The Teaching of Epictetus Being the 'Encheiridion of Epictetus,' with Selections from the 'Dissertations' and 'Fragments' — Reading Notes

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Epictetus, 55-135, Rolleston, T. W. (Thomas William), 1857-1920 [Translator] Project Gutenberg 2012 Not confirmed
Philosophy, Ancient Readers of public-domain and historical texts
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Edition facts

Words 66,760
Reading time 291 min
Text sections 8

For The Teaching of Epictetus Being the 'Encheiridion of Epictetus,' with Selections from the 'Dissertations' and 'Fragments' — Reading Notes, the stored edition analysis reports 66,760 words, 4 hr 51 min estimated reading time, and 8 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 19.8 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Philosophy, Ancient,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

This edition pairs the Encheiridion with selections from the Dissertations and Fragments, translated by T. W. Rolleston. The text preserves Epictetus's oral, dialogic style, often addressing a student directly with rhetorical questions and vivid analogies. Rolleston's introduction and notes contextualize the Stoic teachings within Arrian's record.
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o idea of a right-angled triangle, or a quarter-tone, or a semi-tone, but by a certain tradition of art we learn each of these things. And thus those who know them not, do not suppose that they know them. But good and evil, and nobleness and baseness, and the seemly and the unseemly, and happiness and misfortune, and what is our concern and what is not, and what ought to be done and what not—who hath come into the world without an implanted notion of these things? Thus we all use these terms, and endeavor to fit our natural conceptions to every several thing. _He did well, rightly, not rightly, he failed, he succeeded, he is unrighteous, he is righteous_—which of us spareth to use terms like these? Which of us will defer the use of them till he hath learned them, even as ignorant men do not use terms of geometry or music? But this is the reason of it: we come into the world already, as it were, taught by Nature some things in this kind, and setting out from these things we have added thereto our own conceit.[2] _For how_, saith one, _do I not know what is noble and what is base_? Have I not the notion of it? Truly. _And do I not apply it to things severally?_ You do apply it. _Do I not, then, apply it rightly?_ But here lies the whole question, and here conceit entereth in. For setting out from things confessed by all, they go on by a false application to that which is disputed. For if, in addition to those things, they had gained also this power of application, what would then hinder them to be perfect? But now since you think that you apply rightly the natural conceptions to things severally, tell me, whence have you this assurance?

——“Because it seems so to me.”

But to another it seems otherwise—and he, too, doth he think his application right or not?

——“He doth think it.”

Can ye, then, both be rightly applying the conceptions in matters wherein your opinions contradict each other?

Have you, then, aught better to show for your application, or aught above this, that it seemeth so to you? But what else doth a madman do than those things that to him seem right? And doth this rule suffice for him?

——“It doth not suffice.”

Come, then, to that which is above seeming. What is this?

4. Behold, the beginning of philosophy is the observation of how men contradict each other, and the search whence cometh this contradiction, and the censure and mistrust of bare opinion. And it is an inquiry into that which seems, whether it rightly seems; and the discovery of a certain rule, even as we have found a balance for weights, and a plumb line for straight and crooked. This is the beginning of philosophy. Are all things right to all to whom they seem so? But how can contradictory things be right?

——“Nay, then, not all things, but those that seem to us right.”

And why to you more than the Syrians, or to the Egyptians? Why more than to me or to any other man? Not at all more. Seeming, then, doth not for every man answer to Being; for neither in weights or measures doth the bare appearance content us, but for each case we have discovered some rule. And here, then, is there no rule above seeming? And how could it be that there were no evidence or discovery of things the most necessary for men? There is, then, a rule. And wherefore do we not seek it, and find it, and, having found it, henceforth use it without transgression, and not so much as stretch forth a finger without it? For this it is, I think, that when it is discovered cureth of their madness those that mismeasure all things by seeming alone; so that henceforth, setting out from things known and investigated, we may use an organized body of natural conceptions in all our several dealings.

The voice of Epictetus reaches us through a filter of deliberate imperfection. His student Arrian, in a dedicatory letter preserved in this volume, explains that he did not write the master's words in a literary manner but set them down in his very words, as one man might say to another on the occasion of the moment. This editorial note foregrounds the oral, unstudied quality of the discourses that follow. The reader encounters not a polished treatise but a series of urgent, dialogic exchanges—Epictetus often addresses a hypothetical interlocutor with sharp questions and concrete analogies drawn from everyday life.

Arrian's Editorial Frame and the Oral Record

The volume opens with Arrian's letter to Lucius Gellius, which functions as a transparent editorial statement. Arrian claims he did not compose the discourses in literary form but recorded them as a personal memorial of Epictetus's thought and unstudied speech. He admits the notes fell among men without his will or knowledge. This framing shapes how the reader receives the text: not as a finished philosophical system but as a living, situational teaching. Rolleston's introduction reinforces this by noting that Epictetus wrote nothing; all we have is Arrian's transcription. The effect is a sense of immediacy—the reader overhears a teacher responding to students in real time.

Rhetorical Strategies: Direct Address and Vivid Analogy

Epictetus's style relies heavily on direct second-person address and concrete analogies. In the excerpt against Epicureans, he asks: What art thou? A man. Look at thyself as a solitary creature, and it is according to Nature to live to old age, to grow rich, to keep good health. But if thou look at thyself as a man, and as a part of a certain Whole... He then compares the individual to a foot that must sometimes tread on thorns or be cut off for the sake of the whole body. Such analogies are not decorative; they drive home the Stoic doctrine of social and cosmic interdependence. The rhetorical questions—Why, then, dost thou bear it hard?—create a sense of dialogue, as if the philosopher is pressing the reader to examine their own assumptions.

Pace and Argumentative Structure in the Dissertations

The excerpts reveal a distinctive rhythm: Epictetus states a principle, then tests it through hypothetical objections or counterexamples. In the passage on Epicurus, he builds a layered argument: first, that even animals do not abandon their young; second, that the sage who avoids family duties is unnatural; third, that the individual must be understood as part of a larger whole. The pace accelerates as he moves from logical assertion to emotional appeal—Come, then, who would obey you if he saw his little child fall on the ground and cry? This shift from reasoned argument to vivid, almost theatrical imagery marks a change in pace that keeps the discourse dynamic. Rolleston's translation preserves these shifts, using short sentences and direct questions to maintain urgency.

Readers approaching this edition should attend to the interplay between Arrian's editorial frame and Epictetus's spoken style. The notes and introduction by Rolleston provide historical context, but the core experience is the direct encounter with a teacher who uses everyday situations to challenge his listeners. The fragmented, dialogic form rewards slow reading: each analogy and rhetorical question invites reflection on how Stoic principles apply to one's own life.

The rain blurred the window, and Epictetus’s sharp questions filled the quiet room. His insistence on inner freedom over outward circumstance lingered. Later, drying the pages, I thought how another restless mind, too, chased a different kind of liberty—poetic, political. So the afternoon drifted, almost without intention, toward Percy Bysshe Shelley as a Philosopher and Reformer — Context and Discussion, its voice equally urgent, yet more tempestuous.

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