The history of lighting
Candlelight
We forget how painfully dark the world once was. A candle – a good candle – provides barely a hundredth of the illumination of a single 100 watt light bulb, and yet candles provided most of the world's artificial illumination before the arrival of electricity.
Candles were of two types – tallow and wax. Tallow, made from animal fat, had the great advantage that, as it could be made at home as a by-product of any animal which also supplied food to eat, it was plentiful and cheap. But tallow candles melted extremely quickly and had to be frequently replaced, they burned with an uneven light, and they also smelled very unpleasant. Far superior in all these respects were candles made of beeswax. These gave a steadier light, but they cost about four times as much, and tended to be used only on special occasions.
Gas lighting
For the well-to-do in many large cities, gas was an additional option from about 1820. Mostly, however, it was used in businesses and for street lighting, and didn't become common in homes until closer to the middle of the century. Gas had many drawbacks. Those who worked in gas-supplied offices or visited gas-lit theatres, for example, often complained of headaches and nausea. To minimise that problem, gas lights were sometimes erected outside windows to light the interior. If installed indoors, they tended to blacken ceilings, discolour fabrics, corrode metal and leave greasy marks on every horizontal surface. Gas also needed some care in use. Most gas-supply companies reduced gas flow through their pipes during the day when demand was low. So anyone lighting a gas jet during the day had to open the tap wide to get a cleaner.
Electric lighting
The advent of electric lighting in the late 19th century revolutionised artificial light, but its adoption was gradual. Thomas Edison's successful development of a long-lasting incandescent light bulb in 1879 marked a turning point, yet electricity networks were slow to spread. Initially, electric lighting was a luxury, installed first in public buildings, wealthy homes, and commercial districts. Unlike gas, electric light was clean, bright, consistent, and much safer – it produced no fumes, left no soot, and posed a far lower fire risk. However, early electric systems were not standardised; voltages varied from city to city, and direct current (DC) competed with alternating current (AC) in what became known as the "War of the Currents." By the early 20th century, with the expansion of power grids and falling costs, electric light became the dominant form of illumination across the developed world, eventually rendering gas and candles obsolete for everyday use.
The social impact of better lighting
The improvement in lighting technology had profound social and economic effects. Longer hours of useful light extended the working day, boosted industrial productivity, and made night-time leisure activities more practical and popular. Streets became safer, reading after dark ceased to be a strain on the eyes, and public spaces like libraries, shops, and restaurants could operate into the evening. Historians often link the spread of reliable artificial light to broader patterns of modernisation, including shifts in sleep patterns, increased literacy, and the growth of a vibrant night-time culture in cities.
Modern lighting and beyond
Today, lighting technology continues to evolve. Fluorescent tubes, halogen bulbs, and now light-emitting diodes (LEDs) have each brought gains in efficiency, longevity, and environmental sustainability. Smart lighting systems allow for personalised control over colour and intensity, while advances in design integrate light into architecture in ever more seamless ways. Yet the fundamental human desire that drove the history of lighting – to push back the darkness – remains unchanged.
John Ray and the Study of Plants
A The 17th-century English scholar and botanist John Ray was well aware that he lived through, and participated in, a profound revolution in the way people interacted with nature. In the preface to his Synopsis of British Plants, published in 1690, he gave thanks that he had been born at a time when traditional dependence on the teaching of the Greek philosopher Aristotle (384–322 BCE) had given way to a new philosophy, based on experiment and observation of the real world, that we now call science.
B Ray was born in 1627. His father was a village blacksmith, and his mother was also a respected member of the community, a healer who was an expert in folk medicine and the use of herbs to treat ailments. Ray must have stood out as an unusually bright boy among his schoolmates, and his talents were recognised by a church official, Samuel Covell, who had graduated from Cambridge University in 1600, and maintained his links with his university. Through his influence, Ray was admitted to Cambridge University in 1644 at the age of seventeen – a huge step for a village blacksmith's son. There he made a solid start, and quickly gained a reputation as a brilliant student. He studied the classics (Greek, Latin and Hebrew) and mathematics, but there was nothing yet we would now call science in the curriculum. After graduating in 1648, he became a minor member of staff at Trinity College, Cambridge. He was appointed Lecturer in Greek in 1651, Lecturer in Mathematics in 1653, and Lecturer in Humanities in 1655.
C Almost immediately after graduating, Ray also seems to have developed the interest to which he would devote the rest of his life: the study of the natural world. He explains this conversion into a naturalist – in particular into a botanist – in the preface to his first book, the Cambridge Catalogue of English Plants. Here Ray tells us that he suffered an illness in his early twenties, and was advised to take long walks and ride in the fresh air while recovering. While doing this, he became interested in the local flora, and finding nobody able to teach him, Ray investigated it for himself. He then went on to pass on the knowledge he acquired to others.
