Born in bondage but crowned with wisdom, Epictetus rose from the depths of slavery to become one of antiquity’s most luminous moral voices. In a world drunk on luxury and violence, he preached freedom of the soul, virtue as the path to joy, and the sovereignty of the will under divine providence. His austere life and eloquent silence—recorded only by his faithful pupil Arrian—offer a Stoic testimony of startling moral beauty, radiant with dignity yet silent on the hope that only Christianity would fully declare.
Life and Background of a Slave-Philosopher
Epictetus was born in Hierapolis, a city of Phrygia, not far from the early Christian communities in Colossae and Laodicea. His birthplace thus echoes faintly with apostolic footsteps—those of Epaphras, the co-laborer of Paul, and perhaps even Paul himself. Though it remains speculation, it is not inconceivable that Epictetus, in his youth, encountered Christian influences, even if only tangentially. He came to Rome as the slave of Epaphroditus, a licentious freedman in the favor of Nero and notorious for assisting the emperor’s suicide. Eventually manumitted, Epictetus transcended both his physical afflictions and his social status. Lame in one foot and plagued with poor health—possibly from torture inflicted by his master—he endured suffering with serene fortitude. When warned, “You will break my leg,” he calmly added after the deed, “Did I not tell you so?” His unshaken composure evokes the self-mastery of Socrates, who endured the tantrums of Xanthippe with similar equanimity.
Educated under the Stoic Musonius Rufus during the reigns of Nero and Vespasian, Epictetus imbibed the principles of virtue, reason, and natural law. Yet his destiny as a teacher was interrupted when Emperor Domitian expelled all philosophers from Rome prior to A.D. 90. Epictetus retired to Nicopolis in Epirus, near the historic site of the battle of Actium, where he spent the rest of his life teaching freely to audiences of every rank and age. He taught not in secluded halls but in public places, assuming the mantle of a new Socrates, and reportedly declined an invitation from Emperor Hadrian to return to Rome. His death remains undated, but his legacy lives on in disciplined eloquence.
A Life of Sacred Simplicity
Living in both principle and necessity the life of a pauper, Epictetus patterned himself after the Cynic Diogenes. His only worldly goods were a bed, a cooking vessel, and an earthen lamp. That very lamp, upon his death, was purchased for a small fortune by an admirer who fancied he might inherit wisdom along with the relic—an anecdote Lucian skewered with irony. Epictetus discouraged marriage and the raising of children, deeming them distractions for the philosopher in a world he likened to a battlefield. “Marriage,” he said, “might suit a republic of wise men, but in the present turmoil it deters one from the service of God.”
This notion bears a surface resemblance to St. Paul’s counsel in 1 Corinthians 7:35, though with a crucial distinction: Paul revered marriage as a divine mystery pointing to Christ’s union with the Church. Epictetus, by contrast, saw it as an impediment to contemplation. He boasted: “I am without a city, without house, possessions, or slaves; I sleep on the earth; I have no wife, no children, no magistracy—only the sky and the soil and a single cloak. What more do I need? Am I not free of sorrow? Am I not fearless? Have I not peace?” His austere epitaph reads: “I was Epictetus, a slave, maimed in body, beggar in poverty, and beloved by the immortals.”
Arrian: The Xenophon to a New Socrates
Like Socrates before him, Epictetus left no writings. But providence provided him a Xenophon in Arrian of Nicomedia, the eminent historian of Alexander and a trusted statesman under Hadrian. Arrian preserved four surviving books of Epictetus’s Discourses—originally eight—alongside a concise digest of his teachings, the Enchiridion or “Handbook.” These dialogues and moral axioms have inspired readers across centuries. Though Epictetus’s biography is lost, his character shines through the words faithfully transcribed by his student.
Doctrine Rooted in Divine Reason
For Epictetus, philosophy was not speculative theorizing but the practical art of living virtuously. Drawing from the Stoic wellsprings of Zeno and Cleanthes, he taught that true virtue arises from aligning the will with the divine order of nature. This requires faith in God—the supreme governor of the universe—who orchestrates all things with benevolent wisdom. The philosopher’s task is not only to discern right conduct but to serve as healer, priest, and herald of truth: ministering to the morally infirm, lifting the eyes of men to heaven, and guiding them toward inward joy even amidst external destitution.
