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Final Essay: The Price of Illumination
In Chapter 97 of Moby-Dick titled “The Lamp,” Ishmael writes, “But the whaleman, as he seeks the food of light, so he lives in light.” (Melville 466) The sentence appears simple, even poetic, as if merely describing the sailor’s surroundings: a man whose work deals literally with oil and flame, dwelling in brightness amid his dangerous and lonely life at sea. Yet, like much of Moby-Dick, this moment contains a deeper, unsettling paradox. What begins as a factual observation about whale oil, which just so happens to be the literal “food of light,” expands into a moral and metaphysical reflection on the cost of illumination for humanity itself. Melville’s language transforms physical light into a spiritual metaphor, complicating the whaleman’s apparent purity by revealing the barbarism and destruction that make such light possible. Through this sentence, Melville explores enlightenment as a morally compromised condition, one sustained by violence, ecological destruction, and the illusion of human mastery, suggesting that the pursuit of knowledge and progress always casts shadows. To “live in light,” in this sense, then, is not a state of purity but actually one of contradiction: a human condition sustained by the very darkness it seeks to overcome.
At its surface level, Ishmael’s statement describes the basic reality of the whaling industry. The “food of light” refers to whale and the oil their bodies contain, which is the material substance that, once extracted, refined, and burned, illuminates all homes, streets, and cities across the world. The whaleman literally harvests the world’s light, working amid hot furnaces, boiling blubber, and lamps that glow through the ship’s night. In this sense, he really does indeed “live in light.” Yet even within this literal interpretation, Melville’s phrasing evokes something much more mythic to the reader. The whaleman becomes not merely a manual laborer but more of a Promethean figure, the one who actually brings fire to humanity at great personal and moral cost. The “food of light” recalls both nourishment and sacrifice, suggesting that illumination must be fed and sustained by something perishable, in this case, even living. That food, of course, is the whale itself, whose body becomes the actual physical foundation that civilization’s brightness comes from. Melville’s specific word choice collapses any of the boundaries between consumption, destruction, and enlightenment. The world’s ability to “see” depends on an ongoing act of death, on the rendering of life into death and then into fuel. In that transformation, the whaleman stands as both the agent and the witness of light’s very creation. The one who participates in an enterprise that actually makes human vision possible, even as it stains that very same vision red with blood.
This moral and ecological tension resonates with John Gillis’s argument in “The Blue Humanities,” where he emphasizes how human societies have long been entangled with oceans and water bodies not only materially but symbolically: “In studying the sea, we are returning to our beginnings” (Gillis 1). Just as Ishmael observes the whaleman’s labor producing civilization’s light, Gillis reminds us that human history and culture are inseparable from the watery spaces that sustain and give life to them. The whaleman’s extraction of oil mirrors humanity’s broader patterns of constantly exploiting the natural world for our own illumination, both literal and metaphorical. Water, like whale oil, is simultaneously a source of life and a medium of danger, a reminder that human progress depends on and often threatens the ecosystems we inhabit. By connecting Melville’s imagery in Moby-Dick to Gillis’s broader reflections, it becomes clear that the whaleman’s “light” is emblematic of a planetary dynamic: human advancement and environmental cost are inseparable, and the pursuit of clarity or knowledge is not innocent.
Melville’s syntax deepens this tension through its balance and rhythm. The clause “as he seeks the food of light” establishes a more causal, almost moral equivalence between the two: we are supposed to believe that the whaleman’s purpose actually aligns with his environment, his labor is mirrored by his world. But then the symmetry between “seeks” and “lives” suggests more than coincidence; it implies justification, possibly even sanctification for the whaleman’s actions and livelihood. If he “lives in light,” then perhaps his violent work is redeemed by its very luminous result for the world. Melville seems to toy with this logic, allowing the sentence to hover between affirmation and irony. The actual structure of the line reads like a moral proverb to the audience, neat and almost comforting in style, but the context within and around it undercuts that simplicity. Ishmael’s narrative at this point describes the grisly processes of rendering blubber into oil, how the ship is transformed into a floating factory, and the men laboring in smoke and heat. The “light” that surrounds them comes from the fires of their own making. What appears as divine illumination is in fact industrial glow, born from the destruction of the very creatures they hunt. Melville’s juxtaposition of the spiritual and the mechanical turns the whaleman’s work into a representation for human progress itself: every light we kindle must depend on something we extinguish. Death in exchange for life and vice versa.
Steve Mentz’s discussion of the blue humanities in his article “The Blue Humanities after John Gillis” underscores this very dynamic, emphasizing the ethical and poetic stakes of human engagement with water and marine life: “Aristotle’s claim that poetics combines pleasure and pain seems especially noteworthy for a blue humanities focus on the watery parts of the world that both allure and threaten human bodies.” (Mentz 139) The whaleman’s labor is therefore not only a technical process but an ethical and moral encounter with the sea as an active force. By harvesting whales, humans seem to attempt to try and impose their own order on the ocean, extracting utility and light from it, yet the ocean still is able to retain all of its agency in shaping consequences, both material and moral. Melville’s sentence encapsulates this tension: to “live in light” is to participate in a dialogue with the natural world that illuminates the very real human desire for knowledge while simultaneously revealing the costs of mastery.
This irony reveals Melville’s larger philosophical concern with the relationship between knowledge and violence. The pursuit of enlightenment, whether scientific, intellectual, or spiritual, requires dissection, penetration, and the laying bare of what was once whole or known. In this sense, the whaleman’s rendering of the whale parallels Ishmael’s own rendering of meaning. To “seek the food of light” is to participate in an endless process of finding and then breaking down the world in order to understand it. Melville’s language often blurs this line between the physical and the epistemological: the same curiosity that drives men to cut open whales also drives them to dissect nature, God, and in turn, themselves. The “light” they seek is both literal and figurative, an emblem of reason, discovery, and power for them to constantly reach for. Yet, this light is often accompanied by a terrifying glare that threatens to consume those who labor within and around it. When Ishmael writes that they “live in light,” the statement becomes disturbingly double-edged. The same light that signifies enlightenment may also suggest a possible damnation. In Melville’s moral universe, illumination is never innocent.
The phrase “lives in light” also carries theological resonance. Light has long been a symbol of divinity, purity, and truth, from the opening words of Genesis, “Let there be light,” to the Christian notion of spiritual illumination. To “live in light,” then, evokes an almost saintly image, as if the whalemen are chosen vessels through whom divine radiance is allowed to enter the world. Yet at the same time, Melville destabilizes and destroys this association by placing such holiness in the hands of those engaged in such an act of violent slaughter against seemingly innocent creatures. The whalemen are both creators and destroyers; their light is a paradoxical mixture of grace and guilt. This inversion echoes throughout Moby-Dick: the line between sanctity and sin is perpetually blurred. Melville suggests that human beings cannot separate their search for truth from their capacity for destruction. The whaleman’s “light” thus becomes a microcosm of civilization’s moral compromise: with every advancement, every brightening of the world, there is a hidden darkness that always lies just beneath the surface.
Furthermore, the communal aspect of this illumination adds another layer to the complexity. The whaleman’s labor produces the oil that fuels lamps across nations, so his private suffering on the ocean enables a collective vision on land. Melville uses this image to question the ethics of progress built on invisible toil. Those who may “live in light” aboard the Pequod do so through much peril and deprivation, while the consumers of that light on land remain untouched by its very violent origins. This disconnect mirrors the broader human tendency to enjoy the benefits of knowledge or comfort without ever thinking about or confronting their cost. The “light” of modern civilization, such as in its science, industry, and expansion, rests directly upon the bodies of those rendered invisible by the glow. Ishmael’s phrasing exposes that blindness even as it still embodies it: the sentence itself glimmers with poetic beauty, concealing the blood and violent labor it describes. Melville thus implicates language, and maybe even literature itself, in this economy of light, where aesthetic pleasure risks masking any moral awareness. To read Moby-Dick attentively is to recognize the shadow that every illumination casts.
In this way, the passage encapsulates Melville’s broader meditation on the limits of human vision. To “live in light” may seem to promise clarity at first, but in Moby-Dick, light often blinds as much as it reveals. The whalemen’s proximity to the flame makes them less capable of being able to see beyond it; the brightness becomes overwhelming, distorting any sense of perception. The lesson to the reader is clear: illumination, when pursued without humility, leads to madness. Ahab, too, “lives in light” of his own making. A constant fiery, obsessive glow that consumes him. His monomaniacal vision is a different form of enlightenment, a search for ultimate truth that obliterates everything else in its way. In this sense, the whaleman’s “light” is both the beginning and the very end of human aspiration. It represents the desire to know, to see, to master, and then the inevitable self-destruction that such strong desire and mastery entail.
Mentz’s argument sharpens this problem of vision by situating the whaleman’s labor within what he calls the novel’s recurring “salt water refrains,” which emphasize the “masterless ocean” as a force that “overrun[s] all boundaries.” (Mentz 139) If light is supposed to promise clarity, the ocean persistently undermines that promise by refusing any type of stable divisions between mastery and submission, knowledge and ignorance, or human intention and natural response. The whaleman may believe that extracting oil allows him to impose order on the sea, transforming its creatures into fuel for illumination, but Mentz reminds us that the ocean itself exceeds and destabilizes any form of claims of control. Its boundary-overrunning nature reveals how human enlightenment is always provisional, enacted within an environment that will always resist being fully known or mastered. In this context, the whaleman’s “light” becomes not a triumph over nature, but rather a fragile assertion made within a space that constantly dissolves any of the distinctions light is meant to secure. The sea does not clarify; it overwhelms, exposing the limits of vision and the arrogance of believing that illumination can ever be total or final.
Ishmael’s brief but poignant reflection in Chapter 97 shows Moby-Dick’s entire philosophical tension in a single sentence. The whaleman’s life of light is both his glory and his doom, a very real figure for humanity’s contradictory condition. We are creatures who quite literally burn for understanding, who turn the world and its animals into fuel for our enlightenment, yet in doing so, we run the very real risk of extinguishing ourselves along the way. Melville’s imagery reminds us that every light depends on its opposite, that there can be no illumination without shadow, no knowledge without a cost. The “food of light” that sustains civilization is inseparable from the death that feeds it and allows it to grow. Through this paradox, Melville exposes the moral and metaphysical price of human illumination. To “live in light” is to live with that awareness, to recognize the darkness within the glow, and to be able to see, even in the brightest of flames, the trace of what it consumes. By reading Melville through the frameworks offered by Mentz and Gillis, readers can understand that illumination is never solely human or abstract; it is inseparably ecological, historical, and moral.
