Yousuf Shwiha

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Class 522

Dr. Jessica Pressman

Nov. 16, 2025

The Immortal Mystery of Fadlallah: Time, Symbolism, and the Measure of Obsession in

Moby-Dick

In Chapter 73 of Moby-Dick, Stubb offers a strange remark about Fedallah, the enigmatic Parsee who serves as Captain Ahab’s shadow and spiritual double: “‘Do you see that mainmast there?’ pointing to the ship ‘well that’s the figure one; now take all the hoops in the Pequod’s hold and string ‘em along in a row with that mast, for oughts, do ye see; well, that wouldn’t begin to be Fedallah’s age. No, all the coopers in creation couldn’t show hoops enough to make oughts enough’” (356).  At first glance, the line reads like another piece of Stubb’s humor–hyperbolic, riddling, and absurdly nautical. Yet beneath the surface, Melville loads the passage with meaning about time, immortality, and the inscrutable forces that drive men to destruction. This quote concerns Stubb’s comic attempt to measure Fedallah’s supposed agelessness. This passage involves Melville’s intricate use of shipboard imagery, numerical metaphor, and grotesque exaggeration to suggest that Fedallah transcends ordinary human temporality. Melville transforms Fedallah from a mere harpoon into a symbol of the eternal, demonic energy propelling Ahab’s quest reminder that obsession and fate operate beyond human scales of time or understanding.

  Stubb’s description turns the Pequod’s mast and its cargo of casks into instruments of impossible calculation. The author invites the listener to imagine using the ship’s mainmast as a figure one, then stringing together all the hoops from the barrels in the hold as zeros—forming a number so large it could never represent Fedallah’s true age. Within the literal conversation, Stubb is jesting with his crewmates, turning Fedallah’s strange silence and foreignness into material for dark humor. Fedallah is already a source of superstition among the sailors, who see him as spectral and uncanny; Stubb’s exaggeration that he is older than arithmetic itself extends into myth. The image of endless hoops recalls the circular nature of time and labor aboard the whaling ship. The coopers, who make and repair barrels, represent the endless repetition of maritime life—hoop after hoop, voyage after voyage, sealing whale oil inside containers that in turn fuel the world’s machines. By claiming that even “all the coopers in creation” (Melville,) could not make enough hoops to measure Fedallah’s age, Stubb inadvertently admits that Fedallah belongs to a realm outside human industry and progress. His age cannot be “made” or “counted.” In the passage, it is clear the sailor attempts to define the indefinite, but the hyperbole invites the reader to see Fedallah not as mortal, but as a timeless force whose origins preceded the Pequod, its crew, and perhaps even humanity itself.

Melville constructs the line with layered imagery that transforms ordinary shipboard materials into symbols of cosmic proportion. The mast is the ship’s spine, its center of balance, and in this paragraph, it functions as the axis of measurement against which Fedallah’s inhuman longevity is compared. By pairing the mast with “hoops” from the hold, Melville juxtaposes the linear with the circular: the vertical aspiration of the mast against the cyclical repetition of the hoops. Together they evoke the twin structures of time—linearity and recurrence—neither of which can contain Fedallah. Melville’s diction also reveals how humor masks dread. The rustic slang, “coopers in creation”, and the rhythm of Stubb’s speech maintain his usual tone of comic disbelief, yet the joke betrays anxiety. Stubb, though genial, is disturbed by Fedallah’s eerie stillness and nocturnal presence on deck. Humor becomes his defense against fear. This can occur when we think about something that is going to happen in our life, and that event really takes place maybe by chance, just like Ahab’s feelings regarding his spear, expecting that he is going to hunt the whale, and he really hunts the whale. Even if it happens by chance, it gives us great symbolic that we may achieve successful jobs in our life. Fedallah’s unmeasurable age thus connects him to mythic eternity. Furthermore, the language of manufacture and measurement (“coopers,” “hoops,” “oughts”) underscores Melville’s critique of industrial rationality. The men aboard the Pequod are creatures of the whaling economy, trained to quantify and contain nature’s excess—the oil of leviathans turned into barrels, numbers, and profit. Fedallah, however, refuses containment. The more the sailors attempt to quantify him, the more he eludes measurement. In that sense, Melville uses the idiom of maritime commerce to stage the limits of human reason in the face of metaphysical mystery. What matters to us is we should be very patient when we miss a chance or failure then we shouldn’t give up at all, but we should try our best another time so that we can be able to achieve our goal in life and learn from our failure.