“If we wish to be good,” he taught, “we must begin by believing that we are bad.” The recognition of moral frailty is the gateway to transformation. Mere intellectual knowledge, divorced from practical application, is sterile. Each human bears within a guardian spirit, a godlike conscience that neither slumbers nor departs. We must attend daily to its voice. “Think of God more often than you breathe,” he urged, “and speak of Him more often than you eat.” The sum of wisdom lies in willing only what is good, and suffering what we cannot change. The truly free man is he whose will is unshackled, even if his body is confined. “We ought always to remember these two things: that nothing is good or evil but in the will, and that we ought not to guide events, but to follow them.”
Universal Brotherhood and Stoic Piety
Epictetus proclaimed that all men are brethren and children of God, each possessed of intrinsic dignity. Even injustice and injury lose their sting to the wise, who return goodness for evil and maintain their integrity amid provocation. The soul is called to rise above the body, to view death not as an end but as a release. Yet here Epictetus falls short of the Christian vision. He speaks of death as a dissolution into elemental fire, echoing the Stoic doctrine of cosmic conflagration. He never clearly affirms the soul’s immortality. On this point, Seneca—more Platonic than Stoic—draws nearer to the Christian hope.
The dominant Stoic view held that all souls would ultimately be absorbed into the divine substance, though whether this annihilation was immediate or delayed for the wise remained a matter of debate. In the end, the flame of individuality was extinguished in the fire of unity, whereas Christianity promises personal resurrection and eternal communion.
A Glimpse Toward Christianity?
Epictetus never explicitly mentions Christianity. Yet in one passage he refers to the “Galileans,” whom he regards as freed from fear by either madness or invincible habit. Whether meant with scorn or awe is debated. Schweighäuser suspects the original text implied dementia rather than moral discipline. In either case, his reference—like that of Marcus Aurelius to Christian martyrs—reveals a Stoic’s bewildered recognition of a new kind of courage, one not born of resignation but of love and faith. The comparison is instructive. Epictetus’s ideal is a naked cynic philosopher—without spouse, child, passion, or desire—serene in the face of death but detached from life. Christ, by contrast, embraced sorrow, healed the sick, raised the dead, and walked among the poor with tears and compassion.
Legacy of the Enchiridion
The Enchiridion became a beloved guide to moral discipline. Simplicius, the Neo-Platonist, devoted a detailed commentary to it. Medieval monks copied and infused it with Christian interpretations. Origen once declared that Epictetus did more good than Plato. Niebuhr affirmed his greatness, noting the magnetic clarity of his thought. And Thomas Wentworth Higginson, drawing on the venerable translation of Mrs. Elizabeth Carter, judged his works unrivaled in their exalted conception of divinity and man’s purpose—an opinion that, while perhaps extravagant, testifies to the enduring appeal of his vision. That his lamp fetched three thousand drachmas may have been folly, but his words continue to illuminate hearts in search of virtue.
Footnotes and Citations
- Colossians 1:7; 4:12–13 mentions Epaphras, suggesting Christian presence near Epictetus’s native region.
- Discourses III.22. Cf. 1 Corinthians 7:35 and Ephesians 5:28–33. Farrar (p. 213) compares Paul’s celibacy counsel with Epictetus’s, though the former elevates marriage as a divine mystery.
- Discourses III.10 discusses the Stoic approach to bearing sickness and misfortune.
- Zeller notes that Stoic belief in soul dissolution was nearly universal, though some, like Chrysippus, held that only the wise would survive until the end.
- Discourses IV.7 references the “Galileans,” probably Christians, suggesting admiration tinged with perplexity. Schweighäuser suspects textual corruption, possibly altering “by habit” (ὑπὸ ἔθους) to “by madness” (ὑπὸ ἀπονοίας). In either case, the Gospel remained, to Greek minds, foolishness (cf. 1 Corinthians 1:22).
