Little bit. Maybe. You think?

Trump posted this pointless racist meme portraying the Obamas as apes, because they’re black. Get it? That’s all it is, Barack and Michelle Obama in the bodies of apes, no commentary, no criticism, no context. And it had about 10,000 likes as of this posting.

This is an ancient slur. I remember my John Bircher relative showing me a crude caricature of a gorilla with arrows and captions explaining, incorrectly, how gorillas and black folk were similar, and laughing over it. I didn’t laugh. I told him it was anatomically incorrect and that it was just hateful.

That’s our president, the hateful, stupid bigot.

By the way, the creator of this image was the same guy, xerias_x, who made another AI clip that Trump reposted, of Trump flying a fighter jet and dumping loads of poop on protesters. Real brilliant stuff.

Did you think the claims of moon landing hoaxers absurd?

Perhaps the flat earth conspiracies filled you with contempt?

Prepare yourself for the latest lunacy.

A theory claiming that Earth will lose gravity for seven seconds on August 12, 2026, has made the rounds on social media, sparking confusion and speculation. The claim originated from a so-called leaked document named Project Anchor, which began circulating online in late 2024. Posts suggested the U.S. space agency was secretly preparing for a short-lived gravitational anomaly that could lift people and objects into the air before violently bringing them back down.

You would be well-advised to nail your shoes to the floor on August 12, if you believe that nonsense.

At the center of the claim was a fabricated NASA initiative reportedly named Project Anchor, with a proposed budget of 89 billion dollars. The theory claimed the agency was preparing for a gravitational anomaly expected on August 12, 2026, at 14:33 UTC. According to content shared on now-deleted Instagram accounts, this so-called anomaly would cause anything not firmly secured to float several meters in the air before crashing back down.

The narrative was unusually detailed for a hoax. It broke down the seven seconds of supposed weightlessness step by step. In the first two seconds, people and objects would lift. By seconds three and four, they would rise up to 15 or 20 meters. By second five, panic would break out. By second seven, gravity would return, bringing a deadly descent.

How would NASA make such a specific, detailed prediction of an unprecedented event completely outside the bounds of physics?

In the absence of a credible, reputable skeptic organization, I guess we’re going to get all of our science from TikTok from now on.

Warning: More crap from the Epstein files coming in, and it is truly nauseating. This one includes a lengthy rationalization for Jeffrey Epstein’s behavior, written by Jeffrey Epstein in the third person. We have this email because Epstein wrote to Noam Chomsky (Noam Chomsky!) asking him to critique it.

Im considering submitting this to the oped of the wash post id like your thoughts

Sweetheart deal!” So goes the attack on the resolution of the more than a decade
ago federal investigation involving our client Jeffrey Epstein. The attack is
profoundly misplaced, supported neither by the law nor the facts. Nor is it supported
by the structure of our constitutional republic. To the contrary, Jeffrey was subjected
to an extremely aggressive federal intrusion into what would typically be considered
a quintessentially local criminal matter in south
Florida. The offense investigated — at its core, sexual favors for hire — has long
been treated as a matter entrusted to laws of the several States, not the federal
government. The conduct — for which Jeffrey took full responsibility — was a
classic state offense and was treated exactly that way by able, honest prosecutors in
Palm Beach County. Nevertheless, without a request from the state prosecutors, the
federal government intervened. For their own opportunistic reasons, many are now
criticizing the federal decision-makers at the time, including now-Secretary of Labor
Alex Acosta (then-United States Attorney in south Florida), for not going far enough.
The critics are wrong on the facts and the law. They also ignore a fact going to the
heart of fundamental fairness: In the decade since paying his debt to society, Jeffrey
Epstein has led a life characterized by responsible citizenship, numerous acts of
generosity and good deeds.

So…a guy who has a massage table in his living room, who recruits high school girls for daily masturbation sessions, sees himself as living a life characterized by responsible citizenship, numerous acts of generosity and good deeds. He doesn’t say what the good deeds are, and most of all, he doesn’t explain where he got the huge amounts of money he used to fund his self-aggrandizing charities.

But then, he has all the “facts,” and he’s going to go on and on about his view of the truth. Sorry, this is long.

Here are the true key facts: Jeffrey Epstein, a successful self-made businessman
with no prior criminal history whatsoever, engaged in illegal conduct that
amounted to solicitation of prostitution. That conduct was wrong and a violation of
Florida state law. Although no coercion, violence, alcohol, drugs or the like were
involved, some of the women he paid were under the age of 18. Those facts were
carefully assessed by experienced state sex crime prosecutors who aggressively
enforce state criminal laws. No one turned a blind eye to potential offenses to the
public order. To the contrary, the Palm Beach State Attorney’s Office conducted an
extensive fifteen-month investigation, led by the chief of the Sex Crimes Division.
Mr. Epstein was then indicted by the state grand jury on a single felony count of
solicitation of prostitution.
During that intense investigation, the state prosecutors extensively gathered and
analyzed the evidence, met face-to-face with many of the asserted victims,
considered their credibility — or lack thereof — and considered the extent of
exculpatory evidence, including sworn testimony from many that they lied about
being eighteen years old to be allowed into Mr. Epstein’s home. After months of
negotiations, the state prosecutors believed they had reached a reasoned resolution
of the matter that vindicated the public interest — a resolution entirely consistent with
that of cases involving other similarly-situated defendants. The system worked as it
should have.
Then, in came the feds. The United States Attorneys Office extensively and
aggressively investigated whether Mr. Epstein had engaged in a commercial human
trafficking ring, targeted minors, or used the internet or traveled interstate in the
process. But that’s not what this was and that’s not what happened. That is
precisely why the federal authorities’ ultimate decision to defer prosecution to the
state was the right one.
However, the federally-demanded resolution was not without conditions. The federal
prosecutors insisted on various unorthodox requirements that Mr. Epstein’s
experienced defense team had never seen imposed on any defendant anywhere.
Under the federally-forced deal, Jeffrey was required to request that the state
prosecutors demand the imposition of a thirty-month sentence that included both jail
time and the strictest conditions of probation: lifetime sex-offender registration. Those
draconian measures were far more than warranted by the state grand jury’s
indictment and would not have otherwise been required under the previously agreedupon state disposition. As part of this highly unusual deal, the government required
Jeffrey to pay for a highly experienced group of attomeys to bring claims against him
on behalf of a government list of asserted victims. Jeffrey was required to waive the
right to challenge those claims without being provided the asserted victim’s identities
by the government until after he was incarcerated. Importantly, the feds’ decision to
decline prosecution in deference to the state in exchange for these extraordinary
requirements was reviewed and approved at the multiple levels of the U.S.
Department of Justice. Jeffrey took full responsibility, complied with the feds’
demands, served his sentence, and in the process was treated exactly the same
(including his time served) as any other state-incarcerated individuals. His conduct
while in custody was exemplary, and so characterized by the state custodial
authorities.
Jeffrey Epstein has paid his debt to society. The challenges to his Agreement with
the Government must also be understood as challenges to the millions Mr. Epstein
paid to the asserted victims and their lawyers pursuant to that agreement. Amongst
the beneficiaries of the Epstein-Federal Government Agreement were the many
victims who collectively received many millions as a result of the conditions imposed
on Mr. Epstein that prevented him from meaningfully contesting civil liability —
moneys that would be at issue if requests to invalidate the agreement were granted.
Our nation faces vitally important challenges, many involving the treatment of women
and basic human dignity. Voices are rightly being raised speaking truth to power,
especially about women in the workplace. But Jeffrey’s offenses of yesteryear,
which were entirely outside of the workplace, have long since been redressed by the
criminal justice system. He fully and faithfully has performed every promise and
obligation required of him by state and federal authorities. In the spirit of the
bedrock American belief in second chances and fundamental fairness, that chapter in
Jeffrey’s otherwise-productive and charitable life should be allowed to close once
and for all.

