9781945186240

of their own minds—to avoid all selfishness and illogic, and to work with
others to achieve that goal.
15. Some things are rushing into existence, others out of it. Some of
what now exists is already gone. Change and flux constantly remake the
world, just as the incessant progression of time remakes eternity.
We find ourselves in a river. Which of the things around us should we
value when none of them can offer a firm foothold?
Like an attachment to a sparrow: we glimpse it and it’s gone.
And life itself: like the decoction of blood, the drawing in of air. We
expel the power of breathing we drew in at birth (just yesterday or the day
before), breathing it out like the air we exhale at each moment.
16. What is it in ourselves that we should prize?
Not just transpiration (even plants do that).
Or respiration (even beasts and wild animals breathe).
Or being struck by passing thoughts.
Or jerked like a puppet by your own impulses.
Or moving in herds.
Or eating, and relieving yourself afterwards.
Then what is to be prized?
An audience clapping? No. No more than the clacking of their tongues.
Which is all that public praise amounts to—a clacking of tongues.
So we throw out other people’s recognition. What’s left for us to prize?
I think it’s this: to do (and not do) what we were designed for. That’s the
goal of all trades, all arts, and what each of them aims at: that the thing they
create should do what it was designed to do. The nurseryman who cares for
the vines, the horse trainer, the dog breeder—this is what they aim at. And
teaching and education—what else are they trying to accomplish?
So that’s what we should prize. Hold on to that, and you won’t be
tempted to aim at anything else.
And if you can’t stop prizing a lot of other things? Then you’ll never be
free—free, independent, imperturbable. Because you’ll always be envious
and jealous, afraid that people might come and take it all away from you.
Plotting against those who have them—those things you prize. People who