Alain de Botton, in his book, The Consolations of Philosophy, defines anxiety as: a condition of agitation about an uncertain situation which one both wishes will turn out for the best and fears may turn out for the worst. He further suggests that anxiety typically leaves its sufferers unable to derive enjoyment from supposedly pleasurable activities, cultural, sexual or social.
This pretty much sums it up. There are several symptoms that might describe our anxious minds more succinctly:
- When anxiety hits, it feels like you’re running against the clock. You’re in a hurry—heart racing, mind buzzing—but you often struggle to finish tasks or focus because everything feels urgent yet overwhelming. This mental rush creates a paradox: you feel busy and stressed but actually get very little done.
- These mental struggles often come with physical reactions. Some of them are: racing heart, trembling, muscle tension, fast breathing, restlessness, dizziness, etc.
- Instead of feeling calm, your mind feels clouded and choppy. In Buddhist philosophy, a peaceful mind is often compared with a calm mountain lake—you can see right to the bottom. But anxiety turns the water muddy and choppy, hiding clarity.
- Additionally, there might be several emotional reactions such as sense of dread, racing thoughts, avoiding tasks and more.
Stoic Answer to Anxiety
The traditional form of comfort to an anxious soul is reassurance. One explains them that their fears are exaggerated and the events are sure to unfold in a desired direction. But there is a problem in that. Sometimes reassurance can be the cruelest antidote to anxiety. Our rosy predictions both leave the anxious unprepared for the worst, and unwittingly imply that it would be disastrous if the worst came to pass.
So, what is the alternative here?
We have to go all the way back to February 63, in ancient Greece. This was the time when the great Stoic philosopher Seneca lived there. Seneca’s friend Lucilius, a civil servant working in Sicily, had just learned of a lawsuit against him which threatened to end his career and disgrace his name forever. He was anxious, and so he wrote to Seneca. And this is how Seneca responded:
You may expect that I will advise you to picture a happy outcome, and to rest in the allurements of hope. But I am going to conduct you to peace of mind through another route.
If you wish to put off all worry, assume that what you fear may happen is certainly going to happen.
If you lose this case, can anything more severe to happen than being sent to exile or led to prison?
What’s the point, you might think? It’s simple. Prison and exile were bad, but not as bad as the desperate Lucilius might have feared before scrutinising his anxiety.
It follows that wealthy individuals fearing the loss of their fortune should never be reassured with remarks about the improbability of their ruin. They should spend a few days in a draughty room on a diet of thin soup and stale bread.
And that’s what you must ask yourself and reflect upon in detail: what’s the worst that can happen?
Kalampedia 