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Final Essay

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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.

Final Thoughts

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This class has to have been one of my favorites I have taken in college so far. Most of my classes haven’t really had the type of collaboration we had in this class and it’s really great to not have to just come in and be lectured to. It also helps that the subject matter was more interesting than I thought it would be. I initially looked over this class because it was listed as American Literature and those have always been my least favorite as I find myself bored and uninterested in the topic as a whole; but I looked at the description again and saw that it was just on Moby Dick. I had read it before and understood absolutely nothing, but I was intrigued more by the fact that we would get to spend an entire semester on such a whale of a book. It only made me wish that there were more classes like this where you really get to go in as much depth as we did for bigger works.

The depth we went into also came with the whole “so what” of close reading. I’ve gotten used to analysis of texts over the years but I don’t think it was ever to this extent. Even if it was, I never felt like I was good at it, but coming to this class to share my thoughts and doing the essays really did help me feel better in my skills as a reader overall. But this class also helped me remember to not feel bad about not mastering this novel, or anything really. Especially with the discussion last week, this class has shown that what we all take from reading is really more of a reflection of ourselves, so therefore there can’t really be anything “wrong” as long as you’re showing where you’re pulling from the text. I’ve always struggled with thinking my interpretation is wrong or sounds dumb or nobody would get it, but this class has helped me get over that more than any other has, so I’m excited to continue in a similar environment in the AI literature class because that’s a topic I’m even more interested in.

Pierce the Whale

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Considering the Loose-Fish doctrine and the whiteness of the whale acting as a blank canvas for Ahab to project upon “all that most maddens and torments… all evil” (200), you can see how vain and piteous Ahab’s final curses upon Moby Dick are: “Towards thee I roll, thou all-destroying but unconquering whale; to the last I grapple with thee; from hell’s heart I stab at thee; for hate’s sake I spit my last breath at thee” (623). Having finally arrived at the expected point, watching his ship perish without him, knowing his death is imminent, he, for the last time, resigns himself to the obsession that set him on this voyage because it is all he knows. Even though we, along with Starbuck and other characters, don’t view the whale as malicious but rather as a dumb brute, Ahab is firm in his declaration that Moby Dick is “all-destroying but unconquering.” This refusal to be “conquered” in his final moments is Ahab’s last attempt at claiming Moby Dick as his Loose-Fish. If Ahab convinces himself that he is righteous in this endless hunt, which he has done throughout the entirety of the novel, he is justified in his own mind to continue walking down the doomed path, no matter the deaths he is responsible for. By piercing Moby Dick with his final curses from hell’s heart for hate’s sake, Ahab willingly condemns himself as a martyr; but Ahab is no martyr in the way he desired. Rather, he is a warning to America of this unrelenting chase towards one thing built upon a vain justification. Ironically, Ahab has become the Fast-Fish, fastened to the whale, tied to “all evil” (his own words), even after death.

Essay 2

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Throughout Moby Dick, Herman Melville constantly shines an honorary light on the people that have served as the foundation for the whaling industry and the United States. In “The First Lowering” to hunt whales, Melville zooms in on a peculiar scene where, acting as a mast-head, the “noble negro” Daggoo bears the “vivacious, tumultuous, ostentatious, little Flask” upon his shoulders (Melville 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 main source of profit, it’s important to note that the ambitious yet little King-Post could not satisfy his desires by himself. Fortunately for Flask, his harpooner Daggoo “volunteered his lofty shoulders for a pedestal” (Melville 240). Daggoo’s volunteering of himself as a pedestal or mast-head here can be viewed as a reclamation of power. If we are to view this scene as a representation of the state of the 1850s United States, 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 really deserves praise. 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 is all happening during the chaos of their initial whale hunt, rolling on the waves within their small boats, all eager to pierce the whale. Yet Daggoo is described as “sustaining himself with a cool, indifferent, easy, unthought of, barbaric majesty.” Maintaining his posture and balancing himself is a second nature to Daggoo; he is able to stand firm and support the little Flask in his “barbaric majesty.” No longer is Flask referred to as little King-Post, now Daggoo receives the title of majesty. Melville employs 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 harmoniously able to roll with its flow. It’s no surprise “the bearer looked nobler than the rider”, for Daggoo, and the many noble negroes enslaved by the majestic barbarians of 1850s 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:

Though, 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)

One way to think of it is that Flask has 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. And 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 some 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 known as 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 the 1850s United States, in which the figureheads are praised while the people they stand upon are belittled, mocked, ignored, enslaved, and persecuted. Should the United States desire any success in our hunt of prosperity, we should follow this example and recognize that the bearer truly is nobler than the rider. 