The deeper significance of this passage lies in how it situates Fedallah as the symbolic counterpoint to Ahab’s temporal humanity. If Fedallah’s age exceeds all possible human reckoning, he becomes the embodiment of fate, the eternal principle of destruction that Ahab mistakes for personal will. To say that Fedallah is older than all the hoops ever made is to say that Ahab’s madness is not new, it is part of an ancient cycle of pride and retribution repeating across ages. By this point in the novel, Fedallah has already emerged as a figure of prophetic fatalism. His cryptic predictions later in the text confirm that he functions less as a man than as an oracle or daemon. The sailors’ jokes about his immortality foreshadow his role as the unearthly witness of Ahab’s doom. The unending “hoops” represent the cyclical nature of Ahab’s obsession: each attempt to master the whale only tightens the loop of his bondage. Fedallah’s immeasurable age mirrors the timeless recurrence of obsession itself—how humanity perpetually rebuilds its own prisons of ambition and revenge. On a broader scale, the passage reveals Melville’s philosophical meditation on time and meaning. The Pequod’s voyage is a microcosm of human history, violence, and spiritual blindness. Stubb’s playful arithmetic, turning barrels into zeros, exposes the absurdity of trying to quantify what is infinite. In that absurdity lies Melville’s warning: human reason, commerce, and even faith collapse before the immensity of existence. To laugh at Fedallah’s age is to mock our own ignorance of time and mortality.

Week 13 – Chapter 134

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Throughout the entire novel, Ahab has been portrayed as a lord, a God, or an almighty being high above the Pequod and its crew. In Chapter 134, the second day of the chase, Moby Dick has single-handedly torn down all notions of Ahab’s power (despite Ahab surviving). Moby Dick uses the harpoon lines against the crew, capsizing multiple boats and even killing the Parsee, Ahab’s dopple-ganger. He has singled out Ahab numerous times and snapped his ivory leg, leaving him mad, unstable, and reliant on the level-headed members of the crew. Ahab’s own madness and vengeful approach to Moby Dick stirred a rage inside the whale that will ultimately lead to his own downfall.

Above all of this, Ahab’s harpoon, bathed in Pagan blood and cursed in Latin, was told to be the one harpoon that could kill Moby Dick, had to be abandoned. Starbuck has talked of omens numerous times over the pages of the last few chapters, but in Chapter 134, we can see all the bad omens arising against Ahab alone; he will not succeed in his pursuit of killing Moby Dick – the whale is stronger and more adapt to maneuver the ocean and its elements in his favor while tearing down all the stability Ahab has relied on during his voyage. Everything Ahab has is crumbling around him in his pursuit of the white whale. From all of this, we can see that Ahab’s feverish pursuit of whiteness will be his worst decision, tearing down the one thing that has kept him elevated above the rest of the crew for decades; his journey to find whiteness has completely dismantled his power and ultimately left him with nothing, bitter and angry.

Essay #2

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Throughout the book, Melville tells and suggests that the reader stop and read closely what he is painting for us, how to read and make diligent study of the messages that hide in the lines of Melville’s work. “The slanting sun playing upon this crimson pond in the sea, sent back its reflection into every face, so that they all glowed to each other like red men… 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!” (Melville 311). The word reflection is strong in this passage; to read and reflect on what you’re reading, in a sense, we are glowing red in the reflection on these men. We should be reflecting on how the dirty work of whaling is an overlooked aspect of American history,  especially to the people on land. Whaling is a bloody battlefield that can’t be overlooked by the men on the boat, but is by the people on the land. Melville is making a clear critique of the land-based reader for their ignorance by giving them a glorious description of the exploitative practices carried out on the boat to produce the civilized lifestyle on land. Melville teaches readers how these civilized goods are produced, such as electricity, a bone corset, and perfume. Ignorance is bliss to the land-based reader, out of sight, out of mind, but in this case, the details are never in mind when it comes to our land people. 

Reflection is what Melville suggests the reader do: open this book and read these glorious details about whaling and how it’s done. Ignorance is bliss; that’s something Americans are being criticized for, wanting the benefits of whaling, which is the oil, the bone, and the ambergris, which provides Americans with electricity and perfume. The part of which they’re choosing ignorance is not knowing where they got their electricity and perfume from; it comes from the whale, and they don’t know where or how. “The slanting sun playing upon this crimson pond in the sea, sent back its reflection into every face, so that they all glowed to each other like red men.” (Melville 311). Glowing to each other, they all glowed together; their act of killing reflects blood rather than the actual blood spread out. Melville is pushing us to read the blood on the pages and reflect, and put the land-based reader up for critique for their greed, their greed to send men out to sea to bring back oil for their pleasure.  Melville is pushing the reader to read this passage and critique the land-based reader. To bring back what I said, we are glowing red in the reflection of these men, watching them in their glorious act. Also, to mention “that they all glowed to each other like red men.” (Melville 311), they glowed to each other like red men; the blood isn’t what is making the men red, it’s the actions of the men that make them all glow red.

“At last, gush after gush of clotted red gore, as if it had been the purple lees of red wine” (311 Melville).  This line in the passage alone shows us how Melville is showing the two different sides of the people on the sea vs the land, the men who are on the sea killing whales have seen and get caught in the red gore and gushing blood clots, while the people on land drink red wine and wait for the whale oil to come to land so they can live like civilized people. The upper class drinks red wine while the people on the boat have to do the bloody work; that’s their red wine, blood, and clots. The land-based reader sits back and drinks their wine, while the men on the boat are murdering whales for a living, so the land people can live in such luxury. This passage is stating the two differences in ocean and land readers, one strikes blood that resembles red wine, while one is drinking the blood that has been struck. I want to dive into not only how it states the two but how it’s displayed as two. “gush after gush of clotted red gore,” and as if it had been the purple lees of red wine” (Melville 311). The use of the comma is what displays the marking of the difference between the land and ocean people. On one side, we have the glory and the blood, while on the other side, we have the red wine. What’s happening in the ocean vs what’s being brought back to the land? 

