Somewhere between scrolling your phone under fluorescent bulbs and reheating leftover pizza in a microwave, you might think: “Haven’t we evolved beyond the caveman’s need for fire?” Electricity runs through our walls like modern magic, the sun is something we watch through UV-filtered sunglasses, and thermostats let us simulate eternal summer.
And yet – there it is. That deep, almost irrational longing for a campfire. A sunny window. Candlelight during a power outage. The soft orange glow of a fireplace in a room already heated to 22°C. Why? Why does the modern human – this creature who can summon Uber Eats, chat with AI, and make coffee in thirty different ways – still crave fire and light?
To answer that, we’ll need to visit the past, the deep past. We’re talking ancient memory, the collective-unconscious past. Which means calling on Carl Gustav Jung.
The Inheritance We Don’t Remember Getting
Jung was the kind of psychologist who didn’t just want to know why you’re afraid of public speaking. He wanted to know what your fear had to do with ancient tribal rituals, Greek gods, and whether your great-great-great-grandfather once got eaten by a lion. In Jung’s world, the human mind isn’t just shaped by childhood and personal trauma, but by something far older and deeper: the collective unconscious.
The collective unconscious is like psychological DNA. It holds the templates of all the experiences our ancestors have ever had. These templates are what Jung called archetypes – universal patterns that shape how we think, dream, love, fear, and hope. Archetypes aren’t just symbols; they’re instincts. A mother holding a child, a hero setting off on a journey, a wise old man with a beard – these aren’t clichés, but more of ancient psychic blueprints. And somewhere in that blueprint, nestled among the shadows and myths, is fire.
Literal fire, and also symbolic fire – light, warmth, spirit. Fire is one of our oldest allies, and its archetypal flame still burns in the human psyche.
Why Light Still Matters
Before modern lighting, our ancestors lived and died by the sun. It told them when to wake, when to plant crops, when to hide from wolves, and when to tell stories by firelight. Light wasn’t just physical – it was survival, it meant you weren’t alone in the dark.
In Jungian terms, light is consciousness. To “bring something to light” is to understand it. Light is what allows us to see not just the world, but ourselves. It’s no coincidence that enlightenment – whether Buddhist, spiritual, or purely intellectual – is always metaphorically linked to light. So when your mood dips in January, when your brain becomes a foggy marshland of half-thoughts and second cups of coffee, it’s not just seasonal affective disorder. It’s a 100,000-year-old psychological alarm: “Too much darkness. Get to the light.”
You can’t simply evolve out of that – the archetype is older than your frontal cortex.
The Fire Circle: Humanity’s First Group Therapy Session
Now let’s talk about fire. Not the LED fireplace app. Real fire. The crackling, ember-glowing, log-hissing kind that smells faintly of pine and nostalgia. For our ancestors, fire was everything: protection from predators, warmth in winter, cooked meat (and less salmonella), and – perhaps most important – a gathering point.
We weren’t meant to sit in cubicles. We were meant to sit in circles. Around the fire. Fire brought people together. It was a hearth, a storytelling space, a ritual ground. A place to share dreams, fears, jokes, songs, and news from across the valley. Around fire, roles became clear: the elder, the joker, the hunter, the child. In Jungian language, these were expressions of archetypes like the Wise Old Man, the Trickster, the Hero, the Innocent.
Even today, if you’ve ever sat by a bonfire and watched a group of strangers slowly become a tribe – sharing marshmallows and personal secrets – you’ve experienced the archetype in action.
The Sun, The Soul, and Sunday Mornings
Sunlight is not just a physical need. It’s a symbol of life, time, and rhythm. It synchronizes our circadian rhythms, sure. But more than that, it governs our symbolic rhythms too. In myth, the sun is often a god or at least a heroic force. In ancient Egypt, it was Ra, sailing across the sky. In Christianity, Christ is “the light of the world.” In astrology, the sun rules the self – your core identity, your will, your vitality.
Jung noticed how deeply these solar images ran through cultures. The sun was not just a ball of gas; it was the Self – the fully realized personality, the center of consciousness. So when we long for sunlight on our skin, we’re not just craving vitamin D. We’re craving contact with our own center, with life itself. The light reminds us we exist.
Let’s not trick ourselves: modern lighting is cold. Even when it’s warm-colored, it lacks the soul of a candle. A fluorescent-lit room might be efficient, but it feels like you’re in a dentist’s waiting room or a Soviet interrogation bunker. It’s archetypal dissonance – when you swap real fire for artificial light, you short-circuit something ancient in the brain. Sure, your eyes can see, but does your soul see?
Maybe that’s why romantic dinners still require candles, why high-end spas use dim amber lighting, and why horror movies turn off the lights.
Jung’s Trickster and the Instagram Sunset
Nowadays, Instagram is flooded with sunset obsession. Every beach, every rooftop bar, every moody hike – there it is. The sun is setting, and this isn’t just aesthetic. It’s a ritual.
The setting sun is an archetype of transition, the end of a cycle. A moment when time becomes visible. It invites reflection, melancholy, beauty, and awe – all the ingredients of a psyche trying to process meaning. And sometimes, meaning sneaks in like the Trickster archetype – disguised as a pretty photo but carrying the weight of mortality, time, and memory.
You’re not just watching the sunset. You’re watching your own life, quietly moving westward.
Fire as Spirit
Jung wasn’t religious in the dogmatic sense, but he understood the human need for the spiritual. And fire, in almost every tradition, is linked to a spirit. Think of the burning bush. The eternal flame in temples. The Hindu cremation fires. Fire doesn’t just consume – it transforms. It turns the raw into the cooked, the physical into the symbolic.
In your own life, fire might be passion, vision, drive. The “spark” of creativity, the flame of love. And when someone “burns out,” it means the inner fire has gone cold. And when someone finds their calling, you can see it: the eyes glow. The voice warms. The fire is lit. Jung would call this the alignment with the Self – the fire that burns at the center of the psyche.
So What Do We Do with All This?
You can’t live in a cave. You probably shouldn’t set a bonfire in your living room. But you can remember the archetypes and honor them.
- Seek sunlight. Don’t underestimate its power – go outside. Or just open the curtains, let your skin feel what your ancestors worshipped.
- Light real flames. Candles, fireplaces, campfires. Even once in a while. Let your psyche remember its origin.
- Tell stories. Around a dinner table, with friends, with children. We’re all still huddled around the symbolic fire.
- Watch the sky. Sunrise, sunset, stars. Let the great cycles remind you of your small but important place in something big.
- Flame within. Your ideas, your passions, your inner glow. Feed it. Don’t let it die under spreadsheets and deadlines.
Because even in a world of smart bulbs and AI, the old needs remain. The archetypes don’t check out when the Wi-Fi kicks in. They’re timeless, woven into the fabric of what it means to be human heritage.
Man still needs light and fire. Not just for warmth or sight, but for soul, connection, meaning, and memory.
“There’s no substitute for the real thing, my friend.” – Carl Jung.