Unabashed Nepotism

"Go, and toil" the man said.

So he was sent to dig. He was, in a word, commanded to do so... and so he went and did. Out of love, yes. Out of duty and honor and all the rest as well. With some misgiving? Indeed. But he went...and he dug.

He dug well and he dug hard. He, however, did not dig alone. Many people were sent to help the man dig. Some much stronger than others. Some much weaker. Others came to the job with such ferocity that they worked their hands raw, developing blisters and embedding splinters into their hands so as to render them useless. Some simply became exhausted with the seemingly endless monotony of digging and went elsewhere, having been told by the man to leave. Upon scampering up the sides on their ways out, they kicked more and more dirt back into the hole, which had to then be dug out again by those remaining below.

After many days on the job, the worker began to receive praise from many people. "What a strong digger you are!" "Surely you will never grow tired!" "Look at the strength with which he moves the earth!" The worker, although he heard the adulation, continued digging as if he didn't. The worker didn't believe he was a very good digger... those around him thought as much primarily because they had never dug. He was a god among men who were afraid of their own shadow and baffled by common arithmetic. His work, to him, was easy...contemptibly so.

The approbation continued and the worker became more and more flustered. He did not dig for approval. He dug because it was his job. He dug because it was all he knew. The worker dug because it made sense to him. The man knew that and that's why the man had told the worker to toil and dig. The man never told the worker he was good. The man reminded him of how bad he was and how he was only a digger because the man had made him one. The man kept the worker humble. The worker owed all he was to the man.

The approbation later turned to scorn. Not dalying in idle banter and focusing so hard on the work of digging, the worker was found cold and unapproachable. "For his lack of mirth and merriment, he will surely be sorry!" "He is so serious and devoted so as to avoid even us, his partners in digging." "He does not need our help for he feels he is our better." The worker was confused at the others lack of devotion. Were they to spend more time digging and less time observing others digging, would not this hole already be dug? The man continued on, spade upon spade, full of earth, moving alongside his feet. A Digger digs. The man had told the worker as much. "Go, and toil." he had said. And so the worker continued on digging. It was, after all, his job.

As time progressed the hole became exponentially larger. The worker took breaks now and then, leaning on the now smooth handle of his trusty, well-worn spade. As he looked around, he didn't know the rest of the workers... they were strange to him. The man had called in many new people, for the hole was getting much bigger and all these new people seemed to be digging everywhere but where the worker was. He was alone in a sea of work, digging his own hole for the man.

The man knew it. The man wanted it that way.

The worker wants to know why.