­muir, Max Planck, Marie Curie, Hen­drik Lorentz, Albert Ein­stein, Paul Langevin, Charles-Eugène Guye, C.T.R Wil­son, Owen Richard­son.

Mid­dle row: Peter Debye, Mar­tin Knud­sen, William Lawrence Bragg, Hen­drik Antho­ny Kramers, Paul Dirac, Arthur Comp­ton, Louis de Broglie, Max Born, Niels Bohr.

Back row: Auguste Pic­card, Émile Hen­ri­ot, Paul Ehren­fest, Édouard Herzen, Théophile de Don­der, Erwin Schrödinger, JE Ver­schaf­felt, Wolf­gang Pauli, Wern­er Heisen­berg, Ralph Fowler, Léon Bril­louin.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2019.

Relat­ed Con­tent: 

Marie Curie’s Research Papers Are Still Radioac­tive a Cen­tu­ry Lat­er

Read the Uplift­ing Let­ter That Albert Ein­stein Sent to Marie Curie Dur­ing a Time of Per­son­al Cri­sis (1911)

Marie Curie Became the First Woman to Win a Nobel Prize, the First Per­son to Win Twice, and the Only Per­son in His­to­ry to Win in Two Dif­fer­ent Sci­ences

The Bohr-Ein­stein Debates, Reen­act­ed With Dog Pup­pets

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

 

 

Sci-Fi Writer Arthur C. Clarke Predicts the Future in 1964: Artificial Intelligence, Instantaneous Global Communication, Remote Work, Singularity & More

Are you feel­ing con­fi­dent about the future? No? We under­stand. Would you like to know what it was like to feel a deep cer­tain­ty that the decades to come were going to be filled with won­der and the fan­tas­tic? Well then, gaze upon this clip from the BBC Archive YouTube chan­nel of sci-fi author Arthur C. Clarke pre­dict­ing the future in 1964.

Although we best know him for writ­ing 2001: A Space Odyssey, the 1964 tele­vi­sion-view­ing pub­lic would have known him for his futur­ism and his tal­ent for calm­ly explain­ing all the great things to come. In the late 1940s, he had already pre­dict­ed telecom­mu­ni­ca­tion satel­lites. In 1962 he pub­lished his col­lect­ed essays, Pro­files of the Future, which con­tains many of the ideas in this clip.

Here he cor­rect­ly pre­dicts the ease with which we can be con­tact­ed wher­ev­er in the world we choose to, where we can con­tact our friends “any­where on earth even if we don’t know their loca­tion.” What Clarke doesn’t pre­dict here is how “loca­tion” isn’t a thing when we’re on the inter­net. He imag­ines peo­ple work­ing just as well from Tahi­ti or Bali as they do from Lon­don. Clarke sees this advance­ment as the down­fall of the mod­ern city, as we do not need to com­mute into the city to work. Now, as so many of us are doing our jobs from home post-COVID, we’ve also dis­cov­ered the dystopia in that fan­ta­sy. (It cer­tain­ly has­n’t dropped the cost of rent.)

Next, he pre­dicts advances in biotech­nol­o­gy that would allow us to, say, train mon­keys to work as ser­vants and work­ers. (Until, he jokes, they form a union and “we’d be back right where we start­ed.) Per­haps, he says, humans have stopped evolving—what comes next is arti­fi­cial intel­li­gence (although that phrase had yet to be used) and machine evo­lu­tion, where we’d be hon­ored to be the “step­ping stone” towards that des­tiny. Make of that what you will. I know you might think it would be cool to have a mon­key but­ler, but c’mon, think of the ethics, not to men­tion the cost of bananas.

Point­ing out where Clarke gets it wrong is too easy—nobody gets it right all of the time. How­ev­er, it is fas­ci­nat­ing that some things that have nev­er come to pass—being able to learn a lan­guage overnight, or eras­ing your memories—have man­aged to resur­face over the years as sci­ence fic­tion films, like Eter­nal Sun­shine of the Spot­less Mind. His ideas of cryo­genic sus­pen­sion are sta­ples of numer­ous hard sci-fi films.

