They're out of the room before he even gets to that part. Upstairs, fumbling. Less guilty than bored. Quinn thinks of himself as a man who kills bad guys, well, Walden was a bad guy. Much is made of the show's approach to flipping over the "terrorist" rock and seeing what's underneath -- how a coating of pro-torture militarism could easily be mistaken for the truth about the show, rather than the compassion it shows to everyone -- but there's nearly an apotheosis of that idea here: Nick and Carrie, the Terrorist and the Analyst, are both guilty for the death of this man, but this man's death is also righteous because he betrayed us all. He wasn't a terrorist, but he wasn't a good guy either: His crimes were sanctioned by a recognized authority, which is the only real difference. Walden's existence depended on terrorists, says David; but Walden too created terrorists by existing.

They came to the memorial to show respect; they leave now because they feel none.

But that's not all there is to a funeral. Because the other side is always true: Life is precious, and life has been lost. As pro forma as it is, to attend the funeral of a monster, it's also a kindness that you do not just to yourself and to the death, but to the world. Saul Berenson stands over Nazir's watery grave, listening to the Prophet's words, who knows what he thinks. Maybe he'd like to sneak off for some nookie, too. But I don't think so. I think he's there because he is strong enough to reach through his anger and his politics and actually mourn a man he hates. To do this kindness before God.

Walden's ceremony is rich with irony, packed to the gills with networking careerists and zoned-out family members and people who don't want to be there. Paying their respects. But on this ship there is none of that. It's efficient, brutal, brightly lit; it is, not by coincidence, much more beautiful than the other one, in its honesty. There are no wives, there are no children, there are no followers or friends: Just Saul Berenson, mute, standing watch while the great devil of our time goes fluttering out over the water.