The Fear Paradox. Frank Faranda

you, no doubt. It is not a consideration of whether one perspective is more accurate or valuable than another; it is just to note that our individual fears are subjectively different. And even though there are a great many shared fears, our experience of those fears appears to be infused with something unique to each of us—what Aristotle was calling “imagination.” Threat assessment, then, is not the internalization of objective reality, but an amalgam of sensory experience and our personal, imaginative coloration.

      The Boogeyman in the Closet

      Infants and children seem to go through fairly predictable stages of fear. Moreover, research indicates that these stages are consistent across cultures.37 We can glean from this that innate fears appear to have offered us an evolutionary advantage. This fact is interesting enough, but even more fascinating is the possibility that these innate, cross-cultural fears still have relevance for us today.

      Understanding the natural unfolding of fear throughout infancy and childhood dates back to 1897, when G. Stanley Hall, the first president of Clark University and one of the pioneers in child developmental research, conducted the first systematic study of children’s fears.38 What he saw then is quite similar to what we see today. At about eight months of age, and continuing until a child is approximately two or three years old, infants fear strangers, particularly men. This fear does not seem to be different when children are cared for communally or in familial isolation with their mother.

      A second fear that emerges developmentally is fear of separation. This, not surprisingly, occurs as an infant begins to explore away from his or her mother, at around twelve months, and continues until about two or three years of age. This manifestation is easily recognized at bedtime, but it is also present on the playground, when a toddler begins to explore in ever-widening arcs away from his or her parent. At some point, they look back to make sure they can still see their parent, and most importantly, to make sure that their parent hasn’t abandoned them.

      The third innate fear that young children all seem to pass through is the fear of monsters and demons. So many of my patients have memories of worrying about the Boogeyman. For some, the monster was under the bed and for others it was in the closet. But what is important to note about this developmental stage of fear, as distinct from the other two I mentioned, is that the object of dread is being conjured up in the imagination. This seems to correlate with the advent of more sophisticated cognitive capacity.

      The innate nature of these fears tells us something important about what threats were present for us throughout the course of evolution. The very helplessness of the infant and child demanded proximity to the caregiver. Also evident is the apparent threat that infants faced from other humans outside the closest circle of family. Finally, as children grew older, they learned to be afraid of unseen predators: predators or monsters that they knew existed—in the closet, under the bed. It was evidently prudent for them to keep the possible existence of these predators in mind, even if they couldn’t actually see them.

      Although most of these childhood fears seem to lessen by adolescence, there is one fear that remains with us long into adulthood—at least metaphorically.

      When Night Falls

      It’s hard to imagine how afraid we once were as a species. How many nights we must have lain awake, unable to close our eyes, staring out into the dark. Waiting. Watching. Futilely attempting to discern shapes and forms—shades of black upon black, like some kind of mocking modernist painting. And if we did eventually see something coming out of that darkness, a feline predator perhaps, we knew instantly that it was too late. The dark held mortal dangers, and it appears that we have not found a way to purge this traumatic memory from our DNA.

      In thinking about the evolutionary basis of our fear of the dark, we need first to be aware that Homo sapiens were not the toughest kids on the block. The fact that we came to dominate the planet is not a testament to our ability to physically defend against predators and other threatening species, but rather, a function of our ability to adapt and outsmart.39

      Large predatory cats such as lions have always lived near hominids.40 Recent research suggests that feline predators are much more likely to attack after dusk and in low-light moon stages. And, according to some, lions were at one time the most widely distributed mammal in the world. Clearly, the threat from nocturnal predators ranks high in our ascription of danger to the dark.

      In addition, it seems that our “mastery” of fire, 350,000 to 500,000 years ago, was of little help to us in guarding against our vulnerability in the dark. Yes, it kept us warm, kept a few animals away, and did define a place of certainty in the dark unknown, but what could it really do for us in the big picture? It was a tiny spot of orange in a sea of black. Sadly, light never solves the dark. It merely brings it into sharper focus. And scarily enough, that spot of orange becomes a beacon for those who nefariously wish to know where we are.