Doug: Sitting at a Table

A man sits alone at the kitchen table in his house. Heavy piano floats out of the computer in front of him; that and the scratch of pen on paper are the only sounds in the room. He is bent over a sheet of paper, scratching out ideas and outlines, occasionally muttering something to himself, lining some words out and highlighting others. A book sits above his left hand, opened to the end of a chapter: “Supreme Emergency”. To the right of his furiously writing hand is a stack of papers, “House of Lords Debate on Bombing Policy”. North of these papers a Kettle and tonic on the rocks melts its way slowly to oblivion. The pen, (always pen, for with pens you mean what you say) stops sporadically, as he looks up to check a sentence or two.

He despises this assignment. He knows the answer the teacher wants, but on his own moral grounds cannot bring himself to write the platitudes and soothing words that slip like honey out of the mouth of those not strong enough to recognize that despite all the theories man produces there is only one reality. Bad men exist. They are held at bay by men that are sometimes just as bad, but whose redeeming quality is that they are willing to die so that others may live. The protectors do not question what is right and wrong, because they know. They also know that sometimes reality demands that they do something horrible so that those they protect may live without knowing fear, hate, slavery, death. As long as the monsters hold back the other monsters, the best of man might have some hope of preserving themselves. Of rising above the black night of that threatens to consume all, and bursting into a world of light and glory.

The man knows this and holds it in his heart. It is the flame that keeps him from dropping into shadow. And now he must convince others that his is the lantern that lights the way. It is a worthy task, though a trying one.

As he scratches and studies and scratches some more he finds himself aware of a presence, or rather a lack of one. He knows who it is he pines for. He is content in this moment; his hands and mind at work. But he can’t help knowing that if she sat across from him, listening, arguing, showing him his flaws and strengthening his words that he would be so much more than content.

He would be happy.

But he knows that this is not so. He is a student of necessity and his loneliness is necessary. In the same principles he uses to light the way for others he finds the logic behind his solitude. It is the way of his people, to bring light to the darkness away from those he loves. He knows this and accepts this.

The pen continues to scratch. The notes continue to play. The ice melts its way out of this world. The man sits alone at the table.

-Doug

"These, then are the limits of the realm of necessity. Utilitarian calculation can force us to violate the rules of war only when we are face-to-face not merely with defeat but with a defeat likely to bring disaster to a political community. But these calculations have no similar effects when what is at stake is only the speed or the scope of victory."

-Michael Walzer "Just and Unjust Wars"