The fear of walking in the dark is not merely a quirk of human psychology—it is a defence mechanism, a gift of survival that God has given to almost every creature. Except for nocturnal animals, all living beings instinctively shrink from darkness. For in the dark, our vision fails, our senses falter, and the world becomes uncertain.
We like to think civilization has freed us from such primal fears. Our cities glow with artificial lights, our streets are never truly dark, and technology gives us a false sense of mastery over nature. But if tomorrow the lights were to go out—if electricity failed and wild animals once again reclaimed the night—humanity would rediscover its ancient helplessness. We would retreat into caves, both literal and symbolic, waiting for the sun to rise, just as our ancestors once did. Civilization, after all, is only a fragile layer. Beneath it, the instincts of survival remain unchanged.
In the Vedic view, darkness is not just the absence of sunlight—it is avidyā, ignorance. It is the state in which the mind loses its clarity, when fear multiplies because the unknown surrounds us. Just as wild beasts roam freely in the dark forests, so too do our inner beasts find freedom in the absence of light.
Light, then, is not merely physical. It is symbolic of vidyā, knowledge. To seek the light is not just to survive the night but to transcend ignorance. Every sunrise is more than a cosmic event—it is a reminder that consciousness awakens, that wisdom dispels fear, and that truth overcomes illusion.
Perhaps this is why humanity, despite all its technological advancements, continues to worship the sun, the flame, and the divine radiance in every culture. For deep within, we know that without light—outer and inner—we are nothing more than fragile creatures, huddling in the dark, waiting for dawn.