Moby Dick

Bartleby and Modernity

Written in the middle of the nineteenth century, the story of Bartleby is stunning in its presaging of the alienation of urban middle class life in the twentieth century and in our own time. In the words of continental philosopher Hannah Arendt, the world inhabited by Melville’s characters is fundamentally a ‘society of job-holders.’

Turkey, Nippers, Ginger-Nut, and later Bartleby stand in as social types of this coming milieu, with their disenchantment, ‘ambition and digestion,’ and automaton qualities. Bartleby’s eccentricities are initially viewed in a positive light, as contributions. ‘His steadiness, his freedom from all dissipation, his incessant industry…his great, stillness, his unalterableness of demeanor under all circumstances, made him a valuable acquisition.’ (13) This modern efficiency is set against a backdrop of disillusion and sterility in the financial district. In a brilliant showcasing of Melville’s descriptive qualities, he remarks, ‘This building too, which of week-days hums with industry and life, at nightfall echoes with sheer vacancy, and all through Sunday is forlorn. And here Bartleby makes his home; sole spectator of a solitude which he has seen all populous—a sort of innocent and transformed Marius brooding among the ruins of Carthage!’  (14)

There are many ways of approaching this story. I read it in this particular light mostly because of the sharp focus on the corporate world in our time. More importantly, the critique of labor implied herein is still relevant as our corporate culture continues to fulfill the Arendtian ‘society of jobholders.’

Ahab’s Depravity and Dissonance

While reading the text, I couldn’t help but feel a disconnect between Ahab’s supposed darkness and Melville’s rendering of him.  In other words, the highly embellished, melodramatic descriptions of Ahab’s monomania are not convincing.  It is one of the few (perhaps inconspicuous) flaws of the novel and I’m surprised that it hasn’t been remarked on more often.  I’ll quote a few lines which, taken by themselves, do not flesh out the essence of the man and therefore leave the reader dissatisfied.

‘Ahab was threading a maze of currents and eddies, with a view to the more certain accomplishment of that monomaniac thought of his soul.’ 191 – Most of the writing on Ahab’s monomania is crafted in this decontextualized manner, with the exception of the two page soliloquy in the last quarter of the novel.

‘…in Ahab’s case, yielding up all his thoughts and fancies to his one supreme purpose; that purpose, by its own sheer inveteracy of will, forced itself against gods and devils into a kind of self-assumed, independent being of its own.’ 195

‘In his fiery eyes of scorn and triumph, you then saw Ahab in all his fatal pride.’ 498

Captivating descriptive prose without adequate character build up lends itself to the aforementioned dissonance. One wonders if this was intended by Melville. Is this truly a story about a depraved individual driven by monomania and overcompensation to a vengeful self-destruction? Or is it more a story of nature and community and philosophy? I’m left confused about the centrality of Ahab the man and his standing vis-à-vis the other characters on the Pequod..

Does anyone else sense the forced nature of his ‘evil’?

Melville, Herman. Moby Dick. Signet Classic. 1998

As we discussed in class, The Symphony chapter is very Shakespearen and Ahab’s long confession to Starbuck is reminiscent of King Lear. In addition to this Shakespearen reference, this chapter reminds me quite a bit of Greek tragedy, in particular Homer’s Iliad. Although they are not identical, the Trojan hero Hector and Captain Ahab share the characteristic of having a wife and young child at home. Hector is also fated to be killed by Achilles and even runs three laps around the city of Troy to stay away from the Greek soldier. In the same way that Hector knows that he eventually must confront Achilles (i.e. death), Ahab knows that he must fight Moby Dick. After Ahab reveals to Starbuck how much of his life he has regretted and Starbuck is hopeful that they might return to Nantucket, Ahab acquiesces and gives in to his death; he asks

What is it, what nameless, inscrutable, unearthly thing is it; what cozening, hidden lord and master, and cruel, remorseless emperor commands me; that against all natural lovings and longings, I so keep pushing, and crowding, and jamming myself on all the time; recklessly making me ready to do what in my own proper, natural heart, I durst not so much as dare? Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that lifts this arm?… Aye, toil we how we may, we all sleep at last on the field. Sleep? Aye, and rust amid greenness. (Melville 592)

In the same way that Hector is reluctant to accept his fate, Ahab admits that there is nothing in his “natural heart” that would make him want to continue on this quest for Moby Dick. There is some “hidden lord” or “remorseless emperor” who controls Ahab’s decisions that he cannot fight much like Hector who is coerced into battle by the gods. This scene also has another reference to Greek mythology when Ahab concludes that he will “sleep at last on the field.” After their deaths, Greek heroes would rest in the fields of Elysium. Like a tragic Greek hero, Ahab believes that he will soon die and lay in the Elysian Fields rather than heaven.

