Stoicism—popularised versions of it, at least—is a growing force in contemporary culture. By Stoicism I’m not referring to the stiff-upper lip, but the philosophy dating back to ancient Greece. Thanks to the efforts of authors like Ryan Holiday and his Daily Stoic there’s no shortage of moderns loosely identifying as Stoics. I say “loosely” because the philosophy has been cherrypicked rather than properly understood or consistently applied. That being said, Stoicism’s recent popularity makes a lot of sense, given its thoroughgoing commitment to materialism as well as moderns’ eclectic approach to ethics or morality, all within their expressive individualism. But I’m not here to weigh-in on another cultural trend. Rather I’m interested in the ways Christians unwittingly reach for versions of Stoicism when facing hardships and suffering.

Below I offer a brief description of Stoicism, drawing on both Marcus Aurelius and a contemporary philosopher. In the following section I show how certain Christian approaches to suffering are barely distinguishable from the Stoic’s, barring different language. Finally, with the help of Eugene Peterson I contrast Christian faith with the stoical spirit, arguing that the former means weakly depending on another rather than bravely standing on your own strength.

A Layman’s Guide to Stoicism

Despite my wide-range of dabbling, let me begin this section by reminding readers that I’m no philosopher. While I have read both Marcus Aurelius and Seneca it would be a lie to claim any sort of competence concerning Stoicism—or any other philosophical system for that matter, excepting perhaps Friedrich Nietzsche’s. Having said all of this, I will attempt a—very likely flawed—summary of Stoicism.

Many passages stood out in my reading of Marcus Aurelius, but one that I thought succinctly expresses his outlook reads, “You are not compelled to form any opinion about this matter before you, nor to disturb your peace of mind at all. Things in themselves have no power to extort a verdict from you” (Meditations, 6.52).

Aurelius’ words capture Stoicism’s emphasis on being unaffected by the world and its goings on. Man is fated, fettered. His only freedom, as R. C. Sproul puts it, is “restricted to his inner response or attitude to what befalls him.” Their philosophy is in the end a sustained “practice of imperturbability, accepting one’s lot with courage and serenity” (The Consequences of Ideas). Imperturbability, what a word; the Cambridge Dictionary says it means remaining “calm and controlled, even in difficult situations.” Because we’re unable to control the external world, Stoicism insists on cultivating the inner life, creating an oasis of the soul, untouched by the chaotic world outside.

The Stoic accepts that she isn’t free to determine the course of history or even her own life and must therefore pursue “peace of mind.” In Aurelius’ words she refuses to accede power to “things in themselves,” calling instead for exercising what little power we have in and of ourselves. This is the only and surest path to happiness, refusing to tie it to anything other than the individual will. This is also virtuous. The Stoic’s inner resolve is a feat of individual strength—a decision despite the horns of suffering.

Stoicism in the Church

As I’ve already said, Stoicism fits well within our disenchanted and individualistic age. But I’m far more interested in its appeal and apparent congruence with the Christian faith. If you listen closely, talk of suffering among believers is often indistinguishable from Stoicism; you can hear it in many of our hymns too.

Years ago I wrote about a period in our life when our well-laid plans were falling apart. It was an incredibly difficult time. Both my wife and I were hurt by people we trusted and little to no help was on the horizon. Well meaning brothers and sisters in our local church were quick to offer reassurances. However well-meaning, many of their attempts at encouragement could’ve been passages from Aurelius’ Meditations—the only difference was that instead of citing the intractable direction of the cosmos, they pointed out that God is sovereign. In other words, even though our world felt chaotic, we could rest in the knowledge that God is in control. As I wrote then, “merely stating the sovereignty of God can be little more than saying God is moving the pieces on the board from a distance.”

In the end, too much Christian counsel sounds like it was cribbed from the Stoics, with a sprinkling of sovereignty. When we do this we betray a profound misunderstanding about the presence of God. Worse still, any admixture of Stoicism and God’s sovereignty ultimately turns on the believer’s personal resolve and grit, their ability to persevere.

Distinguishing Christian Faith From Stoicism

In his outstanding Long Obedience in the Same Direction, Eugene Peterson acknowledges that God’s people are no strangers to deep struggles or suffering. When they bear it well, he adds, this has nothing to do with them having “a good digestion and sunny disposition.” To suggest so veers back towards Stoicism. “The person of faith,” Peterson insists, doesn’t persevere by personal strength or resolve. Nor do they shut their eyes tight, pretending not to see the world’s troubles. Like the author of Psalm 124, the believer “looks into the troubles of history, the anxiety of personal conflict and emotional trauma.” Why? Or how? Because it’s only outside of themselves that they can find the God who is at their side. “Our help is in the name of the Lord” (Psalm 124:8).

The problem with a Christian faith formed in conjunction with Stoicism is that while it might recognise God’s sovereignty it majors in the individual believer’s strength—their brave resolve through the mysterious caverns of suffering, rather than God’s presence with his people.

All of this, I think, brings us to a better definition of faith—faith in the face of suffering. For a biblically-keyed faith always looks outside of oneself for help and support; it isn’t a self-congratulating strength but the recognition of real weakness. At the same time, it searches about for real strength. As Peterson goes on, “We are travelling in the light, toward God who is rich in mercy and strong to save…It is the help we experience, not the hazards we risk, that shapes our days.”