First: Though most men have some vague flitting ideas of the general perils of the grand fishery, yet they have nothing like a fixed, vivid conception of those perils, and the frequency with which they recur. One reason perhaps is, that not one in fifty of the actual disasters and deaths by casualties in the fishery, ever finds a public record at home, however transient and immediately forgotten that record. Do you suppose that that poor fellow there, who this moment perhaps caught by the whale-line off the coast of New Guinea, is being carried down to the bottom of the sea by the sounding leviathan- do you suppose that that poor fellow's name will appear in the newspaper obituary you will read to-morrow at your breakfast? No: because the mails are very irregular between here and New Guinea. In fact, did you ever hear what might be called regular news direct or indirect from New Guinea? Yet I will tell you that upon one particular voyage which I made to the Pacific, among many others we spoke thirty different ships, every one of which had had a death by a whale, some of them more than one, and three that had each lost a boat's crew. For God's sake, be economical with your lamps and candles! not a gallon you burn, but at least one drop of man's blood was spilled for it.
Secondly: People ashore have indeed some indefinite idea that a whale is an enormous creature of enormous power; but I have ever found that when narrating to them some specific example of this two-fold enormousness, they have significantly complimented me upon my facetiousness; when, I declare upon my soul, I had no more idea of being facetious than Moses, when he wrote the history of the plagues of Egypt.
But fortunately the special point I here seek can be established upon testimony entirely independent of my own. That point is this: The Sperm Whale is in some cases sufficiently powerful, knowing, and judiciously malicious, as with direct aforethought to stave in, utterly destroy, and sink a large ship; and what is more, the Sperm Whale has done it.
First: In the year 1820 the ship Essex, Captain Pollard, of Nantucket, was cruising in the Pacific Ocean. One day she saw spouts, lowered her boats, and gave chase to a shoal of sperm whales. Ere long, several of the whales were wounded; when, suddenly, a very large whale escaping from the boats, issued from the shoal, and bore directly down upon the ship. Dashing his forehead against her hull, he so stove her in, that in less than "ten minutes" she settled down and fell over. Not a surviving plank of her has been seen since. After the severest exposure, part of the crew reached the land in their boats. Being returned home at last, Captain Pollard once more sailed for the Pacific in command of another ship, but the gods shipwrecked him again upon unknown rocks and breakers; for the second time his ship was utterly lost, and forthwith forswearing the sea, he has never attempted it since. At this day Captain Pollard is a resident of Nantucket. I have seen Owen Chace, who was chief mate of the Essex at the time of the tragedy; I have read his plain and faithful narrative; I have conversed with his son; and all this within a few miles of the scene of the catastrophe.*
*The following are extracts from Chace's narrative: "Every fact seemed to warrant me in concluding that it was anything but chance which directed his operations; he made two several attacks upon the ship, at a short interval between them, both of which, according to their direction, were calculated to do us the most injury, by being made ahead, and thereby combining the speed of the two objects for the shock; to effect which, the exact manoeuvres which he made were necessary. His aspect was most horrible, and such as indicated resentment and fury. He came directly from the shoal which we had just before entered, and in which we had struck three of his companions, as if fired with revenge for their sufferings." Again: "At all events, the whole circumstances taken together, all happening before my own eyes, and producing, at the time, impressions in my mind of decided, calculating mischief, on the part of the whale (many of which impressions I cannot now recall), induce me to be satisfied that I am correct in my opinion."
This is a continuation of the chapter in which Ishmael is providing eyewitness testimony about the character and habits of the sperm whale. Of course, Melville is going a long way to prove that his story, about a monstrous albino whale with a taste for human dismemberment and destruction, is possible. Thus, he includes stories of whales charging and sinking vessels. He ascribes to the whale human emotions like anger and the need for revenge. Of course, there is no mention of the other possible reason why a whale might turn on a boat filled with sailors wielding harpoons: self-preservation.
Self-preservation is a basic instinct that all creatures on this planet possess, from sperm whales to human beings to hummingbirds. If threatened, most creatures will do one of two things--run away, if possible, or defend themselves. Fight or flight. In most horror movies, flight is the logical choice. If I am in a place where a homicidal maniac in a ski mask is hacking people apart with a machete, I will leave that place. As fast as I can. Ditto for haunted houses, towns terrorized by demonic clowns, and asylums housing cannibal psychiatrists.
Currently, I am sitting in my office at the university. The building is pretty much deserted. It's summer, and there isn't a whole lot of activity on campus after about 4 or 5 p.m. As I was walking into the English Department, I saw one lone person. He was hauling a box of books toward the stairs. It looked like he was moving out. Other than that, I didn't even see evidence of a janitor.
When I come to this place after hours, I lock the door to my office. It's not that I expect somebody with a chainsaw to burst in on me. I just feel safer with the door locked. Less of a chance to be taken by surprise. Think of it as my little concession to self-preservation. Plus, I read a ton of Stephen King books when I was a teenager.
Here's the thing--I don't blame a whale for sinking a ship that's attacking him. Moby-Dick is sort of like a Stephen King novel for sperm whales, filled with psychopathic sailors and a one-legged demon. I kind of root for the White Whale in a way. Ahab is invading Moby's home. Hunting him down like Jack hunts Danny in The Shining. It's fight or flight for him, whether he has the capacity to make that decision consciously or not.
This post may seem silly to some of my disciples. I understand that. But I think the instinct for self-preservation fuels a lot of the problems in the world today. People flee countries and governments when they feel threatened. That's why there are refugees in the world. People are afraid of skin color and different religions and different cultures. That's why Donald Trump got elected. People are afraid of powerful sexual predators. That's why Harvey Weinstein ruled Hollywood for so long.
Some of these fears are legitimate, and some of them are baseless. But fear leads to decisions based on self-preservation. That's understandable. What isn't understandable to me is turning your back on people out of some misguided notion of protecting yourself or your country. If somebody breaks into my home in the middle of the night with a gun, I sincerely hope that my neighbor will open his door to me when I come pounding for help. Because that's the right thing to do. The moral thing to do.
And that's the difference between allowing compassion and understanding to rule the world instead of fear. Helping out instead of running out.
Saint Marty is thankful tonight for courage and love.
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