On the origins of fear and art as the antidote
I've been thinking about the sources of fear lately, and it seems to me that possibly the most commonly held belief is that all fear comes from ignorance. And this makes sense, no? In our overly scientific society, we even say, quite literally, "we fear what we don't know." At some point in human history, we knew very little about the workings of the world around us. Even quite advanced civilizations by the standard of that time did some things that to us seem silly nowadays, like believing in an incarnated god who made the sun come up every day. The leverage this god-person held over its people was that he could, indeed, make the sun stay hidden.
And how to disprove this? Imagine you've seen a person come out every morning and face East, raise their hands, and then the sun comes out. Imagine this has been happening for generations; they will all reach a point when they're just afraid to try to disprove it, even if they are open to the idea that it might not be true.
Kids don't do this. For kids, they care not about established things. In fact, they push against the boundaries of everything that intersects with their life experience. Not only to find out up until what point adults around them will allow their blasphemy but also as a means to find out what's real and what is not.
This is also a mark of a good scientist and artist; as soon as they notice something with strong foundations, they push to see if it will actually stand on its own.
Anyway, I'm digressing...
I think we can all agree that we really do fear the things we don't understand. But I would say we fear specifically those things we don't understand and feel are impossible for us to comprehend. In the past, these were the sun, rain, earthquakes, the mystical workings of the animal world, etc. Today, we fear other things: loneliness, an uncaring universe, being bored, and it is said many Americans fear vegetables and plain food. There are also some "ancient" fears which we've dragged with us through human existence: death, rejection by society, and an instinctual aversion to crawling things (among others). I think these last are in a category all by themselves that we can call "instinctual fears"; that is, things that we've evolved to fear, and their fear has made it more likely for us to survive so we keep on fearing them.
The most obvious of these is the ultimate fear of death. We probably acquired this eons and eons ago when our ancestors were first mucking about in some muddy pool somewhere, and we've had all this time to refine it into the razor it is today. If you fear dying and/or pain, then it's less likely you'll do stupid stuff.
Then came science. Science is the ultimate religion of our present day. Like so many before it, it strives to explain the world around us, but it differs from other religions in two important aspects: first and foremost, even if some academics, like the fanatical priests that they are, tend to forget it, science is aware and embraces its own fallibility, which gives it a necessary quality in order for it to grow and mutate. Second, its explanations are only accepted if they can be independently verified; otherwise, they would be no different from myth.
Now, I won't delve into it here, but there's much to be said about how our rebuttal of myths and adoption of science as a cold, hard thing has made us lose many of the symbols (as Jung would say) that form a core part of the way in which we understand the magic of the world around us. There needs to be a balance between hard science and the mythical in our lives.
Whenever we explain a new thing with science, a thousand other unknowns come up. Like the surface of an inflating balloon, the more we discover, the more we realize how little we know. (I, personally, am of the opinion that this balloon will just keep expanding forever.)
And yet we don't fear these new unknowns. Why not? Some of them have terrible implications if we really take the time to think about them, like what happens with information when matter falls into a black hole?
Like every good religion, science gives us the third, necessary element: hope. Hope that someone somewhere will shine light on those dark corners in the basement where we prefer not to go. We don't fear these new unknowns because we have hope that someday we might understand them. From here, the practicing scientist gains conviction, finally closing the loop.
I wonder if, in the olden days, religion was as good at explaining things. I'm not saying that it got things right, but that people would not question, that they would be perfectly happy and fearless thanks to the provided explanations.
There's one thing, however, that science doesn't give us: a place in the universe. We can be awed about the complexity of it all, but if it all comes down to seeing ourselves as thinking rocks, then what's the use? We've paid dearly for our dedication to science, and we see the signs of overtaxation all around us. The nihilism pervasive in our culture, our fixation on external value and productivity, our scorn of leisure time. Even personal growth and integration, the most sacred of human pursuits, is often casted by self-help literature as "a way to be more productive and excel at your job." Above all, it has cost us the magic that is our birthright as humans.
Balance is needed. But myth and magic now have few nooks and crannies in which to hide, though we still need them. However, there is a realm that we all have access to, where myth and magic not only abound but rule. That is the realm of art, creativity, and storytelling. We often, as a society, disdain art and artists, thinking art is fake, make-believe. But it is not; it's the blood and soul of what makes us human, it's what puts a smile on this "thinking rock."
So, as a parting thought, make art, explore yourself, and by so doing, help bring us all together.
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