“Never underestimate the power of a fresh coat of white paint”*…
A new twist on an old-school climate adaptation technique– Lara Williams reports…
In a co-working space overlooking the west London neighborhood of White City, a host of startups are at work on flashy technologies ranging from a breath test that can detect multiple cancers to a pain-free tattoo. Surrounded by that kind of innovation, a visitor might overlook the lab stocked with little more than tubs of white powder and paint pots. After all, how interesting can white paint be?
When it comes to adapting to a hotter planet, the answer is: very.
As record temperatures baked Europe this summer, people desperately sought ways to cool their homes and workplaces. I stuck emergency foil blankets to my windows in an attempt to stop the heat from getting in; others tried coating the glass in yogurt or chalk. But of course, the most popular and effective option was air conditioning.
Sales of both conventional and portable units shot up this year, and the need for that cool breeze is only going in one direction: By 2035, the International Energy Agency predicts that global cooling demand could grow by about 2,300 terawatt-hours. (For context, that’s more than India’s total electricity demand in 2025.)
This is bad news for the energy transition. Consider that in 2023, the UK fired up a coal plant during a heatwave to meet AC demand. Yes, air conditioning can be a literal lifesaver, but if we want to avoid making the planet even hotter, it can’t be our only strategy.
That’s where paint comes in.
People in countries like Greece and Spain have been painting their homes white to keep them cool for centuries. White reflects most sunlight, making it better than other colors at preventing solar energy from being absorbed as heat. Commercial “solar-reflecting” paints reflect up to 90% of sunlight, but recent innovations in materials science promise to make white paint’s cooling properties even stronger.
The secret is something called daytime radiative cooling. Any object with a temperature above absolute zero emits heat as thermal infrared radiation. Some infrared wavelengths transfer more heat because they are able to pass through the atmosphere into the freezing depths of space. That process is how our planet cools itself.
Typically, net cooling only happens at night, when there’s no incoming sunlight — and therefore solar radiation — adding more heat. But in 2014, researchers at Stanford University demonstrated that it was possible to chill a surface to 5C below the ambient air temperature during the day by combining the power of reflective cooling (i.e. when white paint reflects sunlight) and radiative cooling (what happens when infrared radiation passes through the atmosphere).
More than a decade later, this technology is making its way into the marketplace…
[Williams describes the entrepreneurial efforts underway, examines their challenges, and explores their potential. She concludes…]
… Innovations that improve our lives don’t always look like talking computers or flying cars. As someone who suffered through too many sweaty, sleepless nights this summer, that humble bucket of white paint is starting to look pretty exciting.
“Why I’m Excited About a Bucket of White Paint” (gift link, or archived link), from @lararhiannon.bsky.social in @opinion.bloomberg.com.
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As we stay cool, we might spare a thought for Sir John Leslie; he died on this date in 1832. A Scottish mathematician and physicist, he best remembered for his research into heat. Leslie gave the first modern account of capillary action in 1802 and froze water using an air-pump in 1810, the first artificial production of ice. Then, in 1804, he helped lay the scientific groundwork for the advances considered in the article linked above: he experimented with radiant heat using a cubical vessel filled with boiling water. One side of the cube was composed of highly polished metal, two of dull metal (copper), and one side painted black. He showed that radiation was greatest from the black side and negligible from the polished side. The apparatus is known as a Leslie cube.
“Man is a Religious Animal. He is the only Religious Animal. He is the only animal that has the True Religion–several of them.”*…
Further, in a fashion, to last Saturday’s post, a look at how religions have changed from their inceptions until now– and how we know…
Five histories told in order, a chapter at a time: Hinduism from the farmers of Mehrgarh, Judaism from the hill villages of Iron Age Canaan, Buddhism from the Ganga plain, Christianity from Galilee and Islam from late antique Arabia. Every claim names the verse, inscription, excavation or study behind it, and says how settled the evidence is…
… How It Evolved tells the history of religions the way a good historian would explain it to a curious friend: chronologically, with the evidence on the table, and honest about where the evidence runs out.
Most writing about religion falls into one of two camps. Devotional accounts describe a tradition as it sees itself, often as timeless and unchanging. Polemical accounts go looking for ammunition. Neither is much use to someone who simply wants to know what changed, when, and how we know. That is the only question this site sets out to answer.