The glorious detail of the whale’s killing is important to read, and Melville is pushing the reader to understand its significance. Whaling isn’t natural, but what comes from the whale is their blood, their blubber, and ambergris, which is natural. When talking about the land-based reader, we are talking about most readers of “Moby Dick”. The idea of whaling may be simple, but when it comes to the details of watching this beauteous creature die in glory to provide the land with such materials to live a luxurious life is far overlooked in American history. It’s a brutal battlefield against man and whale, where the whale doesn’t really stand a chance. Montinless to most whales, it’s murder to whales for their goods. Melville wants the reader to understand man vs whale, what man does to the whale. “shot into the frighted air; and falling back again, ran dripping down his motionless flanks into the sea. His heart had burst!” (311 Melville). Watching the heart burst like it’s nothing but material goods, the whale’s heart belongs in the ocean. It starts in the ocean and ends in the ocean. Glore is motionless to the land reader; you don’t hear or see the blood, you sit and drink your red wine. 

Held Up by What We Do Not Control

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At the end of Moby-Dick, the novel quietly teaches a lesson amid the chaos of the wreck. As Ishmael floats alone, “Buoyed up by that coffin” while the ocean moves beneath him “like a soft and dirge-like main” (625), Melville gives us the only peaceful moment in the chase. Ishmael survives not by trying to control the world, but by accepting it, even when it makes no sense. The coffin, which stands for death, becomes his life buoy. This change highlights the novel’s main idea: those who try to conquer the world, like Ahab, are destroyed, but those who listen, adapt, and let the world stay mysterious find a way to live.

The difference between Ahab and Ishmael is clear. Ahab dies still demanding answers from a universe that does not care, still trying to find meaning in a creature that gives none. His quest ends in violence because he only sees domination. Ishmael survives because he has learned to observe instead of control. As the Pequod sinks, he does not fight the ocean or try to outsmart it. He just floats, supported by something he never thought would save him. This attitude of acceptance, which Melville often connects to Ishmael, becomes the difference between life and death.

By leaving Ishmael alone at the end, Melville shows that survival means changing how we see the world. The universe is not something we can master or control. It is something we must live with, and it will always be bigger than us, no matter how hard we fight. While Ahab tries to force the world to answer him, Ishmael steps back and lets the world support him. The ending suggests that wisdom and even safety come from letting go of the urge to conquer. Ishmael survives not because he is strong, but because he is willing to see the world without trying to own it.

Essay #2: It’s A Man’s Man’s Man’s World

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In Chapter 88, “School and Schoolmaster,” Ishmael pauses the narrative once again to delve deeply into the life and characteristics of a whale, where nature, education, and symbolism beautifully intersect. In this chapter, Ishmael offers observations about how whales travel in “schools” and how they seem to be led by larger, more dominant figures — the so-called “schoolmasters.” Male and female whales form separate groups, with older bulls often guiding the young, but this isn’t just about marine biology — Melville uses these natural behaviors to reflect on leadership, instinct, gender roles, and education. The whales’ orderly patterns serve as a metaphor for how societies operate, how power is passed down, and how life in the sea mirrors life on land. We see this anthropomorphizing of the Schoolmaster accurately depicted on page 430. “It is therefore not in strict character, however admirably satirical, that after going to school himself, he should then go abroad inculcating not what he learned there, but the folly of it. His title, Schoolmaster, would very naturally seem derived from the name bestowed upon the harem itself. Still, some have surmised that the man who first thus entitled this sort of Ottoman whale must have read the memoirs of Vidocq, and informed himself what sort of a country-schoolmaster that famous Frenchman was in his younger days, and what was the nature of those occult lessons he inculcated into some of his pupils.” (Melville) This paragraph is the antithesis of the scholarly white male of the late 1800s, where the coming of age of one adolescent transforms him into a man of wisdom and experience. If these animals think and live just like us, it’s a shame they are hunted because Ishmael is showing that these god like creatures are more than just an absent reference to be exploited and not seen as living beings. These livoathans are more human than we think, and Ishmael is evoking us not only to think, but also to question whether whaling is morally wrong.