Blame God

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Reading Starbuck’s last plea to Ahab in “The Symphony” was very disheartening because we know that Ahab couldn’t be swayed from his crusade. Starbuck, the voice of reason, or our symbol for “we the people”, is practically begging to change course back to Nantucket, but his words fall on deaf ears as “Ahab’s glance was averted; like a blighted fruit tree he shook, and cast his last, cindered apple to the soil” (592). Ahab can’t even bother to look at his first mate during his request, “blighted” by whatever this force is that keeps him on his mission, the “last, cindered apple” of any hopes of salvation now gone from him. We had the first confrontation in the Cabin just last week, but this is the final moment when the captain turns his back on his people, hardly listening to them as he leads the Pequod to their doom. I know it was present throughout the novel, but this scene of Ahab’s final soliloquy before The Chase felt the most like Shakespearean tragedy as we, with Starbuck, just want him to stop, but we know it won’t happen, and can only watch as he broods over his so-called fate, questioning whether he even has any agency or he’s just a puppet of God:

“Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts this arm? But if the great sun move not of himself; but is an errand-boy in heaven; nor one single star can revolve, but by some invisible power; how then can this one small heart beat; this one small brain think thoughts; unless God does that beating, does that thinking, does that living, and not I” (592).

In giving up his agency, claiming that it may just be that God is moving him on this path, Ahab is reassuring himself that this is just the way it has to be. If the great sun that allows us to live doesn’t have control over it’s actions, then why should Ahab’s small heart and brain have any power? So Ahab assigns himself to what he believes to be his fate, despite the consequences it will have for the people he is responsible for. Placing the responsibility on a higher being is a way for him to excuse his actions that he knows will not bear the fruit he wants (where have we seen that before?) Despite the countless warnings and pleas from other ships (and Starbuck) and ill omens and prophecies, Ahab, or rather God, in his eyes, cannot be moved. By assuming divinity, Ahab prevents any alteration towards a better outcome for the nation state of the Pequod, leaving the people “blanched to a corpse’s hue with despair” (593).

“Oh! the metempsychosis!”

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We’ve been talking a lot about noticing the moments when Moby Dick puts us to sleep and then pulls us out of that boredom and trying to discover why is it that the book is formed this way. I think the end of Chapter 98 gives us one possible answer to this:

“Yet this is life. For hardly have we mortals by long toilings extracted from this world’s vast bulk its small but valuable sperm; and then, with weary patience, cleansed ourselves from its defilements, and learned to live here in clean tabernacles of the soul; hardly is this done, when–There she blows!–the ghost is spouted up, and away we sail to fight some other world, and go through young life’s old routine again” (469).

The constant jump from pillaging one captured and slain whale to immediately hunting another is representative of the flow of life as a whole. We hardly have time to fully invest ourselves into extracting the small but valuable sperm from this world’s vast bulk when another call prevents us from even fully cleansing ourselves of the task at hand. It’s nearly impossible now for us to just sit and digest something without the endless media and entertainment fighting for our attention. So to see Melville talk about this constant distraction in 1850s America, it’s clear that its not just the modern day technology that keeps us from ever giving our full attention to something, but it’s often the case that the people ordering us expect us to swiftly wrap up our business with one whale to plunder the next profitable goal. Constantly put through this metempsychosis (transmigration of the soul after death, reincarnation basically), going through young life’s old routine again and again, to extract the resources and discard the source.

Fast-Fish, Loose-Fish

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“I. A Fast-Fish belongs to the party fast to it. II. A Loose-Fish is fair game for anybody who can soonest catch it” (433).

In the chaotic business of whaling, it’s necessary to have the code of Fast-Fish and Loose-Fish to avoid disputes over who deserves the claim of killing whichever whale. Melville applies this whaling code of Fast-Fish and Loose-Fish to “the fundamentals of all human jurisprudence” to show us how weak our justifications of possession are. Melville starts with: “What are the sinews and souls of Russian serfs and Republican slaves but Fast-Fish, whereof possession is the whole of the law?” (434-35). He is directly arguing against the claim that “possession is half of the law” by giving multiple examples that contradict it, the first being the serfs and slaves that are literally bound to their masters, serving as their property. The Loose-Fish doctrine is even more applicable as the chapter ends presenting more abstract ideas as Loose-Fish:

“What are the Rights of Man and the Liberties of the World but Loose-Fish? What are all men’s minds and opinions but Loose-Fish? What is the principle of religious belief in them but a Loose-Fish? What to the ostentatious smuggling verbalists are the thoughts of thinkers but Loose-Fish? What is the great globe itself but a Loose-Fish? And what are you, reader, but a Loose-Fish and a Fast-Fish?” (435).

