Phaedo Archives | Neel Burton

The Deepest Cure for Fear and Anxiety—No Prescription Required

A man standing on top of a pyramid, which represents Maslow's pyramid — Maslow’s hierarchy of needs culminates in self-actualization. But the journey does not end there.

By Dr Neel Burton — Psychiatrist, philosopher, and wine writer; Fellow of Green Templeton College, University of Oxford; author of over twenty books.

In his influential paper of 1943, A Theory of Human Motivation, the psychologist Abraham Maslow proposed that healthy human beings have a certain number of needs, and that these needs can be arranged in a hierarchy, with some needs (such as physiological and safety needs) being more primitive or basic than others (such as social and ego needs).

Maslow’s ‘hierarchy of needs’ is often represented as a five-level pyramid (Figure 1), with higher needs coming into focus only once lower, more basic ones have been met. Maslow called the bottom four levels ‘deficiency needs’ because we do not feel anything if they are met but become anxious or distressed if they are not. Thus, physiological needs such as eating, drinking, and sleeping are deficiency needs, as are safety needs, social needs such as friendship and intimacy, and ego needs such as self-esteem, status, and recognition.

In contrast, he called the fifth and highest level of the pyramid a ‘growth need’ insofar as the drive to self-actualize requires that we move beyond the pursuit of comfort and security to fulfil our deepest potential as human beings.

Once we have met our deficiency needs, the focus of our anxiety shifts to self-actualization, and we begin, even if only dimly, to contemplate our bigger picture. However, only a minority of people ever truly self-actualize, because self-actualization requires unusual qualities such as independence, awareness, creativity, originality, and, above all, courage. Many people who have satisfied all their deficiency needs remain unable to self-actualize, instead inventing more deficiency needs for themselves, because to contemplate the meaning of life would lead them to entertain the possibility of its meaninglessness and the prospect of their own death and annihilation.

Existential Anxiety

A person who begins to contemplate their bigger picture may come to fear that life is meaningless and death inescapable, while at the same time clinging to the comforting belief that they are somehow immortal, important, or at least significant. This inner conflict gives rise to existential anxiety. Whereas fear and anxiety and their pathological forms (such as phobias or panic disorder) are grounded in threats to life, existential anxiety is rooted in the brevity and apparent insignificance, or absurdity, of life.

Existential anxiety is so disturbing that most people avoid it at all costs, instead constructing a false reality out of goals, ambitions, routines, relationships, customs, values, culture, and religion in a bid to deceive themselves that their lives are meaningful and that death is distant or delusory.

Unfortunately, such self-deception comes at a heavy price. According to the philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre, those who refuse to face up to ‘non-being’ are acting in ‘bad faith’ and living out a life that is inauthentic and unfulfilling. Facing up to non-being can bring insecurity, loneliness, responsibility, and, with them, anxiety, but, beyond that, it can also bring a profound sense of calm, freedom, even nobility. Far from being pathological, existential anxiety is a necessary transitional phase—a sign of health, strength, and courage, and a harbinger of greater things to come.

The Courage to Be

The theologian and philosopher Paul Tillich took this idea a step further. In The Courage to Be, he argued that refusing to confront non-being leads not only to inauthenticity, as Sartre had argued, but also to pathological—or neurotic—anxiety.

He wrote:

He who does not succeed in taking his anxiety courageously upon himself can succeed in avoiding the extreme situation of despair by escaping into neurosis. He still affirms himself but on a limited scale. Neurosis is the way of avoiding nonbeing by avoiding being.

According to this striking outlook, pathological anxiety, although seemingly grounded in threats to life, in fact arises from repressed existential anxiety, which itself arises from our uniquely human capacity for self-consciousness.

