Beware of Fear

Not long ago I was reading an account, written by Boris Sidis, of a woman who had come to him for treatment. Doctor Sidis is a famous neurologist. In fact I might as well get the long word out right now―he is a psychopathologist.

I might add that he is not a psychoanalyst. His theories and methods are totally different from the theories and methods of the disciples of Freud.

        "She finally fell into the hands of another specialist who, after treating her by all kinds of methods in his own line of work, became tired of her and referred her to a neurologist, who gave her up in his turn."

        That sentence set me to wondering how many people there are whose doctors are tired of them. Some of my own friends have said to me―either plaintively, or indignantly, or humorously: "The doctor doesn't seem to be interested in my case."

        There have been times when I knew the doctor wasn't interested in my case. He would have been right on the job if I had gone to him with a broken arm, or a broken nose. But when the chief symptoms that I could describe were rather vague, I was conscious that he wasn't interested. I was prepared to have him use that classic phrase, "just nerves;" and he did exactly as I expected he would.

        Practically everybody has this experience at one time or other. Perhaps we just feel "generally miserable." The doctor tries first one thing and then another and another. Nothing does any good.

He begins to “get tired” of us―and we know it. We fear we must have some mysterious ailment; and we begin to analyze our feelings and try to locate the trouble ourselves. Perhaps we read about some disease that seems to fit our case and we suggest this theory to a doctor. By this time he may be so tired of us that he gladly sends us to a specialist in the line we have hit upon.

This sort of thing happens pretty constantly. And it also happens not infrequently, that the patient goes from one specialist to another, finding occasional temporary relief, but always relapsing and growing worse and worse, until he, or she, is apparently a hopeless "sufferer." These are extreme cases, but they are by no means uncommon.

As for the people who start on this experience, their name is legion. Probably every human being comes, many times in the course of his life, to a point where he might fall into a morbid state of mind in regard to his health. If he does not make the right mental adjustments, he may develop the symptoms of any disease he literally "takes a notion" to have. And he will suffer all the discomforts, too.

What to Do―If You Are Afraid

“THE best advice I can give a person who is troubled by any of these secret fears," says Doctor Sidis, "is this: Realize that your fear is simply an expression of your impulse of self-preservation. This is a primitive impulse, and gives rise to the fear instinct in every one of us.

"This fear instinct is useful in protecting us from real and present dangers. It is unreasonable if it makes us afraid of imaginary dangers. It is always centered in self. Therefore think about things outside of yourself. Don't exaggerate your own importance; and you do exaggerate your importance if you are sensitive or timid, That is simply one form of vanity. Don't care too much about what other people think of you. They are only human beings like yourself. Don't devote yourself to a quest for your own happiness. If you try to give happiness to others, some of it will cling to your own fingers.

"Don't be constantly thinking about your health. Try to live a hygienic life in sanitary surroundings. Work―but don't overwork for long periods, because you then neglect other things, such as exercise and food. Also, people who overwork are always fearing that it hurts them; and this fear is what does most of the harm.

"Don't exaggerate the importance of what you achieve personally by your work. One of the evils of modern life, especially in this country, is the excessive competitive element. People are all the time comparing their own achievements with those of others: their amount of wealth, their social position, their education, their success in business. And these constant comparisons set up fears in our minds: the fear of poverty, of unpopularity, of showing our ignorance, of not being promoted, of being 'fired,' of losing a customer, of not 'getting to the top,' and so on."

Nor is this the whole story: There are hundreds of thousands of human beings who find it almost impossible to adjust themselves to the conditions of everyday life. They are timid, self-conscious, morbid. Most of them worry along, somehow or other, keeping their troubles to themselves. But some of them have a “nervous breakdown;" or they "go all to pieces" mentally and have to be sent to a sanitarium. These also are extreme cases, though by no means uncommon.

But this article is written because every one of us is more or less susceptible to the troubles I have described. The balance is more delicate in some than in others. It takes less to disturb it. But no one is absolutely immune to the effects of overwork, of disease, or of great grief, prolonged worry, or severe shocks of any kind. Only too often these result in abnormal mental conditions.