Again, what productive and charitable life? He’s a rich fuck with no discernible source of income living a life of excess and perversion, pretending to be a victim of an out-of-control state that caught him in one crime, in which he’d been tricked by a woman who said she was over 18.

He’s asking Noam Chomsky if he should publish it. Chomsky tells him no, for various reasons.

It’s a powerful and convincing statement, but my feeling is that it would not be wise to submit it for
publication. Taking the stance of a reader who comes to the matter from afresh, perhaps having
heard some rumors but knowing nothing, the reaction I suspect will be of the “where there’s smoke
there’s fire” kind. Few are willing to think through the arguments and factual details or to try to
adjudicate conflicting claims. I’ve seen this happen over and over on other matters — many years of
having been accused of Holocaust denial, for example.. Ugly and bitter as it is, I suspect the best
course now is not to stir the pot by raising the issue publicly, opening the door to charges and
accusations that can no doubt be answered in the court of logic and fairness — but that’s not the
public domain, where innuendo and suspicion and accusation reign.
Anyway, for what it’s worth, that’s the way it looks to me, in part on the basis of experience.
The great work that you have been doing speaks for itself. My feeling is that you should keep at it,
and simply develop a thick skin to fend off whatever ugliness breaks through now and then,
diminishing over time.
Noam

Great work, my ass. Chomsky is sucking up to a rich patron here, nothing more. Epstein’s crimes were not the product of innuendo and suspicion, but were actually victimizations of women and girls that he used and discarded.

Chomsky makes it worse.

Cultures unfortunately can be swept by craziness. Nazism for example. Or the Great Awakening.
We’re in one of those phases now. If there’s a charge, it’s true, in fact True. Any response is
“mansplaining,” another power play, reinforcing the charge. You’ve seen I’m sure what happened to
Lawrence. Full and complete response, amounts to zero. Isn’t even considered. It’s like trying to
discuss rationally with religious fanatics.
Noam

Poor Lawrence Krauss, a victim of a feminism that is comparable to Nazism.

My opinion of Noam Chomsky has just plummetted down into the basement. Fuck you, Noam.

Rebecca Watson’s video hit me hard — I was there for almost all of the events she talked about. I never did enough. So I had to express myself a little bit.

EPIC! Rebecca Watson openly reveals all the behind-the-scenes scandals behind Epstein, Krauss, Shermer, Dawkins, Brockman, and the whole of the skeptic-atheist sphere, and she posts all the documentation. It’s good to see all the sexism and abuse that was going on since 2011 laid bare.

I was aware of most of this stuff at the time, and it was what led to me staggering, shell-shocked and disillusioned, from the whole atheist movement, and leaves me feeling still scarred now in 2026. I was there when it was quietly revealed that Dawkins had a string of mistresses that he then set up in leadership positions at various atheist and skeptic organizations, tainting the entire community. And now, reputations are torched, the whole damn thing has been set on fire.

Lawrence Krauss was an amazingly stupid, bumbling idiot who was the center of the exposure, but Jesus, Richard Dawkins wrecked the entirety of the New Atheism that he initially inspired. Christ, what a shitshow.

This week we have a quick quiz to test your understanding of sleep and dreaming. Please decide whether each of the following 7 statements are TRUE or FALSE. Here we go….

1) When I am asleep, my brain switches off.

2) I can learn to function well on less sleep.

3) Napping is a sign of laziness.

4) Dreams consist of meaningless thoughts and images.

5) A small amount of alcohol before bedtime improves sleep quality.

6) I can catch up on my lost sleep at the weekend.

7) Eating cheese just before you go to bed gives you nightmares

OK, here are the answers…..

1) When I am asleep, my brain switches off: Nope. When you fall asleep, your sense of self-awareness shuts down, but your brain remains highly active and carries out tasks that are essential for your wellbeing.

2) I can learn to function well on less sleep: Nope. Sleep is a biological need. You can force yourself to sleep less, but you will not be fully rested, and your thoughts, feelings and behaviour will be impaired.

3) Napping is a sign of laziness: Nope. Your circadian rhythm make you sleepy towards the middle of the afternoon, and so napping is natural and makes you more alert, creative, and productive.

4) Dreams consist of meaningless thoughts and images: Nope. During dreaming your brain is often working through your concerns, and so dreams can provide an insight into your worries and help come up with innovative solutions.

5) A small amount of alcohol before bedtime improves sleep quality: Nope. A nightcap can help you to fall asleep, but also causes you to spend less time in restorative deep sleep and having fewer dreams.

6) I can catch up on my lost sleep at the weekend: Nope. When you fail to get enough sleep you develop a sleep debt. Spending more time in bed for a day will help but won’t fully restore you for the coming week.

7) Eating cheese just before you go to bed gives you nightmares: Nope. The British Cheese Board asked 200 volunteers to spend a week eating some cheese before going to sleep and to report their dreams in the morning. None of them had nightmares.

So there we go. They are all myths! How did you score?

A few years ago I wrote Night School – one of the first modern-day books to examined the science behind sleep and dreaming. In a forthcoming blog post I will review some tips and tricks for making the most of the night. Meanwhile, what are your top hints and tips for improving your sleep and learning from your dreams?

This post contains a video, which you can also view here. To support more videos like this, head to patreon.com/rebecca! Transcript: Back in 2008, one of the very first talks I started giving on speaking tours was about “Women’s Intuition,” and how that’s a made-up idea that allows society to continue to think of logic …

This post contains a video, which you can also view here. To support more videos like this, head to patreon.com/rebecca! Transcript: God help me, but in this video, I’m going to defend “AI.” For those who are new to this channel, I have to start by saying this is a real outlier for me. I …

Proto: How One Ancient Language Went Global (William Collins) by Laura Spinney

In 1786, Sir William Jones, a British philologist and judge, made the remarkable discovery that the ancient Indian language Sanskrit resembled Latin and Greek, “bearing to both of them a stronger affinity, both in the roots of verbs and the forms of grammar, than could possibly have been produced by accident”. So was born the knowledge that has now expanded to recognise almost all of the modern European languages as Indo-European – alongside the main northern Indian languages, and some western Asian ones, such as Farsi.

A book by science journalist Laura Spinney now gives us the background on how the Proto-Indo-European (PIE) language was discovered, with linguists ingeniously managing to trace dozens of languages back to construct a hypothetical source language, estimated to have been spoken from 4,500 to 2,500 years ago. Most of the book is taken up with the question of where the language originated, and how it managed to spread so successfully across the globe.

The search for the region that birthed the language had proved elusive, until Svante Pääbo, in 2010, developed the technique of ancient DNA sequencing, for which he won the Nobel Prize in 2022. Originally used to sequence the Neanderthal genome, the work expanded so rapidly, especially in David Reich’s laboratory at Harvard, that in 2015 the renowned British archaeologist Colin Renfrew wrote that “In just five years the study of ancient DNA has transformed our understanding of world prehistory.”