And we are still wait­ing for the “Repli­ca­tor” machine, which would make exact dupli­cates of objects (and by so doing cause a col­lapse into “glut­to­nous bar­barism” because we’d want unlim­it­ed amounts of every­thing.) Some com­menters call this a pre­cur­sor to 3‑D print­ing. I’d say oth­er­wise, but some­thing very close to it might be around the cor­ner. Who knows? Clarke him­self agrees about all this conjecture—it’s doomed to fail.

“That is why the future is so end­less­ly fas­ci­nat­ing. Try as we can, we’ll nev­er out­guess it.”

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2022.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How French Artists in 1899 Envi­sioned What Life Would Look Like in the Year 2000 

Isaac Asi­mov Pre­dicts the Future on The David Let­ter­man Show (1980)

In 1926, Niko­la Tes­la Pre­dicts the World of 2026

In 1922, a Nov­el­ist Pre­dicts What the World Will Look Like in 2022: Wire­less Tele­phones, 8‑Hour Flights to Europe & More

In 1894, A French Writer Pre­dict­ed the End of Books & the Rise of Portable Audio­books and Pod­casts

Ted Mills is a free­lance writer on the arts.

What You Would See and Feel While Traveling Near the Speed of Light

We all learn in school, or at least from our more rig­or­ous choic­es of sci­ence fic­tion, that we’ll nev­er be able to trav­el faster than the speed of light. At first, this may sound dis­ap­point­ing, but upon reflec­tion, 186,000 miles per sec­ond is noth­ing to sneeze at. Ques­tions about how to achieve that speed soon give way to ques­tions about what an attempt to do so would be like, many of them answered by the ani­mat­ed video from Sci­enceClic above. The first sur­prise is that mov­ing so fast, in and of itself, would have no neg­a­tive effect on us. When we trav­el by bicy­cle, car, air­plane, space­craft, or what have you, we feel only the accel­er­a­tion. If that remains at a safe rate, no absolute speed will be a prob­lem, in the­o­ry, assum­ing you can get up to it. Still, it could­n’t hurt to buck­le up, not that it would help much in the event of a col­li­sion, even with a speck of dust.

Putting that out of our minds by assum­ing that “our ship is equipped with a force field that repels dan­ger­ous objects and allows us to roam freely through space,” we can con­cen­trate on what we’d see through the win­dow. First, “the stars in front of us, which we get clos­er to, seem to grad­u­al­ly move away. The sky con­tracts before us,” much as rain appears to fall from the front when you’re dri­ving through it.

“Behind us, the sky seems to widen, and becomes dark­er,” and any object we pass “would appear to be slight­ly angled in our direc­tion.” Just as the light in the sky we see while stargaz­ing takes some time to reach us, thus con­sti­tut­ing a view of the stars as they were in the past, events on the Earth from which we’re mov­ing away — pre­sum­ing we had a way to see them — would appear to be tak­ing place in “slow motion.” Earth­’s image would shift toward the col­or red, and that of every­thing in front of us would shift toward blue. After a few hun­dred days, our ship begins to approach light speed, and that’s when things get even stranger.

This, sci­en­tif­i­cal­ly speak­ing, is when spe­cial rel­a­tiv­i­ty comes into play, caus­ing our ship to swerve onto its own “time axis” apart from the one fol­lowed by Earth. From our per­spec­tive, the entire uni­verse would con­tract along our length of motion, mak­ing our jour­ney short­er than we’d expect­ed. As we move faster and faster, the view in front of us inten­si­fies, while the view behind us turns com­plete­ly black. And what would hap­pen when we final­ly reach light speed? Noth­ing, because we can’t reach it: “You may try to catch a light ray, but from your point of view, it will always escape at the same speed.” Accel­er­ate all you like; “from your point of view, you are still motion­less, and light escapes inex­orably.” At best, “our ship will con­tin­ue to accel­er­ate for­ev­er, and our field of vision will shrink ever more, until form­ing an infi­nite­ly bright spot in front of us, sur­round­ed by an infi­nite­ly black sky.” But there may be a loop­hole, in that, even if an object can’t do it, “noth­ing pro­hibits space itself from mov­ing faster than light” — a premise for some tru­ly mind-blow­ing sci-fi if ever there was one.

