# Does the Whale's Magnitude Diminish? - Will He Perish?
Inasmuch,
then, as this Leviathan comes floundering down upon us from the
head-waters of the Eternities, it may be fitly inquired, whether, in the
long course of his generations, he has not degenerated from the
original bulk of his sires.
But upon investigation we find, that
not only are the whales of the present day superior in magnitude to
those whose fossil remains are found in the Tertiary system (embracing a
distinct geological period prior to man), but of the whales found in
that Tertiary system, those belonging to its latter formations exceed in
size those of its earlier ones.
Of all the pre-adamite whale yet
exhumed, by far the largest is the Alabama one mentioned in the last
chapter, and that was less than seventy feet in length in the skeleton.
Whereas, we have already seen, that the tape-measure gives seventy-two
feet for the skeleton of a large sized modern whale. And I have heard,
on whalemen's authority, that Sperm Whales have been captured near a
hundred feet long at the time of capture.
But may it not be, that
while the whales of the present hour are an advance in magnitude upon
those of all previous geological periods; may it not be, that since
Adam's time they have degenerated?
Assuredly, we must conclude so,
if we are to credit the accounts of such gentlemen as Pliny, and the
ancient naturalists generally. For Pliny tells us of Whales that
embraced acres of living bulk, and Aldrovandus of others which measured
eight hundred feet in length- Rope Walks and Thames Tunnels of Whales!
And even in the days of Banks and Solander, Cooke's naturalists, we find
a Danish member of the Academy of Sciences setting down certain Iceland
Whales (reydan-siskur, or Wrinkled Bellies) at one hundred and twenty
yards; that is, three hundred and sixty feet. And Lacepede, the French
naturalist, in his elaborate history of whales, in the very beginning of
his work (page 3), sets down the Right Whale at one hundred metres,
three hundred and twenty-eight feet. And this work was published so late
as A.D. 1825.
But will any whaleman believe these stories? No.
The whale of to-day is as big as his ancestors in Pliny's time. And if
ever I go where Pliny is, I, a whaleman (more than he was), will make
bold to tell him so. Because I cannot understand how it is, that while
the Egyptian mummies that were buried thousands of years before even
Pliny was born, do not measure so much in their coffins as a modern
Kentuckian in his socks; and while the cattle and other animals
sculptured on the oldest Egyptian and Nineveh tablets, by the relative
proportions in which they are drawn, just as plainly prove that the
high-bred, stall-fed, prize cattle of Smithfield, not only equal, but
far exceed in magnitude the fattest of Pharaoh's fat kine; in the face
of all this, I will not admit that of all animals the whale alone should
have degenerated.
But still another inquiry remains; one often
agitated by the more recondite Nantucketers. Whether owing to the almost
omniscient look-outs at the mast-heads of the whaleships, now
penetrating even through Behring's straits, and into the remotest secret
drawers and lockers of the world; and the thousand harpoons and lances
darted along all continental coasts; the moot point is, whether
Leviathan can long endure so wide a chase, and so remorseless a havoc;
whether he must not at last be exterminated from the waters, and the
last whale, like the last man, smoke his last pipe, and then himself
evaporate in the final puff.
Comparing the humped herds of whales
with the humped herds of buffalo, which, not forty years ago, overspread
by tens of thousands the prairies of Illinois and Missouri, and shook
their iron manes and scowled with their thunder-clotted brows upon the
sites of populous river-capitals, where now the polite broker sells you
land at a dollar an inch; in such a comparison an irresistible argument
would seem furnished, to show that the hunted whale cannot now escape
speedy extinction.
But you must look at this matter in every
light. Though so short a period ago- not a good lifetime- the census of
the buffalo in Illinois exceeded the census of men now in London, and
though at the present day not one horn or hoof of them remains in all
that region; and though the cause of this wondrous extermination was the
spear of man; yet the far different nature of the whale-hunt
peremptorily forbids so inglorious an end to the Leviathan. Forty men in
one ship hunting the Sperm Whales for forty-eight months think they
have done extremely well, and thank God, if at last they carry home the
oil of forty fish. Whereas, in the days of the old Canadian and Indian
hunters and trappers of the West, when the far west (in whose sunset
suns still rise) was a wilderness and a virgin, the same number of
moccasined men, for the same number of months, mounted on horse instead
of sailing in ships, would have slain not forty, but forty thousand and
more buffaloes; a fact that, if need were, could be statistically
stated.
Nor, considered aright, does it seem any argument in favor
of the gradual extinction of the Sperm Whale, for example, that in
former years (the latter part of the last century, say) these
Leviathans, in small pods, were encountered much oftener than at
present, and, in consequence, the voyages were not so prolonged, and
were also much more remunerative. Because, as has been elsewhere
noticed, those whales, influenced by some views to safety, now swim the
seas in immense caravans, so that to a large degree the scattered
solitaries, yokes, and pods, and schools of other days are now
aggregated into vast but widely separated, unfrequent armies. That is
all. And equally fallacious seems the conceit, that because the
so-called whale-bone whales no longer haunt many grounds in former years
abounding with them, hence that species also is declining. For they are
only being driven from promontory to cape; and if one coast is no
longer enlivened with their jets, then, be sure, some other and remoter
strand has been very recently startled by the unfamiliar spectacle.
