Is Stoicism politically conservative?

A study in contrasts sheds some light on the relationship between Stoic principles and politics

Cicero, played by David Bamber, speaking to the Roman Senate in the excellent HBO series, “Rome.” Image from hbo-rome.fandom.com.

Do Stoicism and politics go together? And if so, how? I have recently published two essays criticizing both US President Trump and his Vice President, J.D. Vance, from a Stoic perspective. Yet, I often hear claims that Stoicism is by its very nature conservative, politically speaking. Or perhaps that it has actually nothing to say about politics at all.

As is often the case, much depends on what one means by key terms, like “politics” and “conservative.” Let’s start with the first one: if by “political” one means partisan, then no, Stoicism isn’t about partisanship. There is no principled Stoic way I can see to prefer, say, Democrats to Republicans, or the other way around, for that matter.

But if political one means “concerning the polis,” as originally proposed by Aristotle, then Stoicism very much is a political philosophy, because it aims at making every citizen into a better human being, understood specifically as a more reasonable and prosocial one. Moreover, Stoicism is a fundamentally cosmopolitan philosophy, and cosmopolitanism has huge political implications. A Stoic ought to strive to treat every human being, regardless of nationality, ethnicity, gender, and so forth, as a brother or sister. Which means also being in favor of as liberal an immigration policy as pragmatically feasible at any given moment, and aspiring, long term, to a human society with no borders or nationalities.

What I’d like to focus on here, though, is this business of conservatives vs progressives. To some extent, the meaning of those words is specific to a particular situation, both in space and time. In the United States, for instance, right now being a conservative largely means getting onto the MAGA bandwagon built by Donald Trump, even though it meant something quite different until only a few years ago. Conversely, to be progressive, again in the US at the moment means, among other things, to espouse the sort of identity politics that would have been considered antithetical to the universalism classically adopted by left-leaning parties in the western world.

That said, one can identify a family resemblance of sorts between conservative or progressive positions across time and space, to a point. For instance, in Ancient Rome the two major “parties,” perhaps better described as factions, of the Senate were the populares (literally, supporters of the people) and the optimates (literally “the best ones,” that is the aristocrats).

While modern historians debate the reality and extent of the division, Cicero very clearly identified the two groups in his discourse, Pro Sestio, written in 56 BCE. Broadly speaking, the optimates were in favor of retaining the traditional role and powers of the Senate and against land reforms, while the populares supported both the power of the popular assemblies and land reforms.

Such reforms were the principal, though by no means the only, debate pitting optimates and populares against each other. During the 2nd century BCE, they were primarily initiated by the famous Tiberius Gracchus, who proposed laws to limit land ownership and redistribute public land to small farmers. These reforms aimed to address the growing inequality and decline of small landholders but faced strong opposition from the wealthy elite and ultimately had limited long-term success. Tiberius, and later his brother, Gaius, were killed in the process, and a reasonable argument can be made that the inability of the Senate to enact reforms aimed at decreasing extreme inequality led to the demise of the Roman Republic. (Are you listening, United States of America?)

So one way to answer the question of whether Stoicism leans conservative or progressive is to see whether Stoics historically sided with the optimates or the populares. The answer is: both!

One of the classic Stoic role models was Cato the Younger (95-46 BCE), who is much praised by Seneca. Cato embodied Stoic virtue in Roman political life through unwavering adherence to principle over pragmatism. As a senator, he consistently opposed what he saw as corruption and the concentration of power, most notably resisting Julius Caesar’s rise and the machinations of the First Triumvirate. Cato was a member of the optimates, while Caesar aligned himself with the populares.

Through a Stoic lens, Cato’s political career represents the ideal of acting according to virtue regardless of consequences. He famously walked barefoot through winter and wore a black toga in the Senate to protest Caesar’s consulship, demonstrating that external circumstances couldn’t compromise his moral stance. His speeches and filibusters were not calculated for political gain but flowed from his commitment to what he believed was right. His moral stature was so appreciated in Rome that when people were caught doing something unethical they might say “well, not everyone’s a Cato!”

His ultimate act—suicide at Utica in 46 BCE rather than accept Caesar’s pardon—exemplifies the Stoic principle that freedom lies in choosing one’s response to fate. Cato chose death over living under what he considered tyranny, maintaining his integrity to the end. The Stoics saw this not as despair but as the ultimate expression of human agency: when you cannot control external events, you can still control your response. That’s why Cato became a Stoic role model, personifying how philosophical principles should guide political action. His life reflected the principle that virtue is its own reward and that maintaining moral consistency matters more than achieving political success or even preserving one’s life.

Now compare Cato to another politically active Stoic, Gaius Blossius (2nd century BCE). Blossius hailed from Cumae in Campania, Italy, and was a student of the renowned Stoic philosopher Antipater of Tarsus. Blossius served as both teacher and ideological advisor to the above mentioned Tiberius Gracchus, instigating him (along with the Greek rhetorician Diophanes) to pursue land reform on behalf of the plebs, thus aligning himself squarely with the populares.

