Staring at the fire is one of the oldest pastimes of our species. And one of the most dearly loved ones, as well. As I was staring at the fire this evening, I asked myself for the first time why this was so. The speed with which I came up with a plausible answer worried me at first, but to no avail. It persisted. More, it demanded to be jotted down for posterity. Anyhow, staring at the fire occupies our mind so fully that it is prevented from forming any thoughts. Put differently, it liberates us from the tyranny of thought for as long as we wish—that is, for as long as we keep staring at the fire. The only awkward bit in my answer is the answer itself. Why in the world did staring at the fire fail me this evening among evenings?