Furthermore:
concerning these last mentioned Leviathans, they have two firm
fortresses, which, in all human probability, will for ever remain
impregnable. And as upon the invasion of their valleys, the frosty Swiss
have retreated to their mountains; so, hunted from the savannas and
glades of the middle seas, the whale-bone whales can at last resort to
their Polar citadels, and diving under the ultimate glassy barriers and
walls there, come up among icy fields and floes! and in a charmed circle
of everlasting December, bid defiance to all pursuit from man.
But
as perhaps fifty of these whale-bone whales are harpooned for one
cachalot, some philosophers of the forecastle have concluded that this
positive havoc has already very seriously diminished their battalions.
But though for some time past a number of these whales, not less than
13,000, have been annually slain on the nor'west coast by the Americans
alone; yet there are considerations which render even this circumstance
of little or no account as an opposing argument in this matter.
Natural
as it is to be somewhat incredulous concerning the populousness of the
more enormous creatures of the globe, yet what shall we say to Harto,
the historian of Goa, when he tells us that at one hunting the King of
Siam took 4,000 elephants; that in those regions elephants are numerous
as droves of cattle in the temperate climes. And there seems no reason
to doubt that if these elephants, which have now been hunted for
thousands of years, by Semiramis, by Porus, by Hannibal, and by all the
successive monarchs of the East- if they still survive there in great
numbers, much more may the great whale outlast all hunting, since he has
a pasture to expatiate in, which is precisely twice as large as all
Asia, both Americas, Europe and Africa, New Holland, and all the Isles
of the sea combined.
Moreover: we are to consider, that from the
presumed great longevity of whales, their probably attaining the age of a
century and more, therefore at any one period of time, several distinct
adult generations must be contemporary. And what this is, we may soon
gain some idea of, by imagining all the grave-yards, cemeteries, and
family vaults of creation yielding up the live bodies of all the men,
women, and children who were alive seventy-five years ago; and adding
this countless host to the present human population of the globe.
Wherefore,
for all these things, we account the whale immortal in his species,
however perishable in his individuality. He swam the seas before the
continents broke water; he once swam over the site of the Tuileries, and
Windsor Castle, and the Kremlin. In Noah's flood he despised Noah's
Ark; and if ever the world is to be again flooded, like the Netherlands,
to kill off its rats, then the eternal whale will still survive, and
rearing upon the topmost crest of the equatorial flood, spout his
frothed defiance to the skies.
Of course, Melville's argument in this chapter for the continuation of whaling is flawed. In the 21st century, we postmodern peoples know that many species (including the buffalo of North America) were hunted to the brink of extinction. All of Melville's justifications ring false through this lens. Humankind HAS done irreparable harm to the animal kingdom over the centuries, including many of the creatures mentioned in the above paragraphs. This is not fake news.
In some ways, I think Melville would have fit in well in Donald Trump's cabinet, perhaps as the administrator of the Environmental Protection Agency. Keep in mind, though, he is working with 19th-century information. When
Moby-Dick was written, it wasn't the Information Age. Google didn't exist. So, I can almost give Melville a pass on this chapter.
As an English professor at a university, I spend a great deal of my time teaching young people how to think critically. That's my job. I'm trying to show the next generation how NOT to depend on flawed information, that everything published on the Internet ISN'T necessarily true. That Fox News might be slightly biased in their presentation of the facts. If I can do that, I can sleep better at night.
As I discussed yesterday in my blog post, I've been struggling recently with depression. It has muddied my ability to reason effectively. Situations that would require little effort on my part to handle normally now take a great deal of energy to think through. I know this condition is temporary. That my mind will clear, and that I will be back to my normal self eventually. However, that doesn't make these moments any easier for me.
It's frightening not being able to think and speak clearly. It makes me feel like a little less of a person. Don't worry, I'm not going to start getting up at 3 a.m. to send out early morning Tweet rants as I sit on the toilet. I'm not insane. Just depressed. Big difference. I have gotten slightly better. This post proves it. On Wednesday, the thought of trying to write a cogent sentence was impossible for me.
I have a good friend who has suffered from depression in the past. She told me that keeping busy helped her during the blue periods. Since I published that post yesterday, I've received a lot of kind messages (public and private). It helps to know that people really care about me. Mental illness still carries so much stigma in modern society. I think it is still viewed as a kind of failing of character. People don't want to talk about it. My wife has bipolar disorder. I've seen this reaction over and over.
That's why I wrote that post last night. I'm not going to let mental illness control me. Instead, I dragged mental illness out into broad daylight and pointed my finger at it. Named it. That felt empowering. I'm glad that I had enough brain power to do it.
Today, I'm going to buy a car for my daughter. Clean my house. Read a good book. Maybe finish up my syllabi for teaching next week. That's my plan. Keeping busy, as my good friend advised. I'm also going to be kind to myself.
Saint Marty is thankful this morning for the love of family and friends.
