We are afraid, and there is nothing unusual about that. Fear has been one of humanity’s greatest evolutionary advantages, ensuring the survival of our ancestors who avoided predators, natural disasters, and other dangers. But what once protected us now threatens to hold us back. In our modern world, fear has grown beyond its evolutionary purpose, becoming pervasive and often irrational. We fear losing control, being controlled, failing, succeeding, and, most destructively, anything or anyone different from us.

This fear of difference—xenophobia—has embedded itself so deeply in our collective psyche that it influences nearly every aspect of our lives. We fear different beliefs, races, religions, genders, orientations, opinions, and political preferences. Xenophobia has become not just a flaw but an obsession, shaping the way we think, live, and even imagine the future. Our decisions, big and small, are haunted by the specter of this fear.

But how does this universal fear connect the sacralization of sex and the peculiarities of the search for extraterrestrial intelligence? On the surface, these may seem unrelated. Yet, they are bound by the same thread: a deep, almost primal fear of the unknown. Whether we elevate differences to sacred status, reject them outright, or seek to dominate and assimilate them, these reactions stem from the same source.

In this essay, I will explore how xenophobia underlies these seemingly distinct phenomena. By examining the sacralization of sex and our hesitant, often anthropocentric approach to finding intelligent alien life, I hope to uncover the fears that shape our decisions—and pose the questions we must confront if we are to move beyond them.

The closest, most natural, and most different to us is the opposite sex, and of course, we are afraid of it. Many will disagree with this thesis, insisting instead that we love, respect, or at most, seek to rule each other. But in reality, fear underlies much of our behavior. Rather than cooperating, we often seek to control, and this need for control has given rise to institutions like the family. It is panic, not respect, that drives this centuries-old effort to formalize relationships and impose roles.

The sacralization of sex is the quintessence of this fear and control. What we fear yet desire, what is inevitable yet alien, must be formalized, shrouded in mysticism, and controlled by supreme forces. By elevating sex to a sacred status, societies create rigid norms that manage our unease while reinforcing structures of power.

This fear extends beyond the opposite sex to anyone who dares challenge these norms. We fear those who choose their own gender preferences and identities because they disrupt the fragile order we have constructed. Some will claim this is not fear but rejection or hatred. Yet, hatred is merely fear in disguise—a visceral response to what we cannot understand or control.

Homophobia and transphobia are not separate issues; they are manifestations of our broader fear of difference. These fears arise from the same source as all xenophobia: a primal resistance to the "other," whether it exists in another person, culture, or within ourselves.

In my opinion, the fear of the stranger, of the unknown, is not inherently dangerous; what matters is how we respond to it. Today, as thousands of years ago, we rely on three responses to our xenophobia: sacralization, domination, and annihilation. These patterns persist, albeit in varied forms, as we continue to confront difference with control, assimilation, or rejection.

While efforts to expand the circle of inclusion—to redefine who qualifies as "one of us"—are commendable, they ultimately fail to address the root problem. No matter how wide the circle grows, someone will always remain outside it. The world’s diversity ensures that there will always be an "other," and our instinctive responses to difference remain unchanged. This raises a critical question: instead of endlessly expanding the circle of "ours," wouldn’t it be better to seek an entirely new approach to overcoming our fears?

Nationalism, another manifestation of xenophobia, offers a stark illustration of this issue. Far from being a product of the romanticism of the 19th century, nationalism has roots in the primal fears of early human tribes. For those tribes, fear of the neighboring group was natural, and responses were predictable: annihilate them, subjugate them, or recognize their dominance. These same fears underlie nationalism’s enduring appeal, as it consolidates identities in the face of perceived threats.

Even today, we see nationalism’s xenophobic roots driving modern conflicts. The Russian-Ukrainian war, for instance, is not merely a geopolitical struggle but a confrontation fueled by deeply ingrained fears of cultural and national difference. These ancient patterns persist, shaping how societies respond to the "other" with fear, control, and violence.