That same year, a paper was published by Reich’s group, imperiously titled “Massive migration from the steppe was a source for Indo-European languages in Europe”. This, along with another, similar paper, proclaimed the end of the PIE mystery. The steppe is the vast region of grassland that runs for 5,000 miles from central Europe to Manchuria. The origin of PIE (and hence the languages now spoken by almost half the world’s people) was judged to be the Pontic-Caspian steppe, north of the Black Sea – land that is now part of southern Russia and Ukraine. The population of the steppe, the Yamnaya, were animal-herding, horse-riding and chariot-driving nomads.

However, as Spinney explores, the mystery hasn’t been quite resolved. An earlier theory had proposed that PIE originated in Anatolia, land that now makes up the majority of Turkey – and it turns out that both might be correct. In 2022, Reich and his group showed that there had been an earlier migration from the mountains of Armenia, around 5000 BC, to both the Black Sea and Anatolia. In this theory, one branch of an archaic root language became the Anatolian languages, and another – via the Yamnaya culture – went on to produce the plethora of Indo-European languages.

Spinney shows us why this debate matters to us today. One pressing reason relates to false ideas around racial superiority. Yamnaya is the greatest part of the genetic heritage of most white Europeans (including in North America); English is the world lingua franca today; and from 1492 Europeans colonised a large part of the rest of the world. For some people, the belief that so many of our languages were birthed from the Yamnaya lent spurious credence to the notion that it was natural for white Europeans to conquer other peoples. The Nazis were invested in this idea, falsely locating the Indo-European source in Germany.

But how did the Yamnaya manage to dominate other cultures and impose their language? They were highly mobile nomads, and may have been physically stronger. Spinney writes, they are thought to have been “10 centimetres taller than the male farmers they encountered”. But were they violent conquerors? In Britain around 4,000 years ago the population was 90 per cent replaced by people with Yamnaya genes. But Spinney reports that, as with the British colonists in North America, who carried lethal smallpox (to which they were immune), the cause of the population change might have been infectious disease.

As a story emerges, what are we going to make of our exceedingly murky heritage? These issues are only hinted at in Proto but it is the best source – as up to date as possible – on the fantastic odyssey of our languages and the migrating peoples that carried them.

This article is from New Humanist's Winter 2025 edition. Subscribe now.

This post contains a video, which you can also view here. To support more videos like this, head to patreon.com/rebecca! Transcript: It’s almost that time again: time for the BIG GAME, the finale of the 2025-2026 National Football League, the Superb Owl, and as I have mentioned in the past, American football is a problematic …

This post contains a video, which you can also view here. To support more videos like this, head to patreon.com/rebecca! Transcript: I’ve been making YouTube videos and writing articles about pseudoscientific grifters for 15 years now, and it seems like each year, more and more of the same characters keep showing up, often in new …

I am a huge fan of Dale Carnegie and mention him in pretty much every interview I give. Carnegie was American, born in 1888, raised on a farm, and wrote one of the greatest self-help books of all time, How to Win Friends and Influence People. The book has now sold over 30 million copies worldwide.

I first came across his work when I was about 10 years old and read this book on showmanship and presentation….

According to Edward Maurice, it’s helpful if magicians are likeable (who knew!), so he recommended that they read Carnegie’s book. I still have my original copy, and it’s covered in my notes and highlights.

One of my favourite — and wonderfully simple — pieces of advice is to smile more. Since the book was written, psychologists have discovered lots about the power of smiling. There is evidence that forcing your face into a smile makes you feel better (known as the facial feedback hypothesis). In addition, it often elicits a smile in return and, in doing so, makes others feel good too. As a result, people enjoy being around you. But, as Carnegie says, it must be a genuine smile, as fake grins look odd and are ineffective. Try it the next time you meet someone, answer the telephone, or open your front door. It makes a real difference.

In another section of the book, Carnegie tells an anecdote about a parent whose son went to university but never replied to their letters. To illustrate the importance of seeing a situation from another person’s point of view, Carnegie advised the parent to write a letter saying that they had enclosed a cheque — but to leave out the cheque. The son replied instantly.

Then there is the power of reminding yourself how much the people in your life mean to you. Carnegie once asked the great stage illusionist Howard Thurston about the secret of his success. Thurston explained that before he walked on stage, he always reminded himself that the audience had been kind enough to come and see him. Standing in the wings, he would repeat the phrase, “I love my audience. I love my audience.” He then walked out into the spotlight with a smile on his face and a spring in his step.

This is not the only link between Carnegie and magic. Dai Vernon was a hugely influential exponent of close-up magic and, in his early days, billed himself as Dale Vernon because of the success of Dale Carnegie (The Vernon Touch, Genii, April 1973). In addition, in 1947 Carnegie was a VIP guest at the Magicians’ Guild Banquet Show in New York. Here is a rare photo of the great author standing with several famous magicians of the day (from Conjurers Magazine, Vol. 3, No. 4; courtesy of the brilliant Lybrary.com).

Front row (left to right): Elsie Hardeen, Dell O’Dell, Gladys Hardeen, J. J. Proskauer
Back row: E. W. Dart, Terry Lynn, Al Flosso, Mickey MacDougall, Al Baker, Warren Simms, Dale Carnegie, Max Holden, Jacob Daley

If you don’t have a copy, go and get How to Win Friends and Influence People. Some of the language is dated now, but the thinking is still excellent. Oh, and there is an excellent biography of Carnegie by Steven Watts here.

“Let us compare our consciousness to a sheet of water of some depth. Then the distinctly conscious ideas are merely the surface; on the other hand, the mass of the water is the indistinct, the feelings, the after-sensation of perceptions and intuitions and what is experienced in general, mingled with the disposition of our own will that is the kernel of our inner nature.”

– Arthur Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Representation

For many of us today, it is commonplace to talk about the “unconscious”. We might use it to explain our own behaviour, or that of others, or try to uncover its secrets in therapy. We convince ourselves that a friend who finds a new partner soon after a breakup is “on the rebound” – we know their motivations better than they do, we think. Perhaps we ourselves struggle with relationships, and believe this is due to something that happened in our childhood, rather than that we have not yet met someone who makes us want to commit. Our moods, our hopes, our actions, are ascribed again and again to hidden impulses.

The unconscious is not a new idea. It was of course given huge impetus by the work of Sigmund Freud in the early 20th century, but the waning of his influence has had little effect on what we might call his cultural – we might even say “pop-cultural” – influence. From Freudian slips to the search for secret motivations, his ideas are now embedded in the way we talk and live. But there is no hard evidence for the existence of something called “the unconscious”. Is the idea just a way of removing blame from ourselves, and placing it elsewhere?

A brief history of the 'unconscious'

In the late 18th century, the German philosopher Immanuel Kant produced his masterwork, The Critique of Pure Reason. In it, he put forward a theory of mind which, for the most part, claims that all cognition is conceptual – that is, conscious. According to Kant, we are – or can be, if we take the time to reflect – fully self-aware, and can proceed by reason. As a founding text of modern philosophy, Kant’s theory has remained incredibly influential. But in the eyes of many philosophers, he left something crucial out of his picture of the human mind – what his contemporary Friedrich Schelling named “the unconscious”.

We might think the idea is uncontroversial. There are, of course, many things of which our brain is unconscious, even when they are being processed. If we were conscious of every sound around us, or everything within our field of vision, we would be overwhelmed – our brain is constantly filtering these things for us. But this is not what Schelling meant by the unconscious – the above examples are better described as nonconscious. For Schelling, the unconscious was not simply the passive activities of a brain (while thinking about other things), but an active and dynamic component of mind – it influences consciousness.