With all of these being Loose-Fish, fair game for whoever can soonest catch it, it raises questions about their legitimacy. If the Rights of Man and Liberties of the World were just up for grabs, we need to know who caught them and whether they had some bias in crafting them. If our minds, opinions, and beliefs are Loose-Fish, we need to be aware of whoever laid claim first, because they can often shape our entire thoughts and belief systems. Melville calls out the “ostentatious smuggling verbalists” as they seize “the thoughts of thinkers” to manipulate for their own purposes as though they were Loose-Fish. The globe itself has repeatedly, throughout history, been viewed as a Loose-Fish for colonial powers and empires to claim for themselves behind their Loose-Fish justifications of divine right or Manifest Destiny. Then we have Melville directly asking us readers to view ourselves as both Fast-Fish and Loose-Fish, fastened to the systems we are born and raised in, yet fair game to whatever outside influence we let catch us. If we should be both, then we should also be weary of the distinctions of Fast-Fish and Loose-Fish applied to others, realizing how absurd it is to blindly follow the claims to land, property, thoughts, and people.

“Yea, foolish mortals, Noah’s flood is not yet subsided; two thirds of the fair world it yet covers”

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I can finally talk about Chapter 58 “Brit”. I’ve been thinking about this chapter since I read Moby Dick for the first time two years ago, I feel it encapsulates the whole “nature is inevitable/unconquerable” aspect. I’ll try not to quote the entire chapter:

“however baby man may brag of his science and skill, and however much, in a flattering future, that science and skill may augment; yet for ever and for ever, to the crack of doom, the sea will insult and murder him, and pulverize the stateliest, stiffest frigate he can make…

That same ocean rolls now; that same ocean destroyed the wrecked ships of last year…

But not only is the sea such a foe to man who is an alien to it, but it is also a fiend to its own offspring; worse than the Persian host who murdered his own guests; sparing not the creatures which itself hath spawned…

Consider the subtleness of the sea; how its most dreaded creatures glide under water, unapparent for the most part, and treacherously hidden beneath the loveliest tints of azure. Consider also the devilish brilliance and beauty of many of its most remorseless tribes… Consider, once more, the universal cannibalism of the sea; all whose creatures prey upon each other, carrying on eternal war since the world began…

do you not find a strange analogy to something in yourself? For as this appalling ocean surrounds the verdant land, so in the soul of man there lies one insular Tahiti, full of peace and joy, but encompassed by all the horrors of the half known life. God keep thee! Push not off from that isle, thou canst never return!” (298-299).

Where do I start? baby man may brag of his endless technological advancement, but he will never be able to escape the insulting, murderous, and pulverizing nature of the sea. No matter how hard we try to make the strongest frigate (a type of warship) the sea will always overbear it. We cannot conquer the sea or nature, perhaps even the whale? Ahab can enhance himself with a new leg, a new crew one and all with his goal, a new harpoon, a new whatever, and it will not ever be enough to conquer Moby Dick.

This eternal sea is the same as Noah’s flood, it will never go away and we cannot run away or hide from it forever; we already know we cannot rule it. The ocean is in itself a ferocious yet sublime living thing. It is a fiend to both alien and its own children, it keeps “its most dreaded creatures… treacherously hidden beneath the loveliest tints of azure”. Like the whiteness of the whale, it is both reassuring/good in nature (at least according to our own perceptions) and terror inducing. It transcends a definitive description, it is neither black or white, good or evil, right or wrong; it is life: a chaotic jumble of everything ranging between the dichotomy we humans love to apply to everything.

In the closing passage of this chapter, Melville prompts us to compare these features of the ocean to ourselves. We are surrounded by the “appalling ocean” that is life, and we retreat into our insular Tahiti, holding onto the peace and joy of remaining ignorant and secure in isolation. Though he says “God keep thee! Push not off from that isle, thou canst never return!”, I don’t think its meant to be taken literally; he is not suggesting that we stay isolated on our Tahiti despite the horrors of the half known life because that would go against what he is doing. He has fled from his own insular Tahiti in breaking down the the perception he once had of his now beloved “savage” Queequeg, and he constantly questions the preconceived notions he’s had of Christianity, the whiteness of the whale, the ocean itself. “Thou canst never return!” but would he really want to return to the suicidal ideation of his life on land.

