Primordial Fears which Persist Without Real Reinforcement
I really like to keep the house cold. The best seasons for me are spring and fall. At least in my part of the world, the lows are in the low 50s, and the highs are in the high 70s. During this season we keep the windows open 24/7 unless it's raining, and you experience nearly the full range of the temperatures outside; you're too cold in the morning, and too warm in the middle of the day. It's as beautiful as it is invigorating. We've got young children as well, and you might be surprised how well they adapt to this. One will run around in just a diaper when the house is in the 50s with no obvious complaint. In hindsight it probably should not be surprising; everything to them is either normal or novel, and either way they have very little basis for comparison.
This time of year mirrors my experience growing up. We only had wood heat, which for those who don't know, wood heat is variable and imprecise. You get the stove going, and right next to the stove it might well be in the 100s. In that same room it could be in the 80s, and then in your bedroom it could be in the 60s. And, there's no one to tend the fire at night. So as the night rolls on, the fire dies down and the stove loses its heat. And by the time the morning rolls around the house could be in the 40s. Every morning in the winter my father would start a fire and you'd hearing the stove tapping as it rapidly heated and expanded. You'd be bundled and shivering, genuinely cold while you wait for the stove to heat up. You'd inevitably burn yourself at least once a year waiting for the stove to get hot enough for any real heat to be generated. This may have felt inconvenient when I was young, but it was never scary or traumatizing. And like most childhood inconveniences, I look back on it fondly.
Most importantly, I was never too cold. Not in any way that mattered. I've only truly been too cold twice in my life.
Once, was when I was elementary-school aged. I was stepping outside, in nothing but pajama pants to get more wood for the stove. My parents weren't home, and I had locked myself out. It was probably in the 40s, although I can't say for sure. I have no idea how long I waited, but it felt like a very long time. Since then, I won't leave the house without keys, and a very strong, permanent impression about the danger of the cold was left on me.
The second time was just a few years ago. I was on a backpacking trip, and my sleeping bag was worse than I realized, and the base camp got much colder than we expected. It was 10-15 degrees that night, and really I had a 30-35 degree sleeping bag. I remember vividly that I never got warm enough in the bag. I barely slept, as the night cooled down it was not immediately clear that my bag would actually be warm enough to keep me safe. The next day, waking up, I was also under prepared. I hiked the first couple of miles in 15-20 degree weather with nothing but a pair of athletic pants, a t-shirt, and wind breaker. I kept my hands under my armpits for well over a mile as I expended enough energy to warm up. Until I warmed up, I was seriously worried if I'd get frostbite or make it through the hike.
What's interesting with regard to both of those experiences is that even though they were so visceral, neither quite crossed the threshold into actual danger. Kids don't freeze to death by being in 40 degree weather for an hour or two, and on the camping trip, we could have built a fire, or I could slept with somebody for warmth, etc. I never got frostbite or hypothermia; I just glanced closely at the possibility.
I think about these experiences when people come to visit our too-cold house. The emotional reaction from people seems to be one of actual panic; some sort of existential fear rather than mere discomfort. Perhaps the most visceral experience I've had in this regard happened years ago when I worked in a large and old office building. I'm not sure what happened, but the office building was colder than it should have been. I'm guessing it got as low as 60-64 degrees. A group of women I worked with had taken notice (or more accurately, had no choice but to notice) and as a group had worked themselves up into something of a panic. Ultimately the group had two goals: to get others to understand the gravity of the situation, and to get either management or maintenance services to address the problem. I remember distinctly, the panic in their eyes and their voices. I was pretty dismissive of their concerns and a woman from the group came up to me, her eyes were pleading, and she reached out to me and cried "feel my hands!" To her, if I just knew how cold her hands were, I'd be able to empathize with her panic. This anecdote is interesting for a few reasons, but for the purpose of this discussion, she and her colleagues were not just uncomfortable, they were distressed. Why would being a bit too cold be distressing? In more mundane ways, we experience this often when people come to visit our house. Some people will wear jackets inside (for 60-65 degree indoor temperature) while other times there will be a battle for the thermostat. Aren't people excited for the visceral experience of feeling just a hint of the cold? Obviously and to my chagrin, they are not excited. When I talk to some of my friends or family members, they would never let their kids' rooms get lower than 72 degrees. Again, not really because they just love the idea of their children being comfortable all the time. (if total child comfort were a concern you could never get a child dressed, make them go to bed at night, go to school, etc.) Somewhere in their lizard brains, some people seem to think that it would be dangerous for a child to be slightly chilly.
My impression is that this metaphorically maps to phobias. It's really easy to get someone to have a phobia for spiders or snakes. It's been speculated that there could be a specific genetic component to this, and this feels true; why is it so easy to be afraid of spiders, but not puppies? It certainly feels innate, and there's good reason to think this would be case. A fear of cold feels much the same way; did our ancestors battle with the elements? Would a fear of the cold have been a healthy adaptation? Almost certainly. And now, almost none of us are too cold, and many of us have never been too cold. We don't really experience anything which would build or enforce this fear. But, the fear persists and flourishes, even as our winters get milder and our cars and homes get more and more precisely climate controlled.
Back when I lived in the city and worked in an office building, winter clothing almost felt like an anachronism. Why did I have this big bulky coat? To protect myself during the 2 minute walk from my car to the office building? In 35 degree weather, you really cannot even lose a meaningful amount of body heat in a few minutes. The coat did not actually keep me warm because my body temperature was never at risk of being lowered. What the coat did was prevent me from experiencing the minor discomfort of feeling the cold.
I don't want to dwell too much longer because whether you find this compelling or not, my point has been made. I think there must be other categories of fear that work the same way. We fear being hungry and many people believe that missing a meal or two could have any sort of real impact. Many people who are afraid of starvation are, quite frankly, fat. It would take them a long time to starve. Food insecurity is a real problem and I don't mean to make any light of that problem. But, there is almost no associated risk of starvation. (food insecurity has general health and psychological issues associated with it, and those should be taken seriously.) At least to my eyes, people treat food insecurity, missing meals, etc. as if the primordial fear of starvation is right around the corner.
What other fears do we have which don't have much in the way to real-world reinforcement, but persist nonetheless? Many of the potential examples here are grim. David Buss suggests that "stranger rape" (rather than "acquaintance rape") is another example. Stranger rape is mercifully quite rare these days. But perhaps this was not always so, and perhaps that is why the fear of stranger rape persists so strongly among women. Terrorism has often been lumped into this category; the vivid fear of hordes of foreigners sacking your village does not necessarily fit with the reality of the problem. (and much like food insecurity, there is a real problem worth addressing there) More interestingly, I've heard it suggested that the fear of rejection among men (with regard to asking women out on dates) and road rage (also among men) potentially fit this as well. In a tiny village with three hundred of your peers, being turned down by a woman could have devastating consequences for your social status, and therefore for everything else in your life; acquisition of allies, resources, etc. Road rage could map to a local man humiliating you in front of your peers, and could have had the same sorts of social repercussions. In other words, in a small insular community the fierce protection of your social status could have life and death consequences. (and worse from the genetic perspective, consequences for the number of children you could bring into the world.) I've often felt that the insane bullying and status seeking of teenagers fits right into this mold; three thousand years ago, the peers you grew up with would likely be your peers your whole life, and so grasping as much status as early as possible has obvious benefits. Of course now you can rebuild your reputation quite easily, and you're really not tied to who you were in high school. But despite this, the pressure and anxiety remains.
Anyway, I'm getting too far from the intent of this essay, but it's interesting to think about. What other fears are you stuck with even though the modern world does nothing to demand them from you?