Every claim shows its receipt. Statements cite the specific verse, excavation, inscription, manuscript or peer-reviewed study they rest on, with numbered references on every page.
Every claim says how sure we can be. Confidence tags (Consensus, Majority, Contested, Speculative, Political) mark how far the evidence stretches.
Disagreements are stated, not resolved by fiat. Where scholars disagree, each chapter gives the strongest form of each position, including the ones we do not adopt.
Primary sources in the original. Key passages are quoted in their original script, transliterated and translated, followed by what the passage does and does not prove.
Each religion gets a series: a sequence of chapters from its earliest traceable roots to the present, with shorter pages that answer the questions people most often ask about it.
The five series published so far:
- How Hinduism Evolved, 7000 BCE – present, in 13 chapters. From Neolithic Mehrgarh and the Rigveda to bhakti, the Raj and the present.
- How Buddhism Evolved, c. 600 BCE – present, in 14 chapters. From the śramaṇa movements of Magadha to Theravāda, Mahāyāna, Zen and Tibet.
- How Christianity Evolved, c. 30 CE – present, in 14 chapters. From a Jewish apocalyptic movement to councils, schisms, reformations and a global church.
- How Islam Evolved, c. 300 CE – present, in 14 chapters. From late antique Arabia to the caliphates, law schools, Sufism and modern reform.
- How Judaism Evolved, c. 1250 BCE – present, in 14 chapters. From Yahweh among the gods to the Torah, the rabbis, the diaspora and the modern movements.
Series on Sikhism are in preparation. Each is published only when every chapter meets the same standard.
The series are written to be read together. Where traditions grew up side by side, as Buddhism did beside the Vedic religion of ancient India, the same evidence appears in more than one series, told from each side, and the chapters link to each other…
Plus there are maps shows the spread of each religion and a (very large) chart tracing the development of all five, side by side.
Absolutely fascinating: “How It Evolved“… puts one in mind of the telephone game.
(Image above: source)
* Mark Twain
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As we get religion, we might recall that today is (in the Christian tradition) All Souls Day, a day of prayer and remembrance for the departed. It is also (the final day of) All Souls Day’s predecessor (and variation on its pagan inspiration), The Day of the Dead…
The Day of the Dead (el Día de los Muertos), is a Mexican holiday where families welcome back the souls of their deceased relatives for a brief reunion that includes food, drink and celebration.
A blend of Mesoamerican ritual, European religion and Spanish culture, the holiday is celebrated each year from October 31-November 2. While October 31 is Halloween, November 1-2 is All Souls Day or the Day of the Dead. According to tradition, the gates of heaven are opened at midnight on October 31 and the spirits of children can rejoin their families for 24 hours. The spirits of adults can do the same on November 2.
The roots of the Day of the Dead—celebrated in contemporary Mexico and among those of Mexican heritage in the United States and around the world—go back some 3,000 years to the rituals honoring the dead in pre-Columbian Mesoamerica.
The Aztecs and other Nahua peoples living in what is now Mexico held a cyclical view of the universe and saw death as an integral, ever-present part of life. Upon dying, a person was believed to travel to Chicunamictlán, the Land of the Dead. Only after getting through nine challenging levels, involving a journey of several years, could the person’s soul finally reach Mictlán, the final resting place.
In Nahua rituals honoring the dead, traditionally held in August, family members offered food, water and tools to aid the deceased on this difficult journey. This inspired the modern Day of the Dead practice of leaving food and other offerings on loved ones’ graves or setting them on makeshift home altars, called ofrendas.
In ancient Europe, pagan celebrations of the dead also took place in the fall and featured bonfires, dancing and feasting. Some of these customs survived after the rise of the Roman Catholic Church, which informally absorbed the pagan traditions into its observances of two holy days—All Saints Day and All Souls Day—celebrated on the first two days of November. – source
“In reality, there is no such thing as not voting: you either vote by voting, or you vote by staying home and tacitly doubling the value of some Diehard’s vote.”…
… but even when we do vote, as Alex Stone reports, there’s an issue: how we vote…
Mathematically speaking, democracy is next to impossible.
That may sound like the premise of a Silicon Valley billionaire’s six-hour podcast, but it’s actually a statement about a remarkably stubborn problem: How do you translate a group of individual preferences into a single choice?