Arthur Schopenhauer took the idea further. In his 1818 work The World as Will and Representation, not only is consciousness not the whole story of mind, it is merely the surface. For Schopenhauer, the active force of the universe was what he termed “Will”. The whole of the phenomenal world – that which we can see, touch, smell, which we can apprehend rationally and so on – is actually the manifestation of a huge irrational and impersonal drive. This is also the condition of each individual. While we believe our thoughts and motivations are explicable through rational thought, we are deluded. Rather: “The intellect remains so much excluded from the real resolutions and secret decisions of its own will that sometimes it can only get to know them, like those of a stranger, by spying out and taking unawares; and it must surprise the will in the act of expressing itself, in order merely to discover its real intentions.”

In fact, Schopenhauer was sceptical that we can ever get to know our secret decisions. We can only get at the representations of the truth of the universe, and the truths of ourselves. In this he was heavily influenced by Indian philosophy.

In works such as the sacred canonical text of Hinduism, the Rig Veda, dating from at least 3,000 years ago, Schopenhauer’s theory of the world and the mind finds an early parallel, which he was quick to acknowledge. The phenomenal world is, in the Veda, an illusion, with true reality lying behind it – whether we can pull back the veil remains a matter for debate. Similarly, our human self is, in some key sense, ultimately unknowable to itself.

The three 'Master's of Suspicion'

One of Schopenhauer’s great followers – and, later, great critics – Friedrich Nietzsche, is often credited as Freud’s most immediate precursor. As with so much of Nietzsche, his position regarding the unconscious is difficult to pin down. But it remains fascinating. He wanted to question Kant’s idea that we were in control of our chain of thoughts: that when a person goes from thought A to B to C, that is because A led logically to B, which led logically to C. This, to Nietzsche, is to use a current term, “retrofitting” what is actually occurring – finding logical links where none exist. Rather, he argued that “the events which are actually linked play out beneath our consciousness: the emerging sequence and one-after-the-other of feelings, thoughts, etc., are symptoms of the actual event!” The “actual event” is what has happened beneath our thinking, in our unconscious.

In fact, the later French thinker Paul Ricoeur identified Nietzsche as one of what he famously called “the Masters of Suspicion”, each of whom called into question human confidence in our own self-knowledge. The second for Ricoeur was Karl Marx, who saw our minds as created not from within, but out of the social fabric which surrounds us. The third of the three Masters was Sigmund Freud.

Born in 1856, Freud, while being an avid reader of philosophy, trained in medicine before branching off into the field of psychology, establishing his own practice in 1886. While “psychology” as the study of the workings of the mind has been around since the Greeks, the late 19th century saw a great flowering of the discipline, and the Freudian unconscious grew out of a number of similar ideas that were being debated at the time.

Two immediate predecessors were the French psychologists Jean-Martin Charcot and Pierre Janet. Charcot was making groundbreaking discoveries in understanding and treating hysteria, which included the use of hypnosis, while Janet was among the first thinkers to directly link patients’ present conditions to past traumas – in particular traumas which the sufferer had forgotten, or where they were not themselves conscious of a link.

Janet termed this breaking of the link between the trauma and the later symptoms “dissociation”, and placed responsibility in what he called the “subconscious”. Failing to integrate these traumatic experiences with normal selfhood led, he believed, to neurosis. Like Charcot, he used hypnosis, seeing what he called a “magnetic rapport” between the hypnotist and their patient, which allowed for a cure to be performed. This is close to the Freudian model, with hypnosis replaced by “the talking cure”, and the magic rapport being termed “transference”.

Freud's 'internal censor'

But Freud did not just draw on philosophy and psychology as he moved towards his own version of the unconscious. An acute reader of literature, he credited writers such as Shakespeare and Dostoevsky with leading him to theories of unconscious motivation, while of course, his famous – or infamous – concept of the Oedipus Complex is drawn from Greek drama.

There was also his religion. As the French writer Clémence Boulouque analyses in her excellent new book, On the Edge of the Abyss: The Jewish Unconscious Before Freud, the Jewish tradition, both religious and secular, has a strong tradition of engagement with the unconscious – from early works of mysticism and Kabbalism (with their beliefs in an underlying reality generally inaccessible to human understanding) through to the work of Schelling himself, who drew on these traditions. While Freud grew more and more to argue that religion is something to be overcome – in his The Future of an Illusion, religion is the illusion – his work remains peppered with religious symbolism.

For all that, Freud’s version of the unconscious is a more unequivocal one than anything that had preceded it. The unconscious is not, as in Schelling’s understanding, just a place where we store various random parts of our memory and experiences, nor just where we store things we believe we have forgotten.

The unconscious that Freud engages with is one where nothing is random, where nothing psychologically unimportant is stored. It is, specifically, a place formed of our repressed traumas. We have, according to Freud, an “internal censor” that is, in some sense, protecting us from harmful thoughts, by forcing them into the unconscious.

What is crucial here is that, for Freud as for Janet, the unconscious is formed by what happens to us. While Schopenhauer’s version of the unconscious can be criticised for being so impersonal that our individual lives become meaningless (to which criticism Schopenhauer, the great pessimist, might have simply said, “Yup”), for Freud the unconscious is perhaps more personal to us than the selves our conscious thoughts make us believe we are. While some of the behaviours caused by the unconscious of person A might give us clues as to the case of person B, our traumas are deeply individual.

Where, who and what is the 'unconscious'?

Fast forward to the 21st century and, despite criticism of his work, Freud’s ideas on the unconscious have, as we have seen, proved influential on popular beliefs around the workings of the mind, not forgetting the fields of psychotherapy and therapeutic practice. However, the very concept of the unconscious remains a problematic one. Many question whether there is such a thing, and if the idea is even comprehensible.

There is of course the question of location – where is the unconscious exactly? – but this mirrors the question of where consciousness is. Others have raised the question of what it means for Freud (and any psychoanalyst) to “know” about something that is, by its own definition, unknowable.

Further, what sort of game is our internal censor playing that it would hide information from us, and then not only leave clues for us as to its existence (such as, in Freud’s case, slips of the tongue or dream symbols), but also allow us enough access to un-censor the material in some way? And in a way that is good for us – why bother to censor it in the first place? What even is an “internal censor”? Is it part of the mind, too? How? Or we might even ask, “Who?”

This is a version of the homunculus fallacy, where there is a person inside a person inside a person. One thinker to raise it was Jean-Paul Sartre. If “we” are censoring material to keep it away from consciousness, how is that happening? Do we have another consciousness inside us – a little person or homunculus – which knows what is or isn’t acceptable, then makes a decision? But wouldn’t they need another one inside them, like a Russian doll? Finally, how is what is to be censored decided?

A bid to evade responsibility?

Sartre, for whom personal responsibility is paramount, thought the idea of the unconscious was the product of the human desire to evade responsibility. Rather than blaming ourselves for any wrongdoing, we are able to pass on the blame to our unconscious, and then, through psychoanalysis, on to those who have shaped it – our parents, for example.

This is Sartre joining the dots between the gods of the Greeks, the primal Will of Schopenhauer or Nietzsche, and the unconscious of Freud – they are all of them, in his belief, mythical beasts which allow us to evade culpability. As the first humans invented gods to hold responsible for the great mysteries, so have we, but placed them inside us.

