Graceful in thought and generous in spirit, Plutarch stands as the noblest moralist of antiquity—a seeker of virtue, a lover of the divine, and an unconscious forerunner of Christian ethics. Neither prophet nor apostle, he wrote not with divine revelation, but with luminous insight into the dignity and frailty of the soul. In a pagan world weary of superstition and cynicism, Plutarch shone as a philosopher of hope, humility, and reverent morality, building his ethics on religion and reason in an age ripe for redemption.
Life and Writings
Among the many voices of antiquity, Plutarch’s is one of the gentlest and most humane. Born in Chaeroneia, Boeotia, around A.D. 50, and living into the early second century, he occupied the world quietly but nobly—as magistrate, priest of Apollo, husband, father, and philosopher. Remarkably, no Roman contemporary mentions him, and all that we know derives from his own voluminous works. His life, though modest, was rich in thought and affection. He fathered four sons and one daughter, Timoxena, whose early death inspired a letter of consolation to his wife—an epistle of such tender humanity and hope that it reveals more about Plutarch’s character than any external biography could.
Plutarch’s literary legacy is vast. His Moralia—a treasury of ethical essays—and his Parallel Lives—biographical portraits of Greek and Roman luminaries—constitute an encyclopedic mirror of ancient character and wisdom. Unlike the Stoics or Epicureans, he neither rejected the gods nor deified fate. Instead, his philosophical position stood between Platonism and Neo-Platonism, a “Platonist with an Oriental tinge,” as Trench aptly puts it. He rejected both the fatalism of Stoicism and the atheistic sensuality of Epicureanism, affirming instead a dualism of divine spirit and passive matter.
Religious Philosophy and Ethical Vision
To Plutarch, God was not an abstraction but a moral reality—supreme, good, and just. He accepted the traditional gods of Hellenism, yet understood them as subordinate to the highest deity. His view of the cosmos was deeply religious, grounded not in myth but in reverent philosophy. He affirmed the goodness of the gods, recognized the existence of both good and evil spirits (daimones), and understood the human soul as a composite of opposing impulses. While metaphysical speculation held little interest for him, the moral life—with its duties, affections, and aspirations—was his chosen field.
It is striking that Plutarch never mentions Christianity—not once in all his writings. Despite the fact that Christian communities flourished throughout the empire during his lifetime, he remained either unaware of their doctrines or indifferent to their significance. He does, however, refer to Judaism, though only superficially. Perhaps, like many of his contemporaries, he regarded Christianity as a Jewish sect unworthy of philosophical inquiry. And yet, his ethics so often harmonize with Christian virtue that later readers, including Emerson and Wedgwood, have spoken of his “unconscious Christianity.”
A Moralist with Universal Sympathy
Plutarch’s purpose as a writer was moral elevation through historical and philosophical example. In the Lives, he exalted the deeds of the great; in the Moralia, he explored the ideas that shaped noble living. He was no original genius, but a man of wide reading, cultivated feeling, and deep sympathy. He delighted in human character and sought to refine it. As Emerson wrote, he stands as “the chief example of the illumination of the intellect by the force of morals.”
Unlike the satirical Lucian, who mocked religion to demolish it, Plutarch sought to ground morality in piety. His defense of religious belief is both eloquent and enduring. “You may find cities without walls,” he says, “without kings, coins, theatres, or gymnasia—but you will never find a city without prayer, without altars, or without gods.” Religion, he insisted, is the cornerstone of society and the foundation of all civil law. His words ring with the gravity of timeless truth.
Piety without Superstition
In his brilliant treatise The Wrong Fear of the Gods, Plutarch critiques both atheism and superstition. Of the two, he argues, superstition is more dangerous, for it deforms the gods into tyrants—capricious, vindictive, and cruel—whereas true piety honors them as saviors (sōtēres), friends of humanity. Still, he recognized that even superstition preserves a sense of the sacred, whereas atheism corrodes all reverence. He sought a golden mean: a religion of awe without terror, of worship without delusion. And in this, he laid the groundwork for a more spiritual and personal faith, one that Christianity would soon fulfill.
Divine Justice and the Problem of Evil
Plutarch’s theodicy, The Delays of Divine Justice in Punishing the Wicked, remains one of the most profound reflections on the mystery of evil from pagan antiquity. In it, he gathers his family, much as Job once gathered his friends, to discuss why the wicked often prosper and justice seems deferred. His answers are nuanced and wise:
- God delays punishment to teach us patience and to model gentleness.
- He offers the wicked time for repentance and reform.
- He may use evildoers as instruments of judgment on others.
- He may spare them for the sake of their potential offspring, who may bless the world.
- Delayed justice magnifies the hand of Providence when it comes at last.
Behind this reasoning lies a serene confidence that justice will triumph—if not in this world, then in the next. For Plutarch, death was not defeat but fulfillment. “The present life,” he wrote, “resembles rather the vain illusions of some dream.” True life begins after death, when the soul ascends to a better, more divine state. He believed that the souls of infants passed immediately into heavenly peace—an idea that drew from the deepest wellsprings of natural piety and anticipates the tender doctrines of Christian hope.
The Humility of a Pagan Saint
The most striking trait in Plutarch’s character—especially when compared to the pride of Stoics—is his humility. He saw the soul not as a paragon of reason, but as a “storehouse of many evils and maladies.” This rare admission of depravity among ancient philosophers suggests an openness to grace, had it been offered. Plutarch knew humanity’s brokenness. What he lacked was the gospel that heals it. One cannot help but wonder how gladly he would have received the good news of redemption, had it reached his noble heart.
Legacy and Influence
Whether or not Plutarch’s words directly shaped his pagan contemporaries, their influence on Christian thinkers and readers has been vast and enduring. His moral philosophy softened the soil for the seed of the gospel. The best minds of later generations—Christian and otherwise—have found in him a kindred spirit. He prepared the way for deeper truth, and though he never saw the dawn of the Church, he turned his face toward it with longing and light. If Stoicism died with Marcus Aurelius, then with Plutarch moral paganism breathed its last and finest prayer.