Squaring up to non-being enables us to put our life into perspective, see it in its entirety, and thereby lend it a sense of direction and unity. If the ultimate source of anxiety is fear of the future, the future ends in death; and if the ultimate source of anxiety is uncertainty, death is the only certainty. It is only by facing up to death, accepting its inevitability, and integrating it into a life that we can escape from the pettiness and paralysis of anxiety, and, in so doing, free ourselves to make—and get—the most out of our lives.

This, I believe, is the philosophical cure for fear and anxiety.

Some philosophers have gone further still in asserting that the very purpose of life is none other than to prepare for death. In Plato’s Phaedo, Socrates, who is about to face the executioner, tells his friends that absolute justice, beauty, and goodness cannot be apprehended by the senses, but only by pure thought, that is, by the mind or soul. Thus, the philosopher seeks as far as possible to separate soul from body. As death is the complete separation of soul and body, the philosopher aims at death—and can be said to be almost dead.

Only a true philosopher who no longer fears death truly possesses courage and the other virtues. Those who remain in fear of death can only have, at best, the appearance of virtue; but behind the facade, they are forever trading one fear against another.

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A Psychiatrist and Philosopher Explains Plato’s Theory of Forms and Why It Lies at the Heart of Plato’s Philosophy

‘The eye of the soul must be turned around.’

By Dr Neel Burton — Psychiatrist, philosopher, and wine writer; Fellow of Green Templeton College, University of Oxford; author of over twenty books.

Plato’s Forms have profoundly shaped Western philosophy, psychology, and theology.

In On the Genealogy of Morality (1887), Nietzsche calls Plato ‘the sincerest advocate of the beyond, the great slanderer of life’. For Nietzsche, Plato inaugurates a metaphysical split between truth and appearance that systematically devalues the world we live in.

Yet the dichotomy between truth and appearance has deeper roots in pre-Socratic philosophy. Just as Plato leant upon Heraclitus’ doctrine of flux for his conception of the sensible world (the world as we see it), so he leant upon Parmenides’ unity for his conception of the intelligible world (the world as we think it), which he rendered as the immutable realm of the Forms.

The Genesis of the Forms

Plato’s authorship spanned some fifty years, from the death of Socrates in 399 BCE to his own death in c. 348 BCE. He is traditionally credited with 35 dialogues, although around ten of these are spurious or of doubtful authenticity. Today, the dialogues are often classified into early, middle, and late periods, based on their presumed order of composition.

This matters because the Theory of Forms does not appear fully formed, but gradually emerges from Plato’s development of Socratic questioning into a more systematic metaphysics.

The early dialogues are relatively short and accessible. They are sometimes referred to as the Socratic dialogues because they present a more historically faithful Socrates, typically engaged in ethical investigations of temperance, courage, or friendship with youths, friends, or supposed experts.

From these beginnings, Plato gradually develops his own philosophical system, including the Theory of Forms, which becomes central in middle dialogues such as Phaedo, Symposium, and Republic. In these longer and more literary works, Socrates is less the historical figure and more a mouthpiece for Plato’s developing doctrines. He is accordingly more didactic, putting forward positive theories rather than simply questioning and refuting. Other middle-period doctrines that are unlikely to be Socratic include the Theory of Recollection, the Theory of Reincarnation, and the Theory of the Tripartite Soul—each closely connected to the Forms.

The Forms in the Phaedo

The Phaedo is named after Phaedo of Elis, a follower of Socrates who was present at his death. It is the dialogue in which Plato most explicitly develops the Theory of Forms, although without yet offering a systematic exposition.

It also assumes familiarity with the Meno and the Theory of Recollection, which the Phaedo builds upon.

In the Phaedo, once titled On the Soul, Socrates offers four arguments for the immortality of the soul, among them arguments that draw on recollection and the Theory of Forms. The apparent immortality of the soul enables Socrates to remain calm in the face of his impending execution and provides a metaphysical foundation for the life of philosophy. The dialogue ends with a myth of the afterlife and, of course, the dramatic drinking of hemlock.

