In Chapter 34 of Moby-Dick, Melville uses silence not as absence, but as dominance. Ahab doesn’t speak during dinner, and yet his authority is louder than any command. That silence is the command.

He eats alone, served by a steward who moves with “noiseless obedience.” There’s no conversation, no eye contact, not even acknowledgement. Ahab doesn’t have to assert control. His very presence makes everyone else smaller. The mates don’t even eat together; they come in one by one, in strict order of rank, as if the dining table is a throne room.

Starbuck, who’s supposed to be the morally grounded one, barely touches his food and eats like he’s afraid to make a sound. Stubb tries to crack jokes to break the tension, but the scene swallows his usual humor. Flask just shovels food in and gets out. No one relaxes. No one questions the system.

Melville isn’t just showing us a weird shipboard routine. He’s making a point: Ahab’s control over the crew doesn’t come from barking orders. It’s built into when they eat, how they sit, and how they act when he’s not even in the room anymore.

It’s no coincidence that the dining structure mirrors naval hierarchy, but Melville pushes it further. This isn’t discipline for the sake of order, it’s discipline for the sake of a man’s will. Ahab’s silence speaks volumes. It’s the sound of authority taken for granted, never challenged, and made holy through habit.

In short: the scariest part of Ahab isn’t what he says. It’s that he doesn’t need to say anything at all.

John R. Gillis in The Blue Humanities says, “It was when nations turned away from the sea as a place of work that writers and painters turned their full attention to the sea itself.” Ironically, the catalyst in how we perceive the ocean transpired the very moment society deemed the ocean monotonous. The article examines how the sea had been viewed primarily through a utilitarian lens: “The focus was almost entirely on the ships and the skills of the men who manned them” In this distancing, artists, writers, and thinkers found space to reinterpret the ocean. When the sea was no longer “useful” in the traditional sense, it became meaningful in new ways. Gillis later includes another line that made a strong impression on me: “The awesome power of the sea, as witnessed from the safety of land, was a powerful and mental stimulant.” Confronting something grand and dangerous, but at a safe remove, incites a canvas for imagination. It triggers thoughts about the limits of human control and the vastness of the unknown. This mirrors romantic tradition where nature plays a big role in the narrative.

By the time I reached the end of Gillis’ essay, I began to reflect on my own connection to nature. The phrase “touch grass” comes to mind, this phrase is commonly used to remind someone that a natural world exists and clarity can be found by simply going outside to touch some grass. Nature has always been therapeutic, I tried to think of the last time I actually felt one with nature. Park visits, beach trips and even hikes have subtle reminders of urbanization. The article reminded me how much of a privilege it is to truly immerse yourself in nature and allow your thoughts to run freely. 

This week’s reading of The American Scholar by Ralph Waldo Emerson was particularly insightful. Emerson’s take of the first impression on the mind, nature, is reminiscent of the romantic era in literature. Emerson believes it is a necessity to open the mind’s-eye to nature: “What is nature to him? There is never a beginning, there is never an end, to the inexplicable this web of God, but always circular power returning into itself. Therein it resembles his own spirit, whose beginning, whose ending, he never can find,— so entire, so boundless” (Emerson). Emerson’s describes this interconnectedness as a circle, it’s significance being that nature and knowledge are inexhaustible. A core characteristic of romanticism is the fixation on nature as a healing power. Similarly, Emerson treats nature as a moral guide; natural beauty is accompanied by moments of reflection and truth.

Emerson’s continues in this excerpt with vivid imagery: “ “Far, too, as her splendors shine, system on system shooting like rays, upward, downward, without centre, without circumference,— in the mass and in the particle, nature hastens to render account of herself to the mind.” Like neurons firing in the brain, nature is constantly having a dialogue with itself. Pieces of information transcends time and space and we are but at it’s mercy. Later on he says, “So much of nature as he is ignorant of, so much of his own mind does he not yet possess.” In other words, the invitation of nature as a source of knowledge can bring forth self-discovery. From a more contemporary standpoint this can also encourage us to reach beyond our own borders. Cultures around the world are subjects of their landscapes, understanding it’s citizens can help us create a more unified version of society and ourselves. 

Hello folks! My name is Martin Arambula! I am 4th year transfer student from Los Angeles. This is my last semester at SDSU. I’ve really enjoyed my time in San Diego–mostly the weather. I started off as a criminal justice major at my CC but after taking English classes I decided to pursue that instead. I’ve always loved story and writing, I feel that so much can be learned about people based off of the stories that we tell each other. I like all genre’s but as of late I’ve felt myself drawn more to history and fiction. Over the summer, I spent my time reading graphic novels and the Dune series.

I am really excited to unravel and dive in-to the novel “Moby Dick.” I am also looking forward to the on-going conversation we will be having over the course of the next few weeks.