“There is nothing new under the sun.” So begins the speaker of Ecclesiastes, and his refrain is certainly true in the history of philosophy, ancient or modern. Stoicism, a philosophical school focused on maximizing self-control as the way to achieve inner peace, is on the rise once again. Organizations as diverse as The Gospel Coalition and The New York Times have noted this trend, especially among young men disillusioned and frustrated by the world. Like most other errors, Stoicism has emotional and practical appeal precisely because it comes close to a biblical truth. Stoicism taps into the real virtue of contentment. After all, who wouldn’t want to be unflappable in the face of circumstances, patient when faced with setbacks, able to maintain his or her compass when life seems to be spinning? Even the apostle Paul initially sounds like he’s endorsing Stoic thought in Philippians 4 when he talks about contentment “in any and every circumstance” (v. 12). A closer reading, however, shows that, far from endorsing Stoicism, Paul undermines it, declaring that the gospel of Jesus Christ offers a better answer to life’s problems and challenges. Paul’s Surprising Word Choice In Philippians 4, Paul at first blush seems to endorse the Stoic approach. Writing in Greek, he uses a term that dates back at least to Plato and Aristotle: the verb arkēo, which means to be satisfied. He writes, “Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned, in whatever situation I am, to be content” (v. 11). Stoicism has emotional and practical appeal precisely because it comes close to a biblical truth. Arkēo is almost easiest to define by its opposite. The Septuagint uses it in Proverbs 30:15: “The leech has two daughters, give and give. Three things are never satisfied, four never say ‘Enough.’” So to be content means the opposite, to say, “There is enough. I am satisfied.” Then Paul adds a prefix to the word. He adds the word autos, meaning “self,” using the combination as an adjective—content in myself, self-satisfied. The adjectival form, autarkēs, was a favorite of the Stoic philosophers who preceded Paul. For them, autarkēs was the essence of all virtue: admitting what you couldn’t control and therefore focusing only on handling what came on you, not letting it rattle you. It was both a passivity in response to the waves of circumstance breaking on you and a resulting impassivity in emotion. Virtue was focusing only on what you can control and letting rational thought prevail over emotions such as fear, anxiety, and desire. Where Stoicism Fails Epictetus, a Stoic philosopher writing after roughly 50 years after Paul, is often paraphrased as saying, “The essence of philosophy is that man should so live that his happiness shall depend as little as possible on external things.” While this exact statement cannot be found in his Discourses, it accurately reflects his teaching. At least to educated readers of Paul’s letter, then, Paul’s use of autarkēs would be stunning: “Wait, what? Is Paul endorsing this pagan philosophy as correct?” Quite the opposite. Paul’s use of autarkēs highlights precisely where Stoicism fails. Consider the broader context of Philippians 4:10–13: I rejoiced in the Lord greatly that now at length you have revived your concern for me. You were indeed concerned for me, but you had no opportunity. Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned, in whatever situation I am, to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me. Paul is content but hardly unemotional and impassive. In verse 10, he rejoices greatly at having received material support. This is no lack of emotion, and the financial support he receives from the Philippians does make him happy. Contrary to Epictetus’s summary of Stoicism, Paul rejoices when he has plenty. Biblical contentment isn’t equivalent to Stoic impassivity. Instead, true contentment is compatible with our emotions. We see this when Paul also says he remains content when he has little, even in hunger and need. Locus of Contentment What’s the difference between Paul and the Stoics? The crucial distinction is the locus of contentment. Notice the self-focus in Stoic contentment—the idea that I, myself, by power of my will and my rational thought, will overcome all emotions and all circumstances and remain solid and unflappable. Biblical contentment isn’t equivalent to Stoic impassivity. Instead, true contentment is compatible with our emotions. Such self-sourced contentment will inevitably fail. We can make it a long way with that philosophy, especially if we have high willpower. We can go even further if we’ve never spent much time cultivating our emotional self, so that we make rationality a safe haven. And we can especially make it a long time while life’s challenges, however hard, remain the normal waves of the sea. But sooner or later, a tidal wave hits. And even if we’ve made ourselves a bulwark, a jetty, an impassive fortress against life, we ultimately aren’t sufficient to sustain ourselves when the wave gets big enough: a diagnosis, a complete fracturing of family, the implosion of our finances. If nothing else, when the wave is death itself and then meeting God, Stoicism will give out. Trust in God, Not Self In verse 13, Paul provides something radically different than the Stoicism of his day—or ours. Paul suggests no trust in self at all. He suggests trust in God. Paul isn’t content because he’s self-sufficient and independent. He’s content because he knows God, on whom he’s completely dependent, and because he knows that God is all-powerful and good. “I can do all things through him who strengthens me.” Far from a self-reliance, the self-focused autarkēs of the Stoics, Paul’s talking about an outward reliance, a God-focused autarkēs. And that means he can trust God, even when the waves of life are towering tidal waves. Christian contentment is entirely different from Stoicism. Our trust that we can handle whatever may come isn’t because we know and trust ourselves. At the root, we’re fearful and greedy balls of mess. We trust that we can handle whatever may come because we know and trust God.