This is not to say that Sartre dismissed Freud’s work entirely. In fact he attempted to create a psychoanalysis aligned to Freud’s – just without the unconscious. This he termed existentialist psychoanalysis. He too believed we were shaped by external forces, but there was no extra layer of repression and censoring which needed to be accounted for.
While he admitted, with Nietzsche, that our motivations and indeed our consciousness might be opaque, opacity does not mean something inside us is performing an act of mysticism. Chinese mathematics is opaque, but it can be learnt. As a contemporary of Sartre’s, Eric Fromm, put it:

“The term ‘the unconscious’ is actually a mystification … There is no such thing as the unconscious; there are only experiences of which we are aware, and others of which we are not aware, that is, of which we are unconscious. If I hate a man because I am afraid of him, and if I am aware of my hate but not of my fear, we may say that my hate is conscious and that my fear is unconscious; still my fear does not lie in that mysterious place: ‘the’ unconscious.”

Sartre’s argument is also one against determinism. Given facts A, B and C, Freud seems to suggest in this account, we will have outcome D. Freud believes he can argue, for instance, that a person behaves in a certain way because of this or that childhood trauma. Determinism was anathema to Sartre – we must, in his philosophy, have the ability to shape our own ends.

So, where does this lead us, when we reflect on the workings of our own minds, and the minds of others? We might like to think, as Kant did, that we are entirely rationalist thinkers, or as Sartre did, that we have absolute responsibility. But many of us still speak of, and believe in, the existence of the unconscious. It’s a belief that predates Freud and will undoubtedly continue in different forms for as long as humans try to pin down the self. Much of our burgeoning therapeutic industry relies on the idea, so it’s easy to forget that it is contested.

As Shakespeare has Hamlet say, “There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in your philosophy.” The sheer amount of “life” to which we are all exposed makes consciousness seem a thin tool for apprehending it. Perhaps science is not the place to seek the unconscious. Perhaps, like god, the unconscious may simply be a powerful metaphor – one that helps us understand and deal with our experience – rather than a thing?

This article is from New Humanist's Winter 2025 edition. Subscribe now.

This post contains a video, which you can also view here. To support more videos like this, head to patreon.com/rebecca! Transcript: Okay, yes, usually I jump straight into the video’s topic but obviously today I need to start with some personal news: I’ve gone back to my natural hair color. Yes, two years ago I …

A Different Kind of Power: A Memoir (Macmillan) by Jacinda Ardern

Jacinda Ardern was the 40th prime minister of New Zealand, but the first to become an internationally recognised figure – certainly, Keith Holyoake and Robert Muldoon never appeared on the cover of Vogue. Ardern became an instant object of fascination because – at least when measured against her fellow national leaders, an overwhelmingly male, middle-aged-and-upwards and mostly somewhat dreary cohort – she seemed different: a 37-year-old woman of generally cheerful demeanour. As the title of her book suggests, Ardern also sees herself as different, in substance as well as style.

Ardern is, at the very least, a different kind of political memoirist. A Different Kind of Power is short on wearisome policy minutiae, and petulant score-settling. The book’s strength is that it depicts, very capably, the human experience of national leadership – its pressures and dilemmas, its drama and slapstick, its gravity and absurdity. The prologue captures the moment amidst the post-election negotiations which brought her to power in 2017 when Ardern discovers she is pregnant.

After which, Ardern starts at the start: her childhood in small rural towns where her father served as a police officer. Ardern clearly believes this was the making of her: the conscientious, empathetic child becoming a prime minister of similar qualities (if the book has one minor but recurring fault, it is an over-emphasis on the “if anything, I just care too much” schtick).

Ardern grows up a Mormon, but drifts from the church in her twenties. It is always illuminating to discover why people reject the faith in which they are raised. It is not an easy call, risking as it does the ostracism of family, friends and community.

Her departure from the Church of Latter-Day Saints is admirable in motivation and execution. She reaches a point at which she cannot accommodate both her belief in equal rights for gay people and the LDS’s institutional animus towards them – but she moves on without bitterness, while maintaining admiration for the good the Mormons do, and the good people among them. She also drily notes that the experience of knocking on strangers’ doors, trying to interest them in new ideas while they’re trying to eat dinner or watch the match, is excellent practice for becoming a campaigning politician.

The most gripping sections of A Different Kind of Power are those that recall the two worst moments of her premiership – neither of which any incoming prime minister of New Zealand would have imagined likely. One was the predicament that confronted everybody in a job like hers in 2020. Though Covid-19 menaced New Zealand less than it did most countries – far-flung islands had a considerable advantage – its prime minister still faced excruciating choices. “For each decision we made,” Ardern writes, “hundreds of new ones presented themselves.” This summary of the infernal complexity of politics would be lost, regrettably, on the sorry mobs of social media-addled bozos who besieged New Zealand’s parliament, having convinced themselves that they were subjects of a tyranny, as opposed to the supernaturally fortunate citizens of a lavishly blessed nation. (“At one point,” Ardern deadpans, “I even saw the glint of literal tinfoil hats.”)

The other defining crisis of Ardern’s term was the terror attack on two mosques in Christchurch in 2019, in which 51 people were murdered and dozens more injured, by a lone maniac. Ardern deserved the plaudits she received for her calm and thoughtful leadership in the hours and days immediately following this atrocity, but as she tells it here, her initial reaction was less composed. “All of the confusion and frustration I felt,” she writes, “turned into one singular emotion: blinding rage.” A pertinent reminder that despite the perennial voters’ complaint about politicians not saying what they actually think, there are times when it really wouldn’t be helpful, or appropriate.

When Ardern stepped down in 2023, citing exhaustion, cynics claimed that her polling ahead of that year’s election may have been more of a factor. She was, by this time, one of those leaders vastly more popular abroad than at home, and her Labour Party were duly clobbered. But if she was tired, she was entitled to be. The great service A Different Kind of Power performs is that it reminds us that politicians are people – people to whom we give impossible jobs, and of whom we demand impossible results.

This article is from New Humanist's Winter 2025 edition. Subscribe now.

In We, a dystopian fable written in 1921-22 and set in the 26th century, the Russian author Yevgeny Zamyatin imagined a totalitarian regime called “OneState”. The buildings in this urban civilisation are uniformly constructed out of clear glass bricks, through which the sinister “Guardians”, its law enforcers, can monitor their subjects’ every move. As the automaton-like protagonist, D-503, puts it, “We live in broad daylight inside these walls that seem to have been fashioned out of bright air, always on view.” The use of glass is thus a key component of the state’s attempt to annihilate the individual personality in the machine-like collective. Zamyatin’s vision would influence George Orwell’s 1984.

At the turn of the 20th century, the introduction of machines that could manufacture large-scale flat glass led to the increasing use of glass in architecture – for better or worse. Among the vitro-optimists was Paul Scheerbart, an eccentric German writer and critic who produced both a treatise and a novel on the potential of glass architecture. The novel, entitled The Gray Cloth and Ten Per Cent White (1914), imagined a fantastical mid-20th-century society in which superstar architects travelled around the globe in airships, admiring their colossal buildings of coloured glass.

A century after Zamyatin and Scheerbart, glass has, to an extent unprecedented in human history, become ubiquitous not only in architecture but in technology, industry and daily life. Indeed, 2022 was the United Nations International Year of Glass. The official booklet proclaimed a new Glass Age and highlighted the material’s importance in areas including communications, biomaterials, energy generation, sustainability, healthcare and aerospace.

Despite its topicality, however, there is one field in which glass remains undervalued: contemporary art. Artists who work mainly in glass, especially if they actually handle the material themselves, have trouble getting their pieces accepted by the art world. “Glass is usually perceived as a traditional material for craft rather than for fine art galleries,” says Marieta Tedenac, a Prague-based conceptual artist who works in glass and other media.