Because this is true, it is a good thing for us to understand why and how these conditions come about. This knowledge will help us to keep in a normal state, or to recover it if we have lost it. It will help us to overcome timidity and self-consciousness. It will teach us things we ought to know about our minds, our bodies, and their relation to each other.

Therefore I went to Doctor Sidis and asked him to tell what he knows that can help the ordinary man or woman. I asked him to let me cut out all the scientific and technical language and to use plain, simple terms. I also asked him to give actual cases as illustrations. He agreed to this; because, as he said:

"It is by studying the abnormal that we learn things about the normal. Moreover, there are all degrees of abnormality. Did you ever hear about the man who went to an oculist and was told that he had 'abnormal vision'? After worrying about it for a while, the man went back to the oculist. And this time, in response to his questioning, the oculist told him that ninety-nine persons out of a hundred have abnormal vision! In other words, almost no one has perfect sight

"It is the same in regard to the way human beings react to the conditions of living. No one does it absolutely perfectly. So you might say that we are all 'abnormal,' although we differ widely in the extent of our abnormality.

"But we all are alike in one respect: The same two causes are at the bottom of all our failures to keep our minds, so to speak, on an even keel. 'These causes are: The impulse of self-preservation and the fear instinct. The fear instinct is the logical outgrowth of the impulse of self-preservation. So, in reality, the two are very closely related.

"Fear is the most powerful, the most subtle, and the most omnipresent influence to which all living creatures, especially human beings, are subject. You may be inclined to doubt this; but just think a little about your own everyday life.

"With civilized human beings, self-preservation means much more than it does with the lower animals. Like them, it is true, we do not want to die; and this fear of death controls a great many of our acts. We will not eat certain things, because they do not 'agree' with us. In other words, we fear them, lest they undermine our health. For the same reason we worry over loss of sleep, over the amount of work we do, over the air we breathe, the clothing we wear, the changes in weather, and so on.

"Even if we do not actually worry over these things we take precautions just the same. And the motive for these precautions is the wish to live―and its reverse, the fear of death.

"There are countless other fears which belong in the same category: fear of animals, of burglars, of insane people, of lightning, of the dark―because in them there may be some mysterious danger. All these fears are the result of the impulse of self-preservation.

"But, as I said before, this impulse goes much further in human beings than in animals. We want, not only to live, but to live acceptably to our fellow men! If they do not think well of us, we feel that we are making a failure of life. Therefore, our impulse of self-preservation becomes the impulse to establish ourselves on a firm footing in competition with others.

"This gives the fear instinct an almost boundless field. Children are afraid of ridicule. Boys and girls are afraid of failing in school. Men are afraid of not succeeding in their work. Young people―and older people too―are afraid of being unpopular. We are afraid of doing something that somebody will think 'queer.' We are afraid of being thought dull. We are afraid of talking too much, or of talking too little. We are afraid we may wear the wrong kind of necktie, or part our hair in the wrong place.

"You will admit that some of these fears are felt by all of us, at one time or another. A good many people's lives are regulated almost entirely by the fear of what others will think of them. This is fundamentally due to the impulse of self-preservation. It all centers in self.

"There is another phase I want to speak of: We human beings not only want to live here on earth and to compete successfully with our fellow beings but we want to continue to live after death. That desire is at the basis of all religions. And this gives rise to another crop of fears: the fear of sin, of some moral transgression.

"You sometimes hear it said of a person that 'he fears neither God nor man.' That is easy to say, but I doubt if it is true. In subtle ways most of us fear both God and man, although we may not realize that we do. Our fear instinct prompts us to 'play safe.’

"The real point in this whole matter is what we do with our fears. I recently saw a statement to the effect that the scientist―in the field of psychology―condemns all fear as bad. That is not true. Fear may be very useful. The child should be afraid to cross the street in front automobile. The driver of the automobile should be afraid to drive fast if he sees a group of children ahead of him.

"Those are two simple illustrations of the necessity of sometimes being to do a thing. In the Bible, you know, it says: 'The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.' The Lord represented the law. He was the judge who imposed punishment. It was the part of wisdom not to do anything that would incur this punishment. This was dictated by the impulse of self-preservation. Christ’s teachings were fitted to the same impulse. No religion, or philosophy, has had a great following if it was not based on the impulse of self-preservation.