Works Cited
Gillis, John R., et al. “The Blue Humanities.” National Endowment for the Humanities, 2013, www.neh.gov/humanities/2013/mayjune/feature/the-blue-humanities.
Melville, Herman. Moby Dick. Penguin Books, 2003.
Mentz, Steve. “A poetics of planetary water: The blue humanities after John Gillis.” Coastal Studies & Society, vol. 2, no. 1, 13 Oct. 2022, pp. 137–152, https://doi.org/10.1177/26349817221133199.
Final essay, The art of reading and coming back to re-read
Reading the text vs reading the messages that hide behind the lines of the text, Melville takes us through a story. As he takes us through his story, he stops us in our tracks and makes us look at figures, paintings, and markings. These painting and figures he asks us to read teaches us how to read his book, Moby Dick. This is how Melville teaches us how to read the novel, but also teaches us how to read the world around us, to make a critique of the state of our world. We have to look further into these markings and paintings that Melville tells us to stop and read, just as we do with text. It’s about stopping, taking a first glance, reading the marking, leaving, and coming back to re-read the same markings. Throughout the whole book, we encounter paintings, figures, and markings, such as the painting in the Spouter Inn, the right whale’s head, the sperm whale’s head, and Queequeg’s tattoos. There is a reason why we put up against non-textual elements in this book; they’re there for us to closely read to find answers about the world that Melville is describing during his time. This book is filled with nuance and long, wordy paragraphs, but then we come across something like the painting at the beginning of the book; he tells us to stop and look with Ishmael. It’s the message within the painting that gives us some answers to the nuance and some reflection of the world that Melville is putting up for critique. The art of the lesson that Melville is teaching us is a demonstration of closing reading, to adventure beyond the text and find out why he asks us to look at the right whale’s head and why the details give us (the audience) answers to the nuance that Melville is writing.
In Chapter Three, “The Spouter-Inn”, Ishmael encounters this large painting when he first steps into Spouter-Inn. “On one side hung a very large oil-painting so thoroughly besmoked, and very defaced, it was only by diligent study and a series of systematic visits to it, and careful inquiry of the neighbors, that you could any way arrive at an understanding of its purpose.” (Melville 13). With this passage, Melville teaches us the importance of reading. As we are actively reading this book, we stop and read other markings throughout the book, such as the painting. Not only are the readers reading the literal text, but we are also reading landmarks that are being described throughout this book. We encounter this painting at the beginning of the book, a painting that is hung up for all to see. However, as we can see, the painting has been up for years, with neighbors passing by multiple times a day, and yet it remains overlooked and deemed unimportant. “It was only by diligent study and a series of systematic visits to it.” Only by showing care for the painting and making multiple visits to it, a new meaning comes. The painting suggests to readers that it is a comparison to the book; only through careful studying of the painting can it bring a new outlook to the reader about the book. Studying is reading; the diligent study is to read your surroundings, think about the reading of what you’re observing, and repeat this process, a series of visits to this study. Just like the painting, the book is up for show, for years, for all to come and see, over and over again. Melville doesn’t want you to pick up the book, read it all in one go, and then never touch it again; he is suggesting to us to make multiple visits to the book and take diligent study of the book. He suggests we talk to our neighbors about what they see in and from the book, go back to the book just as Ishmael does with the painting.
This passage is giving the reader a picture in their head; it’s presenting this painting to us as if we are Ishmael, we are Ishmael’s eyes. Now that we have this painting that is in our head, we are trying to figure out what the besmoke and deface looks like. The passage tells us to inquire with our neighbors, and then we can come to some understanding of what the painting might mean. To come to an understanding of the painting, one needs to read said painting; you can’t come to any type of understanding without reading. This passage suggests that we have to paint this canvas in our heads and make multiple visits to it, then maybe we can get an understanding of the painting. Melville is telling us how important it is to read and hold onto those first impressions, so then we come back to the book, the passages, and we, the readers, get to compare and contrast first impressions to what we see now. This is a crucial element of reading Moby Dick.
This passage is essential because it starts the story. This passage shows the reader how and why it’s important to read and re-read. The things that can be displayed on a huge canvas are so often overlooked, like the painting in The Spouter-Inn, but if you take the time to sit and look, leave to your room, sleep, and make your rounds to it, then you can start to read the painting. It’s to read and then come back and re-read the passage, the painting, and the book. “On one side hung a very large oil-painting so thoroughly besmoked, and very defaced.” We see Ishmael start to read this painting, getting an understanding of the canvas, the smudge, and the smoke that is on the painting. Then “it was only by diligent study and a series of systematic visits to it, and careful inquiry of the neighbors, that you could any way arrive at an understanding of its purpose.” Now we have Melville telling us to revisit the painting and take a careful study of it. The painting is the book; we must have that first initial reading of the book, revisit the book, and make careful observations of the revisit.
In chapter 3, we meet our dear Queequeg, and the narrator describes the markings/tattoos. “I might be cherishing unwarrantable prejudices against this unknown harpooner… It’s only his outside; a man can be honest in any sort of skin. But then, what to make of his unearthy complexion, that part of it, I mean, lying around about, and completely independent of the squares of tattooing.” (Meville 19-23) Melville asks us to look at and read Queequeg’s tattoos as if we were in bed watching the sun hit his skin, reading markings on his skin as a symbol of shame. Once again, the author is asking the audience to read a non-textual element of this book because it showcases the importance of how we should read the book and the world around us. Mant of people base their judgment and show prejudices based on appearance, especially tattoos on the skin. Markings that will never leave the body until death, what do these markings tell us about the person, and what do prejudices say about the person who is judging the man with tattoos? It’s a two-way street, it’s not one shot, man’s dead, the shot is fired, and it comes back to the person holding the prejeuces. “It’s only his outside; a man can be honest in any sort of skin” (Melville 23). This line in the passage speaks volumes. Usually, we think that only on the outside is the only way we judge an individual, but Melville describes it as “a man can be honest.” Melville is asking the audience to look at man differently. As we judge, what does that judgment look like? Judgment is reading, as we read Queequeg’s tattoos, we read it differently than how the world usually reads someone with tattoos. Melville suggests a change for the world, but as he suggests this change, he still holds these conservative values with judgment of a man who looks different than him. Melville almost shows the reflection of an opinion, but the mirrored opinion, having this based judgment of someone, because of how we were told to think, but having your own moral battle with that opinion.
Later in chapter 110, we see how Ishemal sees the markings on our dear Queequeg and his coffin, “And this tattooing, had been the work of a departed prophet and seer of his island, who, by those hieroglyphic marks, had written out on his body a complete theory of the heavens and the earth, and a mystical treatise on the art of attaining truth; so that Queequeg in his own proper person was a riddle to unfold; a wondrous work in one volume; but whose mysteries not even himself could read, though his own live heart beat against them; and these mysteries were therefore destined in the end to moulder away with the living parchment whereon they were inscribed, and so be unsolved to the last.” (Melville 524). In this passage, Melville is showing us how Ishmael has learn to read Queequeg and his markings, tattoos. How, over time, as he has gotten to look at his markings, he has gotten to read Queequeg over and over again, and this is his final statement about his development with Queequeg. “And this tattooing, had been the work of a departed prophet and seer of his island, who, by those hieroglyphic marks, had written out on his body a complete theory of the heavens and the earth, and a mystical treatise on the art of attaining truth” (Melville 524), Ishmael went from having unwanted prejedeies about a random Harponner to fully understanding what the markings on his body had meant to Queequeg and not just to Ishmael. Queequeg was a prophet to his people and showcased that people who look like him can belong in a world that is filled with Ishmaels. Melville shows us in this passage the importance of reading within reading; not only are we reading this passage from chapter 110, but we are re-reading Queequeg’s tattoos, and we are reading how Ishmael has been re-reading Queequeg’s tattoos all of this time throughout the book. The art of attaining truth, what a beautiful thing it is to read and reread to finally come to an understanding of this nuance that is being presented to us about markings on a body. “Queequeg in his own proper person was a riddle to unfold; a wondrous work in one volume; but whose mysteries not even himself could read, though his own living heart beat against them; and these mysteries were therefore destined in the end to moulder away with the living parchment whereon they were inscribed, and so be unsolved to the last.” (Melville 524). This entire passage effectively shows the audience the result of the act of reading and re-reading, from forming a judgment about a random man based on prejudice to ultimately reaching a final conclusion about him, which is truly beautiful. Through Ishmael, we gain insight into the answers that Melville poses throughout the book. With this passage, Melville is asking us to better understand Queequeg, but also why Ishmael felt the way he did towards Queequeg throughout the entire story.
In the Introduction to the book by Andrew Delbanco, he writes, “Melville does not employ words in Moby-Dick; he savors them… Even its most dramatic characters rarely end in crescendo but tend to resolve themselves into a reflective quiet that chastens like the sound of strings after brass.” (Delbanco xii). In other words, it is not to be bored by Melville’s long, wordy paragraphs about melancholy nuance but to savor them, stop and think about them, and come back to them, re-read those long, wordy, boring lines. To better understand the characters and the book, it is necessary to read and think and re-read. Melville tells us to be bored and take note, and come back to where you were bored, re-read, and collect your answer, which can be whatever you want it to be
The act of reading is to read, come back and re-read, but it’s also reading what is being asked and reading the contrasted view. In chapter 75, Melville tells to observe the Right Whale’s head, but just before that, the audience is asked to stop observing the Sperm whale’s head before the Right whale’s head. As we read the Sperm whale’s head, we leave to read the contrasted view, and as we read, we still have the Sperm Whale in our mind. Reading the contrasted view of the whale is going to help us better understand when we come back to the Sperm Whale. The importance of reading the contrasted view provides us with a counterpoint to how we understand the story and the idea of life and death. “But as you come nearer to this great head, it begins to assume different aspects, according to your point of view.” (Melville 264). You must look at all points of the Right whale’s head to find answers that were missing in the Sperm Whale’s head. Meville suggests to us that the contrasted view will help us understand his critique of how the world, and how the world views life and death. Different aspects come about when you go 360, reading is 360, reading is a full circle. Melville teaches us how to read within reading. We are Ishmael, and we are walking around the whale’s head and taking in the different counterpoints to come to an answer about why the Sperm whale’s head is deemed to be more important than the Right whale’s. It’s not about the obvious, but what lies behind these non-textual subjects that Melville is telling us to stop and look at.