In the fifty-first chapter of Moby Dick, Melville presents “The Spirit Spout”, a whale spout that is spotted once every few nights for a period of time while the men are aboard The Pequod.  It becomes clear that the Spout represents some sort of deity: at one point, the Spout is described as “some plumed and glittering god uprising from the sea”.  When the watchman announces the Spout for the first time, “every reclining mariner started to his feet as if some winged spirit had lighted in the rigging”.  Yet, despite their efforts, this whale proves impossible to catch, and disappears quite mysteriously.  Thus, the Spout represents a fleeting and intangible spiritual presence.

When examining Ahab’s reaction to the first announcement of the Spirit Spout’s presence, the reader catches a glimpse into Ahab’s own complicated relationship with spirituality:

Walking the deck with quick, side-lunging strides, Ahab commanded the t’gallant sails and royals to be set, and every stunsail spread.  The best man in the ship must take the helm…And had you watched Ahab’s face that night, you would have thought that in him also two different things were warring.  While his one live leg made lively echoes along the deck, every stroke of his dead limb sounded like a coffin-tap.  On life and death this old man walked.

The point most clearly evidenced in this passage is Ahab’s struggle with the fact that a potentially higher power controls his life and death.  This duality is quite present in Ahab, represented by his two different legs and the different sounds they make as he walks, Ishmael’s statement of “on life and death this old man walked”.  As this passage shows, Ahab is clearly not in a happy state while he walks.  This walking, and this clear portrayal of this duality within him, is brought about by the sighting of this spiritual presence.  Ahab desperately wants to capture this presence, yet he cannot.

Ahab makes it clear that he is keenly interested in capturing this whale, which is particularly noteworthy because as I noted above, the chapter makes it clear that the Spout represents some kind of deity.  Ahab is desperate to catch the Spout, as shown by his command that the “best man must take the helm”.  Furthermore, Ahab shows a great sense of urgency, “walking the deck with quick, side-lunging strides”.  Yet, despite his most intense efforts and the efforts of the crew, the whale proves unattainable.  The Spout taunts them night after night, yet is never located and caught.  This shows the unattainability of the deity, which frustrates Ahab to no end, who cannot accept the fact that he is not in control of his own mortality.

The final interesting point brought about by this passage, and a point which is made frequently by Melville in this book, is Melville’s willingness to include and thus question the existence of other religions.  Ishmael describes the Spout not as, “God, plumed and glittering” but as “some plumed and glittering god” which suggests that it is possible that more than one god exists.  Furthermore, when the preparations of the sailors to lower the ships are being described, Ishmael says it was as if “some winged spirit had lighted in the rigging”.  Ishmael does not say “a Godly presence” lighted in the rigging, but “some..spirit”.  This suggests that Melville is willing to acknowledge the existence of spiritual presences besides God.

Regardless of whether the Spout represents God or an incompletely formed concept of some deity, it is made clear that Ahab feels as though he wants to catch whatever is in control of his own mortality, yet, because he is indeed a mortal, he cannot.

The inherent simplicity of the character, Bartleby, is only made so by Melville’s preference to not divulge any of his background or insight into his character.  But it’s that same simplicity that allows for any number of contemplations on the meaning of Bartleby’s story (“Bartleby, the Scrivener: A Tale of Wall Street”), thus making it actually rather complex.  Bartleby is seemingly homeless, as he takes up residence in our narrator’s office, and his disinterest in human interaction leads one to also assume he is mentally ill in some capacity.  But really, we can’t be the least bit certain of any of these inferences.  From another perspective, Bartleby could be representative of all “misunderstood” individuals, of which Melville was one.  Because Melville was not well respected until after his death, it’s likely he was writing a bit of himself into the character of Bartleby.

The “mildness” of Bartleby’s character is at first rather funny, and the narrator even found it “not only disarmed [him], but unmanned [him], as it were” (Melville 5).  And the other employees he asks for advice on how to deal with Bartleby are equally amusing, especially considering the known invalidity of their statements based on the time of day’s influence on their particular personalities.  As we learn more (while it’s still only a little) about Bartleby’s character, after the narrator discovers he is living in the office, the tale becomes a more tragic and sympathetic one.

What miserable friendlessness and loneliness are here revealed! His poverty is great; but his solitude, how horrible!” (6).

