He was born a slave in Phrygia and he was lame the whole of his life. He was freed, he taught philosophy in Rome until an emperor threw the philosophers out of the city, and he died owning almost nothing. Epictetus never wrote a word of this book. His student Arrian took it down in the lecture room and cut it to a handbook a man could carry. That is what the title means: the thing you keep in your hand.
Fifty one short chapters, and one idea running under all of them. Some things are up to you and most things are not, and every hour of misery you have ever had came from confusing the two. Your opinion, your aim, your desire, your own conduct: yours. Your body, your reputation, your property, what other people decide to do: not yours, and never were.
He does not argue it. He hands you a ship lying at anchor, a dish coming round at dinner, a jar with two handles, a shoe that fits the foot. Then he tells you what to do on the morning it all goes wrong. Marcus Aurelius opened his own notebook by thanking the man who put Epictetus into his hands. Frederick the Great carried a copy on campaign.
This is the Civil Savage Society edition of Thomas Wentworth Higginson's translation, complete in all fifty one chapters under the roman numerals by which the book has been cited since antiquity, newly typeset in a 6 by 9 inch US Trade format, 80 pages. Every chapter stands on its own page under its numeral. Twelve new ink and wash plates stand at the chapters that name their objects: the ship at anchor, the mask, the mark set up to be hit, the jar with two handles, the shoe that fits the foot.
Paperback: perfect bound on cream stock. A workhorse copy, meant to be carried, dog-eared, and marked up.
Hardcover: casewrap edition built for the shelf and the long haul.
E-Book: instant download, delivered to your email at purchase.
Print editions are produced on demand. Nothing warehoused, never out of print.