In the article What ‘Moby-Dick’ Means to Me by Philip Hoare, Phillip Hoare speaks about how Moby Dick can be whatever you want it to be, but it took rereading to come to that understanding. “I didn’t know then what I do now: that “Moby-Dick” can be whatever you want it to be. It took me thirty years to discover what the book was—or what it was not.” This is the importance of reading and re-reading; he talks about his thoughts on what Moby Dick is from his first read, but when he had read, stopped to think about what Moby Dick is, and then re-read Moby Dick, it was then that he came to an understanding of what Moby Dick is, whatever you want. The act of reading is important to come to an answer to Melville’s nuance and melancholy. The stopping and reflecting is single-handedly the most important of the act of reading, without the first thought of the book, you have no 360 moment of coming to an understanding of Moby Dick… whatever you see hiding in the lines of Melville.
Work Cited
Introduction, Delbanco, Andrew, Moby Dick.
Melville, Herman. Moby Dick.
Nast, Condé. “What “Moby-Dick” Means to Me.” The New Yorker, 3 Nov. 2011, www.newyorker.com/books/page-turner/what-moby-dick-means-to-me.
The Apex Predators: Great White Sharks & Great White Aristocrats
In Herman Melville’s Moby Dick, a unique relationship takes forms between the crew, the captain and the ship itself out on the vast sea. In this lawless landless place, the Pequod becomes their new “homeland,” with the captain functioning as a form of ruler of this new “estate” and the crew functioning as the workers. By viewing the interactions of different characters on the ship in relation to the role they play in the hierarchy, we are able to understand the society of the 19th century on a more intimate level.
In this essay I will argue that Melville intentionally intended for the Pequod to symbolize the state of America during the 19th century in order to critique the capitalist system of consumerism whose primary industry relied on exploiting the working class—who were typically members of minority races—in order to supply luxuries products to the upper-class members of society.
Through analyzing specific relationship dynamics, Melville is able to characterize aspects that are intended to represent consumerist society as violent, lazy and cruel in contrast to the working class whose characterization stresses the importance and value of workers in the hopes of sparking change in the social hierarchy.
Additionally, I will demonstrate this argument through an illustration titled The Fruit of Thy Labor, that will symbolize this capitalist society in the scope of violent exploits of this consumerism system.
However, to fully grasp the extent of this metaphorical state and its critique of the current system, we need to firstly understand the historical context of the time period in which it was written, and its direct influence on the narrative.
During the 1800s, as the United States was emerging with a newly formed government, there were contrasting political debates on how to run the country after being newly separated from the British Empire. The United States system of government decided to shift away from the monarchy to form a democratic party and build a new empire resulting in the transpiring of Manifest Destiny with the purpose of expanding democracy and capitalism.
To prevail they needed the means of industry to further this expansion—which led to the debate over the state of labor leading to the eventual Compromise of 1850. Prohibiting the expansion of slave labor in the new states and the integrating the Fugitive Slave Act (Heimert, 1963).
In Melville’s novel, Manifest Destiny is constantly brought to the forefront of the narrative’s journey as a direct result of Melville’s awareness of the moral dilemmas of 19th century politics. These often involved divided debates that questioned the power structure of the system of the states in terms of, class, labor, and race.
In chapter 64 of Moby Dick, titled “Stubb’s Supper,” class, labor, and race are represented through the interactions and dynamics of the characters; Stubb, Daggo’s Fleece, and the sharks—with each playing a specific and intention role in relation to each other in order to represent the current state of society and demonstrate why it should change.
In this part of the novel, the Pequod had just made their first whaling kill and were in the process of hulling in the exploits from their venture. During the transportation of these various items, Stubb specifically requests Daggo to cut a piece from the whale, then he has Fleece cook him up an individual steak. As Stubb finishes ordering him men around, he eats his meal in the midst of night, while thousands of sharks can be heard simultaneously attacking what remains of the whale below him in the water. In this particular scene, the sharks play an interesting dual role of representing and criticizing both aspects of consumerism culture of the upper class while also simultaneously the middle-class work force.
Initially, there is a distinct power-dynamic being enacted by Stubb that is mirrored through the actions of the sharks. The sharks in this scene are currently ravaging the remains of the Whale they had nothing to do with—reaping the benefits of a free meal from the labor of the crew on the ship. Similarly in the way that Stubb has Daggo fetch the meat while having Fleece be the one to cook it for him. In no significant way did Stubb contribute to the work besides giving the orders and dishing out critics—yet he still is the only one who ends up with a stake.
The sharks are purposefully in juxtaposition to Stubb’s while doing this same action in order to represent the competitive and unstable state of consumerism culture itself—framing Stubb’s consumption of meat as something that is simultaneously violent, and lazy, inadvertently framing consumerism as being such qualities.
By having Stubbs literally consume a product [the whale] and correlating it to the shark frenzy created a gruesome visual that represents the brutal nature of the society they are a part of and their roles in the hierarchy [as consumers]. By making the idea of consumerism “undesirable,” Melville is indirectly asking for change from the current rhetoric characterized by this laziness and violence.
However, the sharks don’t just represent the consumers of society, but also the workforce as well, creating a unique relationship between the two by bringing them into the conversation.
“Cook…Don’t you think this steak is rather undone?…Don’t I always say to be good, a whale steak must be tough? There are those sharks now over the side, don’t you see they prefer it tough and rare? What a shindy they are kicking up! Cook, go and talk to ‘em they are welcome to help themselves civilly and in moderation, but must keep quiet” (Melville, pg. 320).
In this excerpt, Stubb directly compares himself to the sharks, by indicating that he prefers his steak in the same manner “tough and rare,” however he does something even more interesting when he asks Fleece [Cook] to literally talk to the sharks. Now, the sharks in this scene are no longer simply a background but actual characters in conversation with both characters. The significance of having both Stubbs, and Fleece in conversation with the shark, is because it situations the consumer [Stubb] and the workforce [Fleece] in conversation with each other—connecting and revealing the truth of their current society. With the consumer having more power in the hierarchy over the workforce regardless of if they can be in conversation with each other.
This is further reinforced by the context of the conversation in itself. Although Stubb is talking to Fleece, it seems more like he is talking at him—not allowing him to get a word in and then making demands and orders for Fleece to follow. The way he talks establishes a relationship whose dynamic is more reflective of an employer and worker dynamic. The specific word choice of “welcome” and if they are “civil and in moderation,” was also to reiterate this dynamic in the hierarchy by reiterating the limits and restraints of workers in this system. Being “welcome” implies that they can easily be unwelcomed and “civil and in moderation” means there is a specific way one must act in order to successfully participate in this system and there is only a certain level they can aspire to or “moderate”.
This dynamic between Stubbs, Fleece and the Sharks can be interpreted as how the effects of capitalism can be dehumanizing for not only the workforce but also for the consumer itself. In this situation, they both may be able to be represented by sharks, but only one is a Great white and the other is a pygmy.
However, despite this distinction, there seems to be a sort of necessity for Stubbs to belittle him in order to reinforce his higher status in the hierarchy. This is tied directly to their class distinction but also exhibits larger racial connotations.
After the Compromise of 1850—that divided the nation on the issue of slavery, conflict arose about the status of new territory on how to go about capitalist adventures in a newly free-market. It was during this era that the term “wage slavery” gained traction which “suggest a permanent condition of wage labor from which there was no chance of rising to economic independence…where, in Eric Foner’s words, “slavery was an immediate reality … the small producer still a powerful element in the social order, and the idea still widespread that the wage-earner was somehow less than fully free.” (McGuire, 2003).
Although slavery was now illegal under law, the effects and conditions of slavery were still present and lingering on the people of these communities. The linger effect situating them in a state of disadvantage [poverty]—which puts them in the terrible position to be exploited. The condition of poverty, albeit an improvement, is still just another form of oppression in the form of exploitative labor.
In the context of Moby Dick, Melville is writing this novel at the same time the nation is shifting and trying to reform their structure of government in terms of race, class, and labor. As a result, certain characters become representative of this society through their role and dynamic relationships on the ship. The most prevalent example is the organization of roles on the ship, in relation to their status and their pay.
On the Pequod, there is a main established hierarchy according to the workstation that goes as following; The Captain, the 1st, 2nd & 3rd mate who function as officers commanding their own whale boat, the harpooners and the sailors. In terms of whaling, the harpooners have the riskiest job—having to actually pursue and kill the whale—yet they get significantly less money than that of the officers who are just supervising. As high-ranking officers, they receive a substantial amount of the profits for their ability to control their subordinates and reinforce this balance of the hierarchy they established. However, Melville does something incredibly clever, situating the different cultural and racial background of the characters in tandem with their positionality on the boat’s hierarchy, to show a direct reflection of 19th century society and the inequalities of this system on a smaller, more understandable scale.
“The harpooneers…who so “generously” supply “the muscles… are representatives of the three races on which each of the American sections…had built its prosperity in the early nineteenth century. Stubb’s squire is an Indian; Star-buck’s comes from the Pacific islands. And Flask, perched precariously on Daggoo’s shoulders, seems, like the southern economy itself, sustained only by the strength of the “imperial negro” (Heimert 1963).
In the wake of free labor in the new free-market economy brought growth to the American people—including the minority population. Although they now have better opportunities, these opportunities are still not equal or substantial in the same way the dominant race and culture receive them. Going back to the concept of wage slavery—there is a lack of upward mobility for people of color during this time period. This is reflected in Melville’s work by having all the hard labor jobs being represented by a person of color. Not only are the jobs hard but Melville makes it a point for these jobs to be essential and to highlight the importance of the working class who have a history of being oppressed and exploited and continue to be. Just like how Flask was held up by Daggo, Stubb uses Daggo and Fleece to make a meal—exploiting their labor for consumption of different kinds but with similar results showing that even though some change has been made to fix the system, there is room for improvement.
This scene describes the interactions between Stubb, Fleece, and the Sharks functions as a hopeful and positive critic towards future changes to reflect and create equality in our society.
Having the sharks reflect different qualities of both sides of the capitalist society goes to show how despite the hierarchy of race, class, and labor—-essentially, we are the same. Just like how there are many different types of sharks but at the end of the day—-they’re all still sharks.
“through amid all the smoking horror and diabolism of a seafight, sharks will be seen longingly gazing up to the ship decks, like hungry dogs round a table where red meat is being carved…while the valiant butchers over the deck-table are thus cannibal carving each other’s live meat…the sharks, also, with their jewel-hilted mouths are quarrelsomely carving away under the table at the dead meat; and though, were you to turn the whole affair upside down, it would still be pretty much the same thing” (Melville, pg. 319).