Eventually, the suffering soul of Bartleby led to his self-inflicted death—his body ceased preferring to carry its own dead soul around.  While the narrator finds it sad that he did not seemingly have enough money to live elsewhere, he believed the true tragedy of Bartleby to be the terrible lonesomeness that must come with such a residence.  And it was that very solitude that the narrator cannot understand (and which made him greatly pity Bartleby), and which anyone who has not experienced a similar time being so alone could not relate.  But it does seem Melville could relate to Bartleby, and because the story seems a commentary on humanity as a whole, many others understand that lonesomeness as well.  And maybe another reason Melville gave us so little of Bartleby was so all of his “misunderstood” readers could more easily identify (by writing their own life details in) and thus personally make sense of the very flat character.

Melville, Herman. “Bartleby, the Scrivener: A Story of Wall Street.” http://www.enotes.com/bartleby-scrivener-text/bartleby-scrivener-1

Ah, the Spirit Spout. The chapter that supposes the great whale is following the Peaquod. Rife with foreshadowing and ominous imagery, this chapter can also be read as a testimony to the serenity and solitude of the sea–and the tricks such solitude can play in the minds of men. Alone for an eternity without so much as a humpback to show for it, the crew of the Peaquod have become accustomed to an empty ocean; a monotonous, pristine blue-grey sheet that plods along til disappearing beneath the fog of the horizon. Once broken by a spout–real or imagined–the shattered serenity evokes nightmarish thoughts of monsters and fiendish leviathans. Indeed the sea has been for some time their peaceful feminine companion, but as becomes clear in “The Symphony,” it had begun to turn on them in their minds. No longer peaceful, serene, and feminine, the once calm sea now the portent of their impending downfall.

Sailors of a whaling vessel had little to go by in the way of guarantees. The industry of Melville’s era did not benefit from the technologies of today’s world. Fishing then was a crapshoot of epic proportions. For the men of Ahab’s craft, the prospects of a payday were ever-dwindling and the horror of their doom-bound journey was creeping ever steadily into their consciousness. These were men primed for a conjured sign–a affirmation of their terrible destiny. Form the standpoint of a psychologist, the Peaquod was a case study for the breeding grounds of group-effect driven hysteria. One man’s diluted vision yielded the panic (or beginnings thereof) of an entire crew.

As has been made clear throughout the novel, the sea is all-powerful.  It can at once be a force of daunting deaths, and in another moment promoting a sense of serenity among the crewmembers on the Pequod.  Ishmael has many reflections and thoughts on the ocean, and also the way in which he understands the world, through being a shipmate on a whaling boat, by way of the ocean.  The power of it is most often overwhelming, and the intense insight it can offer a man is too much for many to handle (i.e. Pip).  But in Chapter 111, Ishmael has a more peaceful moment while experiencing the dreaminess of the Pacific’s “tide-beating heart of the earth” (Melville 465).

…for here, millions of mixed shades and shadows, drowned dreams, somnambulisms, reveries; all that we call lives and souls, lie dreaming, still; tossing like slumberers in their beds; the ever-rolling ways but made so by their restlessness” (465).

In this most serene moment, Ishmael understands the ocean as a sort of heaven for him.  But he then remarks that someone such as Ahab won’t ever have these feelings of calmness towards the sea.  Captain Ahab will never be “lifted by those eternal swells” of the sea, as he has accepted his fate, and is only able to focus on the task he feels has been set for him, to kill Moby Dick.  Ishmael also finds it somewhat difficult to imagine that “the hated white whale must even then be swimming” in this sea he himself feels so at peace with.  We are often reminded of all that the sea keeps in hiding, and while Moby Dick is one evil among many that lurk below, Melville also uses this chapter to remind us those hidden aspects contain the “soul” of the sea.  And in relating the soul of the sea to the soul of man, it is clear that both hide certain “gently awful stirrings” (465).

In chapters such as this one, Melville is contrasting the concentrated drama of the novel’s looming end with scenes of tranquility and thoughtfulness.  Pitting the two against each other can be seen as a reflection on the act of whaling itself, as it’s made up of moments of high intensity, interspersed with many lulls of waiting and watching.  Also, in showing that Ahab has no experience of these lulls, the reader is alerted to the drama he himself is constructing.  In not ever feeling a sense of calm, he is allowing Moby Dick to consume him, and thus forcing his fate to become a reality.

Melville, Herman. Moby Dick. New York, NY: Signet Classic, 1998.