Just like the ‘riotous lad at Yale or Harvard,’ the schoolmaster whale lives a synchronous life of that riotous lad. We learn that these young males are raised in a school by a harem of female whales, and this Ottoman of a whale is described as a [gentleman] ‘accompanied by all the solaces and the endearment of the harem.’ To use the word ‘gentleman,’ Melville has implanted this image of an upstanding father, one who is a caretaker, breadwinner, and doer of what is right, but not all male whales are of the ‘Ottoman Dynasty.’ Mellville references this to illustrate the relationship between one outstanding male (a king or emperor) who is entirely in charge of his life and the lives of his co-inhabitants, which instills a supreme masculinity evident throughout history, particularly in the 1800s. Some whales lead the life of a ‘Forty-barrel-bull,’ personified as the angsty rebellion teen, who ‘duel among their rival admirers’ for love. The homewrecker of the oceans. It is the job of this ‘lord whale to keep a wary eye on his interesting family’ because he too was just a bull in a school before achieving the title of Schoolmaster.’


“It is therefore not in strict character, however admirably satirical, that after going to school himself, he should then go abroad inculcating not what he learned there, but the folly of it.” Melville here captures the consciousness and free thinking of a whale, which, if not known to be from the source material of this quote, I would have assumed was speaking about a 20-something-year-old college graduate trying to find the meaning of life and live a life of “fight, fun, and wickedness.” This Lord Whale becomes “a great traveller, he leaves his anonymous babies all over the world; every baby an exotic.” This specifically refers to a male whale, where, in the society of land and ocean, it illustrates that males are the dominant sex when it comes to unapologetic independence. In contrast, the harem of whales stays behind, awaiting a predetermined fate of cultural codependence. This is symbolism of a whaler and his family, as the whaler goes on a voyage for an unforeseen amount of time, possibly never to return, and thus this “sulky old soul, goes about all alone among the meridian and parallels, saying his prayers and warning each young leviathan from his amorous errors.” Here, Melville has described the whale of learning from his own mistakes and years of wisdom, which can also be passed on from one young whale to another. Just as the day of listening to one’s grandfather reminiscing about a story that starts with the words, “back in my day…” 


“But some have surmised that the man who first thus entitled this sort of Ottoman whale must have read the memoirs of Vidocq, and informed himself what sort of a country-schoolmaster that famous Frenchman was in his younger days, and what was the nature of those occult lessons he inculcated into some of his pupils.” There’s a specific reason Melville has referenced Vidocq in comparison to the Ottoman whale. Vidocq, just like modern-day masculinity, was quite the ladies’ man and was able to use his wits to seduce those creating the “harem”. Melville refers to the “occult lessons” Vidocq supposedly taught these immoral lessons to his “pupils” when he was a country schoolmaster in his youth. Vidocq became a born-again gentleman years later (transitioning from a bull to an Ottoman) even after having a morally ambiguous past, reflecting the agreeableness, philosophical, and natural curiosity between man and whale. Regardless of the characteristics of sex and species, members of the harem school, as we know, are typically composed of young females and can exhibit compassion and empathy. “But strike a member of the harem school, and her companions swim around her with every token of concern, sometimes lingering so near her and so long, as themselves to fall a prey.” 

The narrative pits two contrasting modes of masculinity against each other: the dutiful husband and the lothario. This juxtaposition serves to highlight the complexity of the whale’s character and its reflection of human behavior. In the process, the text engages in a significant amount of anthropomorphizing of whales, applying human ideas and standards to them, and drawing from their ‘natural’ behaviors a sort of secret truth about the ‘right’ way for things to be.
Young whales are promiscuous, always trying to steal away the “wives” of older whales from their “harems”. Older whales settle down and seek to protect what they see as their property. Then, elderly whales go off on their own, put out to pasture and roam the world, their work for the species already done. This older whale, in this case, has a specific name, Moby Dick, a whale that, just like a contestant on Survivor, is here to outwit, outlast, and outplay those who try to hunt him for his years of renewed experiences has taught him to be the “man” he is today. 


Of course, these animals behave just like humans! This is the truth underlying everything. If whales are just like humans, then is it okay to hunt other humans without batting an eyelash? Besides our genetic makeup, humans and whales can coexist in unity and be researched for the betterment of the human species. Humans invite themselves into the ocean world of whales and divide and conquer, whereas the whales wouldn’t stand a fighting chance on land. We can discern the truth of the world by examining “nature” (Emerson), by looking closely at the lives of whales to determine the destiny of humanity (specifically man).

Essay #2: Ishmael, lost at sea

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In Moby-Dick, Herman Melville repeatedly stages moments in which the sea overwhelms the boundaries of human identity, but few scenes capture this more powerfully than Ishmael’s trance on the masthead. Suspended high above the Pequod, Ishmael drifts into a state of “opium-like listlessness” in which consciousness loosens, perception widens, and the difference between the self and the ocean begins to dissolve. This moment is not merely atmospheric; it dramatizes a philosophical crisis at the center of the novel. Through his hypnotic depiction of reverie, loss of identity, and spiritual diffusion, Melville suggests that human life is shaped by natural forces far greater than individual will. In the masthead passage, Melville uses imagery of trance, cosmic absorption, and tidal ebbing to show that identity is unstable and never fully self-owned; this dissolution reveals a deeper, universal soul that undercuts the American ideal of a singular, autonomous self and that, ultimately, the overwhelming power of nature exposes the fragility of the man-made structures and hierarchies that the novel otherwise appears to uphold. In tracing how the sea absorbs Ishmael’s individuality, the passage becomes a quiet critique of national identity, human authority, and the illusion of personal sovereignty.