In this excerpt, the butchers [or consumers] are described as cannibals feasting on live meat which functions as a metaphor for how consumerism culture thrives off the exploitation of others. In order for the butcher to feast, someone must die, which is a very morbid analogy to the sacrifices of the working class for the upper-class commodities. In contrast, the sharks [workers] are feasting on dead meat from under the table—-essentially scraps from the butcher’s feast. Another morbid analogy about how the rich get richer while the poor remain poor, working to merely survive in such a cutthroat society.
However Melville then subverts the hierarchy….yet….everything looks the same?
For in this imagined proposed society of butchers and sharks, despite the different categories that individual roles seemed to be assigned to—under one system they are all the same, hence the lack of change regardless of the subversion.
Melville doesn’t want to simply switch the positions of the roles in the hierarchy but to dismantle the system itself that perpetuates this sort of exploitative capitalist consumer society. Using the Pequod as a metaphor for 19th century America, Melville is expressing his desire for changes to the capitalist system of consumerism that addresses these issues of race, class, and labor. Through these interactions and dynamics of the characters in the narrative, we were able to grasp a better understanding of Moby Dick in the historical context of its time period and its criticism of the governmental systems in place.
References:
Heimert, Alan. “Moby-Dick and American Political Symbolism.” American Quarterly, vol. 15, no. 4, 1963, pp. 498–534. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/2710971. Accessed 17 Dec. 2025.
McGuire, Ian. “‘Who Ain’t a Slave?’: ‘Moby Dick’ and the Ideology of Free Labor.” Journal of American Studies, vol. 37, no. 2, 2003, pp. 287–305. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/27557332. Accessed 17 Dec. 2025.
Illustration: The Fruit of Thy Labor
For my illustration, I chose to draw my interpretation of consumerism in order to visualize the violence behind the action that society deems “normal.” Subversion the idea of normalcy by bringing that brutality to the forefront—or in this case, the dinner table. I wanted to showcase how even the minimalist pleasures and commodities enjoyed by the upper class are built upon the blood sweat and tears of the working class—having her wine literally being made up of the blood of the whale that’s been slain by the whaling ship in the cup. As the whale bleeds out and dies, it supplies products for the upper class. Similarly to how sperm oil was commonly used during this time as the primary light source or the ivory that makes up the very corset aristocrat’s wear. I wanted to take this idea of the whaling industry and compress it into a scene at home. I chose to showcase the whale bleeding out to bring this violence that isn’t often seen to the forefront. Jarring the image of esteem and class portrayed by the aristocrat by having death and labor being at the center of it all. The Whale dies a gruesome death, meanwhile she indulges herself in overconsumption of wine to the point where she’s spilling it from the cup.
Her features are obscured yet prominent, with her skin tone matching the background to bring intentionality to the overwhelming whiteness on the page—meant to symbolize the dominant imperialist white culture of the time period. I also had her nails exaggeratedly sharp to dehumanize her and make her ambiguous and less sympathetic.
In contrast, the whale and ship itself are much smaller and additionally, are contained in the wine glass in the palm of her hand. Using the juxtaposition of the size difference and positionality on the page to show the differing power dynamics, portraying the wealthy holding the power over the working class. With the aristocrat in this picture notably staying out of frame so the main focal point in the scene will be the contents of her wine glass.
The center of the frame portrays the ship, but most glaringly the dead whale in its own giant pool of blood. I wanted this image to be both provoking and sad—hoping to garner sympathy towards the whale itself and those trapped under the command of the aristocrat’s hand.
A picture of consumerism in a capitalist society—where the rich feed off the labor of the poor and more.
Final Essay – Melville’s Critique on Capitalism
Herman Melvilles’s novel, Moby-Dick, serves as a critique of capitalism and its effect on American society. Throughout the novel Melville uses the whaling industry as a metaphor for capitalism; he demonstrates the life-threatening labor of workers in the whaling industry and how crewmembers on the Pequod are merely seen as a commodity for profit, how material wealth overrides the morality of those working and living in a capitalist society, and the disconnect between the consumer and the laborer. The novel shows readers that capitalism in America has created an individualistic society in which profit and gain take precedent over morals and lives.
In Chapter 93, “The Castaway,” Melville uses the character Pip to highlight how workers are seen as a commodity for profit in American capitalist society, and how the life-threatening labor of those in the whaling industry are put aside in order to make a profit.. While chasing a whale, Pip leaps overboard and is caught by the rope connected to the whale. With the only option to save him being to cut the rope and freeing the whale, Pip is reluctantly saved by Stubb, who berates him for the incident: “ ‘Stick to the boat, Pip, or by the Lord, I wont pick you if you jump; mind that. We can’t afford to lose whales by the likes of you; a whale would sell for thirty times what you would, Pip, in Alabama. Bear that in mind, and don’t jump any more.’ Hereby perhaps Stubb indirectly hinted, that though man loves his fellow, yet man is a money-making animal, which propensity too often interferes with his benevolence” (Melville 452). Pip is told by Stubb that his life is not worth more than any amount of money that could be made from the whale. Profit over life, unsurprising considering the money is made off of the killing of whales. Melville shows the harsh reality of the industry, how workers are seen as expendable and should not be considered anything more than a commodity and a way to gain wealth. Directly after this, Pip falls overboard once more, and the cruelty of capitalism is shown in full effect: “Pip jumped again… when the whale started to run, Pip was left behind on the sea, like a hurried traveller’s trunk. Alas! Stubb was but too true to his word… Stubb’s inexorable back was turned upon him; and the whale was winged. In three minutes, a whole mile of shoreless ocean was between Pip and Stubb… For the rest, blame not Stubb too hardly. The thing is common in that fishery” (Melville 452-454). This time, Stubb sticks to his word and puts the potential profit of the whale over the life of Pip. Melville also points out how this is a common occurrence in the industry, and to not judge Stubb too harshly for his immoral decision. Too often it is seen in America that the lives of workers are less important than the money that is made off of them. Capitalism has created a society that does not care about the loss of life so long as the money keeps coming in. Pip’s life did not matter to Stubb or to any of the other members on the boat, as they were too focused on killing the whale that could make them some money. Perhaps even more so, Melville uses Pip, a Black American, to demonstrate how another industry puts the importance of profit over life and morality; slavery. Still the major issue in America at the time of the novel’s publication, slavery is capitalism in its most cruel form. The gaining of profit off of the buying and selling of humans, forcing them into unpaid labor, and treating them like they are inferior. This chapter goes to the full extent in showing the brutality and viciousness of capitalism in America, and how money overrides morals.
In Chapter 36, titled “The Quarter Deck,” Melville demonstrates how Captain Ahab is able to use a form of currency, in this case a golden doubloon, to influence the crewmembers into overriding their moral obligations to the original journey, allowing Ahab to take full control of the Pequod and manipulate and bribe the crewmembers into doing his bidding. “ ‘Whosoever of ye raises me a white-headed whale with a wrinkled brow and a crooked jaw; whosoever of ye raises me that white-headed whale, with three holes punctured in his starboard fluke – look ye, whosoever of ye raises me that same white whale, he shall have this gould ounce, my boys!’ ‘Huzza! huzza!’ cried the seamen, as with swinging tarpaulins they hailed the act of nailing the gold to the mast” (Melville 176). Captain Ahab is able to use the gold doubloon as an economic incentive for the crewmembers on the Pequod, demonstrating how monetary items can be used to exploit workers into doing harmful and dangerous things. Here, Ahab is using the doubloon as a way to gain the trust of the crewmembers on the ship, and to steer them into dangerous waters away from their original whaling expedition in order to conquer his own personal and malicious goal, which will result in the death of most of those on board. In this chapter, Melville is showing the reader how the doubloon is a metaphor for capitalism; under capitalism, it is normalized for morals, ethics, and safety to take a back seat to money and personal profit. Melville is criticizing how capitalism has essentially bribed everyone into thinking that money is at the top of the pedestal, and all other values and ethics must be ignored if you wish to be at the top. The pursuit of wealth results in the loss of morals, and the men on the Pequod do not care what it takes to be the one who gets Captain Ahab’s gold doubloon.
Throughout the novel Melville shows the dangers of the whaling industry. He goes into the harsh details of killing whales and the production of whale oil, a product used by many Americans at the time; by doing so Melville is able to demonstrate the disconnect between consumers and laborers under capitalism. In Chapter 61, titled “Stubb Kills a Whale,” Melville gives the reader a brutal detailing on the killing of a whale by Stubb: “And now abating in his flurry, the whale once more rolled out into view; surging from side to side; spasmodically dilating and contracting his spout-hole, with sharp, cracking, agonized respirations. At last, gush after gush of clotted red gore, as if it had been the purple lees of red wine, shot into the frighted air; and falling back again, ran dripping down his motionless flanks into the sea. His heart had burst! ‘He’s dead, Mr. Stubb,’ said Tashtego” (Melville 311-312). The production of whale oil comes at a cost. The harsh killing of whales in a most vicious form, of course dangerous for whales but also the men tasked with killing them. Consumers are not the ones going out into the ocean and harpooning a whale until it is dead, yet they are the ones using the oil for simple things like candles, lamps, and soap. The reader sees the production of squeezing the sperm out of the whale in Chapter 94, “A Squeeze of the Hand.” While this chapter may be known for other things, it demonstrates what the worker sees versus what the buyer sees. Ishmael describes the grisly process which goes on inside of the blubber-room: “With his gaff, the gaffman hooks on to a sheet of blubber, and strives to hold it from slipping, as the ship pitches and lurches about. Meanwhile, the spade-man stands on the sheet itself, perpendicularly chopping it into the portable horse-pieces. This spade is sharp as hone can make it; the spademan’s feet are shoeless… If he cuts off one of his own toes, or one of his assistant’s, would you be very much astonished? Toes are scarce among veteran blubber-room men” (Melville 458). The process of creating this oil is unknown to the consumer, yet they use it to light lamps and to make soaps, candles, and other cosmetics. Melville here is showing the reader how the consumer doesn’t see what goes on inside the blubber-room, but rather they only see the finished product as something that is clean and seemingly pure. Capitalism thrives on consumers not knowing how products are made. Capitalist societies are able to make huge amounts of profit as a result of the harsh labor of others, those who lose limbs doing a job that they hardly get paid for, and the buyer is ignorant to all of it. Poor working conditions and cheap wages are the backbone of capitalism, for its exploitative nature will allow for nothing else.
