Perhaps in time the so-called Dark Ages will be thought of as

In the haunting and prophetic words of Georg Christoph Lichtenberg, the German philosopher and scientist of the eighteenth century, we find a truth that stretches beyond centuries: “Perhaps in time the so-called Dark Ages will be thought of as including our own.” These words, though born in the Age of Enlightenment—a time celebrated for its reason, progress, and discovery—carry within them the shadow of doubt. Lichtenberg, ever the observer of human folly, reminds us that every generation believes itself to be the most enlightened, the most advanced, the most righteous. Yet he warns that darkness does not vanish with time—it changes its form. What once was ignorance of the stars may now be ignorance of the soul; what once was superstition may now be arrogance disguised as wisdom.

The origin of this quote lies in Lichtenberg’s reflections on the contradictions of human nature. He was a man of science, yet also a moral philosopher; he celebrated the triumphs of reason but saw how reason, when misused, could lead to new kinds of blindness. During his time, Europe basked in the glory of the Enlightenment—its thinkers proclaiming that superstition and fear had been banished forever. But Lichtenberg, with piercing insight, saw the cracks beneath this optimism. He foresaw that every “age of light” carries within it the seeds of its own darkness—for as humans gain power and knowledge, they are equally tempted by pride, greed, and the illusion of control. His warning was timeless: the so-called “Dark Ages” are not confined to the medieval past—they may live even in an age that calls itself modern.

To say that “the Dark Ages may include our own” is to challenge the arrogance of progress. The term “Dark Ages” was once used to describe the centuries following the fall of Rome—a time when learning and art seemed to decline, when war and faith ruled over inquiry. But Lichtenberg asks us to look inward: might our own time, too, be dark in its own way? Have we truly escaped ignorance, or merely changed its shape? A society that worships wealth and technology but neglects compassion, that prizes convenience over truth, that silences conscience in the name of comfort—such a society may indeed be enlightened in its inventions, but dark in its spirit. The darkness of the soul is deeper than the darkness of the mind.

History has proven Lichtenberg’s warning again and again. Consider the twentieth century, an age of extraordinary progress in science, industry, and communication—yet also the century of world wars, genocide, and weapons capable of annihilating humanity. The same science that cured diseases also built the atomic bomb. The same rationality that explored the stars justified the oppression of millions. In those moments, the light of intellect was not enough to dispel the darkness of moral failure. So it was, as Lichtenberg foresaw, that even in the age of “enlightenment,” men could become blind to their own inhumanity. The truth is eternal: no progress of reason can save a world that loses its sense of virtue.

And yet, his words are not meant to breed despair, but humility. To recognize the darkness in our own age is not to curse it, but to heal it. The wise do not deny their flaws—they confront them with courage. Every generation must ask itself: what forms of blindness have we accepted as truth? Where have we mistaken knowledge for wisdom, and power for justice? The moment a civilization believes it has conquered ignorance, it begins to sow the seeds of its downfall. But the moment it learns to doubt its own perfection, it begins to grow in true understanding. Humility, not pride, is the light that endures.

In this way, Lichtenberg becomes not only a critic of his time, but a guide for ours. He teaches that enlightenment is not a destination, but a discipline—a constant effort to illuminate both the world and the heart. Science and art may advance, but if love, empathy, and conscience do not keep pace, humanity will drift once more into darkness. The fire of progress must be tempered by the warmth of virtue, or it becomes a blaze that consumes. His words invite us to look beyond invention and intellect, to measure our age not by what we have built, but by how we treat one another.

So, my children, take heed of this wisdom: do not call your age enlightened simply because it shines brightly. The brightest light can still cast the deepest shadow. Guard your hearts against arrogance; question the comforts that make you forget the suffering of others. Strive always to unite knowledge with kindness, reason with mercy, and freedom with responsibility. For if you fail to do so, then the judgment of history may one day echo Lichtenberg’s prophecy—and future generations, looking back upon us, may say: “Yes, this too was a Dark Age.”

But if you remember his words—if you live with humility, seek truth with compassion, and labor not only to enlighten the mind but to awaken the soul—then perhaps your age will be remembered not as dark, but as the dawn of wisdom.