"Fear is therefore a natural instinct a very useful one. The vital, all-important thing is to know what to be afraid of ! Plato said so, two thousand years ago; and it is just as true today as it was then."

"There are rational fears―and there are irrational ones. They mark the difference between a person who is practically normal and one who is abnormal. A rational fear is one which is supported and justified by your reason. An irrational fear controls your reason; exists in spite your reason.

"Now I want you to let me use one technical term, because nothing will quite answer the purpose. When a person becomes the prey of irrational fears he is what we call 'psychopathic.' He is distinctly abnormal. And, as I said before, it is through a study of the abnormal that we gain a knowledge of the normal―or the more nearly normal.

"But you must not think that these psychopathic conditions are a proof of a low order of mentality. On the contrary, very many of my patients have been sons of great intelligence and with a highly organized nervous system. You know you might throw a kitchen clock across the room without seriously damaging the mechanism. But if you tried it with a fine chronometer, you would get a pretty bad result. It is the same with human mechanism. If the adjustments are very delicate they are the more easily put out of order.

"It is essential also to understand that we have a subconscious mind, as well as a conscious one. This subconscious mind has a marvelous memory. It has been demonstrated that, long after many of our experiences have faded from our conscious memory, they remain in the subconscious mind and exert a powerful influence on our conscious thoughts and acts.

"Now I want you to compare an average person with a psychopathic one and to see that the difference is largely one of degree. An outstanding feature in psychopathic cases is selfishness. The patients are we call 'egocentric.' All their ideas center in self, in an overwhelming care their own health and happiness. Like us all ! Only more so.

They always want to talk about themselves. So does the average person, doesn't he? But psychopathic people are so self-centered that they bring every conversation around to a bearing on themselves. Unable to resist this, they become bored, their imagination wanders, and they lapse into silence. But they will talk for hours on their symptoms, feelings, ideas, likes, dislikes, and so on.

They have exaggerated ideas of their own nobility and intelligence. They talk endlessly about their high ideals and their positive conscience. Yet, in many cases, their acts are selfish and even cruel. One of my patients was a man who had worked for years for the good of the poor―but abandoned his own wife and children. Another patient, a young woman who spoke loftily about her high ideals, ran away with a married man and had a child who died from exposure. In most cases, an entire family is the slave of the psychopathic's whims and caprices.

“As you see, plenty of people have in them the makings of these abnormal conditions. Yet they are reasonably normal. Napoleon, for instance, was intensely self-centered. But he was not psychopathic because he was not dominated by the fear instinct.

The difference, then, between these abnormal persons and normal ones is essentially a difference in the extent to which fear for self dominates the mind. There is one thing in connection with this that everyone should learn. The instinct of fear has a tendency to diffusion, irradiation. That is, one fear seems to need a constantly increasing number and variety of other fears. I suggest that you read these accounts of some of my cases and select those you want as illustrations," said Doctor Sidis.

The accounts contained in the records he handed me were amazing pictures of how the mind can become the slave of fear. Here is one which is extreme, but which shows clearly the quality Doctor Sidis spoke of―the tendency of the fear instinct to spread and constantly to take on new forms. I can give only a brief resumé of the extraordinary story.

The patient, when a young man, worked in a barber shop which he disliked intensely. It was "dark, gloomy, and horrible.” He was greatly depressed while there; conceived a terror of the razor he wielded; was afraid it was not properly cleaned, and kept wiping it incessantly. He began to have all sorts of insistent ideas and uncontrollable impulses. While taking a walk with his children, saw a stone in the road, "not in the right place." Sent the children ahead, on some pretext, that he could move the stone.

On another occasion, a hole under the sink was plugged up with paper and then cemented. He conceived a fear of something concealed by the paper. He could not rest until the hole had been reopened, at considerable trouble and expense, and the paper removed. When the plumber made some other repairs the patient stood over him all day, fearing that the plumber would plug up a hole with paper.

