By Mac Bogert
“People are capable of flight. The problem is the landing.”
–Mark Yozart
Acrophobia refers to an intense, irrational, and persistent fear of heights and related situations, according to the APA.
That definition never fully captured my experience. I’m not afraid of flying; I’ve skydived solo on multiple occasions. Clear-walled elevators can be a thrill more than a panic. But stand me on a balcony on the 23rd floor and my stomach drops, my head swims, and an urgent, disturbing thought arrives: get me away from here. The French phrase l’appel du vide — the “call of the void” — names that intrusive impulse perfectly. It’s not a fear of heights in itself, but the sudden, commanding urge to jump.
For many people that urge is faint or nonexistent; for others it’s hypnotic. Neuroscience has studied this phenomenon, and research is valuable, but data doesn’t always speak to how it feels. For those of us who know the magnetic pull of l’appel du vide, rational explanations rarely soften the immediacy of the impulse.
The addiction of binary choices
Philosophers like Thomas Hobbes argued that people lack an innate moral compass and tend to label what they want as good and what they don’t want as evil. Whether you accept that view or not, anxiety has a way of narrowing our thinking. In states of extreme stress or withdrawal, the mind often seeks immediate relief at any cost. Faced with the vertigo of the void, some individuals fixate on eliminating that distress. In an odd, reflexive logic, the thought emerges that jumping would instantly end the fear.
Human thought often defaults to either/or choices. That binary frame simplifies decisions and spares us the discomfort of ambiguity. Left unchecked, it can cause catastrophic shortcuts in reasoning: perceived problems must have clear, immediate solutions. When the impetus to escape dominates, all other consequences fall away, and impulsive action can seem, absurdly, like the only answer.
Working with the recovery community, I’ve seen how addiction erodes the capacity to foresee consequences. The same pattern appears in less extreme contexts: authoritarian leaders and control-oriented figures thrive by reducing complex realities to black-and-white choices. If they can amplify fear, they can prompt people to accept simplistic solutions. The surrender of uncertainty becomes a trade: give up careful thought and self-reflection in exchange for the illusion of certainty.
This dynamic is at work in many social settings — in families led by controlling parents, in workplaces run by managers who rule by fear, and in groups quick to reject nuance. These environments ask us to abandon the hard work of ambiguity and embrace an apparent safety that is only skin-deep.
Ambiguity and true safety
What if the healthier response is to treat ambiguity as a form of strength rather than a weakness? My friend Steve Pearlman calls this perspective “the security of uncertainty.” Instead of fleeing complexity, we can learn to tolerate it, to weigh possibilities, and to hold competing ideas without snapping to an extreme.
Ask yourself whether you have ever escaped uncertainty by blaming others, clinging to simple answers, or denying evidence. L’appel du vide can be a useful metaphor for people who reject science, refuse reasonable precautions, or embrace conspiracy thinking. John F. Kennedy observed that “too often we enjoy the comfort of opinion without the discomfort of thought.” Choosing certainty over inquiry may feel comforting, but it is often a surrender to intellectual laziness and fear.
When certainty becomes absolute and is backed by strong emotion — phrases like “Nobody can convince me otherwise” or “that’s just the way it is” — consider whether you’re answering the pull of the void. The voice that promises a quick end to discomfort by pushing you to jump is seductive, but it leads away from courage, reflection, and growth.
Choosing to stay with uncertainty, to examine evidence, and to tolerate discomfort is hard. It requires curiosity, patience, and humility. But it is also where real learning, stronger decisions, and genuine safety live.
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About the author
Mac Bogert is President of AZA Learning and a regular columnist for the Learning Counsel. He began his career as an English teacher and, for the past 25 years, has focused on the intersection of leadership and learning. He is also a musician, professional actor, yacht charter captain, staff development consultant, curriculum designer, and the author of Learning Chaos.
This article was originally published by The Learning Counsel, a research institute and news media hub focused on the shift in education toward digital curriculum.