How can philosophy help us live with anxiety? First, philosophy can help us understand anxiety. By philosophical reflection and inquiry into the human condition and its relationship to anxiety, by illuminating our anxiety, we can make it less fearful. We can even change its identity in the process, much as we change that fearful snake into a benign rope by turning on the light, by looking a little closer. The logical starting point for such an inquiry is us. What kind of creatures, what kinds of beings are we? What is such a creature’s relationship to anxiety? What might such an examination of the human condition reveal?

It reveals that our human anxiety is inevitable, a persistent and enduring companion for our lifetimes. We are limited creatures, limited in life, in knowledge, in power of any kind. Our uncertainty about the limits of our existence, coupled with our insatiable curiosity, means that even as we want to know our fates, and strive to do so, our incapacities mean we cannot ever be as sure as we would like; so, we are anxious. If we were unconcerned about the future, perhaps if we were the kinds of creatures that did not project our existence forward into the future, we would be spared such anxiety. But we are not. So, we are anxious. Similarly, if we were unconcerned about the past, not regretful at all, perhaps if we were the kinds of creatures that did not retrospectively examine the lives we had already lived, we would be spared such anxiety. But we are not. So, we are anxious.

Indeed, as we continue to reflect in such fashion, we come to realize that the very basis of human personality—that we conceive of ourselves as an enduring entity, one with a past and a future—ensures that we will be anxious. (Little surprise then, then that almost all ameliorative strategies for anxiety urge us to stay in the moment.) We are regretful about our past, and anxious not to repeat mistakes; we are curious about our future and hope to avoid misfortune. And yet we know we cannot resist any and every eventuality that may arise; we cannot be certain that we can evade the misfortunes that may befall us or protect ourselves from them; we are, after all, limited in both knowledge and power. And we know too, that every second to elapse irrevocably vanishes from an ever-shrinking pile, bringing us closer to our inevitable demise.

So long then, as we conceive of ourselves as enduring selves, with pasts and futures, with limited knowledge and capacity, we will be anxious; so long as we are conscious, and aware of our finite time of existence, we will be anxious.

The only way to not be anxious is to be inhuman in some regard: Perhaps we could be immortal, not worried about our deaths and the inevitable suffering that brings in its wake; perhaps we could be omniscient, so we could know perfectly what lay ahead and plan accordingly; perhaps we could be omnipotent so that we could be confident that no matter what lay ahead we could meet any challenge that could arise.

If we were as gods, we would not be anxious. But we are not. We are humans. To be human, then, is to be anxious.

Having accepted the inevitability of anxiety, having understood that it is a perennial companion, we have taken the first steps to living with it. We cannot stop being anxious, but we do not have to be anxious about being anxious. As the Buddha might have said, existence is the first arrow; we cannot avoid its pain, and that of its concomitant anxiety. But we do not have to suffer the pain of the second arrow; we do not have to make our anxieties worse by being anxious about them. Once we have accepted this companion, we are ready to live with it.

In future posts, we will examine the ancient and modern philosophical reflections on anxiety that enable us to live with anxiety, to accept it as inevitable, and perhaps even necessary and desirable.