Gradually he became obsessed with fear of all kinds of things―nails, strings, bits of paper, pins, stones, and so on. He had to remove them before he could rest. He would do things over and over again. He would get out of bed as many as fifteen times to see that he really had locked the door.

He had a special dread of giving his address; was terrorized when asked to write his name. When he had to do it in the course of business he suffered agony the rest of the day. When Doctor Sidis asked him to write his name, he started as if shot and cried out, "Oh, my God ! Don't ask me to do that !" He took an envelope from his pocket and told the doctor to copy the name from that. When this was done he examined the copy over and over again, to make sure it was correct.

Have you made the dot over the 'i'?" he demanded. "Let me see it again. Please make the dots clearer." When they had been made very bold and strong, he said, "Now it is all right."

Then he caught sight of a piece of string hanging from a projection. He was very much agitated and exclaimed, "Oh, my God! There is a string! I won't look at it!" He turned his head, but the string seemed to exert a terrible fascination over him. Finally he asked permission to cut it; and when that was done he said, "It's all right now." And he added, "Isn't it foolish?" For he repeatedly said that he knew the things he did were silly.

He was asked to write the figures 24 and 42 and to add them together. It was a long time before he would consent to do this. Then he wanted to write them on a piece of paper from his own pocket, but the doctor would not let him do this. With great reluctance the patient wrote the figures and added them correctly. But immediately he declared that they were not written well and that he must do it over. He tore off the piece on which he had written and carefully put it in his pocket. Then he wrote the figures again, but still was dissatisfied. He thought they "ought to be a little farther apart."

And so he went on with the ridiculous but pitiful exhibition. He said he could not remember having had any real frights, or any terrifying dreams. But when the doctor put him into a state of hypnosis these facts came out: When fifteen years old he saw from a distance a stone lying in the road. He thought it was a coffin! There was an epidemic of cholera at the time and he was afraid of dying of it. When he saw what he thought was a coffin, he was terrified. Later, he was on a train when the train ahead of his was wrecked, and he saw many bodies of the dead and injured. He was intensely frightened. He began to have dreams about people who were trying to kill him.

The nucleus of the amazing growth of silly and irrational fears, to which he had become a prey, was simply this original fear of dying. It had been allowed to breed until his whole life had become choked with fears.

The fact that in practically every psychopathic case the germ of the trouble can be found in some childhood fear experienced by the patient should be a lesson to parents. Just read these extracts from the accounts written by patients themselves:

When a child I had an intense fear of burglars. I used to dream about them. I had a fear that my life was in danger all the time. I was suspicious of people, because I thought that at any moment they might kill me. In fact, I am suspicious of people today. I have no fear that they will kill me; but I am afraid they will impose on me, or take advantage of me. . . . I was bashful, from a mere child. . . . I was always sensitive about my appearance, because I knew I was unusually homely. . . . On the street cars, I feel as if everybody is looking at me. My eyes feel as if they were trying to get out of my head. I am self-conscious every minute that anyone is around.

The earliest recollection I have of my fear goes back to early childhood. I heard that wicked people would be sentenced after death to eternal torture in fire; and this created an intense horror in my mind, lest I should not come up to the necessary standard at the Day of Judgment. I used to resolve to be good, so as to escape. When I got to be about eleven years old the fear became stronger and more constant. I feared that I might have made some remark that would be blasphemy against the Holy Ghost, which was the unpardonable sin.

This idea persisted, but others came too. I feared I had been instrumental in causing the death of a playmate, and was therefore a murderer―and the Bible said no murderer could be saved. I got a great fear of poisons, and imagined that my clothes and hands were infected with poison and that I would be damned for not warning people that I was a source of danger.

And so the patient goes on with his story of the gradual growth of his fears, until his whole life was dominated by them.

As a child, I was afraid of the dark; the fear was of a mysterious sort, as though something might pounce on me. During later years my fears are of inefficiency. I was highest in my class at the seminary and received marked recognition at Harvard; yet the unsocial absorption of my life made me fear each new contact. I am afraid to meet people; afraid I will not recognize people I ought to know; afraid of not coming up to the standard of efficiency.