In 1785, the French mathematician and philosopher Nicolas de Condorcet [see also here] discovered that a majority can sometimes vote itself into a logical loop. In elections with three or more candidates, each voter might rank the candidates in a perfectly clear and consistent way — yet when all the votes are tallied, every candidate loses in a head-to-head contest against one of their rivals. Changing the rules only gets us so far: As the economist Kenneth Arrow later proved, any method for combining individual rankings into a collective order must sacrifice at least one seemingly reasonable democratic requirement.
Now three researchers have shown that Condorcet’s 240-year-old paradox has a shape, and it’s suitably peculiar: a Klein bottle, a surface with no distinct inside or outside. The result gives mathematicians a geometric way to explore why seemingly reasonable rules for collective decision-making can become impossible to reconcile.
When there are only two choices, the will of the people is easy to divine: Barring a tie, the candidate preferred by a majority wins. Add a third contender, however, and things get weird. Suddenly, even agreeing on what it means to win becomes a problem.
You might simply elect whoever receives the most votes, as in a typical American election. But suppose Alice receives 35% of the vote, Bob 34%, and Carol 31%. Alice wins. Yet if Carol’s supporters all prefer Bob to Alice, then 65% of the electorate would rather have Bob. By one perfectly reasonable definition of majority rule, the wrong candidate has won.
Before anyone reaches for a tinfoil hat, let’s be clear: Every ballot is counted correctly. The question is what should count as winning.
One solution is to ask voters to rank the candidates, then choose whoever would defeat every rival in a head-to-head contest. But consider the following scenario:
- One-third of voters rank Alice over Bob over Carol.
- One-third rank Bob over Carol over Alice.
- One-third rank Carol over Alice over Bob.
Now compare the candidates in pairs:
- Alice beats Bob, because the first and third groups prefer Alice to Bob.
- Bob beats Carol, because the first and second groups prefer Bob to Carol.
- Carol beats Alice, because the second and third groups prefer Carol to Alice.
Every voter has a perfectly coherent ranking, yet together they have produced a result that runs in circles.
This is the paradox that Condorcet, a passionate believer in democracy, encountered in the late 18th century. As the secretary of the French Academy of Sciences, he’d been looking for ways to make sure the group was choosing new members fairly. (More enlightened than most, Condorcet would also question the democratic arithmetic of excluding half the population, explicitly defending women’s political rights in a 1790 essay. A few years later, during the Reign of Terror, the revolution he had supported put him in a prison cell; he was found dead two days after his arrest.)
Over the centuries, mathematicians, political scientists, and reformers have devised an astonishing variety of voting systems in hopes of breaking Condorcet’s impasse. Yet every method brings its own vulnerabilities. Change the system and you may well change the winner, even when the voters and their preferences remain exactly the same.
In 1951, the economist Kenneth Arrow showed how deep the problem ran. He sought a voting system that stayed consistent while meeting just a few simple democratic requirements. Voters should be free to rank the candidates in any order. No single voter should unilaterally dictate the outcome of an election. (Read: no kings.) If everyone prefers one option to another, the group’s ranking should reflect that preference. And the ranking of two candidates should depend only on how voters compare those two: Where voters place Carol on their ballots shouldn’t affect whether the group ranks Alice above Bob.
Each requirement sounds reasonable enough on its own. But, Arrow showed, no method can satisfy them all. “Quite often the will of the people doesn’t exist,” said Iain McLean of the University of Oxford.
Arrow’s impossibility theorem, as this result is now known, extended Condorcet’s paradox beyond majority rule, establishing a fundamental limit on how individual votes can be combined into a group decision. Different voting systems can change which of Arrow’s requirements fail, but no single system can ever preserve them all. “You have to make a choice as a system designer as to which of the conditions it’s most harmless to fail,” McLean said.
In 1980, to better understand this phenomenon, the mathematician and economist Graciela Chichilnisky turned to topology, an area of math in which shapes are considered equivalent if one can be stretched into another without tearing. In a footnote, she mused that Condorcet’s paradox in particular could be thought about as a topological problem.
Now mathematicians have proved her intuition true…
[Stone unpacks the (admittedly rather heady) math; he concludes…]
… So where does that leave democracy?