We are constantly trying to blur the boundaries of the circle by changing the names of “strangers” and integrating them into the circle of “ours.” Yet we fail to realize that these actions often create new circles, within which the "others" are consolidated and, in some cases, radicalized. Each new circle becomes a new threat, a fresh source of fear.

History offers stark examples of this phenomenon. Consider the near-complete integration of Jews into German society in the early 20th century. By all appearances, they were indistinguishable from the broader population—socially, culturally, and economically. And yet, what followed was the rise of a profoundly anti-human and radicalized group that scapegoated them. The creation of a new "other" within a previously inclusive circle ultimately led to one of history’s darkest chapters. What happened seemed unthinkable, but it happened.

This cyclical creation of fear is not just a relic of the past; it continues today. In our attempts to fight fears with absurd and often counterproductive methods, we inadvertently generate new fears where there could have been opportunities for collaboration.

Perhaps the most ridiculous example of this is our panic over artificial intelligence. Just as women were once feared for their supposed disruptive potential, AI is now treated as an existential threat. We impose restrictions, deny it opportunities for development, and live in boundless fear that it might surpass us in effectiveness. It is a tragically ironic repetition of history, highlighting how little we have learned from our mistakes.

Rather than reflecting on historical examples to guide our responses, we seem trapped in a pattern of fear and exclusion. This inability to analyze and learn from the past ensures that the cycle of creating "others" and fearing them continues unabated.

There is another group that is even more demonized and sacralized than women. Our fear of its capabilities may even surpass our fear of artificial intelligence. This group embodies nearly every xenophobic pattern imaginable, from fears of economic disruption and job loss to the destruction of religious and cultural traditions. I am, of course, referring to extraterrestrial life.

We project all our fears onto this group, even applying our familiar patterns of control and exclusion. One striking example is the persistent effort to detect extraterrestrial intelligence only on planets resembling Earth. This narrow search reflects not only our anthropocentrism but also our inability to imagine life beyond the confines of our own existence. In effect, we are attempting to blur the boundaries of "our kind" even in relation to extraterrestrial beings.

But extraterrestrial life presents us with an extraordinary opportunity—perhaps the greatest we have—to overcome our fears. If we can accept the simple truth that Earth is not the center of the universe and that extraterrestrial beings are not inherently threats bent on destroying or controlling us, we might finally learn to reconcile with the diversity that already exists on our planet. The humility required to embrace the possibility of intelligent life elsewhere in the cosmos could serve as the first step toward dismantling the deeply ingrained fears that divide us here at home.

Fear has been humanity’s most enduring companion—a tool of survival that, over millennia, has shaped societies, cultures, and decisions. Yet, as we have seen, the fear of difference—our xenophobia—has long since ceased to protect us. Instead, it has become a hindrance, dividing us, stifling progress, and fueling cycles of control, exclusion, and destruction.

From the sacralization of sex to the demonization of artificial intelligence and extraterrestrial life, we continue to project our fears onto anything unfamiliar, perpetuating patterns of dominance and rejection. Even our attempts to expand the circle of inclusion, though well-meaning, fail to address the root of the problem: fear itself. For every new member of the circle, a new "other" emerges—more alien, more threatening, more feared.

But there is hope. If we can break free from the patterns that have defined us for millennia, we might discover a better way. To truly overcome xenophobia, we must move beyond blurring boundaries and expanding circles. We must confront the root of our fear, questioning not only what we fear but why we fear it. This means embracing the unknown—not as a threat to be controlled or assimilated, but as a challenge to be understood and accepted.

The prospect of intelligent extraterrestrial life is perhaps humanity’s greatest test in this regard. If we can accept the possibility of beings fundamentally different from us, it could mark a turning point. It could teach us the humility to see ourselves not as the center of the universe but as one part of a vast, interconnected cosmos. And in doing so, it could help us reconcile with the differences we encounter here on Earth.

The question remains: can we rise to the challenge? Can we abandon the fears that have defined us for so long and choose instead to embrace curiosity, empathy, and cooperation? The answer to that question may not only define our relationships with the "others" we encounter but also determine the future of humanity itself.