The heroes of history and the heroes of fiction whom all of us like
to admire are the men and women who know no fear. But most of us
make use of fear as a cheap device for attaining immediate results
with our children. When Johnny hesitates about going upstairs in the
dark to fetch your work-basket, you remind him of Columbus, who
braved the trackless sea and the unknown void in the West, and you
exhort him to be a man; but when Johnny was younger you yourself
warned him that the Bogeyman would get him if be did not go right to
sleep. And it is not very long since the day when he tried to climb
the cherry tree and you attempted to dissuade him with the alarming
prophecy that he would surely fall down and break his neck.

Thus our training consists of countless contradictions: we set up
noble ideals to arouse courage and self-reliance--when that suits
our immediate purpose; and we frighten with threats and warn of
calamity when the child has the impulse to do what we do not wish to
have him do. This at once suggests the effect of fear upon character
and conduct. We instinctively call upon courage when we want the
child _to do_ something; we call upon fear when we want to
_prevent action_. In other words, bravery stimulates, whereas
fear paralyzes.

The human race is characterized by an instinct of fear. Very young
infants exhibit all the symptoms of fear long before they can have
any knowledge or experience of the disagreeable and the harmful
effects of the things that frighten them. Thus a sudden noise will
make the child start and tremble and even scream. And all through
life an unexpected and loud noise is likely to startle us. An
investigation has shown that thunder is feared much more than