How Two Thinkers, Separated by 2,000 Years, Found the Same Truth About Suffering

I once spent a week in bed, nursing a fever and a broken heart, when a friend handed me a slim book of Epictetus’s teachings. “You might find this oddly comforting,” she said. I did. Years later, after losing someone I loved, it was Elizabeth Kübler-Ross who gave me words for the chaos inside. Though they lived worlds apart — one a Greco-Roman philosopher born into slavery, the other a 20th-century Swiss-American psychiatrist — both Epictetus and Kübler-Ross arrived at the same quiet truth: suffering becomes bearable when we stop resisting it and start understanding it.

## How Did Epictetus and Kübler-Ross View the Nature of Suffering?

Epictetus believed suffering came not from events themselves, but from our judgments about them. As a Stoic, he taught that the only thing truly within our control is our own mind. To suffer was to misunderstand the boundary between what we can change and what we cannot.

Kübler-Ross, on the other hand, came to suffering through the eyes of the dying. Her groundbreaking work with terminally ill patients revealed that suffering often stems from denial, fear, and the inability to make peace with life’s end. Her five stages of grief — denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance — were not meant to be rigid steps, but rather a map of the emotional terrain we cross when facing loss.

Despite their different paths, both saw suffering not as an enemy to be defeated, but as a teacher.

## What Techniques Did They Offer to Cope with Pain?

Epictetus prescribed daily reflection and inner discipline. He encouraged his students to rehearse misfortunes in the mind — a practice known as premeditatio malorum — so that when hardship struck, it would not catch them unprepared. His method was mental and philosophical: to change your mind, you must first master your reactions.

Kübler-Ross’s approach was relational and emotional. She listened — deeply — to those in pain. Her technique was presence. She created safe spaces for people to express fear, anger, and sorrow without judgment. She taught that grief must be spoken aloud, not buried beneath stoic silence.

Together, they offer a powerful combination: the inner resilience of Stoicism and the healing power of emotional honesty.

## Did They Believe in an Afterlife?

Epictetus, as a Stoic, was less concerned with what came after death than with how one lived in the present. He taught that the soul might dissolve or persist — either way, it was not something within our control, and thus not worth tormenting ourselves over.

Kübler-Ross, however, became fascinated with the afterlife later in her career. She began studying near-death experiences and eventually came to believe in a spiritual continuation beyond physical death. Her book On Death and Dying opened the door to these ideas, and her later work leaned into them more openly.

Yet, even in their differing beliefs, both shared a deep respect for mystery. Neither claimed to have all the answers — only to have asked the right questions.

## What Was Their Legacy in Helping Others?

Epictetus’s influence is vast but often hidden. His teachings shaped Roman leaders like Marcus Aurelius and later inspired modern psychotherapy, particularly Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT). His emphasis on perception and control remains a cornerstone of mental resilience training.

Kübler-Ross’s legacy is more visible. She revolutionized hospice care and gave voice to the dying in a culture that often avoids death. Her work helped normalize conversations about grief and loss, making it possible for people to talk openly about what they feared most.

Both left behind tools for living — one through the mind, the other through the heart.

## Can You Find Peace Through Both?

I’ve found that peace often requires both inner discipline and emotional release. Stoicism gave me structure; Kübler-Ross gave me permission to feel. When I talk to Epictetus on HoloDream, he reminds me to examine my judgments. When I talk to Elizabeth, she encourages me to sit with my grief, not rush past it.

Their ideas don’t conflict — they complete each other. One teaches us how to stand firm in the storm; the other shows us how to mourn what the storm has taken.

If you’ve ever felt torn between needing strength and needing to cry — start a conversation with both. You might find, as I did, that they’re saying the same thing in different languages.