One of my favorite films, the 1950 classic All About Eve, follows the story of middle-aged actress Margo Channing as a younger actress attempts to steal her roles, her place in society, and even her boyfriend. Margo wants to find a way to happiness despite her roles and her skin drying up. When a friend has the temerity to claim she’s ageless, Margo replies, “I’m not 20-ish. I’m not 30-ish. Three months ago, I was 40 years old. Forty. 4-0.” Like Margo, I’m about to be 40: 4-0. This is my year of memento mori. As a woman, I’ve always feared society’s judgment of my looks. I now wonder if people will care about my writing if I don’t use Botox, if I gain 20 pounds, or if I let my hair go gray. And though I place my hope in Christ’s promise of resurrection, I’m not too jazzed about the prospect of dying. The release of Jen Wilkin’s new book, Dust to Dust: Aging Wisely in an Anti-Aging World, couldn’t be timelier. Much as I’m struggling to come to terms with the big 4-0, Jen has recently been forced to accept that she’s eligible for the senior discount at McDonald’s. Why do we all fear the coming of the AARP card? Wilkin argues it’s largely because our society has told us a false story about aging that conflicts with Scripture’s true story. While Christians strive to “value all of human life, from beginning to end,” the world we live in values the first half of life “but does not value its second half of bodily decline” (7–8). Dust to Dust is therefore not a book about death but a book “about this life and the unexpected path to living it to the full.” Wilkin elaborates, “We find that path through a right assessment of the aging process, one that is distinctly Christian in its perspective” (3–4). Chiasmic Thinking Wilkin says a human life can be thought of as a chiasm, with progressive development from our first breath until middle age, then gradual decline until our final breath. Before the fall, human beings aged without bodily decline, but now we must suffer the loss of function and independence. However, we can grow strong in wisdom even as our bodies weaken. “As aging sets in, we tend to think only of what we will lose in our appearance,” Wilkin says. “We forget to ask what might be gained in our souls” (149). Understanding life’s stages “helps us recognize and inhabit the season we are in and discern how to live that particular season out of God’s true story.” She adds, “It can also help us prioritize how to use the time we are given” (35). Youth and age both provide unique gifts, but we tend to welcome the former and bemoan the latter. However, older age brings blessings: “We learn to number our days. We gain wisdom about what, or rather who, matters most” (103). A call to age gracefully is therefore a call to undergo suffering while maintaining hope in God’s promises. “Though we rightly wish to avoid them, suffering and loss are skilled teachers,” Wilkin writes. “What do they teach? Humility. Patience. Perspective. Holiness. The fruit of the Spirit” (99). Youth and age both provide unique gifts, but we tend to welcome the former and bemoan the latter. An awareness of life’s stages helps us “live as though each day, each season, each moment on the curve matters for eternity.” She continues, “It is trusting God to help us unlearn the original sin of self-reliance as the aging process gradually, even faithfully, reteaches us dependence” (14). It also helps us realize that, for most people, there will be stages of being cared for and stages of caring for others. Regarding eldercare, Wilkin notes, “There is a difference between a responsibility that is weighty and one that is burdensome.” Speaking of eldercare as a burden wrongly “connotes an injustice or an unforeseen calamity” (121). Wilkin offers a different perspective: “Godly wisdom views the elderly as people to love, not problems to solve. Worldly wisdom increasingly agrees that the elderly are problems before they are people” (122). The portions of the book on caring for the elderly are particularly relevant given the aging populations in most countries. Do What You Wish Our approach to aging draws on our desire to honor God as Creator and also on the command to love our neighbor. We must keep in mind that “living in a true story is good for both us and those around us.” Wilkin continues, “If I seek to understand how God thinks about aging, it will benefit me in my own aging process, but it will also benefit the aged who need my care and, eventually, those who will need to care for me” (25–26). Our actions as we age testify to our beliefs: whether we truly think older people are equally valuable and have much to offer the world. Our actions as we age testify to our beliefs: whether we truly think older people are equally valuable and have much to offer the world. Wilkin tells us, “Do what you wish.” Not by catering to our own preferences but by treating our neighbors the way we would want to be treated at each life stage. “Do what you wish would be done for you. This is the path to a life of consequence” (55). Drawing on her experience caring for aging parents, Wilkin observes that while their personal agency may decline, we should seek to honor their wishes whenever possible. When we do not take into consideration what they want, we confirm their fear that they are problems to solve. Do our speech and actions convey respect or thinly veiled frustration? Do we recognize our aging parents as fully human, fully adult, worthy of honor? (129) The hope for those united to Christ is that while we “have a divine appointment with death,” that day “is both an ending and a beginning.” Wilkin elaborates, “We have an appointment with the end of our sin and the beginning of our sinlessness” (162–63). Those are good words to live by in a youth-obsessed age. Dust to Dust encourages readers in every life stage to inhabit the true story of aging in light of God’s eternal purposes.

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Gathers Scriptures that offer peace, reassurance, and practical hope when fear or anxiety feels overwhelming.

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