via Aeon

Relat­ed Con­tent:

M.I.T. Cam­era Cap­tures Speed of Light: A Tril­lion-Frames-Per-Sec­ond

60 Sec­ond Adven­tures in Astron­o­my Explains the Big Bang, Rel­a­tiv­i­ty & More with Fun Ani­ma­tion

Does Einstein’s The­o­ry of Spe­cial Rel­a­tiv­i­ty Sug­gest That There Is an After­life?: A The­o­ret­i­cal Physi­cist Explains

Pro­fes­sor Ronald Mal­lett Wants to Build a Time Machine in this Cen­tu­ry … and He’s Not Kid­ding

Einstein’s The­o­ry of Rel­a­tiv­i­ty Explained in One of the Ear­li­est Sci­ence Films Ever Made (1923)

What It Feels Like to Fly Over Plan­et Earth

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

In Her Final Reflections, Jane Goodall Issues a Warning: “Without Hope, We Fall Into Apathy”

For many of us, Jane Goodall was one of those cul­tur­al fig­ures who seemed always to have been around, and on some lev­el, made us feel like she always would be. But of course, no human being lives for­ev­er, no mat­ter how wide­ly admired. Goodall made her own depar­ture last fall, in the mid­dle of an Amer­i­can speak­ing tour, at the age of 91. Just two days there­after, she appeared as the guest on the pre­miere of Net­flix’s Famous Last Words, a pro­gram con­sist­ing of inter­views con­duct­ed express­ly to air only after the inter­vie­wee’s death. In the clip above, the show’s host, TV writer-direc­tor-pro­duc­er Brad Falchuk, asks her an out­ward­ly sim­ple ques­tion: “Who would you say you were?”

Goodall describes her­self as “some­body sent to this world to try to give peo­ple hope in dark times, because with­out hope, we fall into apa­thy and do noth­ing, and in the dark times that we are liv­ing in now, if peo­ple don’t have hope, we’re doomed. How can we bring lit­tle chil­dren into this dark world we’ve cre­at­ed and let them be sur­round­ed by peo­ple who’ve giv­en up? So even if this is the end of human­i­ty as we know it, let’s fight to the very end. Let’s let the chil­dren know that there is hope, if they get togeth­er. And even if it becomes impos­si­ble for any­body, it’s bet­ter to go on fight­ing to the end than just to give up and say, ‘Okay.’ ” These are fine words, though it may sur­prise some of us that they make no men­tion of chimps.

Though she became famous as a pri­ma­tol­o­gist, and specif­i­cal­ly as an expert on chim­panzees, Goodall devot­ed much ener­gy in her lat­er decades to tak­ing action on broad­er caus­es. These includ­ed envi­ron­men­tal con­ser­va­tion and the secu­ri­ty of life on Earth itself, which she saw as imper­iled by the actions of cer­tain gov­ern­ments and polit­i­cal actors. When Falchuk asks who she does­n’t like, she express­es her desire to send per­ma­nent­ly into space Elon Musk, Don­ald Trump and “some of his real sup­port­ers,” Vladimir Putin, Xi Jin­ping, Ben­jamin Netanyahu and “his far-right gov­ern­ment.” That answer may get us won­der­ing whether the result­ing pow­er vac­u­ums would be filled by more or less savory char­ac­ters. The entire inter­view will leave us with anoth­er, per­haps more trou­bling ques­tion: who, today, could be suit­ed to assume the place in pub­lic life left behind by Jane Goodall?

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Remem­ber­ing Jane Goodall (RIP): Watch Jane, the Acclaimed Nation­al Geo­graph­ic Doc­u­men­tary

Ani­mat­ed: The Inspi­ra­tional Sto­ry of Jane Goodall, and Why She Believes in Big­foot

Google Street View Lets You Walk in Jane Goodall’s Foot­steps and Vis­it the Chim­panzees of Tan­za­nia

The Last Inter­view Book Series Fea­tures the Final Words of Cul­tur­al Icons: Borges to Bowie, Philip K. Dick to Fri­da Kahlo