This sort of attitude perhaps says more about the art world than it does about glass. Be that as it may, in the last few decades several artists, whether working alone or collaboratively, have laboured to demonstrate the potential of glass as an artistic medium – a means of free creative expression – and one which benefits from a combination of imaginative vision and inspiration, scientific and technical knowledge, and painstaking, skilful craftsmanship. Arguably, their achievements show that art in glass has a distinctive contribution to make to our uniquely glassy age.

Glass is certainly important for the digital world and Big Tech, most visibly through its use in computer and smartphone screens. This importance is reflected in the glass-heavy architecture adopted, for instance, in Apple stores. In 2013-14, Google even tried, unsuccessfully, to trademark the word “Glass” in a particular font for its “smart glasses”. It is thus surely significant that when Apple wanted to commission a public artwork for the Apple Park outside its headquarters in Cupertino, California, the proposal it selected in 2021, submitted by the Scottish conceptual artist Katie Paterson and the architectural studio Zeller & Moye, was made of glass.

Completed in 2023, Mirage is an installation of 448 glass columns, each standing two metres tall and weighing 90kg, and varying in colour from deep green to mineral blue to near-transparent. It represents a monumental collaboration involving artist, architects, Apple staff, scientists and glassmakers, as well as sand sourced from 70 deserts around the world. The columns are arranged in a pattern of three wavy lines, which, from a drone’s-eye view, suggest “desert dunes”, according to the creators – or, on a more subversive interpretation, a pixellated corporate logo.

Mirage is full of ambivalence, ostensibly being constructed for the benefit of Cupertino’s citizens, but redolent, beneath the glittering surface, of Apple’s apparent ambitions for technological supremacy – in which glass plays an essential role.

One specific type of glass that has been used effectively in art is optical glass. Made with a range of specialised chemical compositions, it was originally developed for lenses and prisms, including in a military context, which needed to refract light precisely. In the 1960s, Václav Cigler, a leading Czech artist and founder of the Glass in Architecture department at Bratislava University, began experimenting with optical glass. He designed sculptures that were precisely cut, ground and polished to achieve brilliantly reflective surfaces. His pure, minimalist forms – an egg, a pyramid, a cone – distil the essence of shapes found in nature and architecture, functioning as almost mathematical focal points which encourage detached contemplation.

One of the reasons that the art world is suspicious of glass art may be the technical challenges involved in its creation. Some contemporary artists have an awkward relationship with the act of “fabricating” (or making) artworks, following current wisdom that what matters is choosing the material that best suits what the artist wants to say, rather than one that he or she has the most skill in manipulating. Yet this attitude may itself owe something to advances in digital technologies such as graphics, 3D printing and generative AI, compared to which, these days, a human’s ability to make things can seem less impressive. Not only are machines better at fabricating, but the virtual world has become ever more sophisticated and enticing. Why bother to make anything that will be subject to the laws of nature, when you could conjure up impossible objects on the screen?

Last year, Luca Curci Architects, an Italian firm, published the “Floating Glass Museum” project on its website. This quixotic museum, designed with the aid of AI, takes the form of a curved white building with fluorescent panes of glass that floats on a swimming-pool-like sea. Inside are rooms filled with large numbers of huge glass spheres. Some of the spheres even seem to float above the ground, in defiance of gravity – which AI had apparently not quite grasped at the time. It is pretty to look at, and yet the very ease with which scenarios like this can be produced, once the limitations of the empirical world are removed, arguably makes them less interesting.

To return to “reality”, the paradox of glass is that on the one hand it is so elusive, but on the other so tactile, heavy and difficult to handle. Glass can be shattered, even on a smartphone, and be transformed instantly from something smooth and self-effacing into something sharp and destructive that also does violence to the image within it. No wonder the breaking of a mirror has traditionally been associated with bad luck.

An example of an evocative aesthetic effect derived from breaking glass occurs in the 2022 film The Glass Onion, in which, in a climactic scene, the collection of clear glass sculptures belonging to a villainous tech entrepreneur is smashed by his guests – as though the sculptures’ entire raison d’être was their destruction.

The brittleness of glass, the risk of chipping or breakage that could annihilate a work’s perfection in an instant, doubtless contributes to its perception as a challenging, even off-putting artistic medium. On the other hand, this same quality can be used as a metaphor to express contemporary concerns. One example is in Stampede, a collection of clear glass animal paws, hot-sculpted by the New York-based artist Deborah Czeresko. The sculptures are carefully modelled on real paws, both live and stuffed, and include a range of species – bat, camel, mole, ostrich, platypus, penguin. With silent eloquence, the fragility of the material, together with its phantom-like transparency, reminds us of the ease with which animal species may be destroyed. Once gone, it would be as impossible to bring them back to life as to reconstitute a shattered glass paw from its fragments – which, since glass is an amorphous solid, will always be irregular and chaotic.

The rich versatility of glass, both as material and as store of imagery, is further exemplified in the work of the American artist Jon Kuhn, who makes sculptures in the form of geometrical solids containing hundreds of facets of glass that refract the light from within like tiny prisms. He does this by a time-consuming process of cutting and polishing segments of optical glass and then laminating them together in a complex structure.

It is a piece by Kuhn, if I am not mistaken, that appears on a table just behind the eminent philosopher and public intellectual Martha Nussbaum, in a photograph taken in 2017 and published alongside an interview in the New York Review of Books in 2021. The positioning creates a connection between the jewel-like interior of the glass and the clarity and sparkle of the sitter’s mind.

As the work of artists like Cigler, Czeresko or Paterson shows, in our new Glass Age, this material can no longer be dismissed as old-fashioned or suitable merely for craft. Instead, it can be an eloquent means of imaginative creation and self-expression.

In a world where our attention is increasingly occupied by images and events behind the glass screen, the material from which that screen is made, with its combination of smoothness and sharpness, liquidity and solidity, depth and surface, can remind us of how dependent we are, despite ourselves, on physical things.

It can thus function as an empirical and metaphorical barrier – the modern equivalent of a looking-glass – between the digital realm and our own. Finally, a key function of art in our image-conscious age is as status symbol and personality extension. In this respect, while some artists may still dismiss it as a medium, glass can surely give bananas, Lego bricks or even paintings a run for their money.

This article is from New Humanist's Winter 2025 edition. Subscribe now.

In February 2024, people across the US began placing orders for a plant that glows at night. The Firefly Petunia, sold by the synthetic biology startup Light Bio, looks like a regular white petunia by day – but in darkness it transforms, emitting a soft light, most visible in its flower buds. The first glowing plant was created in 1986, but it has taken 38 years for the technology to be enjoyed in people’s homes and offices.

Most people are interested in the beauty and novelty of the flower. But while the glowing petunias are aesthetically remarkable, they also demonstrate that “living light”, as it’s often called, can move beyond the lab into everyday environments. Most promisingly, bioluminescent and fluorescent plants have practical uses in agriculture. The light the plants emit can help us understand and combat complex threats to crops – including rot, pests and fungal disease – which are likely to deepen with the ongoing climate crisis.

Most of us have seen some instance of bioluminescence, which is defined as light made by living things, and occurs naturally in fungi and animals. Fireflies are the most obvious example, as well as deep-sea creatures and a handful of glowing fungi. The chemistry is straightforward enough: enzymes called luciferases act on small molecules called luciferins (sometimes with cofactors like ATP, an energy-carrying molecule), in the presence of oxygen. The reaction then releases energy as photons.

