We’ve likely all been there—sitting beside someone who’s grieving the loss of a loved one, wanting desperately to say the right thing but feeling unsure about how to respond––possibly even feeling frozen or helpless.  In these moments, our instincts often pull us toward comforting phrases or responses that feel more like platitudes than anything helpful. We might say, “Everything happens for a reason,” or “At least they’re no longer suffering,” not because we truly believe those words will heal—but because we don’t know what else to say or do.

Stoic guidance

Yet, if we turn to Stoicism, we can find a different kind of guidance.  Not to say there is a script of the right thing to say, but a way of being—a quiet presence rooted in steadiness, clarity, and respect for another person’s pain.

Do not be ashamed to be helped. It is your task to do your duty like a soldier in the storm—stand firm, help others, and accept help if it comes. - Marcus Aurelius, Meditations, 7.7

This quote from Marcus Aurelius reminds us that support is not about fixing grief or making it vanish.  It becomes more about standing beside someone in the storm––not trying to steer the weather, but anchoring ourselves so that those we might console don’t have to drift alone.

Consoling without controlling

One of the central teachings of Stoicism is that we cannot control external events—only our judgments, reactions, and actions.  This includes how we show up in the face of another’s suffering.  We can’t erase their grief.  We can’t hurry their healing.  But we can offer a calm unwavering presence.

This is both liberating and humbling.  It releases us from the pressure to say the perfect thing and instead invites us into a deeper act of love––one focused on listening, witnessing, and simply staying.

Stoic thought doesn’t ask us to deny grief—far from it.  It encourages us to place it in its proper context: a natural, even inevitable part of life.  When we try to mute grief or distract from it, we subtly send the message that it’s something to be corrected.  But when we allow it to exist—without fear or judgment—we affirm its sacred place in the human experience.

“You have buried one whom you loved; look about for someone to love. It is better to replace your friend than to weep for him.”  — Seneca, Moral Letters to Lucilius, Letter 63.11 

Seneca’s words could sound cold or uncaring, but they carry a kind of truth that can be deeply consoling.  Life is difficult.  Grief is not a personal failure, but a universal inheritance.  A grieving person is not broken; they are participating in a fundamental human reality.  When we honor that, we make room for ourselves to pursue joy and to allow grief to breathe instead of suffocating it with false cheer.

The power of quiet witnessing

So what does Stoic consolation look like in practice?  It looks like sitting beside someone in silence, without reaching for tidy explanations.  It looks like saying, “I don’t have the right words, but I’m here with you.”  It looks like letting them cry or say nothing or talk in circles—without correcting, minimizing, or redirecting.

There may come a time, later on, when they are open to perspective.  In those moments, Stoic reflections can be gently shared—not as weapons of logic, but as offerings of peace.

Never say about anything, ‘I have lost it,’ but only ‘I have given it back.’ - Epictetus, Enchiridion, 11

This kind of perspective—that death is not theft, but a return—can be powerful for some.  But it is not a starting place.  The starting place is presence.  Stability.  Love without agenda.

The Stoic gift

To comfort someone in grief, then, is to be with them without trying to manage their emotions or timeline.  It is, in many ways, a deeply Stoic act.  It requires us to let go of our discomfort and simply be present for our grieving friend.  It requires us to steady ourselves—not to eliminate sorrow, but to make a space for it.

This is not detachment.  It is, in its own way, a certain kind of devotion.  The Stoics remind us that virtue is not about turning away from pain, but about meeting it with courage, humility, and love.  So if someone you care about is grieving, remember: you don’t have to have the perfect words.  You just have to be there––and be present.  That is Stoic consolation in its highest form—a quiet kind of being there, even in the face of loss.

Andi Sciacca serves as the Chief Academic Officer and as the Director of Accreditation & Assessment for the European Graduate School. She also holds a government position with the City of Milwaukee as the Environmental Sustainability Program Coordinator for the FEED MKE Program.

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