A history of fear

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Fear is the most important emotion, writes Professor Joanna Bourke

On 11 September 2001, terrorists demonstrated the ease with which the twentieth century's great symbol of technological prowess - the aeroplane - could be used to kill thousands of civilians. The warfare of terrorism, that had for many decades provoked terror in the Middle East, Africa, and former Soviet republics, now threatened Americans and Britons, fuelling a sense of fright that seemed unavoidable. Many of us learnt an important lesson: that the terrifying dangers facing individuals, communities and even nation states were the product of our own destructive urges. It would be a mistake, however, to assume that we have entered a new stage in history.

After all, all societies have regarded themselves as fearful. Who can honestly look back at the last century and deny that hatred and fear have been much more powerful forces than love? When we least expect it, fear flares up, structuring our lives.

We feel attacked from without and within, and our fear is both panoramic and indeterminate. Sometimes a frightening person or dangerous object can be identified: the flames searing patterns on the ceiling, the rapist with a knife, the bomb, the terrorist.

More often, anxiety overwhelms us from within: a suggestion of impending loss, a dread of failure, a premonition of doom.

But fear is not only one of the most influential emotions in humanity's history, an examination of its myriad transformations provides a unique insight into everyday life in past centuries. One hint of the way British and American fears have changed can be illustrated by turning to a sermon preached by John Jefferson in the 1830s, in which he argued that life was full of fear caused by uncertainty. Jefferson complained that "difficulties the most unanticipated, and trials the most unexpected, continually arise. Health cannot be calculated upon for a moment; friends may be suddenly snatched from our embrace; riches 'make themselves wings, and fly away'; the deepest reverses, and the greatest elevations, are occurring in the daily history of men; and 'in the midst of life we are in death'."

Post-Cold War, people are no longer consumed by the terror of sudden, natural death. Indeed, this is the preferred death for many people. Rather than sudden death, people are more liable to worry about excessive prolongation of life. Organ transplants, life support systems, intravenous nutrition, dialysis and resuscitation techniques merely prolong the act of dying. Old terrors about being wrongly declared dead, resulting in premature burial, became less meaningful than recent anxieties of being denied the opportunity to 'die with dignity'.

Jefferson's anxiety about swiftly sinking into poverty diminished, not because increased public provision eradicated the fear of poverty, but because the nature of this emotion changed from fear of pain attendant upon not having sufficient shelter or food to eat, to a fear of a deterioration in social status. Instead of fear of starvation, people are more anxious about relative impoverishment, such as being forced to sell their home or car. The "deepest reverses" spoken about by Jefferson are more liable to be thought of as internal states, such as fear of the loss of self-esteem, rather than riches flying away.

Nevertheless, while the basis of fear has shifted, there is no question that 'fear itself' always commanded its due. Historians such as Jean Delumeau have suggested that the decline of magic in the eighteenth century, coupled with the rise of science and rational thought, has led to a commensurate reduction of fear in the last two centuries. Quite the contrary. Religion and 'other-worldly' beliefs have undergone dramatic shifts in respect to fear, but they retain a central position in producing fearful stimuli. Unseen, yet harmful, microbes and bacteria are equal to the task previously carried out by evil spirits. Scientists have replaced sorcerers in threatening to destroy the world. The rise of science has provided the modern individual with threats just as chilling as the plague. Indeed, the three most terror-inspiring creations of the past century were born in the laboratories of science. Shrapnel, biological weapons and nuclear bombs are modernity's gift.

In the twenty-first century, risk has become globalised. Idyllic resorts in Bali and Africa are vulnerable. In recent attacks, the victims are familiar and widely perceived as innocent, underscoring human fragility. No one can predict when the terrorists might strike and few understand why they might be targeted. After 11 September 2001, people were stunned when they realised that two domestic airlines could topple the World Trade Center - the architectural symbol of America's corporate greatness. Watching the Twin Towers crumble was a strong reminder of the failure of modern humanity to control its environment.

In such a cultural climate, simply employing the word 'terrorist' stimulates fear. When Susan Sontag argued that "metaphors and myths… kill", she was referring to the way the stigmatised word 'cancer' incited fears that discouraged sufferers from seeking medical help.

Similarly, the label 'terrorism' was used by governments and other official agencies to incite fears that could be used to justify speedy and potentially counterproductive military operations. In other words, the word 'terrorist' was so frightening in itself that it deflected attention from foreign policy and incursions into civil liberties at home. Increased surveillance of public places, the expanded powers of military and law enforcement agencies, the tightening of border controls, 'stomping down' on immigrants, campaigns to justify torture in police interrogations, and talk of pre-emptive strikes on other nation states were some reactions to that fearful word 'terrorist'.

At the start of the new millennium, fear and anxiety are the most important emotions, both because of their abiding resonance in our history and the way they dominate our present.

This feature is based on a lecture, entitled 'Fear and Hope', given by Professor Joanna Bourke, School of History, Classics and Archaeology, at the 2003 Adelaide Festival of Ideas. To contact Professor Bourke, email j.bourke@bbk.ac.uk

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