The passage below, which occurs during Ishmael’s solitary watch on the masthead in Chapter 35, captures the trance-like dissolution of self:

“But lulled into such an opium-like listlessness of vacant, unconscious reverie is the absent-minded youth of blending cadence of waves with thoughts, that at last he loses his identity; takes the mystic ocean at his feet for the visible image of that deep, blue, bottomless soul, pervading mankind and nature… In this enchanted mood, thy spirit ebbs away to whence it came; becomes diffused through time and space.” (172–173)

This moment, with its shifting sensory language and its movement from reverie to cosmic dissolution, initiates Melville’s larger unraveling of individual identity–an unraveling that begins with the very nature of Ishmael’s altered consciousness.

Melville opens the masthead scene by depicting Ishmael’s consciousness as drugged by the natural world, using the language of trance to unravel the boundaries of individual agency. The phrase “opium-like listlessness” immediately establishes a state in which Ishmael’s mind is no longer directed by will, intention, or purpose. This simile is striking because it attributes to the sea the agency typically associated with a narcotic: the ocean becomes a substance that infiltrates and alters consciousness simply by being contemplated. “Listlessness” emphasizes not just relaxation but a near-total suspension of motivation—a dangerous condition given Ishmael’s precarious position on the masthead. Melville intensifies this sensation through the paradoxical phrase “vacant, unconscious reverie.” Reverie ordinarily implies imaginative or even productive mental wandering, but here it becomes emptied out: the mind is active and inactive at once, drifting but directionless. This tension between motion and vacancy mirrors the larger tension in the novel between the desire for self-determination and the pull of environmental forces that erode that autonomy. Ishmael’s trance, then, is not simply daydreaming at sea; it is the erosion of his ability to think or move independently. Yet this initial loss of control is only the beginning, for Melville soon expands Ishmael’s trance into a profound dissolution of self that reaches far beyond mere distraction.

As the passage deepens, Melville makes the collapse of Ishmael’s individuality explicit, casting the ocean as a “mystic” embodiment of a universal soul that destabilizes the idea of a singular, autonomous identity. The bluntness of the phrase “he loses his identity” stands out amid the otherwise lyrical description. Melville refuses metaphor here: the loss is direct, unmistakable. Yet the surrounding language transforms this loss into something more cosmic than terrifying. Ishmael “takes the mystic ocean at his feet for the visible image of that deep, blue, bottomless soul, pervading mankind and nature.” This sentence fuses perception with metaphysics; the sea becomes both an external force and a symbolic embodiment of a collective human essence. The adjectives “deep,” “blue,” and “bottomless” work together to evoke not just physical depth but spiritual depth—the unknowable fullness of a universal soul in which boundaries cannot be located, let alone defended. Most crucial is the phrase “pervading mankind and nature,” which dissolves any distinction between human identity and the natural world. Ishmael becomes part of a continuum rather than an isolated self. In this way, the passage quietly challenges the American ideal of a self-made, self-contained individual. Melville replaces singularity with pervasiveness, autonomy with absorption. If this identity-loss challenges the notion of a self-contained individual, the passage’s final imagery pushes even further, suggesting that the self not only dissolves but cycles back into the vast motions of the natural world.

Melville’s imagery of ebbing and diffusion portrays human life as a temporary, borrowed motion, a force that passes through the individual rather than originating within it. When the narrator claims that in this enchanted mood “thy spirit ebbs away to whence it came,” he invokes tidal language that links Ishmael’s soul directly to the rhythms of the ocean. An ebb is not disappearance but return: it signals a cycle, a movement back toward an original source. The implication is that human life is not inherently self-directed but participates in natural and possibly cosmic currents far older and more powerful than the individual. Melville follows this with the even more expansive statement that the spirit “becomes diffused through time and space.” Diffusion suggests scattering, dispersal, the loss of borders. The verb erases containment; diffusion is the negation of identity’s edges. Ishmael does not merely blend into the sea—he dissolves into the universe. This condition radically opposes the American emphasis on personal sovereignty, suggesting instead that identity is something briefly concentrated within a human body and then released again. This vision of life as cyclical and uncontained gains further significance when we consider where the passage appears in the novel, a placement that directly interacts with the Pequod’s rigid social and symbolic structures.