Fungi and animals have evolved to glow naturally for a variety of reasons. Fireflies emit light to attract mates and warn predators that they’re an unpleasant meal. It’s thought that the deep-sea lanternfish glows in order to blend in with the blue of the sea and avoid predators. In the case of fungi, however, scientists are still speculating. The leading theory is that the glow attracts insects, aiding reproduction and dispersal, which might be especially helpful in dark forest environments.

But plants don’t glow naturally; they never had to evolve that way. We humans have intervened. So how did we engineer these plants, and why?

The science of bioluminescence

The first glowing plants in the 1980s were only suitable for lab environments, and were mostly designed to study genetic processes. Bioluminescence can be used to provide a real-time indicator of plant development and stress response – all without harming the organism. Keith Wood, now chief executive of Light Bio, worked with the team that created the first glowing plant, by inserting a firefly bioluminescent system into a tobacco plant.

Bioluminescent systems from various insects, marine life and fungi can be inserted into plants, but there are important differences in how this is done and how it affects the glow. In some cases, scientists insert just the genes for luciferase, the enzyme that produces light when it reacts with luciferin, or introduce the luciferin chemically along with luciferase. This approach can make the plants glow, but the light usually lasts for a limited time, since luciferin is not produced inside the plant and must be replenished externally.

The next step, then, was to engineer plants to glow throughout their life. This involved designing plants to produce both luciferase and luciferin themselves by inserting the full set of fungal bioluminescent genes. Because these fungal systems use caffeic acid, which plants naturally produce, the engineered plants can run this light-producing reaction autonomously without needing outside chemicals, creating a sustainable, self-sufficient bioluminescent system. But the light emitted was still too weak and unstable for conditions outside the lab.

More recent work has adapted the mushroom genes so that they function better in plant cells and tissues, boosting brightness by up to a hundredfold.

Today, Light Bio focuses primarily on producing ornamental plants. “People are not only excited and surprised when they see a living plant glow in the dark, they’re often deeply moved,” Wood tells me. But the same technology has practical applications outside the lab.

It is being used, for example, in food safety contexts. Quality-control tests use enzymes and chemicals to help detect contamination in milk and meat. These tests measure the presence of ATP, which reacts with the luciferase added to the food products, triggering the chemical reaction that produces light. The amount of light generated is proportional to the level of ATP, which then shows the extent of contamination.

What about using glowing plants in agriculture? One avenue of exploration relates to pollination. Some researchers speculate that glowing cues might affect insect behaviour. For example, a faint bioluminescent cue at dusk might help nocturnal insects such as moths, which rely on colour and shape, to find flowers. Even adult fireflies, themselves pollinators, could be drawn to these flowers at night. If pollination can be encouraged, then this benefits farmers because it can lead to better fruit and seed development, resulting in improved crop yields. But this idea needs more testing outside the labs, with real crops and in real weather, with attention to the ecological side-effects.

The power of fluorescent plants

For now, another kind of light-emission is yielding more concrete benefits for farmers: fluorescent plants. Like bioluminescence, fluorescence also makes living things emit light, but it can’t operate in the dark. A molecule absorbs incoming light and then re‑emits it at a specific wavelength. With the right illumination and filters, the signal answers back. In practice, this usually means using artificial light sources and optical sensors, since ambient sunlight alone is rarely enough to give a clear reading. In short, bioluminescence shines by itself, while fluorescence shines when asked.

The Californian biotechnology company InnerPlant engineers crops to fluoresce in patterns designed to be read with specialised optics, from the ground and from aircraft. Their commercial product is focused on fungal infections in soybeans. Sensors are planted in plots across a region, acting somewhat like towers in a mobile network. Farmers do not host or manage the hardware, rather they subscribe to the network. InnerPlant’s agronomists send weekly scouting reports during high-risk periods and send alerts by text and email when sensors confirm infection.

“It helps take the guesswork out of fungicide decisions,” said Sean Yokomizo of InnerPlant. “[Farmers] only have to take action when and where it’s needed, rather than spraying entire fields.” Farmers are pragmatic and want clear benefits, he said. Technology has to be low-risk and consistent to win trust.

As of 2025, InnerPlant’s network covers 50,000 acres across the Midwest US, including in Illinois, Iowa, Nebraska and South Dakota. They plan to increase the network to cover more than half a million acres in 2026, and to add insect detection in soybeans in 2027, followed by a corn fungal sensor. The company is also looking into satellite use, with the aim of improving their large‑scale visibility.

Whether or not InnerPlant succeed in their plans, other companies are likely to take advantage of these new technologies. Fluorescent technologies may be particularly helpful in coping with climate change, which is already leading to unpredictable weather patterns. These include raised temperatures and humidity – conditions in which fungal disease can escalate rapidly. An early fluorescent signal lets a grower treat the right block before spores spread further across crops. Blanket “just in case” sprays can become the exception, targeted passes can become the norm, and costs fall – as does the chemical load that runs into streams.

Fluorescence can also help to guide watering practices – which is especially important in times of drought, or where water is expensive or scarce. Plants shift their fluorescent signatures when stressed, often before leaves wilt. If you can see that change early, irrigation moves from routine to need, which saves energy and helps prevent salt build-up in soils. It’s useful for monitoring nutrients, too. If low nitrogen shows up as a clear map rather than a hunch, variable-rate equipment can treat poor zones and skip healthy ones. Yields hold and, again, excess fertiliser stays out of rivers.

Challenges ahead

While fluorescent plants offer a powerful tool for monitoring plant health, they come with significant limitations that justify continued interest in bioluminescent systems. Fluorescence relies on external light sources to excite the fluorescent proteins, meaning it requires specific field conditions, special optics and a clear line of sight to detect the signal accurately. These requirements can make it challenging to implement widespread, real-time monitoring in open agricultural fields.

In contrast, bioluminescent plants produce their own light through biochemical reactions, offering the potential for continuous, autonomous signalling of plant health or stress without external illumination. This intrinsic glow could enable easier, more flexible monitoring in diverse environments and at night, providing a unique approach that fluorescence alone cannot currently offer.

Daniel Voytas, a professor at the University of Minnesota and a leader in plant genome editing, says we shouldn’t give up on bioluminescence as a developing field that could have future applications in agriculture.

Along with engineering plants using the fungal bioluminescent system, researchers are also making good progress with insect systems. “The use of insect luciferases as reporters has been enormously valuable for plant biotechnology research, and I expect their role will continue, if not expand,” Voytas told me. “These are primarily research tools rather than traits in themselves, so their direct impact on agriculture and food security is likely to remain limited compared to other biotechnological approaches,” he acknowledged. But while achieving consistently high levels of luminescence has proven a significant challenge, the science is advancing.

There are many hurdles to overcome, for both bioluminescent and fluorescent technologies. Farms are dirty and unpredictable places. Light signals have to be bright and specific. Models need to be able to tell the difference, for example, between light emitted due to heat stress and light that indicates infection. The challenge is producing a sufficient number of plants that are bright enough to be useful. And even if luminescence improves, the trait still has to deliver under sun and heat, and earn its keep across a season. Some farms can also be reluctant to try new technologies. Mistakes in agriculture can be costly. A false positive, for example signalling disease, could be a huge waste of time and money.

Regulators will continue to ask hard questions, too. There’s no sign yet that the trait that causes plants to glow can spread by pollen, but these questions about gene flow are sensitive, and must be carefully tested and monitored. If the ability to glow draws on more of a plant’s metabolism (in other words, the energy available to them) then it may slow their growth, or ability to produce seeds or fruit.