Stoically speaking, Blossius embodied the principle that philosophical convictions must translate into political action for the common good. The Stoic emphasis on duty had special influence on Tiberius through Blossius, enhancing his natural determination and sense of moral obligation. Contra the stereotype of Stoicism as disengaged from political practice, Blossius believed that virtue required active engagement with issues of social justice.

His commitment to principle over personal safety became clear after Tiberius’s assassination. When interrogated by the consuls, Blossius freely admitted he had helped Tiberius. When pressed with the hypothetical question “What if Tiberius had ordered you to burn the Capitol?” Blossius replied that Tiberius would never have given such an order, but if he had, “it would have been right for me to do it; for he never would have commanded it, if it had not been for the people’s good.”

This response may sound rather rigid and dogmatic, but it reflects the Stoic belief in the fundamental rationality and virtue of the wise man—Blossius trusted completely in Tiberius’s moral judgment. Blossius was eventually pardoned and moved to Asia Minor where he joined Aristonicus’s uprising against the Romans. When that movement also was defeated, he killed himself, enacting the Stoic principle that when one cannot live according to virtue under external circumstances, death becomes preferable to compromise. In this respect, both Blossius and Cato walked through what Epictetus later on will famously call “the open door,” the ultimate source of freedom for a Stoic.

Both Cato and Blossius exemplified Stoic virtue in politics but represented dramatically different approaches to implementing philosophical principles in the Roman Republic. Cato embodied traditional, conservative Stoicism—upholding ancestral customs (what was called the mos maiorum, the way of the ancestors) and established republican institutions as expressions of virtue. Blossius represented radical Stoicism, believing that justice required challenging existing power structures and championing the dispossessed. Both saw virtue as absolute, but applied it differently.

Methodologically, Cato at least initially worked within the system as a senator and magistrate, using constitutional means to oppose what he saw as corruption and tyranny. His resistance was institutional—filibusters, speeches, symbolic protests. Blossius operated as an advisor and ideologist, encouraging revolutionary land reform and supporting movements that bypassed traditional senatorial authority.

Moreover, Cato’s loyalty was to abstract principles and the Republic itself—he famously opposed even allies like Cicero when he saw them as compromising his standards. Blossius, by contrast, demonstrated intense personal loyalty to individuals (first Tiberius Gracchus, then Aristonicus), trusting completely in their moral judgment and following them to the end.

Both men chose death over compromise, but for different reasons. Cato’s suicide was a rejection of Caesar’s personal rule—he died for republican independence. Blossius’s suicide after Aristonicus’s defeat was the end of a revolutionary path—he died when his vision of social justice was crushed.

In terms of legacy, Cato became the model of Stoic resistance to tyranny, inspiring later republicans. Blossius represented Stoicism’s potential for radical social reform, showing how the philosophy could justify revolution in the service of justice. Both were authentic Stoics, but they demonstrate how the same philosophical foundation may lead to opposing political conclusions—conservative preservation versus revolutionary transformation.

These two examples show that Stoicism is neither inherently conservative nor progressive, and moreover that honorable individuals can lead virtuous lives even though they may happen to be at the opposite ends of the political spectrum. I hasten to say, though, that this does not mean that Stoicism is compatible with any political ideology. A Stoic fascist is, in my opinion, an oxymoron. Why?

The core Stoic principle of universal reason (logos) implies that all humans share in cosmic rationality—making ethnic or national supremacy philosophically incoherent. Stoics like Marcus Aurelius wrote about being a citizen of the world (the literal meaning of cosmopolitan) and our duty to the common good of all humanity, not just our tribe or nation. Stoic virtue ethics emphasizes the four cardinal virtues of justice, wisdom, courage, and temperance—all of which seem to preclude the violence, irrationality, and excess that characterize fascist movements. The Stoic sage is supposed to be guided by reason, not passion or tribal loyalty.

But there is a complication: Stoicism’s emphasis on duty and discipline has historically been attractive to authoritarians. The “obey your role in the cosmic order” aspect can easily be twisted into “obey the state,” or the supreme leader. So some interpretations of Stoic acceptance could justify submission to unjust power. We saw hints of this tension even in our earlier examples—Cato’s rigid traditionalism versus Blossius’s revolutionary justice. A hypothetical “Stoic fascist” might claim they’re serving the natural order or the greater good through authoritarian means.

I do think that a genuine, philosophically consistent Stoic fascist is impossible because fascism fundamentally contradicts Stoic universalism and rationality. But Stoic language and concepts can certainly be appropriated and distorted by authoritarians, just as any philosophical tradition can be misused. The real test would be: does this person actually practice Stoic virtues (especially justice toward all humans), or are they simply using Stoic terminology to dress up tribal passions?