Placed early in the voyage, the masthead scene subtly undermines the Pequod’s rigid social order by revealing that nature’s vast, absorbing power renders human hierarchies—and the American individualism that sustains them—fragile and illusory. At this point in the narrative, Ishmael has only recently joined the crew and is still orienting himself within the ship’s structure of authority, labor, and racial hierarchy. Below him operate the systems that define the Pequod as a microcosm of American society: Ahab’s emerging command, the capitalist imperative of the whaling mission, and the ethnic stratification visible among the sailors. Above him, however, these structures collapse. The masthead offers an elevated vantage point not only physically but philosophically. It removes Ishmael from the ship’s human order and places him in direct relation to the sea, which reveals itself as a force indifferent to the divisions and identities constructed below. The trance thus becomes a momentary emancipation from the artificial boundaries of nationality, race, and profession. It also foreshadows the conflict between Ishmael’s fluid, receptive identity and Ahab’s rigid, monomaniacal one. While Ishmael’s self dissolves into the sea, Ahab’s hardens against it; the placement of this passage anticipates the inevitable consequences of resisting the ocean’s overwhelming power. Seen in this broader narrative context, the masthead moment becomes more than a lyrical digression; it serves as a thematic blueprint for the novel’s unfolding confrontation between human selfhood and the overwhelming force of the sea.

In the masthead passage, Melville reveals how the sea dismantles the illusion of personal autonomy through its imagery of trance, identity-loss, and diffusion. Ishmael’s consciousness loosens, his individuality dissolves, and his spirit cycles outward into a force that precedes and exceeds him. By placing this moment early in the narrative, Melville underscores the fragility of human systems—national, hierarchical, or otherwise—when measured against nature’s absorbing vastness. The passage ultimately suggests that identity is not a possession to be defended but a temporary form taken on by forces far larger than the self. In a novel that frequently focuses on the limits of human power, the masthead scene stands as an early reminder that the self, however cherished, is always perched on the edge of dissolution.

Of love and learning

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The very things that Ahab denied allowed Ishmael to survive the sinking of the Pequod – love and learning. For what could have kept the Rachel near but the unending search for the lost boy, for the love of a parent with a missing child? And what but love drove Queequeg to stave off his impending death so that his coffin can be the thing that saves Ishmael? Back in Chapter 10, Ishmael declared that “we were bosom friends; he would gladly die for me, if need should be.” (57) When Queequeg’s death was imminent, when his final moments neared, he changed his mind about dying, stating that “he had just recalled a little duty ashore, which he was leaving undone.” (523)

Without a doubt, that “little duty” was his pact with Ishmael, as he proceeded to use this coffin as a sea chest for all his earthly belongings – as was promised with their declaration – and he set about the journey aware of its inevitable end. Queequeg took the time “carving the lid with all manner of grotesque figures and drawings; and it seemed that hereby he was striving, in his rude way, to copy parts of the twisted tattooing on his body.” (524) This coffin, in turn, took the place of Queequeg. He carved it to use as a stand-in, when he knew he would likely not be able to keep his word.

I include learning in my analysis because Ahab never took the time to learn about anyone – he assumed that all he knew was all he needed to know, allowing his monomaniacal focus to hold sway over all aspects of his life. This meant that he did not try to learn about Queequeg beyond the fact that he was a cannibal. He did not try to learn from the misfortune of others that his own demise could be more than “the gallows.” Ultimately, learning from Starbuck or even listening to Stubb regarding Captain Gardiner’s request could have changed the shape of his life. Yet, because he did not, he was doomed to a predetermined fate of his own making.

Essay # 2 – The Menu

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The ethics behind animal use and rights have not been a popular topic within American history for very long, but the morals behind which animals are deemed fit to eat has been an argumentative subject. Different societies and ways of life have vastly dissimilar views as to how animals are meant to be utilized, and Ishmael criticizes the typical means of animal consumption within American society within the mid 19th century. By the use of irony and satire when explaining situations that are common in those who have never stepped foot on the sea, Melville points out the hypocrisy of “civilized” and normalized habits in chapter 65. This reveals the ignorance behind mindless consumption and gathering, humans carrying an unnecessary need for cruelty from convenience, not necessity. Thus, Melville emphasizes that critical attitudes towards moral standards of consumption is inherently hypocritical, questioning who is deserving of acting as judge.

Chapter 65, dubbed “The Whale as a Dish” begins with Ishmael explaining the brief history of whale meat as a food. It is the ending passage of the chapter that calls into question Melville’s point of moral hypocrisy towards animals as food. “But Stubb, he eats the whale by its own light, does he? And that is adding insult to injury, is it? Look at your knife-handle, there, my civilized and enlightened gourmand dining off that roast beef, what is that handle made of?—what but the bones of the brother of the very ox you are eating? And what do you pick your teeth with, after devouring that fat goose? With a feather of the same fowl.” (327) Stubb here is initially used as a device rather than a character, a conduit to introduce Ishmael’s parallels towards other very common practices within the dining world. “But Stubb, he eats the whale by its own light does he?” is ironic. Irony is utilized here for an emphatic effect, as adding “insult to injury” for a dead whale is pointless. After hunting the whale from previous chapters, Stubb is eating the rich meat besides a lamp lit by whale oil. Ishmael is also a man of the sea, so he does not condemn Stubb for eating the whale. As he points out later in the passage, there is an argument that denotes other dining practices as vastly similar. Oil is the byproduct of the whale, and it is what most whales are hunted for during this era. It makes sense for Stubb’s lamp to be lit by the very oil of the whale he is eating. Thus, Melville asks why is a “civilized and enlightened gourmand” capable of judgement towards Stubb? The experiences of whale men are not so common to most on land,  judgement becomes ill-placed.