A scholarly titled, “Moby Dick and the Crimes of the Economy,” written by author Vincenzo Ruggiero and published by the Oxford University Press, explores the idea of Moby-Dick in terms of an economical system in which the reader should note that in the novel we see the exploitation, the violence, and the corruptness in capitalism. When discussing the comparison of the whaling industry and Captain Ahab, Ruggiero writes: “Ishmael’s criticism of Ahab’s excesses diverts him, though not completely, from criticizing the whaling industry itself (Moretti 1996: 32). His condemnation wavers because he is unable to establish whether it is the logic of that industry which creates the Ahabs or whether the captain’s excesses are the result of a subjective, pathological, drive…Surely, Ahab is full of ira et studio and is incapable of running his business with a spirit of formalistic imper constant violation of the official rules, however, can only partially be attributed industry in which he is involved, and his crimes are mainly extrinsic to that industry” (Ruggiero 103-104). Here it seems as though Ruggiero suggests that Ishmael is more comfortable with critiquing Ahab rather than criticizing the whaling industry as a whole. While Ahab’s behavior is certainly inexcusable, it does not take away from the fact that the entire industry is flawed, and that its immoral values is what could have led to the madness of Ahab and the corruption of the crewmembers on the Pequod. Ruggiero is offering the idea that the systemic structure of capitalism should be at blame, not just one man who takes it to the extreme. In another scholarly article, “Melville’s Economy of Language,” published by Cambridge University Press, author Paul Royster criticizes the blame of Ahab for what is the fault of the whaling industry. He writes, “Viewing Moby-Dick as a less than radical critique of American capitalism coincides with one of the plot’s central features: Ahab’s rebellion against God, economy, and nature. Ahab has no respect for the commercial purposes of the Pequod’s voyage, yet the form of his opposition to the system of economic relations serves ultimately to reinforce the values of the bourgeois order. Ahab’s madness, his usurpation of power, and his rigid authoritarianism all deflect criticism away from the economic system that launched the Pequod” (Royster 322). Just like what Ruggiero is suggesting, Royster believes that by blaming Captain Ahab for what happens in the novel, the whaling industry and capitalism are not held at fault. Ahab goes against the original plan of the Pequod’s journey, yet he still reinforces the standards of the bourgeois in his acts of self gain, harsh labor conditions, and ruling by authoritarianism. However this should not take away from the fact that the Pequod is only in this position because of the whaling industry and capitalism. Without the whaling industry, there would be no Pequod nor would there be a Captain Ahab, and the capitalist values that attempt to conquer the ocean would cease. Both Ruggiero and Royster are asking the readers to look more in depth into what Melville is writing; do not look at a character like Ahab without seeing the underlying meanings in the novel. Captain Ahab is a product of capitalism and the whaling industry, and to solely blame him for the destruction of the Pequod and the men on board is to not hold capitalism’s systemic issues responsible.
Herman Melville’s novel, Moby-Dick, is a critique of capitalism and how it has severely affected American society. Melville uses the whaling industry to criticize capitalism, while demonstrating the poor treatment of workers, the disparity between consumer and laborer, and the immorality of capitalism. Both scholarly articles also discuss the importance of blaming the entire whaling industry and capitalism as a whole for what happens in the novel, not just the actions of Captain Ahab. To read Moby-Dick is to inherently read a novel that discusses how capitalism is to blame for turning America into a country in which profit is more important than lives, whether that life be whale or human.
Works Cited
Melville, Herman. Moby-Dick: Or, The Whale. Edited by Andrew Delbanco and Tom Quirk, Penguin Publishing Group, 2003.
Ruggiero, Vincenzo. “Moby Dick and the crimes of the economy.” British Journal of Criminology, vol. 42, no. 1, 1 Jan. 2002, pp. 96–108, https://doi.org/10.1093/bjc/42.1.96.
Royster, Paul, “Melville’s Economy of Language” (1986). Faculty Publications, UNL Libraries. 1. https://digitalcommons.unl.edu/libraryscience/1
Final Essay
Diego Aguirre
Professor Pressman
ECL 522
16 December 2025
An Ode to the Working Class
The Great American Novel, Moby Dick, offers readers with a plethora of rich subject matter to dive into through its tale that is not so much about hunting a whale. A common reading of the novel is that in treating the Pequod as a nation-state representative of the 1850s United States, Herman Melville criticizes the unjust practices of our capitalist democratic republic. In Moby Dick, Melville employs medieval language to expose the hierarchical systems rooted in our country that have prevented the working class from getting the recognition they deserve; he further uses this language of nobility to flip the narrative as he celebrates the working class that has lifted this country on its back.
Before discussing how Melville does this, it’s important to look at one of his sources of inspiration: Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “The American Scholar.” In it, Emerson touches on the ramifications of the increased specialization of workers in the United States. He writes “Man is thus metamorphosed into a thing, into many things. The planter, who is Man sent out into the field to gather food, is seldom cheered by any idea of the true dignity of his ministry” (Emerson). This evaluation from Emerson can be applied to most other physical laborers that fuel the nation, such as whalemen. Despite their importance to the growth of the United States, they’re treated as just another group of “Man sent out into the field” and are “seldom cheered.” Recognizing this, Melville writes an entire novel around whaling to make sure that this essential part of our whole is not forgotten.
Of the many terms ascribed to the novel’s central characters, including the whales, one of the most interesting is their association with the medieval era. In the adjacent chapters, “The Advocate” and “Postscript,” Melville asserts “Whaling is imperial! By old English statutory law, the whale is declared a ‘royal fish’… we whalemen supply your kings and queens with coronation stuff!” (121, 123). In suggesting that both whaling and whales themselves are “imperial” and “royal”, Melville is prompting us to reconsider how we view them, especially since they are sourcing the materials used in coronations for those at the top. He continues with this language in the subsequent chapters “Knights and Squires.”
Melville introduces the crew of the Pequod through a medieval caste to highlight the hierarchy of both whale ships and the United States of America. The shared title of Chapters 26 and 27, “Knights and Squires,” is already enough to indicate a divide between the crew. The mates Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask, white men from Nantucket, Cape Cod, and Tisbury, assume the position of knight. Directly under each of them is their “savage” squires: Pacific islander Queequeg, Gay-Header Indian Tashtego, and the imperial negro Daggoo. Though they are all described to be more physically capable and reliable, hence their position as the harpooners in such a violent and vital industry, their non-white skin creates a clear distinction in their status.
This dynamic in which the white man leads extends to the rest of the unnamed crew, and many other American industries as well:
As for the residue of the Pequod’s company, be it said, that at the present day not one in two of the many thousand men before the mast employed in the American whale fishery, are Americans born, though pretty nearly all the officers are. Herein it is the same with the American whale fishery as with the American army and military and merchant navies, and the engineering forces employed in the construction of the American Canals and Railroads. The same, I say, because in all these cases the native American liberally provides the brains, the rest of the world as generously supplying the muscles. (Melville 131)
Melville’s emphasis here is to remind us who it was that labored the most in the founding of our country. Even though “not one in two of the many thousand men” in the whaling industry were born in America (immigrants), most never received the title of officer, nor the benefits expected for someone who puts in the most work. In the specific case of the Pequod, we are never given the names of a majority of the crew who keep the ship operating; they don’t receive the focus given to their king Ahab, his knights Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask, or even their squires Queequeg, Tashtego, and Daggoo. At the base of the ladder, few of them receive proper recognition in spite of their importance in maintaining the ship. Within the context of 1850s America, this group stands in for the enslaved, unrecognized as humans to the highest degree as they were stripped of their rights, yet expected to provide the labor necessary to maintain the growth of the nation.
Melville then directly calls out the same structure in the “American army and military and merchant navies, and the engineering forces employed in the construction of the American Canals and Railroads.” These foundational industries that served to protect and expand the United States ran off of the same design that let the mass contributors go unnoticed and unappreciated while the ones in charge received all of the attention and glory. The employees of these industries, mostly immigrants, were used in service of further increasing the position of the white man with the conquering of Mexican land and expansion towards the West; they were the ones that made it possible, but the end goal was never in favor of them.
With some effective word choice, Melville then starts to hint towards who actually deserves our praise: “the native American liberally provides the brains, the rest of the world as generously supplying the muscles.” In deliberately leaving native uncapitalized, Melville presents the replacement of the Native American by the white man who have claimed the term for themselves. Considering this appropriation, liberally seems to be the native Americans’ loose assumption that they should provide the brains. Meanwhile, the rest of the world generously supplies the muscles. By suggesting that the rest of the world is more benevolent, Melville questions the legitimacy of the white man at the head to challenge the structures of all the American industries he has just described.
All of this culminates in the fact that these imperative industries were established with hierarchical systems that placed one group, the white man, above the rest who were not even deemed worthy of recognition. In the context of 1850s America, specifically in the increased national attention towards slavery and the continued Westward expansion, Melville draws attention to the structures behind the categorization of humans as more or less and breaks down the reasoning of these systems to show how unreliable they are. This faulty system is at the core of the Pequod, positioning Ahab as the king of the ship. However, Melville treats this as a cautionary tale of what happens when democracy shifts to monarchy, when kings are valued over their subjects, and when any opposition is considered rebellion.
As Ahab takes after King Lear in his descent into madness, Melville applies the noble traits expected of a king to another group of characters: the harpooners. In his journal article “Moby-Dick and American Political Symbolism,” Alan Heimert offers a possible reason on why they are treated as such. The harpooners:
are representative of the three races on which each of the American sections, it might be said, had built its prosperity in the early nineteenth century. Stubb’s squire is an Indian; Starbuck’s comes from the Pacific islands. And Flask, perched precariously on Daggoo’s shoulders, seems, like the southern economy itself, sustained only by the strength of the “imperial negro.”(Heimert 502)
The harpooners fitting perfectly into Moby Dick’s allegory of the United States, Melville constantly shines an honorary light on them for their heroics. While Queequeg receives the most attention out of all of them, the most poignant scene of Melville’s praise is “Flask, perched precariously on Daggoo’s shoulders” referenced by Heimert.
In “The First Lowering” to hunt whales, Melville zooms in on a peculiar scene where, acting as a mast-head, the “noble negro” Dagoo bears the “vivacious, tumultuous, ostentatious, little Flask” upon his shoulders (241). This scene on Flask’s boat serves as a microcosm of the United States in which the black man literally uplifts the white; Melville uses this to reverse the preconceived notions of nobility based on race all while praising the stability of the foundational Daggoo.