Topology makes the paradox tangible, but choosing a voting system still means picking your poison. Mathematics can tell us what the trade-offs entail. Our priorities determine which ones are worth making. And that’s something no theorem can settle for us. “It’s not really a mathematical debate,” McLean said. “It’s a debate about values.”
A new topological model connects a centuries-old voting paradox to a surface with no distinct inside or outside: “How Voting Is Like a Klein Bottle,” from @quantamagazine.org.
Tuesday’s election is largely a “binary choice” affair– do vote!
* David Foster Wallace, Consider the Lobster and Other Essays
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As we celebrate suffrage (with all of its shortcomings), we might recall that it was on this date in 1897 that the first Library of Congress building opened its doors to the public; the library had previously been housed in the Congressional Reading Room in the U.S. Capitol.
“Hell is empty and all the devils are here”*…
Today is, of course, All Hallows Eve. Let us pause to consider the patron “saint” of the occasion. From Ross MacFarlane…
“While the idea of God has received much attention from philosophers and progressive theologians, its counterpart, the dark figure of the Evil One, has been much neglected”. So begins The History of the Devil, wherein this perceived wrong is to be righted by Paul Carus [see here], a self-described “theologian of science”.
Although an unfamiliar name now, at the end the nineteenth century Carus was hailed for his attempts to “conciliate science and religion”. He also played a key role in the introduction of Buddhist thought to the United States, to which he emigrated from his native Germany in the mid-1880s. A prolific author — The History of the Devil was one of the seventy-five books he published in his lifetime — Carus also edited two philosophical journals (The Open Court and The Monist), through which he published some of the most notable thinkers of his day.
His work reflected the intellectual climate of the times. Educated at Strasburg and then Tübingen, he used rigorous historical techniques such as textual analysis in his comparative studies of religion and mythology. Carus was also conceptually influenced, like many other writers of the period, by the ideas of Edward Tylor, an English anthropologist, who applied Darwinian principles to the evolution of the social world. Carus’ view that “the belief in magic is a natural phase in the evolution of mankind” closely aligned with Tylor’s theory that societies evolve from savagery to barbarism and finally to civilisation.
The History of Devil, then, brings the same sensibility to bear on the Evil One. The approach is broad, sweeping, and comparative. “The Gnostic Christian view of Doomsday and Hell”, Carus tells us, “embodies many ancient traditions of Egyptian, Indian, and Persian mythology and foreshadows at the same time the later Roman Catholic view as represented in mediaeval art, finding its poetical consummation in Dante’s Divina Comedia”. It is also inherently Tylorean: “Demonolatry, or Devil-worship, is the first stage in the evolution of religion, for we fear the bad, not the good”, he declares.
Carus pays particular attention to the era of European witch trials, arguing that beliefs in witchcraft and the selling of souls marked “a new period in the evolution of mankind”. So too was their later decline, which “ceased naturally with the ascendancy of science”, a development that Carus sees as interlinked with the rise of Protestantism. Indeed, in his interpretation, the Reformation played a major role in how the Devil was understood, with the notion of evil changing from a real-life personification to a more abstract notion or principle. By the nineteenth century, the Devil’s powers had declined from their medieval peak, with “his main office . . . that of a general mischief-worker in the universe”; a figure of fun rather than of fear, he had now become a laughable character in folktales, easily outwitted by old women and children.
For Carus, the changing status of the Devil was intimately linked to a similar transformation in perceptions of the Christian God — less of a regular interventionist and more the background orchestrator of a harmonious universe…
… In this changing conception of Christianity, Carus sees civilised society as one where science alters but does not replace religion, “passing out of the old stage of magic into the higher stage of a direct comprehension of facts . . . as astrology changed into astronomy, so the religion of miracles will give way to the religion of science”. In other words, “faith in the objective authority of truth is the next step in the religious evolution of mankind.”
Although The History of the Devil is easy to critique from the standpoint of the twenty-first century — how to explain the witch hunts that took place in Protestant lands during and after the Reformation? — its attempts to show the complex nature of the development of religious beliefs still hold relevance to our contemporary world. The book also anticipates later, better-known ideas: Carus’ schema for the growth of a sceptical worldview — where excessive religious faith is beaten back by the rationality of science — prefigures in part Max Weber’s thesis on the “Disenchantment of the World”. If nothing else, The History of the Devil deserves attention as a work of comparative scholarship as such. Carus builds his argument in a chronological fashion with the help of over three hundred illustrations. Highlighting similarities and differences between gods and goddesses across different belief systems, he ranges across history, philosophy and theology, providing a more ambitious work of comparative mythology than the volume’s title suggests.