Ishmael carries a lack of judgement for Stubb, but he addresses the reader to point out the civilized hypocrisy of the situation twice. Readers are told where exactly to look first, as Ishmael says “Look at your knife-handle, there…” The eyes are brought towards the cutlery on the table, followed by the “roast beef” the subject is dining on. He calls upon the reader to ponder afterwards, asking “what is that handle made of?” The assumption could be wood initially, but Ishmael eventually reveals “what but the bones of the brother of the very ox you are eating?” In the act of consuming the roast beef, there is an idea that many do not pay mind to what their utensil is made of. For many years, animal bones have been utilizes for tools and cutlery alike. As such, the situation presents itself as similar to Stubb’s consumption of whale meat. The “gourmand”, that is someone who is deeply fond of food and drink, is eating beef with another ox whose bones were used to make the very knife that cuts the meal. It is satire that criticizes the issue behind food use and waste, which then prompts readers to think to the relations behind how humans treat and exploit animals for their own use. 

Another example that Ishmael presents to the reader in comparison to Stubb’s whale is geese. He questions the reader once again, asking “And what do you pick your teeth with, after devouring that fat goose? With a feather of the same fowl.” Audiences are told once more where to look, but the language of this line differs from that of the ox. “Devouring” is more of a violent descriptor of consumption, and why is the goose specifically described as “fat”? The history behind this is simple. In order to create more appetizing geese, as well as the pate de foie gras mentioned earlier within the chapter, geese are force fed to fatten up their livers. The word “fat” is a hidden notion towards this exploitive practice, suggesting that the reader is aware of this entirely rational yet inhumane action. It gives leeway towards judgement, as humans additionally utilize the “feather of the same fowl” to “pick your teeth with” after dining. To use part of the animal that was just consumed in order to clean the bodily tool that ate it seems wholly normal, but it is this that is supposedly more civilized that Stubb’s whale and oil lamp.

Melville suggests that animal exploitation is part of the human condition, yet labels the reader as a “civilized and enlightened gourmand.” “Civilized” suggests that someone or something is to be characterized as having taste or refinement, highlighting the idea that Ishmael is almost “speaking” to the fact that Stubb, or whale men are not. The “civilized” world is entirely susceptible to hypocrisy in this case, as most civilized folk at the time were unaware of the toils of the sea unless they were whale men themselves, and would not care to eat a whale due to its impractical richness and meat. Additionally “enlightened” has many potential defined meanings, but there is one in particular that is ironic towards the situation. Enlightenment implies that someone free from ignorance or misinformation. The description is contradictory, as Melville hints within this chapter that most land dwellers are incapable of seeing the ironic paradox that presents itself within “civilized” dining customs. Ishmael presents these two scenarios to point out that the common practice of the times add towards the irony behind consuming whale meat next to its byproduct. 

Moral outrage towards human and animal relationships tend to be misplaced. Ishmael draws these parallels towards beef and fowl to show that exploitive practices are not unique to the job of whaling. It is hypocritical to draw judgement towards different practices that do not fit within a cultural norm. Until recently of the time within the book, geese were being plucked for feathers to create quills. There are inconsistencies that Ishmael points out, certain animal practices may change yet those of the present believe older customs that society are used to remain reasonable. What practices seem barbaric to the civilized and enlightened gourmand? Why are people inherently incapable of receiving criticisms towards what they believe to be ordinary? Whale men seem demonized because of their occupational hazards, but it is human for man to keep some kind of moral high ground. 

Essay 2

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In the middle of chapter 87, Ishmael is directly telling readers to understand the importance of killing a sperm whale by saying: “Stick to the boat, Pip, or by the Lord, I won’t pick you up 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 anymore. 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). 

This passage highlights how a sperm whale is such a rare creature, and by hunting it, humans are exploiting the very essence of a whale, which is oil, to gain profit from it. This also reflects on the problem of slavery, where Melville is creating an analogy between the hunt for the whales and the hunt for the escaped slaves to teach readers to think critically about how humans exploiting whales is similar to humans using slaves for labor. Through this connection, Melville points out the truth that whales were never enemies. It was the humans who did all the hunting, all the killing, and all of the exploitation that they could get their hands on, while reflecting the problem of slaves being captured and sold for labor during that time period.

The mirroring of the hunt between whales and slaves was to tell readers that it was always about money. In this passage, Stubb said: “We can’t afford to lose whales by the likes of you” (452). He is referring to Pip as ‘the likes of you’, meaning he is very much annoyed by the fact that Pip keeps messing up everything. This attitude of Stubb is influenced by money, and when money controls you, nothing matters anymore, including the lives of people on that boat. The reason why the hunt between whales in the sea and slaves on land mirror each other is that both were used for the purpose of capitalism. Think about it, when people sell whales, they usually extract gallons of oil and sell it for consumers to use. When it comes to fugitive slaves, there are markets that people use for the slave trade. They use the auction block as a way to sell slaves to the wealthy for labor. In this case, the consumers and the wealthy are mirroring each other because they were meant to exploit, while whales and slaves are considered to be objects, things to be sold for the purpose of money. This is peak capitalism because businesses were meant to operate and make profits, while exploiting more and more valuable resources. 

