Our progressive age, by virtue of its countless advances and discoveries, has been endowed with a great variety of names: The Space Age, The Nuclear Age, The Computer Age – to name but a few. Perhaps we can suggest another: The Age of Illumination.

For many centuries Man was living half his life in the dark. Daylight allowed his eyes the liberty of roaming at will, but come night, his vision was limited by a blinding darkness. Candles, oil, and wood fires were among the only means of dispersing the enveloping gloom. In those days, wax meant wealth, and adequate light was a luxury reserved for the privileged.

Only recently – barely 130 years have elapsed since the invention of the light bulb – did the genius of Man transform this bleak situation. I have just received an e-mail of a spectacular photograph taken by the crew on board the Columbia during its last mission. The picture is of Europe and Africa when the sun is setting. Half of the picture is in night and the bright dots are the city lights whilst the other half is in bright sunlight.

Today, Mankind’s blindness is banished by the billions of powerful and enduring bulbs. Artificial light has become so economically feasible that even the poorest can afford to squander it. Everything glows in the Age of Illumination.

Modern man is under constant distraction. Endless illumination has given him the opportunity to become intensely aware of his surroundings. A result of this is an absorbing fascination with the world around him, accompanied by an oblivion to the complex cosmos within him. In many ways modern man is pitifully neglected. For whilst he has scrutinised, analysed and categorised every fragment of his environment, he has ignored himself. Modern man suffers a self-imposed loneliness.

So where do we find the light within us as we gaze out on the illuminated world surrounding us? Take for instance the serene sanctity of the Shabbat. Its tranquil cessation of activity, and pursuit of the rat race of society, can restore to man his awareness of the precious inner light of his vision and of his soul. Who does not feel that inner light as we sit around our Shabbat table with our families in an atmosphere of calm serenity when our children yield up to us their inner souls and yearnings. That is a light that can illuminate the darkest of days.

Torah learning is also a source of light. The light of the television is often a powerful competitor to the inner spiritual light of the illumination of our Sages. But so much of that light from the small screen darkens the soul and blunts our sensitivities to the moral values of our faith.

The festival of Chanukah commemorates the renovation and rededication of the Temple. But in truth, the main objective was to renovate and rededicate the Jewish heart.

The Hasmoneans had to rip the Jew’s attention away from the outer lights and focus it once again on the inner glow. They fashioned a new Menorah, not out of the customary metal, gold, but rather out of plain iron rods. The Greeks had taught the Jews to appreciate aesthetics purely for their own sake, to accept beauty as an independent value. The Hasmoneans sought to refute that doctrine by practising a rigid simplicity.

No doubt, our era is the age of the eye and the age of the market. This is so self-evident it does not require much elaboration. When before in history has the consumer been flooded with so staggering an array of tempting products wrapped in billions of pounds worth of eye-catching advertisements? When before has the human eye been so constantly exposed to the distracting sights of the stage, screen, and street? In the Age of Illumination, the outer lights have all but successfully blotted out the inner light.

It is time to gather around the 36 candles of the Menorah and give the inner lights the opportunity to convey its soft, subtle but penetrating message.