Finally, the book reveals the mind and character of a humane and thoughtful individual. Carus is nothing if not an optimist in his belief that science and religion can exist in harmony, and he often exhibits wry humour about evil and the human condition. He thus concludes The History of the Devil with a suggestion that a little devilish mischief may go a long way in achieving a happy life:
If we took away from life its satire, jokes, and other “devilries,” it would lose part of its most fragrant zest, and if constructing a man consisting of virtues only, would not that fellow be the most unbearable bore in the world, wearisome beyond description? For it is a sprinkling of petty vices that makes even a great man human. A mere ethical machine would neither be attractive nor arouse our sympathies.
“Paul Carus’ The History of the Devil and the Idea of Evil (1899),” from @publicdomainrev.bsky.social.
* Shakespeare, The Tempest, Act 1, Scene 2
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As we deal with the devil, we might recall that on this date– Halloween– in 2005, Gary Estrada, met his goal visiting and taking the ride at Walt Disney World’s Magic Kingdom Haunted Mansion 999 times. Estrada had begun riding in January of that year and finished on Halloween in just ten months. Why 999 times? Because that is how many “happy haunts” are said to live there.
“There’s been most uncommon bad weather in them latitudes, there’s no denyin'”*…
When the Bristol Channel flooded in 1607, it was not just one of the worst natural disasters in British history, it was also a sign, for many, that they had strayed from the path of God. Erik Crnkovich examines the overlap of miraculous weather and the early modern printing industry, which cultivated a thirst for all things occult, exotic, and odd…
When the Bristol Channel flooded on January 30, 1607, pamphlets describing it as God’s warning to a wayward people likewise flooded out of London’s booming presses. Rare weather events of all sorts are ironically commonplace in seventeenth-century news — a century otherwise tempestuous in its frequent, often literal, chopping and changing in church and state. In fact, the two are reflections of each other. True, British weather was consistently inconsistent during the Little Ice Age, a period of prolonged cold and wet that would not end for another two centuries. But the headlines reporting “prodigious” thunderstorms, “miraculous” apparitions, and “terrible” earthquakes were often followed by interpretations of them as moral weathervanes — divine providence, a sign to repent and return to the proverbial straight and narrow.
It is perhaps little surprise, then, that the pamphleteer William Jones rushed to the presses when a storm surge inundated 518 square kilometres surrounding the Bristol Channel. Present scholarship counts 2,000 recorded deaths, making it one of Britain’s worst natural disasters and, according to Jones, a judgement from God…
To date, recent responses to climate disasters have been notably devoid of “divine” interpretation; indeed, if anything, they’ve largely been written off as “just the weather being the weather.” As further extreme weather wreaks havoc and our online version of the “early modern printing” continues to unfold, could that change?
Floods and foreboding in 17th-Century Britain: “Wonderful Weather,” from @publicdomainrev.bsky.social.
* Charles Dickens, Dombey and Son
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As we seek higher ground, we might recall that it was on this date in 1991 that the “Perfect Storm” formed…
On October 30, 1991, the so-called “perfect storm” formed in the North Atlantic, producing remarkably large waves along the New England and Canadian coasts. Over the next several days, the storm spread its fury over the ocean off the coast of Canada. The fishing boat Andrea Gail and its six-member crew were lost in the storm. The disaster spawned the bestselling book The Perfect Storm by Sebastian Junger and a blockbuster Hollywood movie of the same name.
On October 27, Hurricane Grace formed near Bermuda and moved toward the coast of the southeastern United States. Two days later, Grace continued to move north, where it encountered a massive low pressure system moving south from Canada. The clash of systems over the Atlantic Ocean caused 40-to-80-foot waves on October 30—unconfirmed reports put the waves at more than 100 feet in some locations. This massive surf caused extensive coastal flooding, particularly in Massachusetts; damage was also sustained as far south as Jamaica and as far north as Newfoundland… – source
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