Stubb was referred to as specifically a ‘money-making animal’ because he lost the human nature of showing his emotional side to others. In the passage, we get a glimpse of Stubb through Ishmael, where he said: “Hereby, perhaps Stubb indirectly hinted that though man loves his fellow, yet man is a money-making animal.” (Melville 452). The sea plays a huge factor here because it influenced Stubb, while using the values of a whale in order to lure Stubb in and show him the importance of money. Because money is power, and when power rises, that is when greed plays into hands. Humans will do whatever it takes to exploit their own resources. To them, nothing is ever enough, and they will keep talking until there is no resource left. In this passage, when Ishmael refers to Stubb, a human being to an animal, it means Stubb blindly follows money, like an animal blindly hunting its prey. He does not think meticulously like a human; instead, he seeks what he sees. In this case, a whale is all that Stubb sees, and when Pip interferes with him, Stubb literally threatens Pip that he is going to leave him behind because he is being too clumsy. Stubb only sees whales, which is why human lives do not matter to him. Stubb could leave a hundred Pip behind with no problem. The real problem here is that capitalism is what changed Stubb, and it made him into a money-making animal with no thinking at all.

With the analogy between the hunt for whales and the hunt for fugitive slaves, Melville is showing readers the truth of how whales were never the enemies. Humans are the reason why whales are being hunted. They are also the reason why slaves were captured and sold for labor. In the passage, Stubb told Pip: “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 anymore.” (Melville 452). This particular phrase shows how undervalued a human life is when it is being compared to whales. However, a fugitive slave is different because they are worth being purchased over. You see, the humans, alongside their curiosity, led them to hunt, to explore, and to exploit everything that they could lay their hands on. This is important because all actions have consequences, and every action that they took, such as hunting whales, capturing slaves, led to exploitation and inequality among themselves. Nothing good comes out of it, and money is what influences all of them to do these things. Melville is letting readers know the danger behind these specific circumstances because he wants us to learn from it. It’s insane how Melville sees this happening way longer before we do, and we are too blinded by the fact that money is what empowers us when the truth is it’s been controlling us this whole time.

The whales did not do anything to us; it was we humans who endangered them first, and we are the threat to them. If we think about it, the whales were out in the sea, enjoying their own company and their own home, and all of a sudden, these aliens came out of nowhere, attacking them face-on. What would their response be? To fight back. They will fight back to defend themselves and their homes. This applies to the slaves on land as well because slaves are normal human beings, but because of their skin color, it made them turn into something that inferior to others, hence it was the assumption that those who are lesser are not considered to be a human being, and that makes them view slaves as less than a human and more than an object. But money plays the real game because both the whales and slaves are worth something, and humans did what they could, which is to exploit and deceive in order to get more money. Greed, selfishness, and assumption are what influence humans. 

This is why it has come to the conclusion that humans were different due to these factors. I do believe that Melville succeeded in letting people know the importance of it because humans do learn from their mistakes. In today’s society, we have learned that racism stems mainly from slavery, and we have moved away from it. We learned about sustainability and how resources have been exploited for a really long time. We came up with alternatives in order to hunt and farm more sustainably. This tells readers that humans can be changed for the better, and we should have done it a long time ago if we all understood what Melville is trying to say through this novel. But I am glad we saw this mistake beforehand and are trying to fix it.

Chapter 135

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After reading through chapter 135, there is this particular passage that quite confuses me, but as I tried to figure out the meanings behind it, I believe that Melville is trying to build up tension for the audience as we are about to reach the end. The passage states, “How the wild winds blow it; they whip it about me as the torn shreds to of split sails lash the tossed ship they cling to. A vile wind that has no doubt blown ere this through prison corridors and cells, and wards of hospitals, and ventilated them, and now comes blowing hither as innocent as fleeces. Out upon it!-It’s tainted. Were I the wind, I’d blow no more on such a wicked, miserable world.” (Melville 614). This passage fascinates me because it makes me feel like I am reading poetry. But why does it feel poetic? Is there more behind this particular passage? I think perhaps Melville is trying to use imagery for the audience to feel and see what the wind felt like while you are out at sea. He calls the wind ‘vile’ because it has so much freedom to go anywhere it wants while it pierces through Ishmael’s heart and soul. There is some sort of parallel here between the wind and the crew, where the wind is full of freedom and the crew is stuck out in the sea for eternity. Though the last line is interesting because there is a sense of selfishness here, coming from Ishmael. His negative mindset about the world makes me wonder why he thinks such negative thoughts. Perhaps it is because Ishmael has been out in the sea for so long that his mindset sort of change due to all the hunting. It makes him depressed and view the world more negatively. It almost feels like he is no longer himself.