At the start of this scene, it is described that little King-Post (Flask) was “recklessly standing upon the top of the loggerhead” in hopes of satisfying his “large and tall ambition” (Melville 240). In a situation where these men are chasing their profits, it’s important to note that the ambitious yet little King-Post could not satisfy his desires by himself. Fortunately for him, his harpooner Daggoo “volunteered his lofty shoulders for a pedestal” (Melville 240). Daggoo’s volunteering of himself as a pedestal, or mast-head, recalls the generosity of “the rest of the world” and it can also be viewed as a reclamation of power. If we are to view this scene as a representation of the United States in the 1850s, Daggoo willingly offering himself directly goes against the subjugation of slaves’ labor. Daggoo is proud to offer himself as a mast-head because their unified work is what will lead to their success in this whale hunt.
Though there may be something to argue about Daggoo maintaining the status of an object, specifically one that lets the white man stand upon him, Melville proposes we change our minds about which position is praiseworthy. He writes:
But the sight of little Flask mounted upon gigantic Daggoo was yet more curious; for sustaining himself with a cool, indifferent, easy, unthought of, barbaric majesty, the noble negro to every roll of the sea harmoniously rolled his fine form. On his broad back, flaxen-haired Flask seemed a snow-flake. The bearer looked nobler than the rider. (Melville 241)
It would be easy to forget that this all occurs during their first chaotic whale hunt since Daggoo is described as “sustaining himself with a cool, indifferent, easy, unthought of, barbaric majesty.” Maintaining his posture on the small boat rocking against the rolling waves is a second nature to Daggoo; he is able to stand firm and support the little Flask in all his “barbaric majesty.” No longer is Flask referred to as little Kind-Post, now Daggoo receives the title of majesty. Melville uses his common trick of pairing opposing terms, barbaric and majesty, to overthrow the idea that they’re meant to be separate. He continues to use this honorific language as “the noble negro to every roll of the sea harmoniously rolled his fine form.” Again, Melville gives praise to the ones that not only withstand the pressure of nature and those they’re uplifting, but are in harmony with its flow. It’s no surprise that “the bearer looked nobler than the rider,” for Daggoo, and the many noble negroes enslaved by the majestic barbarians of nineteenth century America, were the pedestal that provided the stability that Flask and all the other snow-flakes relied on to satisfy their ambitions.
While Melville sings the praises of Daggoo, Flask seems to have fallen from grace. He was already stripped of his title of King-Post, but Melville only continues to mock the attitude of this snow-flake: “truly vivacious, tumultuous, ostentatious little Flask would now and then stamp with impatience; but not one added heave did he thereby give to the negro’s lordly chest. So have I seen Passion and Vanity stamping the living magnanimous earth, but the earth did not alter her tides and her seasons for that” (Melville 241). Flask seems to have now been reduced to a spoiled and bratty prince. He maintains his lively and obnoxious attitude, trying to lord over the boat, stamping with impatience, but his power has diminished. He knows how reliant he is in this situation too, as he does not dare add one heave to “the negro’s lordly chest.” Melville can’t help but sprinkle in more compliments for Daggoo, again referring to him as “lordly,” now bearing not only Flask, but his authority as well. Then Melville closes this scene with one last comparison for both men: Flask is assigned to the “Passion and Vanity” that stamps “the living magnanimous earth” that is Daggoo. The once lordly King-Post, now just a vain bundle of intense emotion and pride, can only try and stamp his desires upon the generous and forgiving Daggoo. But in this celebratory scene of Daggoo, we are presented with an alternative to the United States in which the noble negro refuses altering for the ones they bear on their backs.
In the context of their first frenzied chase of whales, it is important that Melville stops for a second to focus on this comedic scene of Flask and Daggoo. By positioning the mast-head Daggoo as noble, majestic, firm, and magnanimous, we are left to commend him rather than the ambitious, ostentatious, vain, snow-flake Flask. A whale boat in which the ambitions of the head are prioritized over the stability of the pedestal cannot even participate in the chase. The humbling mockery of Flask and glory given to Daggoo is a direct reversal of the narratives that have persisted since nineteenth century United States, in which the figureheads are praised while the people they stand upon are belittled, mocked, ignored, enslaved, and persecuted.
Ultimately, Melville’s treatment of Daggoo here is how the working class should’ve always been treated. But from our country’s inception to the present, this established hierarchy has been used by those in power to ignore and vilify those at the bottom, ranging from our history of slavery to today’s targeting of the immigrants that are a vital part of this nation’s workforce. Recognizing this back in the nineteenth century, Melville proposes that we reconsider who is nobler between the bearers and the riders. Should we desire a different fate than the doomed Pequod, the United States needs to take after Melville and celebrate the ones before the mast, the ones that keep our nation afloat.
Works Cited
Emerson, Ralph Waldo. “The American Scholar.” 1837
Heimert, Alan. “Moby-Dick and American Political Symbolism.” American Quarterly, vol. 15, no. 4, 1963, pp. 498–534. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/2710971. Accessed 16 Dec. 2025.
Melville, Herman, et al. Moby-Dick, Or, The Whale. Penguin Books, 2003.
The Whale That Remains Undefined
Before Moby-Dick begins, Melville immerses the reader in a complex assemblage of borrowed voices that collectively attempt, yet ultimately fail, to define the whale. The Extracts contain scripture alongside scientific texts, poetic works, and folkloric material, which exist as an unordered collection of documents. The first chapter fails to explain the whale because it demonstrates how meaning develops through opposing concepts, yet people choose to place their anxieties onto objects. The whale exists as a cultural creation that emerges from the combination of broken language and human mental imagery. The different voices present their arguments, but none establishes absolute control; their combined statements demonstrate that people understand mysterious phenomena through the accumulation of stories rather than through personal encounters. The epistemological method that emerged in the nineteenth century continues to shape how society represents whales, oceans, and natural environments across various visual media, as exemplified in the modern Extracts of this project. The Extracts function serves as an innovative starting point that facilitates the acquisition of enduring knowledge through the ongoing addition of information, rather than by seeking complete accuracy.
The Extracts section serves as an introduction, examining the core elements that define knowledge. Melville unites biblical texts, scientific writings, and poetic passages to create a vessel that reflects human curiosity across historical periods. The three quotations work to establish the whale’s stability by attempting to classify it and by creating mythological narratives. The two sets of voices create opposing forces, thereby diminishing their credibility. The growing collection shows how language becomes ineffective at conveying its intended message when it tries to do so. Meaning arises not from any single perspective, but from the interplay and tension among them. In Melville’s work, the whale is defined through his method, which presents it by highlighting its differences and opposing elements, helping readers understand it through its resistance to clear interpretation.
A particularly notable moment in the Extracts occurs in Miriam Coffin or the Whale Fishermen, where the whale momentarily emerges from the accumulation of language as a manifestation of pure force. The passage, “Suddenly a mighty mass emerged from the water. Shot up perpendicularly into the air. It was the whale” (Melville, l), condenses the whale’s presence into a sudden display of motion and weight. The abrupt, fragmented syntax mirrors the shock of the encounter. The phrase “mighty mass” emphasizes the whale’s scale rather than its identity, while the terse statement “It was the whale” functions less as an explanation and more as an instinctive response, suggesting that language follows awe rather than precedes it. In this instance, description does not confer mastery but instead reveals its limitations. The whale is depicted as a force that briefly disrupts the surface before returning to obscurity, enacting an encounter with the sublime where observation falters and naming becomes an expression of astonishment rather than comprehension.
While Miriam Coffin depicts the whale as a sudden eruption of physical power, Whale Song transforms that power into an object of reverence. The passage begins with the exclamation “Oh, the rare old Whale” (Melville, li), immediately shifting the tone from shock to awe. The transition from prose to verse alters the perception of the whale; rhythm and repetition elevate it from a mere animal to a symbolic presence. Verses such as “A giant in might, where might is right, / And King of the boundless sea” present the whale as a sovereign figure whose dominance is portrayed as both natural and justified. Here, power is equated with legitimacy. What was once overwhelming is rendered dignified, as language shifts from expressing fear to expressing admiration. Positioned at the conclusion of the Extracts, the song does not seek to explain the whale but to honor it, indicating that when language reaches the boundaries of comprehension, it turns to praise rather than certainty.
Taken together, these extracts chart a progression from confrontation to myth, illustrating how human language transforms the unknown into something bearable. The whale transitions from a manifestation of raw physicality to a figure of sovereignty, from a destabilizing presence to a symbol of order. The different voices in Melville’s work create an orchestral composition that produces meaning through their combined effects rather than through exact factual information. Comprehension develops from emotional and cultural elements rather than through direct knowledge acquisition. Language functions to do more than describe natural events, as it allows us to create narratives about enigmatic phenomena, which we arrange into significant patterns based on our personal experiences of wonder.
Melville’s fragmentary approach parallels the epistemological perspective advanced by Ralph Waldo Emerson in The American Scholar. Emerson rejects knowledge derived from the passive reception of inherited systems, arguing that understanding arises from personal experience with diverse sources of information (Emerson). The Extracts demonstrate this principle through their organized structure, which follows a logical sequence. The whale becomes a subject that demands intellectual humility rather than mastery because Melville avoids using a single explanatory framework. The knowledge system operates on provisional information, which people construct by piecing together different parts rather than seeking certainty through official authority.
Resistance to this method is both theoretical and historical. As O. W. Riegel observes in The Anatomy of Melville’s Fame, early critics evaluated Moby-Dick by strict standards of unity and coherence, deeming it deficient precisely because it defied these expectations (Riegel). What unsettled readers was not merely Melville’s subject matter, but his rejection of interpretive closure. The Extracts contravened critical desires for order, demonstrating that meaning is not found in tidy forms but in the reader’s ability to navigate instability. Riegel’s analysis indicates that Melville’s approach anticipated a broader cultural shift toward understanding knowledge as contested and provisional rather than absolute.
A similar logic underpins the modern Extracts compiled in the video. The current media depictions of whales in films, television shows, video games, and animated content present conflicting images that combine fear and respect, violence and admiration, but fail to create a unified reality. The whale remains unclear in these representations because they reveal the cultural factors that shape its interpretation. The inclusion of titles and dates in the fragments establishes their historical context, demonstrating that media formats change, yet people continue to create myths about the unknown.
Collectively, Melville’s Extracts and their contemporary counterpart demonstrate that the whale continues to serve as a projection surface for humanity’s uncertainties regarding nature, power, and knowledge. Instead of providing clarity, both collections emphasize instability, reminding audiences that understanding arises not from domination or categorization, but from an awareness of the limitations of human perception. By maintaining contradiction rather than eliminating it, the Extracts encourage sustained engagement with the unknown, fostering an interpretive process that resists closure.
Works Cited:
Emerson, Ralph Waldo. The American Scholar. 1837.
Melville, Herman, and Andrew Delbanco. Moby Dick, or, the Whale. Penguin Books, 1992.