I have a fear of going home, and a fear of being away. . . . All my nervousness seems to come from my fears. . . . Ever since I can remember, I always had a fear. I often heard my father say that I was afraid to walk until I was four years old. . . . I was bred in fear from childhood. At night I would bury my head in the pillow and shiver with fear. I was afraid of the dark, of the loft, the barn, the church, the cemetery. There was a strong feeling of self in the fear, for I was in terror of death, or of illness that might bring death. I was afraid of death; and, still more, of the mystery of death. This fear is as strong now as ever. The very mention of death is enough to arouse it to a veritable frenzy.

The records Doctor Sidis gave me contained pages and pages of these extraordinary revelations of minds preyed upon by all kinds of fears: fears of dogs, cats, ghosts, places, people―everything you can imagine. Fear of blushing, of stammering; fear that a certain word cannot be pronounced; fear of not being able to swallow; fear of smothering; and countless other fears―all centering in self; all based on the individual's inordinate desire that he shall be healthy and wealthy and happy and admired!

Just read these quotations from the letters of one patient; they are typical of all psychopathic patients:

What truths must I realize in order to be happy? How shall I get an absorbing interest and be happy? Is it wise to get all the happiness I can? (This was a patient who claimed to be very conscientious and highly moral. He was looking for an excuse to do certain things on the ground that it was "wise” to get “all the happiness" possible.) Knowing my abilities and circumstances, to what extent can I obtain happiness? When I get well, will I feel strong and happy? What is the secret of greatness and happiness?

Isn't that list―which I have not even given in full―an amazing exhibit? The patient was obsessed with one thought―his own happiness and well-being. There was one question to this effect: “How far should I pursue the happiness of others?" But this was as selfish as all the rest; because it was prompted by his fear of doing something for others that would interfere with his own interests.

The patients are concerned about only two things: their health and their happiness. They go into endless minutiæ about their feelings, taking up every part of the body with microscopic attention. Often they write out elaborate analyses of their sensations, as if they were official documents in bookkeeping form, with long annotations. One of the most astonishing of these accounts was written by a man who by profession was a lawyer and author. It covers nine printed pages! Another covered several hundred written and typewritten pages.

The fear of poverty is another expression of the impulse of self-preservation. Almost invariably it can be traced back to a childhood of privation, or to one that was influenced by some person―usually the father or the mother―who had a strong fear of poverty. Here, for instance, is a curious case of this kind.

Mrs. S——, 49 years old, no children. As a child, lived in great poverty and neglect; suffered accidents and frights; many sicknesses, so that her body was very emaciated. Became a clerk in a store. Was very careful of her appearance because she wanted to make a good marriage and have a comfortable life. Finally did marry a well-to-do merchant for whom she had clerked. Immediately began to spend money at a rate that made her husband gasp. Settled down to a life of idleness and of attention to her health.

Began to find all kinds of things the matter with her organs. Nothing was right. The fear instinct became more and more general; now her original childhood fear of poverty became dominant. She was afraid to spend money, especially any sum over five dollars. If she had to buy new clothes, or new furniture, she was in a panic.

Then the fear spread to other things. She could not bear to loan even the most trivial article. She would not lend books. She hated to make presents. All the time she was obsessed with fears about her health. She tyrannized over her husband―at the time claiming that she loved him. At the least crossing of her will she made a scene. Yet she went around reciting poetry about ideals, health, and happiness.

She persuaded herself that she was highly educated, that she was the best business woman, the best critic of poetry, art, and so forth. If any famous person was mentioned, she claimed to have known him.

Back of it all was her early fear of not making a good appearance, of not impressing people in a higher social position. This, added to her childhood fear of poverty and of sickness, had been allowed to dominate her life. After her marriage she gave herself up to idleness and selfishness. In that state, her old fears found her an easy prey.

Striking as this case is, it cannot but impress one as simply an exaggerated picture of a great many persons. She illustrates the triumph of stinginess and selfishness, while the others show it present, but not as yet combined with dominating fears.

