Why We Need to Rethink Fear
Fear shapes everything—from our personal choices to our politics, from our theology to our culture. Yet, despite its power, we rarely stop to question what fear actually is.
Modern society reduces fear to something purely negative: an obstacle to be overcome, a flaw to be fixed, or a sign of weakness. We are told to “be fearless,” as though fear has no place in a healthy life. But what if we’ve misunderstood it entirely?
Ancient thinkers, biblical writers, and early theologians saw fear in far more nuanced ways. It wasn’t just about terror or anxiety, nor was it simply a primal reaction to danger. Fear could be a gateway to wisdom, a path to resilience, even an encounter with the divine. In the Bible, the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom (Prov. 9:10)—not a fear that paralyses, but one that orients life toward reverence, justice, and faithfulness. The Israelites feared God's presence at Sinai, yet that fear established their covenant. The disciples feared during the storm on the lake, yet their fear was transformed when they encountered Christ’s authority over the waters. Again and again, biblical fear is more than just fright—it is formational.
But this isn’t just a biblical idea. Classical literature wrestles with the nature of fear. Achilles’ rage in The Iliad is driven by a deep interplay of fear and honour—fear of shame, of lost glory, of divine displeasure. Staying with Homer, Odysseus encounters fear not just as an external force (monsters, storms, gods) but as an internal struggle that shapes his journey home. Even the bravest heroes of the ancient world were not fearless; rather, their greatness was often forged through their engagement with fear.
Today, we struggle with fear in ways that often leave us stuck—either paralysed by anxiety or in denial that fear affects us at all. We teach young people to avoid fear (to be “fearless” rather than engage with it, leaving them unprepared for life’s uncertainties. We shy away from the harder questions of suffering, divine justice, and moral responsibility, preferring comfortable answers over the difficult truths that fear might reveal. In doing so, we lose something essential—not just in our personal lives, but in our faith, ethics, and understanding of the world.
My own research is rooted in these questions. My PhD is largely about fear—how it is presented in biblical texts and how it was understood in the ancient world. This Easter, I’m presenting a research paper in Prague exploring how ancient perspectives on fear can help us rethink youth work. I’m also working on a book proposal that examines fear in classical literature, theology, and modern life, asking what we can learn from those who came before us.
It’s time to rethink fear. Not as something to suppress, but as something to understand. Not as an enemy, but as a teacher. If we can recover the ancient wisdom that saw fear as a vital part of human experience—one that can refine us rather than ruin us—we may just find a way forward in an age of increasing anxiety and uncertainty. Fear, when rightly understood, can deepen our faith, sharpen our ethics, and help us face the world with greater courage, not less.