The Celebri­ty Encoun­ters of Koko the Goril­la. For Her 43rd Birth­day Today

Based in Seoul, Col­in Marshall writes and broad­casts on cities, lan­guage, and cul­ture. He’s the author of the newslet­ter Books on Cities as well as the books 한국 요약 금지 (No Sum­ma­riz­ing Korea) and Kore­an Newtro. Fol­low him on the social net­work for­mer­ly known as Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Buckminster Fuller’s Dymaxion Sleep Plan: He Slept Two Hours a Day for Two Years & Felt “Vigorous” and “Alert”

One poten­tial draw­back of genius, it seems, is rest­less­ness, a mind per­pet­u­al­ly on the move. Of course, this is what makes many cel­e­brat­ed thinkers and artists so pro­duc­tive. That and the extra hours some gain by sac­ri­fic­ing sleep. Voltaire report­ed­ly drank up to 50 cups of cof­fee a day, and seems to have suf­fered no par­tic­u­lar­ly ill effects. Balzac did the same, and died at 51. The caf­feine may have had some­thing to do with it. Both Socrates and Samuel John­son believed that sleep is wast­ed time, and “so for years has thought grey-haired Richard Buck­min­ster Fuller,” wrote Time mag­a­zine in 1943, “futu­rif­ic inven­tor of the Dymax­ion house, the Dymax­ion car and the Dymax­ion globe.”

Engi­neer and vision­ary Fuller intend­ed his “Dymax­ion” brand to rev­o­lu­tion­ize every aspect of human life, or—in the now-slight­ly-dat­ed par­lance of our obses­sion with all things hacking—he engi­neered a series of rad­i­cal “life­hacks.” Giv­en his views on sleep, that seem­ing­ly essen­tial activ­i­ty also received a Dymax­ion upgrade, the trade­marked name com­bin­ing “dynam­ic,” “max­i­mum,” and “ten­sion.” “Two hours of sleep a day,” Fuller announced, “is plen­ty.” Did he con­sult with spe­cial­ists? Med­ical doc­tors? Biol­o­gists? Noth­ing as dull as that. He did what many a mad sci­en­tist does in the movies. (In the search, as Vin­cent Price says at the end of The Fly, “for the truth.”) He cooked up a the­o­ry, and test­ed it on him­self.

“Fuller,” Time report­ed, “rea­soned that man has a pri­ma­ry store of ener­gy, quick­ly replen­ished, and a sec­ondary reserve (sec­ond wind) that takes longer to restore.” He hypoth­e­sized that we would need less sleep if we stopped to take a nap at “the first sign of fatigue.” Fuller trained him­self to do just that, for­go­ing the typ­i­cal eight hours, more or less, most of us get per night. He found—as have many artists and researchers over the years—that “after a half-hour nap he was com­plete­ly refreshed.” Naps every six hours allowed him to shrink his total sleep per 24-hour peri­od to two hours. Did he, like the 50s mad sci­en­tist, become a trag­ic vic­tim of his own exper­i­ment?

No dan­ger of merg­ing him with a fly or turn­ing him invis­i­ble. The exper­i­men­t’s fail­ure may have meant a day in bed catch­ing up on lost sleep. Instead, Fuller kept it up for two full years, 1932 and 1933, and report­ed feel­ing in “the most vig­or­ous and alert con­di­tion that I have ever enjoyed.” He might have slept two hours a day in 30 minute incre­ments indef­i­nite­ly, Time sug­gests, but found that his “busi­ness asso­ciates… insist­ed on sleep­ing like oth­er men,” and wouldn’t adapt to his eccen­tric sched­ule, though some not for lack of try­ing. In his book Buck­y­Works J. Bald­win claims, “I can per­son­al­ly attest that many of his younger col­leagues and stu­dents could not keep up with him. He nev­er seemed to tire.”

A research orga­ni­za­tion looked into the sleep sys­tem and “not­ed that not every­one was able to train them­selves to sleep on com­mand.” The point may seem obvi­ous to the sig­nif­i­cant num­ber of peo­ple who suf­fer from insom­nia. “Bucky dis­con­cert­ed observers,” Bald­win writes, “by going to sleep in thir­ty sec­onds, as if he had thrown an Off switch in his head. It hap­pened so quick­ly that it looked like he had had a seizure.” Buck­min­ster Fuller was undoubt­ed­ly an unusu­al human, but human all the same. Time report­ed that “most sleep inves­ti­ga­tors agree that the first hours of sleep are the sound­est.” A Col­gate Uni­ver­si­ty researcher at the time dis­cov­ered that “peo­ple awak­ened after four hours’ sleep were just as alert, well-coor­di­nat­ed phys­i­cal­ly and resis­tant to fatigue” as those who slept the full eight.