Patient is extremely irritable and selfish. Insists on playing games which he likes, regardless of the pleasure of his family and friends. In business he is exacting of others, although he himself is slovenly in his work. He is unreasonable with his associates and cannot get along with them. Is interested in others only as they can serve his pleasure or his health. His wife and child are regarded from the same standpoint. When they interfere with him or arouse his fears he becomes furious. Yet he claims to be the most considerate of men, full of humanitarian ideas. He thinks he accomplishes more than anyone else.

It seems that when this man was a boy, eight years old, he wandered off into the woods one day. An Italian saw him there and chased him, flourishing a big knife. At least that was what the boy thought and he ran away in terror, dropping exhausted when he reached home. From that time he had a fear of sharp objects; so much so that he was awkward in handling them and several times cut himself. This increased his terror. The fear instinct was still further developed by a series of accidents, such as falling into a river. He became so afraid of water that he did not even like to take a bath.

It is the same old story of the fear instinct, growing out of the impulse of self-preservation, and becoming finally a general obsession of selfish desires and fears.

"Well," I said to Doctor Sidis, after we had talked over these and other cases, "all this makes me feel inclined to have a fear of fear. And that doesn't strike me as very helpful."

"No, it isn't," he said; "unless it is a rational fear, such as I described before. It is rational if it makes you recognize that certain things are harmful and therefore to be avoided. It would be irrational if it made you obsessed with terror of an imaginary possibility.

"For instance, the psychopathic is often afraid of work, particularly mental work, for fear it will hurt him. But I never have I known a case where work made anybody psychopathic. I have never known sickness to make a person psychopathic. It is always the fear of work, or of disease, or of one thing or another.

"No one's personal appearance ever made him abnormal mentally. Some of the homeliest people in the world are perfectly normal and sensible in their attitude on that point. But other people, who are far better looking, wreck their lives through morbid self-consciousness and timidity. The difference between them is that the normal man is not egocentric, obsessed with fears for himself while the abnormal man is.

"And take the question of actual physiological disease. The psychopathic thinks he has most of the diseases he ever heard of. But the fact is that the true psychopathic rarely has anything but symptoms of disease, and these are the product of his imagination. He fears disease and he materializes his fears. Very often, if a psychopathic becomes really ill, his mental condition is improved. The explanation is simple. The genuine illness is an actuality, and he is only normally affected by actualities. He is abnormally affected by the dangers which he merely imagines.”

"But," I said, "how about these old fears that remain in the subconscious mind from some childhood experience which the conscious mind has entirely forgotten? How are we to prevent their getting control of our actions if we don’t know they are there? Have I some fear that is going to get in its insidious work without my realizing it?"

"Certainly not!" was the smiling reply. "At least, not unless you encourage it by your conscious thoughts and actions, which you can control. People do no come psychopathic because of the early experiences which furnish the germs of their fears; but because they allowed these germs to grow and to breed. Many normal people have had far worse early experiences than these abnormal persons have had.

"For instance, the psychopathic always tells you he was 'a sensitive child.’ Probably he was; millions of children are sensitive. But sensitiveness is a beautiful and useful quality if properly developed. If you use it in the service of others, it makes you sympathetic, quick to understand people, generous to their faults, appreciative of their virtues. That kind of person inevitably wins friends, succeeds in business, and has a happy home life―if he gets half a chance. But the person who allows his sensitiveness to be simply fear for himself, becomes timid, morbid, unpopular, unsuccessful, unhappy.

"One of the Oriental sages said: ‘More people die of ambition than of disease.’ Ambition is a result of the impulse of self-preservation, the desire to survive in the competitive struggle. It is all right, if we do not let it become an obsession. Its reverse is the fear of failure. All of us would be better off if we would do our work for the satisfaction of doing it as well as possible instead of with the fear of not getting some personal advantage.

"Of course, when work is done for the pure satisfaction of doing it well, it is pretty certain to bring personal rewards. And when it is done with the fear of not getting the rewards, it usually is not done well enough to bring the very thing desired.

"It is the same if we fear that we won’t make a good impression on others. The fear itself defeats our desire. It all comes back to putting Self in a proper relation to Life. Exaggerate the importance of self, and you will inevitably have all kinds of fears. My patients are recruited from the ranks of the Army of Fear."