Quill Upon the Paper
Net Worth
A 10 o'clock showing of The Social Network gave me cause to look up information on Mark Zuckerberg, the founder of Facebook, and a tiny incongruence caught my eye. Disclosed in a little grey panel to the right of the Wikipedia page is number. It says this: Net Worth - $6.9 billion. Neither can I remove the final image of the movie from my head. Jesse Eisenberg, as Mark Zuckerberg, stares unsmiling at his computer while a caption touts him as the youngest official billionaire.
What is a man worth?
In the job hunt around town, one comes across little lines on work applications. "Desired Salary," they beg of you, giving you a dollar sign and space to write down your preferred number. Any fool can see the psychological game afoot. What is a man worth? Are you worth as much as your work? How much is that worth? If you earnestly sold the sweater to a man who gave it, willingly gave it, however begrudgingly, to a bone-cold bum begging for change, do you have a share in keeping a cold man warm? If he is reformed and works diligently, becoming the VP of a company and gives five grand, willingly, however self-centeredly, to an ailing school on a Navajo reservation, do you have a share in the literacy of poor children?
Of course. The tiniest mote of a share is still a share, and a sweater is woven of many threads.
If you want to know what a man is worth, then lose him. Proceed, then, to fill the hole left by him with anything but him. You will, at length, find that the more you pour into this hole, the emptier it gets. The mathematical term for this is Infinity. This is to say that you, and everyone you see, is of Infinite worth. It comes with the territory of being made in the Image of an infinite One. Some part of me is indelibly rooted in the joyfully pealing and weighty sound of the Name above all names. Some part of you is, too. It's good to meet you.
What is a man worth?
In the job hunt around town, one comes across little lines on work applications. "Desired Salary," they beg of you, giving you a dollar sign and space to write down your preferred number. Any fool can see the psychological game afoot. What is a man worth? Are you worth as much as your work? How much is that worth? If you earnestly sold the sweater to a man who gave it, willingly gave it, however begrudgingly, to a bone-cold bum begging for change, do you have a share in keeping a cold man warm? If he is reformed and works diligently, becoming the VP of a company and gives five grand, willingly, however self-centeredly, to an ailing school on a Navajo reservation, do you have a share in the literacy of poor children?
Of course. The tiniest mote of a share is still a share, and a sweater is woven of many threads.
If you want to know what a man is worth, then lose him. Proceed, then, to fill the hole left by him with anything but him. You will, at length, find that the more you pour into this hole, the emptier it gets. The mathematical term for this is Infinity. This is to say that you, and everyone you see, is of Infinite worth. It comes with the territory of being made in the Image of an infinite One. Some part of me is indelibly rooted in the joyfully pealing and weighty sound of the Name above all names. Some part of you is, too. It's good to meet you.
posted by A. Whipple at 9:59 PM
1 Comments:
Great points you have. It's sad that in the end, in day-to-day society, it ends up being about monetary value... it's like putting a price tag on a soul, a feeling, or experience.
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