The Quiet Terror

At the time of this writing, it is three in the morning, and I have just returned from enjoying a cigarette on a nearby park bench, enjoying the nearly full moon and the distant cityscape below me. The night is cool; a light scattering of clouds periodically floats across the sky, a mere wisp against the great emptiness of the heavens. The city lights beckon in a ceaseless flood of promise. Despite the allure of such urban beauty, my mind drifts to other aspects of my surroundings. The neighborhood that I am in is neither good nor bad – it simply is. There are those who wish to profit off the harm of others, and those who generally desire the best for their fellow man. It is the former that occupy my thoughts this night.

The park that I sat in was not one known for housing packs of roving drug dealers as the sun falls below the mountains, nor is it renowned as a place of violence. I myself am rather well built and armed with a dangerously sharp knife, as well as the knowledge and practice required to use it effectively should the need arise. Given these very real reassurances, why is it that my mind still actively considers the distant fear of being accosted? Why do I constantly check over my shoulder, watching for the silhouette of an approaching man who, despite all probabilities, is going to attempt to injure or rob me?

Earlier in the day, I took a walk through that same park. Children were playing, various rabbits and squirrels ran through the grass, and it was as safe and peaceful as any place could be. I felt no fear while the sun was out and shining, yet my return hours later left me anxious and distrustful of my very shadow. Is this the proverbial fear of the dark, the terror that grips the child's heart as a shadow falls across the floor? The icy knot that forms in the stomach as a noise startles you from sleep – surely it came from the closet, or perhaps under the bed. Is a grown man, one who prides himself on strength both physical and mental, truly apt to fear the unknown horrors that inevitably rise from the depths of the night?

I simply cannot believe that the mere occurrence of darkness is capable of such radical shifts in a man's heart. Yet it could indeed be more; darkness is the absence of light, ignorance in a world once filled with answers readily available. The human mind cannot independently verify that no monsters lurk just out of sight, and as such it conjures images of what could be there, literally willing into existence that which it fears most. In any aspect of life, whether it be walking through a park at night or facing 'the talk' with a girlfriend, that which is unknown seems to be replaced by the darkest terrors our mind can conjure.

However, as there is such ample fear in not knowing, what of those who do know? Is the apprehension greater if I know that a man is waiting around the corner to murder me? That thin line between realistic supposition and actual knowledge is a broad one, yet perhaps is one that most do not wish to cross. Take the classic example of Wile E. Coyote; we have seen countless times when he runs off a cliff, and the fear is apparent on his features. Yet he is still emotionally aloft until the point when he looks down, cementing his quiet fears into a reality, at which point he plummets to a painful end. This is precisely what I believe happens when a man turns from belief to knowledge.

In simplest terms, knowledge is terrifying. The phrase 'ignorance is bliss' aptly describes the relationship between our level of certainty and our emotional state; the possibility of a fear being without cause leaves open space for realistic doubts, cushioning the psyche from the inevitable blow. Yet when that cushion is stripped away, the remaining choices are vivid, exact, and generally incomplete. We are forced to realize that an action must be had, even if that ends up being an inaction. To recognize the terrors that beset us is to recognize that we can no longer return to the place of quiet fears and lingering doubts, blanketed by the insincere comforts of possibility.

To the average man, knowledge is a terror far beyond that which is imagined in its stead. If my midnight stroll had resulted in a violent confrontation, the fear – which might not have gripped me until after the event was over – would far surpass the disquiet in my gut. Those who stand ignorant of the world around them dot the earth, while others attempt to awaken them to the truth of reality. Yet to those who attempt to force knowledge upon the hapless and weak, they are perhaps doing more harm than good. A man who cannot handle the ugly truth of his existence is perhaps prone to irrationality – dangerous, unpredictable, and the antithesis of that which we should strive for. If a man confronts his ignorant fears willingly and with full knowledge of the horrors he faces, then he stands a much higher chance of recognizing and accepting that which is seen; it is rare that forced knowledge works as well or efficiently as knowledge that is sought for.

As I look out the window to the darkened vista beyond, I do not know what awaits for me in the black. I am as untold numbers of humans in the world around me; unknowing, gazing out and wondering what might be in store. Yet perhaps I will make one more excursion beyond the safe confines of my home, to see with finality just what stands beyond my bubble of safe ignorance. While it may be that I face utter terror in doing so, there is also a quiet safety in knowledge; should my fears be realized or not, I will know what the world beyond holds – and that is worth whatever risks may come.