March 30: Lungless and Cold Blooded, Good Friday, Sacrifice

First: The uncertain, unsettled condition of this science of Cetology is in the very vestibule attested by the fact, that in some quarters it still remains a moot point whether a whale be a fish. In his System of Nature, A.D. 1776, Linnaeus declares, "I hereby separate the whales from the fish." But of my own knowledge, I know that down to the year 1850, sharks and shad, alewives and herring, against Linnaeus's express edict, were still found dividing the possession of the same seas with the Leviathan.

The grounds upon which Linnaeus would fain have banished the whales from the waters, he states as follows: "On account of their warm bilocular heart, their lungs, their moveable eyelids, their hollow ears, penem intrantem feminam mammis lactantem," and finally, "ex lege naturae jure meritoque." I submitted all this to my friends Simeon Macey and Charley Coffin, of Nantucket, both messmates of mine in a certain voyage, and they united in the opinion that the reasons set forth were altogether insufficient. Charley profanely hinted they were humbug.

Be it known that, waiving all argument, I take the good old fashioned ground that the whale is a fish, and call upon holy Jonah to back me. This fundamental thing settled, the next point is, in what internal respect does the whale differ from other fish. Above, Linnaeus has given you those items. But in brief they are these: lungs and warm blood; whereas, all other fish are lungless and cold blooded.

Next: how shall we define the whale, by his obvious externals, so as conspicuously to label him for all time to come. To be short, then, a whale is a spouting fish with a horizontal tail. There you have him. However contracted, that definition is the result of expanded meditation. A walrus spouts much like a whale, but the walrus is not a fish, because he is amphibious. But the last term of the definition is still more cogent, as coupled with the first. Almost any one must have noticed that all the fish familiar to landsmen have not a flat, but a vertical, or up-and-down tail. Whereas, among spouting fish the tail, though it may be similarly shaped, invariably assumes a horizontal position.

By the above definition of what a whale is, I do by no means exclude from the leviathanic brotherhood any sea creature hitherto identified with the whale by the best informed Nantucketers; nor, on the other hand, link with it any fish hitherto authoritatively regarded as alien.* Hence, all the smaller, spouting and horizontal tailed fish must be included in this ground-plan of cetology. Now, then, come the grand divisions of the entire whale host.

This little passage proves that the world knew little about whales.  Melville/Ishmael proclaims the leviathan to be a fish, despite the fact that it is warm-blooded and breathes air through lungs.  If it looks like a fish--fins and tail and such--it is a fish.

It is Good Friday.  The last day I will have to eat fish for Lent.  (See how I did that--the segue from whales to fish to the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.  Pretty slick, huh?)  I'm not much of a fish-eater.  During Lent, my staples are cheese, peanut butter, and did I mention cheese?  Of course, there was also fasting between meals, as well.

A lot of people don't understand the idea of abstaining from meat and fasting, including other Christian denominations.  A friend of mine recently said to me, "You know, that fish thing is a man-made rule."

"Yes," I responded, "I understand that."  I watched my friend's face take on a glow of self-satisfaction.  Then, I said, "However, I do believe that it's a good practice,  A reminder of how important sacrifice is during the Lenten season."  My friend's smile faltered a little bit.  "You do believe in sacrifice, don't you?"

I know, I know.  It was a pretty passive aggressive move on my part.  Don't worry, my friend and I are still talking.  But I get a little perturbed by Christians who seem hell-bent (pardon the term) on criticizing the practices of other follower of Christ.  Because, the last time I checked, Jesus really wasn't about judging.  He was pretty much all about forgiveness.

I just got done playing the organ and singing at the Good Friday service at my church.  When I was younger, this service used to last three hours.  Noon to 3 p.m.  It involved a rosary and Stations and the Cross and chanting and incense.  It has been scaled back a little now.

But one of my favorite elements of the service is still intact:  the reading of Christ's passion.  It moves me in a way that only the gospels read on Christmas night and day move me.  One moment in particular always moves me to tears.  It is when the lector reads this line (or a variation of it):  "And bowing His head, He surrendered His spirit."  And then everyone in the church kneels in silence for over a full minute.

I am easing into Easter weekend.  Tomorrow night is the Easter Vigil service, starting at 9 p.m. and ending somewhere around midnight.  Starting with the church in darkness.  Then the lighting of candles.  Lots of chanting.  Ten readings.  Baptisms.  First Communions.  Confirmations.  It will be beautiful and stressful.  I'm not really comfortable with Gregorian chant, and I have to do a whole lot of it.

So, tonight, I will rest, write, and prepare myself for tomorrow and Sunday.

Saint Marty is thankful today for sacrifice.