In my first post I noted that Captain Ahab shared his name with the notorious King Ahab from the Book of Kings (1 Kings 16). Though it seemed apparent that Captain Ahab had the flaw of hubris, it was still not clear if he would follow the path of King Ahab. While overseeing the production of the harpoon that will be used to kill Moby Dick, Ahab seems to transform into someone entirely different. He uses the blood of the pagan “savages” in the making of the harpoon and exclaims:

Ego non baptizo te in nomine patris, sed in nomine diaboli! (471)

Translated from Latin, Ahab’s cry becomes clear: “I baptize you not in the name of the father, but in the name of the devil!” With these words, Ahab seems to revoke his faith in God and monotheism by invoking the name of the devil and using pagan blood in the making of the harpoon. Ahab’s faith in God to help him succeed in his mission has been lost; he appears to have turned against God. This parallels nicely with King Ahab, who gave up monotheism to worship the pagan god Baal.

Now that Captain Ahab has begun to fulfill his destiny that came with his name, what is Melville trying to say? There is, no doubt, something unsettling about the unholy baptism that Ahab performs. It is no longer just about Moby Dick anymore. I can’t help but think of John Milton’s Paradise Lost, which (from what I know about it) details Satan’s attempt to wage war in Heaven and his ultimate banishment to Hell. Captain Ahab, too, seems to be a “hell-raiser,” an individual who is not afraid to stir up a little trouble. Ahab is saying, “No!” to God by purposefully corrupting the Sacrament of Baptism and continuing on his pursuit to destroy the whale. If Ahab sees Moby Dick as God, or at least an agent of God, then it appears that he is in fact trying to overcome and metaphorically kill God. Thus he is no longer only Captain Ahab and “King Ahab,” but also Satan himself.

This side of Ahab, the part of him that relentlessly seeks the whale and willingly “blasphemes” against God, is only one part of him. To complicate matters further, Melville gives the reader a glimpse into who could be the “real” Captain Ahab in Chapter 132 “The Symphony.” I will discuss this chapter in my next blog post and how it gives some clues as to what exactly drives Ahab in his crazed pursuit of the whale (beyond simple revenge).

Sources:

1. http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=1+Kings+16&version=NIV (1 Kings 16:29-34)

From reading Moby Dick in high school, I always remembered “The Whiteness of the Whale” as my favorite chapter because of the eloquence of Melville’s writing. Is this chapter perhaps the best study in prose of a single color, ever? He explores the imagery and symbolism of whiteness across various references in various settings. Most importantly for this class and this topic, “The Whiteness of the Whale” helps readers to understand classifications of masculinity and how gender functions in the novel.

For Ishmael, this chapter is his announcement of the most horrifying attribute of the whale– its whiteness: “It was the whiteness of the whale that above all things appalled me” (168). Whiteness is associated with “majesty” and the “divine,” but also “panic,” “dread,” and the “ghastly.” The color and the significance of the color become gendered by Ishmael: he links whiteness to men. Firstly, he notes that various nations “have in some way recognized a certain royal preeminence in this hue; even the barbaric old kings of Pegu placing the title ‘Lord of the White Elephants’ above all their other magniloquent ascriptions of dominion; and the modern kings of Siam unfurling the same snow-white quadruped in the royal standard; and the Hanoverian flag bearing the one figure of a snow-white charger; and the great Austrian Empire, Caesarian, heir to overlording Rome, having for the imperial color the same imperial hue….whiteness typifies the majesty of Justice in the ermine of the Judge, and contributes to the daily state of kings and queens drawn by milk-white steeds” (168). Absolutist monarchies of the past were propagandized by rulers as divine, or divinely acquired; so white, as a “symbol of the divine spotlessness” according to Ishmael, is an appropriate color to characterize those in power (168). White is associated with hegemonic patriarchy, which includes male-ruled politics, male-governed justice, and male-monitored religion. It is the color that represents the regality, wisdom, and all-out might of men.

Ishmael offers a contrast, that white is also linked to “the innocence of brides,” and thus their purity and virginity (168). This is an important acknowledgement because white can take on multiple forms and is not wholly male-owned or masculine in tone. But in the realm of men, it is attached to those who hold absolute power and may be prone to acts of terror and cruelty (…as we know that absolute power corrupts absolutely). Just as the King of Prussia rules over his land – and nation states have historically been referred to in the feminine, France and England and Russia described by historians through pronouns “she” and “her” – the white, male Moby Dick rules over his feminized sea.

The metaphor and symbolism of the color white can naturally be extended to race. As is evident through the hierarchy aboard the Pequod, the white men have control over the brown, ethnic, “othered” male. Ishmael notes that “this pre-eminence in [whiteness] applies to the human race itself, giving the white man ideal mastership over every dusky tribe” (168).