Riegel, O. W. “The anatomy of melville’s fame.” American Literature, vol. 3, no. 2, May 1931, p. 195, https://doi.org/10.2307/2919779.
“(waves for thought).” Creative Final Project
Here is the link to the Google Doc in case it doesn’t appear correctly: (waves for thought).
Writing this final project was like being aboard the Virginia Reel, twisting, turning, pivoting, plummeting, rising, and falling. My time with Emerson was personally revolutionary; I carry his call for fierce individualism and the necessity for one’s relationship with nature with me. I look up at the clouds we walk under and see my reflection in the waves of the turtle pond, bonding with the world around me and forming my own relationship with it. I hear my classmates talk about their education, their days, and I hear the murmuring heartbeat of America’s past, present, and future. In everything, I see Emerson’s message and call to action. And that is why I saw it reflected throughout Melville’s novel, Moby Dick.
Though there is no evidence that Melville read or regularly engaged with Emerson’s “American Scholar,” his novel Moby Dick can be read in dialogue with and in reflection on Emerson’s work, affirming Emerson’s overarching call for experimental learning, intellectual independence, and the value of nature. By reading Moby Dick as a reflection of Emerson’s “The American Scholar,” the novel becomes a living fossil of the American Renaissance and an attempt to realize Emerson’s American individuality through scholarly work. Reading Melville’s work alongside Emerson’s touches on one of Emerson’s central messages throughout “The American Scholar”: individuality. It is in the combined effort and mediations of multiple diverse scholars that we find the call to action posed to scholars in America’s Renaissance. Through a return to Ralph Waldo Emerson’s “The American Scholar,” I seek to relate Melville’s relation to the call to action that Emerson presents through his work, showing how this unconfirmed relationship between the two American scholars defines the historical and academic context of our nation, shaping the development of an American literary identity grounded in experience, embodied knowledge, and cultural self-definition.
At first, I wanted to experiment with the structure of my poem and explore the forms of Emerson’s and Melville’s works. But then, every attempt that I had at the playful organization of Emerson’s quotes and Melville’s quotes felt off and not fluid. I began thinking about how these two American scholars are engaging in the same larger conversation on American individuality and identity, and what is a conversation but two columns? The dialogue between Emerson’s call to action in “The American Scholar” and Melville’s Moby Dick is indirect, meaning there is no confirmation or evidence that Melville read Emerson’s work and created his novel as a direct response. However, it is still part of a broader national conversation. A conversation between two individuals could be organized into two columns, weaving and bouncing between them to form a larger whole. However, because the two scholars are part of a bigger discussion on the essence of America, it didn’t make sense to have one column represent Melville and the other Emerson. Instead, their quotes are interwoven and braided to form a larger message, just as their prospective works function together.
There are distinct similarities between Emerson’s call and Melville’s various messages throughout his novel, particularly in Emerson’s transcendentalist perspective on nature, Melville’s emphasis on bodily experience over academic structures, and the overarching value placed on self-reflection. Just as Emerson calls for “man thinking,” Melville not only thinks for himself on how to contribute to the larger American identity, but writes a central narrator who prioritizes deep, critical thought for over 600 pages (Emerson, “The American Scholar”). Similarly, as Emerson tells his audience to trust themselves, Melville writes a character who trusts himself so bodily in his mission to catch the whale that it wholly consumes him, leading to his downfall. Ahab’s character demonstrates a critical point for the broader construction of American identity: the ability for scholars to think for themselves, work with one another, and disagree. Though Melville presents a character who touches on Emerson’s call to “trust yourself,” he cautions against too much trust, thus allowing his novel to embody his own individual representation of American identity. Like Emerson warns, thinking as everyone else makes you “a cog in the machine,” stripping away any uniqueness (Emerson, “The American Scholar”). Ahab’s character exemplifies scholarly dialogue, though indirectly. In terms of citations, Moby Dick’s footnote and citation style are unclear and wholly unique, part of the novel’s larger puzzle. In my creative attempt, the citations are purposely not clearly cited. This was part of an effort to address the fluidity between the two messages: both authors are independent American scholars, yet their work blends to form something larger than themselves. Both Emerson and Melville work to break down barriers of the classified and unclassified, the known and unknown, the singular and collective. I attempt to outline the shared overlap between the two others, the overlap that paints the field of American literature today.
And because my poem does not have an actual works cited, here is my works cited:
Emerson, Ralph Waldo. “The American Scholar.” Essays: First Series, 1841. Norton Critical Edition, edited by Joel Porte, W. W. Norton, 1982, pp. 3-21.
Melville, Herman. Moby-Dick; or, The Whale. Penguin Classics, edited with an introduction by Andrew Delbanco and notes by Tom Quirk, Penguin Classics, 2002.
Better to be Bored than Mindlessly Entertained
Sophia Fugazzotto
ECL 522
Dr. Pressman
December 12th, 2025
Better to be Bored than Mindlessly Entertained
The famous novel Moby Dick by Herman Melville is often detailed by the hunt for the whale, but the true nature lies in the lack of action. The anti-climatic nature of Moby Dick creates an experience in which the reader must be bored. The novel is a device for the experience of boredom and delayed gratification, intended to teach the reader the importance of being bored. These seemingly wasted moments of waiting are crucial for the development of new ideas, creativity, and new ways of thinking.
Boredom fuels creativity and is key for the development of new ways of thinking. Jason Farman details in Delayed Response: The Art of Waiting from the Ancient to the Instant World: “Waiting, as represented by silences, gaps, and distance, allows us the capacity to imagine that which does not yet exist and, ultimately, innovate into those new worlds as our knowledge expands”. Let us consider chapter 42, The Whiteness of the Whale, in this context. It begins with small commentary on Ahab’s obsession, transitioning slowly into how the whiteness of the whale appalls Ishmael, and then simply proceeds into a seven page explication on the meaning of whiteness. This pure obsession and deep dive can only be explained by what is fostered in moments of boredom and emptiness. A simple color is considered in domain after domain, along with the implications that come with it. Despite this deep contemplation, the chapter seems to reach no real conclusion on what whiteness is, that it may just be nothing. “Or is it, that as in essence whiteness is not so much a color as the visible absence of color, and at the same time the concrete of all colors; is it for these reasons that there is such a dumb blankness, full of meaning, in a wide landscape of snows–a colorless, all-color of atheism from which we shrink?” (p.212) This chapter shows the importance of the state of boredom, how one small idea–the whiteness of the whale–can unfold into seven pages of critical thought of the color white.
In chapter 132, Symphony, another example of the product of boredom is found. In this, creative, new ways of thinking are born through a view of the ocean. Melville writes: “hither, and thither, on high, glided the snow white wings of the small, unspeckled birds; these were the gentle thoughts of the feminine air; but to and fro in the deeps, far down in the bottomless blue, rushed mighty leviathans, sword fish, and sharks; and these were the strong, troubled, murderous thinkings of the masculine sea. But though thus contrasting within, the contrast was only in shades and shadows without; those two seemed one; it was only the sex, as it were, that distinguished them” (589). This chapter begins with a simple observation of the ocean, seemingly objective, but then dives into a subjective, gendered criticism of nature and society. Although on the surface it is a description of the interaction between air and water, this description becomes a critical analysis of gender and how society separates masculine and feminine. As Melville says “The contrast was only in shades and shadows without; those two seemed one” (p.589), he emphasizes his idea of gender only being established by concepts of physical form. Having analytic thought on societal constructs from a simple view of the ocean demonstrates further the importance of boredom and how it can bring about new ways of thinking. Not only does Melville create a gendered view of the nature before him, but he also immediately deconstructs the model he has created. This can be connected back to Farman’s way of thinking as he states: “Wait times are key…because they afford us the opportunity to imagine and speculate about worlds beyond our own immediate places and speculate about the possible.” The beginning of Symphony is an example of this expansion beyond our physical place in the world, where Melville speculates about the possibility of a world not contained by gender roles.
Additionally, in this chapter, Ahab reaches a sudden realization of the manic chase he has led the boat on and the life he has pursued. Throughout this novel, Ahab seems to have few thoughts or reflections beyond his obsession with the white whale, but in these final chapters, he stares out at the sea and seemingly gains perspective on where he is and the path he is purging himself on. “Slowly crossing the deck from the scuttle, Ahab leaned over the side, and watched out his shadow in the water sank and sank to his gaze… the lovely aromas in that enchanted air did at last seem to dispel, for a moment, the cankerous thing in his soul… From beneath his slouched hat Ahab dropped a tear into the sea; nor did all the Pacific contain such wealth as that one wee drop” (p.590). In this moment of boredom, Ahab–for just a moment–is relieved of the pain inside of him. This is another example of how moments filled with nothing allow for new ways of thinking and positive reflection.
In chapter 35, Ishmael takes watch at the mast head, and is lost in a reverie of thought. Watching at the mast head does not entail much, and is a recipe for boredom in the way that one just stands and watches the water for hours. There is no distraction, no entertainment, just a man alone with his thoughts and the ocean. Melville writes: “But lulled into such an opium-like listlessness of vacant, unconscious reverie is this absentminded youth by the blending cadence of waves with thoughts, that at last he loses his identity… every dimly-discovered, uprising fin of some undiscernible form, seems to him the embodiment of those elusive thoughts that only people the soul by continually flitting through it” (p.172). Although no new ways of thinking or creative insight come of this reverie, it is still an important part of boredom. This loss of identity, for the youth, is an important part of life because it allows for change. When someone is tied too strongly to an identity, it prevents them from having the ability to change themselves or to think in different ways. Therefore, this feeling of boredom on top of the masthead, as one sinks away into the calmness of the waves, pulls one away from their identity, and creates an open mind.
Moby Dick has often been characterized by Ahab’s maniacal chase of the whale, and while this is a central point of the novel, there are only a handful of chapters in which the white whale appears and the crew chases. Specifically, the last three chapters of the book. These chapters are suddenly packed with action, contrasting the pace of the rest of the novel. Ahab’s desired whale is suddenly within reach, in his sights. And yet, the novel ends on another anti-climatic paragraph. The supposed goal, finding and killing Moby Dick, is never completed, and the Pequod and its crew fade into obscurity. Melville writes at the end of chapter 135: “Now small fowls flew screaming over the yet yawning gulf; a sullen white surf beat against its steep sides; then all collapsed, and the great shroud of the sea rolled on as it rolled five thousand years ago” (p. 624). There are two relevant pieces to this ending. First, the action that the reader has been teased with for 600 pages only is satisfied for three chapters, a brief taste of this whale hunting. This delayed gratification for no gratification highlights how the trial of boredom is the important aspect of the experience, instead of reaching a climax. In this ending of Moby Dick, the goal is never completed, the crew entirely dies save for Ishmael, and life immediately moves on.