D By the mid-1650s, even the first-year students at Trinity College were able to identify the plants and flowers around Cambridge, as they were being taught (unofficially – none of this was part of their formal education) by Ray. Many of them were the sons of landowners, and so had a natural, if amateurish, interest in country matters. But a few of them took his efforts to understand the natural world much more seriously. One of these, Francis Willughby, later played an important part in Ray's life.
E Having himself had no authority on the subject of plants on which to draw, Ray also started work on what would become his Cambridge Catalogue of English Plants. The work was not published until 1660 because, as Ray explained in the preface, he had to start from scratch:
"I had first to become familiar with the literature, to compare the plants that I found with the pictures, and when there seemed to be a resemblance, to go fully into any unknown descriptions. Gaining skill by experience, I acquired at last the ability to recognise what tribe and family similars or could be assigned; this taught me to search for similarities and saved a vast deal of labour, which others would have spent in their difficulties. I was eager to make the most of this and was fortunate to share my enthusiasm with my friends …"
F Ray's Cambridge Catalogue of English Plants was much more than a simple list of species. It gave the names of plants found in the area around Cambridge and included information about where they grew and how common they were. In doing this, Ray was producing something that would be of practical use to students and other readers interested in the local natural world. At the same time, the book showed his determination to describe plants accurately, on the basis of direct examination rather than reliance on old authorities. In this respect, it reflected the spirit of the new learning that Ray admired.
G Ray's studies of plants were only the beginning of a much larger ambition. With the support of Francis Willughby, he began to imagine a more comprehensive investigation of nature, one that would attempt to classify living things according to careful observation of their shared characteristics. This was an ambitious undertaking, especially at a time when many aspects of the natural world remained poorly described. Yet Ray believed that by collecting evidence systematically and comparing related forms, it would be possible to build a more reliable understanding of nature than scholars had possessed before.
Tasmania's Museum of Old and New Art
Katelin Butler, returning to her home city of Hobart, reflects on how a new museum has brought about change.
A As an eighteen-year-old living in the small Australian island state of Tasmania, moving to the 'mainland' could not happen soon enough. Now, ten years later, I look forward to going home. This is probably because I've grown up, but also perhaps because the cultural landscape of Tasmania has matured. The latest addition to Tasmania's cultural scene is David Walsh's Museum of Old and New Art (MONA), a museum that has established Hobart, the capital city of Tasmania, on the global art circuit.
B This building is an example of how art and architecture can have an instant impact on the social and cultural reputation of a place. Andrew Bain of The Sydney Morning Herald wrote, "In a virtual blink, Hobart's cultural landscape has been transformed, with art, wine, fine food and stylish accommodation becoming integral features of the city.... If Hobart's makeover has an origin, it's the opening of MONA—the Museum of Old and New Art." MONA is said to have been solely instrumental in the reinvention of Hobart as a cultural hub.
C MONA made the national press and international blogs before it opened. After that, Tourism Industry Council of Tasmania's chief executive, Luke Martin, claimed that MONA was proving so popular it was underpinning the tourism industry in Tasmania. However, MONA's effect on Hobart has broader ramifications for Tasmania's tourism industry. As reported in Hobart's local paper, The Mercury, there is concern about how long people are staying in Tasmania. Rather than spending a week in the state and hiring a car to experience the beauty of the Tasmanian landscape, people are making short stays in Hobart only to visit the gallery. The next challenge for the state is how to entice holiday makers to stay longer, and to venture further afield. Tasmania is more than a one-hit wonder.
D According to Martin, possibilities for packaging up MONA with visits to other galleries around Tasmania are being investigated. Although not directly related to these investigations, the 1891 Queen Victoria Museum and Art Gallery at Royal Park in Launceston is currently being restored to its original condition. It is hoped that a coordinated cultural tourism strategy will encourage longer stays and wider exploration.
E Nevertheless, the success of MONA is undeniable. Visitor numbers have consistently exceeded projections, and its unique approach—blending ancient artifacts with contemporary works in a labyrinthine, subterranean setting—has drawn praise and curiosity worldwide. Walsh's vision was not merely to create a gallery, but to provoke thought and conversation, a goal that seems to resonate powerfully with both locals and international tourists. The museum's effect extends beyond tourism, fostering local pride and stimulating economic activity in once-quiet suburbs of Hobart. Some argue, however, that this rapid cultural shift risks overshadowing Tasmania's other historical and natural attractions.
@juststudykokand