Socrates argues that what is compounded is dissoluble, whereas what is uncompounded is indissoluble and therefore unchanging. The Forms (for instance, Beauty itself), which are unchanging, are uncompounded. Their particulars (for instance, a beautiful horse), which are in a constant state of composition and decay, are compounded.

Particulars are apprehended by the senses, but the Forms can only be apprehended by the mind. Since the soul is not apprehended by the senses, Socrates argues that it is akin to the Forms and therefore not subject to dissolution in the same way as bodily things.

The embodied soul uses the body as an instrument of perception, but what the body perceives is in perpetual flux, so that the soul is often drawn into confusion. When the soul turns away from the body and contemplates itself, it moves toward the realm of the unchanging and approaches wisdom.

Upon death, not all souls undergo the same fate. The soul of the philosopher, being least attached to the body, is able to dwell in the realm of the unchanging, where it ‘lives in bliss and is released from the error and folly of men, their fears and wild passions and all other human ills’. Souls that are more attached to bodily desire remain bound to the cycle of embodiment.

Socrates also suggests that Forms explain the deep structure of reality: things are beautiful because they participate in the Form of Beauty, two is two because it participates in the Form of Duality, and so on. A thing that participates in a Form may also participate in other related Forms. For instance, three pencils participate in the Form of Threeness and also in the Form of Oddness. However, opposite Forms such as Even and Odd cannot admit of each other in the same respect. In this way, the soul—being essentially alive—cannot admit its opposite, death, and is therefore closely bound to immortality.

The Symposium: Love as the Engine of Wisdom

In the Symposium, Socrates recounts the teaching of the priestess Diotima on the proper ascent to the love of beauty. A young person begins by loving one beautiful body. He then realises that all beautiful bodies share something in common, and that it is irrational to be attached to only one.

From there, love expands to all beautiful bodies, then to the beauty of the soul, then to beautiful practices and forms of knowledge. Eventually, the lover ascends to the vision of Beauty itself, no longer tied to any particular instance of it.

At the highest stage of this ‘ladder of love’, the soul apprehends Beauty itself rather than its appearances. In doing so, it comes as close as possible, within human life, to something stable and eternal.

The Republic: The Form of the Good

In Book VI of the Republic, in the context of educating the philosopher-kings, Plato introduces the elusive Form of the Good. It is by apprehending the Good that the philosopher becomes fit to rule, since it is the source of intelligibility and value in all things.

Because the Good cannot be directly defined, Socrates conveys it indirectly through three famous metaphors: the sun, the divided line, and the cave (discussed in a separate article).

Legacy of the Forms

In the Phaedo, the Theory of Forms is presented as the most plausible account of reality, without sustained criticism. In later dialogues, Plato becomes more self-critical; in the Parmenides, the Theory of Forms is subjected to a severe and systematic critique.

However arresting it may be, the Theory of Forms is never fully finalised. It becomes less prominent in the late dialogues and increasingly problematised from within.

Part of the pleasure of reading Plato is that he is thinking with us rather than simply instructing us. The dialogues are not dogmatic systems but staged explorations of philosophical possibility.

In any case, our interest in the Theory of Forms is less in its strict logical coherence than in its enduring influence. The Phaedo helped establish a set of deep dualities that have shaped much of Western thought: soul and body, mind and matter, reason and sense perception, reality and appearance, good and evil, heaven and earth.

In later Western traditions, these distinctions were often intensified into moral and metaphysical hierarchies. The body is frequently associated with limitation, desire, and error, while the soul or intellect is associated with truth and transcendence. Yet this inheritance is uneven: other traditions, including various strands of Eastern philosophy and practice, place less emphasis on such sharp oppositions and more on integration, discipline, or transformation within embodied life.

At the same time, Plato’s vision is not simply world-denying. The discipline of detachment in the Phaedo and the Symposium also points toward a kind of freedom from compulsion—whether read metaphysically, ethically, or psychologically.