Sleep research since the for­ties has made a num­ber of oth­er find­ings about vari­able sleep sched­ules among humans, study­ing shift work­ers’ sleep and the so-called “bipha­sic” pat­tern com­mon in cul­tures with very late bed­times and sies­tas in the mid­dle of the day. The suc­cess of this sleep rhythm “con­tra­dicts the nor­mal idea of a monopha­sic sleep­ing sched­ule,” writes Evan Mur­ray at MIT’s Cul­ture Shock, “in which all our time asleep is lumped into one block.” Bipha­sic sleep results in six or sev­en hours of sleep rather than the sev­en to nine of monopha­sic sleep­ers. Polypha­sic sleep­ing, how­ev­er, the kind pio­neered by Fuller, seems to gen­uine­ly result in even less need­ed sleep for many. It’s an idea that’s only become wide­spread “with­in rough­ly the last decade,” Mur­ray not­ed in 2009. He points to the redis­cov­ery, with­out any clear indebt­ed­ness, of Fuller’s Dymax­ion sys­tem by col­lege stu­dent Maria Staver, who named her method “Uber­man,” in hon­or of Niet­zsche, and spread its pop­u­lar­i­ty through a blog and a book.

Mur­ray also reports on anoth­er blog­ger, Steve Pavli­na, who con­duct­ed the exper­i­ment on him­self and found that “over a peri­od of 5 1/2 months, he was suc­cess­ful in adapt­ing com­plete­ly,” reap­ing the ben­e­fits of increased pro­duc­tiv­i­ty. But like Fuller, Pavli­na gave it up, not for “health rea­sons,” but because, he wrote, “the rest of the world is monopha­sic” or close to it. Our long block of sleep appar­ent­ly con­tains a good deal of “wast­ed tran­si­tion time” before we arrive at the nec­es­sary REM state. Polypha­sic sleep trains our brains to get to REM more quick­ly and effi­cient­ly. For this rea­son, writes Mur­ray, “I believe it can work for every­one.” Per­haps it can, pro­vid­ed they are will­ing to bear the social cost of being out of sync with the rest of the world. But peo­ple like­ly to prac­tice Dymax­ion Sleep for sev­er­al months or years prob­a­bly already are.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

The Pow­er of Pow­er Naps: Sal­vador Dali Teach­es You How Micro-Naps Can Give You Cre­ative Inspi­ra­tion

Peo­ple in the Mid­dle Ages Slept Not Once But Twice Each Night: How This Lost Prac­tice Was Redis­cov­ered

Bertrand Rus­sell & Buck­min­ster Fuller on Why We Should Work Less, and Live & Learn More

Every­thing I Know: 42 Hours of Buck­min­ster Fuller’s Vision­ary Lec­tures Free Online (1975)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

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300,000 Wondrous Nature Illustrations Put Online by The Biodiversity Heritage Library

Are we tru­ly in the midst of a human-caused sixth mass extinc­tion, an era of “bio­log­i­cal anni­hi­la­tion”? Many sci­en­tists and pop­u­lar sci­ence writ­ers say yes, using terms like “Holocene” or “Anthro­pocene” to describe what fol­lows the Ordovi­cian, Devon­ian, Per­mi­an, Tri­as­sic, and Cre­ta­ceous peri­ods. Peter Bran­nen, the author of extinc­tion his­to­ry The Ends of the Earth has found at least one sci­en­tist who thinks the con­cept is “junk.” But Bran­nen quotes some alarm­ing sta­tis­tics. Chill­ing, even. “Until very recent­ly,” he writes, “all ver­te­brate life on the plan­et was wildlife. But astound­ing­ly, today wildlife accounts for only 3 per­cent of Earth’s land ani­mals; human beings, our live­stock, and our pets take up the remain­ing 97 per­cent of the bio­mass… almost half of the Earth’s land has been con­vert­ed into farm­land.”