Public acceptance is important too, given many people have negative attitudes towards genetically engineered crops. Light Bio believes that their ornamental plants can play an important role in shifting public perception. “Crop development through genetic manipulation is vital to global food security,” Wood said. “By giving the public a tangible, positive experience with a glowing plant, we believe we can help build familiarity and trust.”

When I asked him about the future, he said he expects brighter and more varied glowing plants to be developed over the next decade. “We’re improving the genetics, and we’re improving the methods of production,” he said. “I expect we’ll get brighter plants, more robust plants.”

A farming revolution?

Meanwhile, bioluminescence and fluorescence will continue to allow scientists to study plant physiology, with discoveries feeding back into knowledge around how to develop better and stronger bioluminescent traits, creating a positive cycle of learning and development.

Yokomizo of InnerPlant believes that advances in the study of the genetic processes of plants, combined with the use of bioluminescent and fluorescent traits in crops out on the field, represents a revolutionary opportunity in farming. “Data from plants has always been the missing component all the way back to the beginning of agriculture,” he said. “Finally having that critical data will change farming practices in a very fundamental way, just as the Green Revolution did.”

He’s referring to rapid changes that took place in farming in the mid-20th century, including the development of synthetic nitrogen fertiliser. There was also progress in breeding plants in order to create hybrid seeds, known as high-yielding varieties, which are more responsive to fertilisers, and better at adapting and resisting disease. All of this triggered major economic growth in agricultural regions worldwide.

It’s a bold comparison, and it should be treated as speculative. We don’t yet know whether bioluminescence and fluorescence will have revolutionary effects on the future of agriculture. It is more cautious to say that clear, early signals can help reduce waste and protect yields.

For now, bioluminescence and fluorescence will remain a powerful research tool, and field deployment should expand as engineering advances. In the meantime, ornamental plants serve a quieter purpose. They show biotechnology as something beautiful, not only as a risk. It’s a shift in perception that can help us imagine what could come next…

In late summer, a soybean grower gets a text: four fields crossed a fungal threshold overnight. The sprayer rolls that day, but only across those blocks. Time, money and effort are saved, and environmental impacts are reduced.

At a nearby farm, nitrogen goes only where the signal shows deficiency. The field map turns patchy and precise, which is how real land behaves.

At the packhouse, a bioluminescent signal flags contamination before a pallet of bananas is loaded onto a ship. The win is invisible but crucial, as prevention usually is.

Most of the time, we won’t see the light with the naked eye. But some day in the future, it may be a common occurrence to drive past a farmer’s field at night and notice a faint but magical glow.

This article is from New Humanist's Winter 2025 edition. Subscribe now.

It’s time for some obscure magic and music hall history.

I’m a fan of a remarkable Scottish conjurer called Harry Marvello. He was performing during the early 1900s and built a theatre in Edinburgh that is now an amusement arcade. I have a previous post on Marvello here and have just written a long article about him for a magic history magazine called Gibecière (the issue is out soon).

I am staging a one-off performance of the World’s Most Boring Card Trick at Magic Fest in Edinburgh on the 27^th December. Tickets here. Anyway, I digress. I have long been fascinated by the psychology of humour and once carried out a project called LaughLab. Billed as the search for the world’s funniest joke, over 350,000 people submitted their top gags to our website and rated the jokes sent in by others. We ended up with around 40,000 jokes and you can read the winning entry here (there is also a free download of 1000 jokes from the project).

It was a great project and is still quoted by media around the world. I ended up dressing as a giant chicken, interviewing a clown on Freud’s couch, and brain scanning someone listening to jokes.

A few years ago, I came up with a theory about Christmas cracker jokes. They tend to be short and not very funny, and it occurred to me that this is a brilliant idea. Why? Because if the joke’s good but you don’t get a laugh, then it’s your problem. However, if the joke’s bad and you don’t get a laugh, then you can blame your material! So, cracker jokes don’t embarrass anyone. Not only that, but the resulting groan binds people together. I love it when the psychology of everyday life turns out to be more complex and interesting than it first appears! As comedian and musician Victor Borge once said, humour is often the shortest distance between people.

I recently went through the LaughLab database and pulled out some cracker jokes to make your groan and bond:

– What kind of murderer has fibre? A cereal killer.

– What do you call a fly with no wings? A walk.

– What lies on the bottom of the ocean and shakes? A nervous wreck.

– Two cows are in a field. One cow: “moo”. Other cow: “I was going to say that”

– What did the landlord say as he threw Shakespeare out of his pub? “You’re Bard!”

– Two aerials got married. The ceremony was rubbish but the reception was brilliant.

– What do you call a boomerang that doesn’t come back? A stick.

– A skeleton walks into a pub and orders a pint of beer and a mop.

The BBC have just produced an article about it all and were kind enough to interview me about my theory here.

Does the theory resonate with you? What’s your favourite cracker joke?

Have a good break!

First, a quick announcement – I will be presenting a special, one-off, performance of The World’s Most Boring Card Trick at the Edinburgh MagiFest this year. At a time when everyone is trying to get your attention, this unusual show is designed to be dull. Have you got what it takes to sit through the most tedious show ever and receive a certificate verifying your extraordinary willpower? You can leave anytime, and success is an empty auditorium.  I rarely perform this show, and so an excited and delighted to be presenting it at the festival. Details here.

Now for the story. When I was a kid, I was fascinated by a magazine called World of Wonder (WoW). Each week it contained a great mix of history, science, geography and much more, and all the stories were illustrated with wonderful images. I was especially delighted when WoW ran a multi-part series on magicians, featuring some of the biggest names in the business. My favourite story by far was based around the great Danish-American illusionist Dante, and the huge, colourful, double page spread became etched into my mind.

A few years ago, I wrote to the owners of WoW, asking if they had the original artwork from the Dante article. They kindly replied, explaining that the piece had been lost in the mists of time. And that was that.

Then, in July I attended the huge magic convention in Italy called FISM. I was walking past one of the stalls that had magic stuff for sale, and noticed an old Dutch edition of WoW containing the Dante spread. I explained how the piece played a key role in my childhood, and was astonished when the seller reached under his table and pulled out the original artwork! Apparently, he had picked it up in a Parisian flea market many, many, years ago! The chances!

I snapped it up and it now has pride of place on my wall (special thanks to illusion builder Thomas Moore for helping to make it all happen!). My pal Chris Power made some enquirers and thinks that the art was drawn by Eustaquio Segrelles, but any additional information about the illustration is more than welcome.

So there you go – some real magic from a magic convention!

check, 1, 2…is this thing on? hi everyone! it’s been a while.

Someone contacted me hoping to find young atheists who might be interested in being part of a new series. I’m not particularly interested in having my mug on TV, but I would love to have some great personalities represent atheism on the show, so I offered to repost his email on my blog: My name […]

All throughout my youth, I dreamed of becoming a writer. I wrote all the time, about everything. I watched TV shows and ranted along with the curmudgeons on Television Without Pity about what each show did wrong, convincing myself that I could do a better job. I flew to America with a dream in my […]

A friend linked me to this. I was a sobbing mess within the first minute. I sometimes wonder why I feel such a strong kinship to the LGBT community, and I think it’s because I’ve been through the same thing that many of them have. So I watched this video and I cried, because, as […]

UPDATE #1: I got my domain back! Many thanks to Kurtis for the pleasant surprise: So I stumbled upon your blog, really liked what I saw, read that you had drama with the domain name owner, bought it, and forwarded it here. It should work again in a matter of seconds. I am an atheist […]