The second relevant part of this ending is the idea of waiting for something that may, or may not occur. Farman writes: “Day after day, as we wait for the things we desire, we become different people. In the act of waiting, we become who we are. Waiting points to our desires and hopes for the future; and while that future may never arrive and our hopes may never be fulfilled, the act of reflecting on waiting teaches us about ourselves… in the moment of waiting, meaning is located in our ability to recognize the ways that such hopes define us.” The anti-climatic ending of the novel is an example of how the act of waiting in boredom shapes us. This literary choice to keep the action at the end, and to end without a final hurrah, imposes upon the reader a forced reflection of what their time was spent doing and the value of boredom. The idea of plot and climax are dissolved in this conclusion, and the book instead becomes a device for experience of boredom and dormancy.
Throughout the novel, Melville switches between chapters of action and those without. Some of the chapters are deep scientific dives into aspects of the whaling industry, such as anatomy of the whales or specifications of tools. Having this alternating format that lulls the reader in and out of a reverie is important because of the contrasting model it creates. The article Stuplimity by Ngai proposes the idea of shock (sudden excitation) and boredom (desensitization) as diametrically opposed terms. This opposition is shown in Moby Dick as Melville writes chapters of violently killing whales, followed by a deep, slow analysis of the whale. Creating this dynamic is important to imposing boredom upon the reader. The chapters become binary in which ones have action and which are consumed by Melville’s commentary. Without the chapters of action, there would not be boring chapters, and vice versa.
Reading Moby Dick becomes not just an experience of reading the novel for the plot, but a device to understand boredom and its purpose. The combination of forcing the reader to be bored and showing how characters in the novel achieve enlightenment in their boredom are important elements of the book. They emphasize the significance of waiting in our lives, and how productive that time can be, despite the feelings of restlessness it may evoke within. Without this time to be lost in our thoughts, it becomes impossible to generate new ideas and allow creative rivers to run their courses.
Popova, Maria. “The Art of Waiting: Reclaiming the Pleasures of Durational Being in an Instant Culture of Ceaseless Doing.” The Marginalian, 11 May 2022, www.themarginalian.org/2018/12/17/jason-farman-delayed-response/.
Ngai, Sianne. “Stuplimity: Shock and Boredom in Twentieth-Century Aesthetics.” Postmodern Culture, vol. 10 no. 2, 2000. Project MUSE, https://dx.doi.org/10.1353/pmc.2000.0013.
Final Essay – Vain Unity within the Pequod and the U.S.
In Moby Dick, Herman Melville uses the Pequod’s doomed voyage as a consequence of vain unity throughout the novel. The inability to unite under rational judgment and respect for autonomy shows how Ahab’s monomaniacal leadership, the crew’s coerced obedience, and the dismantled social order of the Pequod undermines possibilities of a collective goal – successful whaling, profit, and a safe communal voyage – that ultimately lead the entire crew towards destruction. These elements within the novel are direct parallels of tensions within the United States at the time Melville wrote the novel, a period marked by conflict over slavery, the deep-cutting erosion of democratic compromise, and the rise of extremist leadership – a time marked with the rise of division rather than cohesion.
Throughout the novel, Melville frames the Pequod as a place of community and cooperation. Whaling voyages are a promise of shared labor, risk, and reward – an economic and social system dependent upon mutual trust and a collective goal. Ishmael initially views the ship as a kind of democracy, referring to it as a nation-state, which is populated by men of various backgrounds from across the globe whose labor surpasses the national and cultural differences amongst them all. However, this political pluralism is proven very fragile amidst the emergence of Ahab’s authoritarian rule over the Pequod and its crew, gradually undermining the ship’s communal structure and transforming the crew’s labor into coerced participation in his journey to kill the White Whale. What starts out as an enterprise built on cooperation and trust becomes a vessel of singular obsession of the White Whale, revealing how easily unity can be crushed under a centralized power.
Ahab’s authority over the Pequod exemplifies how obsessive authority and leadership can dismantle a structuralized sense of unity for a lesser good. From the moment Ahab reveals his true intentions on leading the Pequod – to hunt down Moby Dick at any cost, even the cost of his and the crew’s lives – he then replaces the ship’s commercial purpose for his own personal vendetta. Ahab declares, “All visible objects, man, are but as pasteboard masks” (Melville, 165), insisting that Moby Dick represents a type of evil that must be condemned and killed at all costs. From this moment, the White Whale is framed as a metaphysical evil, elevating Ahab’s private obsession into a moral imperative. Many traditional Americanist readings portray Ahab as a figure of “totalitarian will”, whose authority tolerates nothing along the lines of dissent and demands absolute submission to his authority (Pease, 110). Captain Ahab’s leadership thus becomes abstract as well as totalitarian as resistance is pushed far from reach and considered a moral betrayal as the book progresses. However, Ahab’s power is not grounded solely in the consent of the crew, but also in his charisma, experience, and intimidation. His body consists of scars, a prosthetic, ivory leg, and prophetic rhetoric that renders him as an almost mythical presence in Ishmael’s eyes. Starbuck, the ship’s moral conscience, recognizes the danger of Ahab’s quest, calling it “blasphemous, monstrous” (Melville, 223), and yet is still the only character throughout Moby Dick who attempts to make a stand against Ahab. In the end, his moral clarity reigns ineffective through his repeated hesitation to confront Ahab and his refusal to kill him in the end when given the chance. It goes to prove that authoritarian unity can paralyze an individual’s better judgement and ethicality. In his writing, Melville suggests that when absolute allegiance is demanded of an authoritarian, morality alone cannot prevent the catastrophe of vain unity and leadership.
The communal obedience of the Pequod’s crew further reveals dangers of unity when stripped of one’s physical and metaphysical autonomy. Though composed of men from diverse backgrounds, the sailors are gradually combined into a singular mess under Ahab’s will. The absorption of all of these diverse characters into a single wave of conscience occurs through a rather ritualized performance rather than a politically democratic agreement. When Ahab presents the doubloon to the crew, he nails the gold coin to the mass and invites the crew to interpret what they see or feel when observing the coin, yet each interpretation ultimately circles back to a singular sense of obsession despite the continual differences in interpretation per each man. This reinforces Ahab’s dominance over the crew, sealing their loyalty through an oath that institutes ritual submission: “Drink ye harpooners! Drink and swear” (Melville, 179). Arguably, such moments reveal how collective identity aboard the Pequod is manufactured rather than chosen, showing how authority converts difference into a type of submission (Pease, 119). Unity aboard the Pequod is less a result of shared values, as each member of the crew has their own reason for being aboard the ship in the first place, but rather of enforced allegiance. There is no chose for them to back out of the voyage so far in; once the voyage begins, it takes many years for them to return back home to Nantucket, if at all, leaving them to succumb to the will of their authoritarian captain and sustain the all-consuming goal of killing Moby Dick. Even Starbuck eventually succumbs, despite being more of a doubter and free-thinker throughout the novel, ultimately admitting, “I am game for his crooked jaw, and for the jaws of Death too” (Melville, 227). Starbuck is a crucial character for presenting obedience as surrender rather than acceptance, exposing a sense of moral conflict without autonomy over one’s self.
A social and moral order aboard the Pequod collapses, so does autonomy. The Pequod once acted as a microcosm of democratic labor and shared profit, one that upheld American economics and society, instead becoming a kind of dictatorship as the novel progresses, driven solely by the will of Captain Ahab. Ishmael states during the voyage, “Ahab was tyrannical; a tyrant in fact” (Melville, 214). This singular quote strips the novel of any romantic ambiguity surrounding Ahab’s leadership of the crew and their voyage overseas. “The collective enterprise is overtaken by a single dominating vision” (Buell, 136), dramatizing the collapse of national concord and abandoning the crew’s original purpose of successfully hunting whales and collecting spermaceti, leaving that sense of unity in a vain and destructive mess. Though the entirety of Moby Dick includes foreshadowing of the Pequod’s demise, the collapse of social order is the most prominent in ensuring its catastrophic end. The shipwreck in the final chapter is something that was inevitable since the moment Ahab made it known what his true intentions were. It produced a system that valued loyalty to the captain over rational judgment and accountability. Each crew member is a valid participant in the authoritarian rule, whether actively or passively, by helping to sustain such a problematic system and refusing to absolve it. Melville presents each character’s obedience as a moral choice shaped by power, one that cannot be excused as per the back-and-forth judgement and final submission of Starbuck.
Melville’s critique of vain unity is reflective of the political climate of the United States in the 1850s. At the time, the nation was divided socially, economically, and politically over slavery and Westward Expansion, giving way to a sectional extremism. Situating Moby Dick within this historical moment in our history, it can be argued that its enduring relevance lies in the state’s refusal to resolve national contradictions into a single moral vision (Buell, 145), fueled instead by power and personal gain rather than communal agreement. Similarly, the transnational reading of Pease’s article challenges the assumption that American unity is inherently virtuous, revealing how appeals to cohesion often conceal domination (Pease, 112). Within Moby Dick, the Pequod thus becomes a warning to the reader, using allegory to state that unity pursued without reason or autonomy leads to destruction.
Moby Dick portrays the doomed voyage of the Pequod as a tragic, yet inevitable, outcome of vain unity, one that is corrupted by obsession and authoritarianism. Through Ahab’s monomaniacal rule, the crew’s coerced obedience, and the dismantled social order, Melville demonstrated how the suppression of rational and moral judgement and the erasure of an individual’s autonomy can undermine the success of a collective goal. He not only critiques Ahab’s monomaniacal leadership but also the political culture of his own nation in the 1850s by exposing the dangers of vain unity. Moby Dick successfully parallels the antebellum period within America, deepening the warning of lack of balance, structure, and communal morals ultimately leads us – whether aboard a ship or within the politics and society of our own nation – to ruin.
Works Cited
Buell, Lawrence. “The Unkillable Dream of the Great American Novel: Moby-Dick as Test Case.” American Literary History, vol. 20 no. 1, 2008, p. 132-155. Project MUSE, https://muse.jhu.edu/article/233009
Melville, Herman. Moby-Dick Or, the Whale. Edited by Andrew Delbanco, Penguin Books, 1992.
Pease, Donald. C. L. R. James, Moby Dick, and the Emergence of Transnational American Studies, John Hopkins University, Arizona Quarterly: A Journal of American Literature, Culture, and Theory, Volume 56, Number 3, Autumn 2000, pp, 93-123.