Ishmael uses other articulate references to describe the elusiveness and awfulness of white, including the White Mountains of New Hampshire. The White Mountains and, more specifically, Mount Chocorua (their tallest peak), were habitually depicted in landscapes by the artists of the Hudson River School in the mid-nineteenth century. These artists believed in painting landscapes as evocations of the sublimity and divinity of nature, and thus the White Mountains were entirely appropriate as subject matter.

Based on Ishmael’s description, white is also associated with redemption: “in the Vision of St. John, white robes are given to the redeemed” (169). This phrase calls to mind the ivory white stub of Captain Ahab; perhaps the reader can infer that his artificial leg symbolizes his survival and redemption. He had fought Moby Dick, and while scathed, he carried on after the confrontation. Similarly, the captain of the Samuel Enderby from London, who we meet in Chapter 100, “Leg and Arm,” possesses an ivory white arm after he lost his real arm in a treacherous rendez-vous with the white whale. Moby Dick is characterized in this chapter as an “old great-grandfather” with “a milky-white head and hump, all crows’ feet and wrinkles” (391). The English captain also describes him as “the noblest and biggest” whale he ever saw (392). This depiction adds to our understanding of whiteness: the whiteness of the massive monster enhances his aura of wisdom, nobility, regality, and strength. Moby Dick’s tail is “like a marble steeple” that came down and ripped the captain’s boat completely in two, shredding it into splinters, when he met face-to-face with the most awful and impressive force of the sea (392).

But there is a clear difference between these two captains. The Englishman has clearly learned his lesson for acting over-aggressively and is now ready to retreat, vowing to focus his travels on capturing smaller whales and to never again target the enigmatic white whale: “‘he’s welcome to the arm he has, since I can’t help it, and didn’t know him then; but not to another one. No More White Whales for me; I’ve lowered for him once, and that has satisfied me. There would be great glory in killing him, I know that; and there is a ship-load of precious sperm in him, but, hark ye, he’s best let alone; don’t you think so, Captain?’ – glancing at the ivory leg” (395). Ahab does not think so. In contrast to the English captain, the white whale is still Ahab’s magnet. Thinking about pursuing Moby Dick causes his blood to boil and his heart to pulse so furiously that the planks aboard the Samuel Enderby beat in rhythm, as a man named Bunger says, surprisingly eloquently (395). Ahab continues to feels utterly emasculated by Moby Dick, to the point that it has driven him mad. He is not satisfied by his ivory white leg and does not accept the artificial walking substitute as a good enough redemption. He wants full revenge. This chapter reveals an emasculating moment in which Ahab has to awkwardly and clumsily transition from the Pequod to the Samuel Enderby – this being the first time he has set his peg leg aboard another ship besides his own. Despite the English captain’s warning, Ahab continues to be bitterly and madly driven in the pursuit of the white male to reassert his masculinity and experience the pride of killing the thing that no one else has managed to kill. But the reader can infer that Ahab’s ambition for revenge will inevitably end in his destruction.

“‘And I’m thinking Moby Dick doesn’t bite so much as he swallows’” – the Englishman (394). Gulp.

In a previous post, I discussed Melville’s anthropomorphization of the sperm whale.  However, he frequently takes this several steps farther.  Not only does he see the whale as human, but he often sees it as above human, almost godlike.  This is demonstrated many times throughout the text.  In chapter 85, The Fountain, Melville discussed whether or not the whale has a voice.  He concludes that it does not.

But then again, what has the whale to say?  Seldom have I known any profound being that had anything to say in this world, unless forced to stammer out something by way of getting a living.

Melville sees this silence as majestic.  Of course, the second part of this statement seems to reflect on Melville himself, excusing him from speaking in writing this book.  More importantly, though, is the sense of the whale as profound, a noble creature.  Later in this chapter, Melville discusses the whale spout, debating whether it is mist or water.  He states that it is mist, and explains

to this conclusion i am impelled, by considerations touching the great inherent dignity and sublimity of the Sperm Whale; I account him for no common shallwo being…He is both ponderous and profound.  And I am convinced that from the ehads of all ponderous and profound beings, such as Plato, Pyrrho, the Devil, Jupiter, Dante, and so on, there always goes up a certain semi-visible steam, while in the act of thinking deep thoughts.

The whale is not only majestic because of his size or mystery.  He is a thinker of deep thoughts, profound on the level of Dante.  The mention of the Devil is a bit puzzling, as it suggests some sort of evil lurks within the whale.  However, evil or no, this creature ranks among the most sublime human thinkers.  Melville not only respects the whale, he seems to have some worshipful reverence towards it, and its “great inherent dignity.”  His encounters with whales seem to have convinced him of this, and Ishmael as well.  It does make one wonder how a man, a whaler, who sees the whale such could justify killing these creatures en masse.