One last note, this final passage reminds me of a quote from Dracula: “I am all in a sea of wonders. I doubt; I fear; I think strange things which I dare not confess to my own soul. God keep me, if only for the sake of those dear to me!” It has the same kind of desire to remain ignorant and hold onto some semblance of happiness when in this sea of wonder. Ultimately, Jonathan Harker would’ve fallen victim had he chosen to remain ignorant of the truth, in the same way Ishmael would’ve likely left this mortal plane if he had not pushed off of his own insular Tahiti.

Essay 1

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Herman Melville’s multicultural crew of the Pequod is often read as an allegory for the culturally diverse melting pot that is the United States of America. If anything is to be deemed an accurate representation of our nation, it’s bound to include the same types of inequalities that have plagued our entire historical record; Moby Dick excels in this portrayal. In presenting the crew of the Pequod through a medieval caste in “Knights and Squires”, Melville highlights the hierarchical system of whale ships to expose the inequity of systems rooted in America.

The shared title of Chapter 26 and Chapter 27, “Knights and Squires”, already plants this idea of separation between the knight and their attending squire. The mates Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask, white men from Nantucket, Cape Cod, and Tisbury, assume the position of knight. Each of these knights has under them a squire, the “savages” Queequeg, Tashtego, and Daggoo, all more physically capable and reliable as the main support to their commanding officers. Despite the camaraderie needed to properly function in this violent and vital industry, this distinction between the leading white men and their subordinates denies them equal status.

This dynamic 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).

This is a very important aspect for Melville to give emphasis to, reminding us who it was that labored the most in the founding of our country. Though “not one in two of the many thousand men” in the whaling industry were born in America, in other words immigrants, most of them never received the title of officer nor the benefits aligned with someone who put in the most effort. 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 that is given to their king Ahab, his knights Starbuck, Stubb, and Flask, and even their squires Queequeg, Tashtego, and Daggoo. At the bottom of the ladder, most of them do not receive proper recognition despite their importance in maintaining the ship, akin to the enslaved of 1850s America, unrecognized as humans to the highest degree, stripped of their rights, yet expected to provide the labor needed to maintain the growth of the nation.  

It isn’t enough for Melville to just point out this disparity in the whaling industry, as he directly cites 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 American nation 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. Despite the majority of employees in these industries being immigrants, they were used in service of further increasing the white man’s position 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.   

If the power dynamic wasn’t clear enough, Melville then uses language very effectively to show who is respected and who is not: “in all these cases the native American liberally provides the brains, the rest of the world as generously supplying the muscles”. In deliberately leaving native uncapitalized, Melville directly shows us the replacement of the Native American by the white man, claiming the term for themselves. Liberally is another interesting choice of word here because, though it could be read as the “native American” providing the brains out of generosity, the more likely application is that it is a loose assumption that they should be the ones to provide the brains. This is due to the immediate use of generously in reference to the supply of muscles that is the “rest of the world”. Read in this way, Melville brings to question the legitimacy of the white man as the brains and everyone else as the muscle to challenge the structures of the American whaling industry, army, navy, and the Canal and Railroad construction companies.

All of this culminates in the fact that the industries imperative to the growth of our nation 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. Why should the native American receive the title of knight and officer while the Native American who does most of the work is just the squire? Is the rest of the world, who so generously supply the muscles, denied recognition simply because they’re not American born, despite that being the groundwork of our nation?

While a chain of command is a necessity to keep a ship running properly, the discriminatory design prevents the equal treatment of everyone on the ship. From our country’s inception to the present, this established hierarchy has been used by those in power to ignore and vilify the ones before the mast, the ones that keep our nation afloat.  

The Whiteness of the Whale

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I find myself coming back over and over to chapter 42 “The Whiteness of the Whale” trying to decipher what it could mean. The last paragraph is pointing me in the direction of this whiteness being a kind of blank canvas for us to project our own thoughts and meanings upon. Melville asks “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?” (212). What’s striking to me here is the contrast which Melville seems to love: this absence of, yet concrete of all colors, the “colorless, all-color”. It seems that this whiteness is another of the unanswerable questions, ungraspable phantoms of life that we are left to define for ourselves. This “dumb blankness, full of meaning” is nothing yet everything at the same time.

I’m sure there’s a better or more technical term for this, but I’m imagining this whiteness as a zero, its in this neutral state, without any “subtile deceits” of color, but it has the potential to go anywhere? It’s why white can be seen as pure, innocent, noble, even divine, but at the same time there’s this uneasiness because of its association to ghostly apparitions and overall the emptiness that it suggests. The whiteness of the whale suggests more about us than the whale itself, which we see in Ahab’s decision that this whale is everything that is evil as he projects all of his hatred and anger upon it, while others such as Ishmael continue to question the conflicting feelings that this whiteness puts upon us, perhaps a way of showing the indefinite nature of life itself.