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

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.

Week 8: Vengeance

What stuck with me from this week’s reading was a quote from Starbuck in The Quarter Deck. During Ahab’s obsessive rampage about Moby Dick, Starbuck says: “‘Vengeance on a dumb brute!… that simply smote these from blindest instinct! Madness! To be enraged with a dumb thing, Captain Ahab, seems blasphemous’” (p. 178). This idea has been mentioned before in the book and in our class, but it is touched upon again. The innocence of nature, and to what extent these beings are innocent. 

I always find this debate to be particularly interesting because it calls into question what level of consciousness animals possess when juxtaposed to us, humans. What level of moral compass do we expect from these beings, and can we judge them the same way we judge humans? This quote by Starbucks says we can’t, that animals like whales are simply acting upon instinct and not from a place of bad intention or harm. While I can’t speak on whales, I would like to bring up the idea of dolphins. Seemingly harmless and playful, anyone who has done some research on them knows their intentions and interactions with others in the ocean are often harmful and malicious, ranging from getting high off other animals and purposeful assault. 

Another way I want to analyze this quote is from the idea of vengeance, regardless of the “dumb thing” being the source of harm. This calls into question the idea of revenge, and whether that is even something one should take, whether the one who harmed did it on purpose or not. Is that not stooping to that low level, especially one of physical harm? Ahab is the captain of this boat, and should one want to be led by one who engages in petty vengeance? Who might hold a grudge on the ship for a small transgression? 

The Innocent Nature of the Whale 

One of the most interesting aspects of this book is the ever changing relationship between man and the whale. In my last post, I discussed Queequeg as being symbolic of the whale because of how he’s described with animalistic qualities. However, this statement goes both ways, meaning that the whale has humanistic qualities. It’s hard to hate something for simply being, especially if there is an innate relatability, connection, or understanding towards the creature. So far in the narrative, the whale has been depicted as a fearsome foe, a monstrous beast, but in the later chapters, this notion is challenged. Instead of viewing the whale as a malicious beast, the main character calls to question the innocent nature of the animal. This point is emphasis when he is talking to the ship’s captain, who retells the story of how he lost his leg, and in response he says;

“What you say is no doubt true enough sir; but how could I know there was any peculiar ferocity in that particular whale, though indeed I might have inferred as much from the simple fact of the accident” (80).  

 This vocalized plea of the whale’s innocence shifts the whale’s actions from being the perpetrator of evil to a victim of self-defense against capitalistic ventures. The whale did not attack without provocation, it was being hunted by whalers and responded accordingly to its survival. It’s in all our nature to have self-preservation. By having Ishmeal point this out to the captain shows that he doesn’t share these same opinions about the whale. He is recognizing that this is a living being, much like himself. Ishmeal’s ability to empathize with the whale humanizes the creature. Expanding our precious preconceived notions about the whale. Whereas in the previous chapters he’s a leviathan, in this particular moment, the whale is just an innocent animal trying to survive.