This state of affairs does not bode well for the mil­lions of remain­ing species get­ting edged out of their envi­ron­ments by agribusi­ness and cli­mate change. We learn from extinc­tions past that the plan­et rebounds after unimag­in­able cat­a­stro­phe. Life real­ly does go on, though it may take mil­lions of years to recov­er. But the cur­rent forms of life may dis­ap­pear before their time. If we want to under­stand what is at stake besides our own frag­ile fos­sil-fuel-based civ­i­liza­tions, we need to con­nect to life emo­tion­al­ly as well as intel­lec­tu­al­ly. Short of globe-hop­ping phys­i­cal immer­sion in the Earth’s bio­di­ver­si­ty, we could hard­ly do bet­ter than immers­ing our­selves in the tra­di­tion of nat­u­ral­ist writ­ing, art, and pho­tog­ra­phy that brings the world to us.

The Bio­di­ver­si­ty Her­itage Library (BHL), an “open access dig­i­tal library for bio­di­ver­si­ty lit­er­a­ture and archives,” has for many years been mak­ing it easy for peo­ple to con­nect to nature through nature writ­ing and illus­tra­tion. On Flickr, you can find 319,000 care­ful­ly curat­ed images. The col­lec­tion itself is sub­di­vid­ed into dif­fer­ent pho­to albums drawn from his­tor­i­cal pub­li­ca­tions. For exam­ple, The Fresh­wa­ter Fish­es of the British Isles (1911), The Bird (1869), and The Insect Book (1901).

This image archive offers expan­sive views of human­i­ty’s encounter with the nat­ur­al world, not only through sta­tis­tics and aca­d­e­m­ic jar­gon, but through the artis­tic record­ing of won­der, sci­en­tif­ic curios­i­ty, and deep appre­ci­a­tion. Enter the archive here.

Note: An ear­li­er ver­sion of this post appeared on our site in 2017.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Ernst Haeckel’s Sub­lime Draw­ings of Flo­ra & Fau­na: The Beau­ti­ful Sci­en­tif­ic Draw­ings That Influ­enced Europe’s Art Nou­veau Move­ment (1889)

Explore a New Archive of 2,200 His­tor­i­cal Wildlife Illus­tra­tions (1916–1965): Cour­tesy of The Wildlife Con­ser­va­tion Soci­ety

In 1886, the US Gov­ern­ment Com­mis­sioned 7,500 Water­col­or Paint­ings of Every Known Fruit in the World: Down­load Them in High Res­o­lu­tion

Watch 50 Hours of Nature Sound­scapes from the BBC: Sci­en­tif­i­cal­ly Proven to Ease Stress and

The Metic­u­lous, Ele­gant Illus­tra­tions of the Nature Observed in England’s Coun­try­side

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Durham, NC. 

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Why Coffee Makes You Go #2

James Hoff­mann, the author of The World Atlas of Cof­fee and the cre­ator of a cof­fee-cen­tric YouTube chan­nel, can tell you many things about coffee—from how to roast cof­fee, to the tools and tech­niques need­ed to make espres­so, to the ulti­mate French Press tech­nique. Then he can also get into more tan­gen­tial­ly relat­ed ques­tions, like why cof­fee makes you drop the prover­bial deuce. Above, Mr. Hoff­mann takes you on a short sci­en­tif­ic jour­ney through the human body, explor­ing the effects of cof­fee on diges­tion, gut bac­te­ria, and our ner­vous sys­tem. We’ll pro­vide no spoil­ers or gory details here.

Relat­ed Con­tent 

How Human­i­ty Got Hooked on Cof­fee: An Ani­mat­ed His­to­ry

“The Virtues of Cof­fee” Explained in 1690 Ad: The Cure for Lethar­gy, Scurvy, Drop­sy, Gout & More

Every­thing You Ever Want­ed to Know about the Bialet­ti Moka Express: A Deep Dive Into Italy’s Most Pop­u­lar Cof­fee Mak­er

The Birth of Espres­so: The Sto­ry Behind the Cof­fee Shots That Fuel Mod­ern Life

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