To accomplish his object Ahab must use tools; and of all tools used in the shadow of the moon, men are most apt to get out of order. He knew, for example, that however magnetic his ascendency in some respects was over Starbuck, yet that ascendency did not cover the complete spiritual man any more than mere corporeal superiority involves intellectual mastership; for to the purely spiritual, the intellectual but stand in sort of corporeal relation. Starbuck's body and Starbuck's coerced will were Ahab's, so long as Ahab kept his magnet at Starbuck's brain; still he knew that for all this the chief mate, in his soul, abhorred his captain's quest, and could he, would joyfully disintegrate himself from it, or even frustrate it. It might be that a long interval would elapse ere the White Whale was seen. During that long interval Starbuck would ever be apt to fall into open relapses of rebellion against his captain's leadership, unless some ordinary, prudential, circumstantial influences were brought to bear upon him. Not only that, but the subtle insanity of Ahab respecting Moby Dick was noways more significantly manifested than in his superlative sense and shrewdness in foreseeing that, for the present, the hunt should in some way be stripped of that strange imaginative impiousness which naturally invested it; that the full terror of the voyage must be kept withdrawn into the obscure background (for few men's courage is proof against protracted meditation unrelieved by action); that when they stood their long night watches, his officers and men must have some nearer things to think of than Moby Dick. For however eagerly and impetuously the savage crew had hailed the announcement of his quest; yet all sailors of all sorts are more or less capricious and unreliable- they live in the varying outer weather, and they inhale its fickleness- and when retained for any object remote and blank in the pursuit, however promissory of life and passion in the end, it is above all things requisite that temporary interests and employments should intervene and hold them healthily suspended for the final dash.
Nor was Ahab unmindful of another thing. In times of strong emotion mankind disdain all base considerations; but such times are evanescent. The permanent constitutional condition of the manufactured man, thought Ahab, is sordidness. Granting that the White Whale fully incites the hearts of this my savage crew, and playing round their savageness even breeds a certain generous knight-errantism in them, still, while for the love of it they give chase to Moby Dick, they must also have food for their more common, daily appetites. For even the high lifted and chivalric Crusaders of old times were not content to traverse two thousand miles of land to fight for their holy sepulchre, without committing burglaries, picking pockets, and gaining other pious perquisites by the way. Had they been strictly held to their one final and romantic object- that final and romantic object, too many would have turned from in disgust. I will not strip these men, thought Ahab, of all hopes of cash- aye, cash. They may scorn cash now; but let some months go by, and no perspective promise of it to them, and then this same quiescent cash all at once mutinying in them, this same cash would soon cashier Ahab.
Nor was there wanting still another precautionary motive more related to Ahab personally. Having impulsively, it is probable, and perhaps somewhat prematurely revealed the prime but private purpose of the Pequod's voyage, Ahab was now entirely conscious that, in so doing, he had indirectly laid himself open to the unanswerable charge of usurpation; and with perfect impunity, both moral and legal, his crew if so disposed, and to that end competent, could refuse all further obedience to him, and even violently wrest from him the command. From even the barely hinted imputation of usurpation, and the possible consequences of such a suppressed impression gaining ground, Ahab must of course have been most anxious to protect himself. That protection could only consist in his own predominating brain and heart and hand, backed by a heedful, closely calculating attention to every minute atmospheric influence which it was possible for his crew to be subjected to.
For all these reasons then, and others perhaps too analytic to be verbally developed here, Ahab plainly saw that he must still in a good degree continue true to the natural, nominal purpose of the Pequod's voyage; observe all customary usages; and not only that, but force himself to evince all his well known passionate interest in the general pursuit of his profession.
Be all this as it may, his voice was now often heard hailing the three mastheads and admonishing them to keep a bright look-out, and not omit reporting even a porpoise. This vigilance was not long without reward.
Here's Ahab pondering how to keep his crew from mutiny. A few chapters ago, he showed his hand. The crew saw him in all of his monomaniacal glory. He whipped all his men into a frenzy, convincing them of the importance of hunting Moby from the Pacific to the Atlantic to the Arctic. Now, however, he must somehow sustain their loyalty during the long, tedious days at sea. Therefore, Ahab must put on his mask again, become a whaling captain again instead of the Great Avenger. He's like a crazy Superman putting back on his Clark Kent glasses.
I think we all do this every day of our lives. We hide our particular quirks and weirdnesses as we go to work or church or school. We do this to avoid strange looks and ostracism. We want to fit in, be accepted and liked. So we all become Clark Kent or Diana Prince. Hide our capes underneath coats and tee-shirts.
For example, I have been writing Bigfoot poems for a couple years now. I've become a little obsessed with all things Bigfoot. I own several Bigfoot tee-shirts. Listen to a podcast called Sasquatch Chronicles all the time. My sister went for a trip downstate yesterday. On her way back, she passed through a town that had a huge statue of Bigfoot outside of a store. I'm now planning to visit the town to take a picture of the statue. If there were Bigfoot vacation packages, I might even consider booking a weekend in Bigfoot country (although I sort of live in Bigfoot country--many documented sightings in the Upper Peninsula).
I am open to the possibility of the existence of Bigfoot. In my writing, I use the big hairy guy as a metaphor for the big things in life--love, loss, grief, joy, isolation. However, it wouldn't surprise me if, eventually, it's proven that there is an unknown species of primates or apes living in the United States. If Donald Trump can be President of the United States, anything is possible.
Now, I don't go around talking about Bigfoot all day long. Then I risk the possibility of becoming an Ahab. No, I keep Bigfoot under wraps, only drag him out on special occasions--poetry readings and workshops, birthday parties, and Mother's Day. Other than that, I'm Peter Parker, cub reporter for The Daily Bugle. I don't go out into the woods to howl at the midnight moon or tree knock with a baseball bat.
The important thing is that I DO let Bigfoot out every once in a while. I think every person needs to do that. If your alter ego is Julia Child, you should cook octopus in the kitchen every once in a while. If your alter ego is Robin Hood, you should shoot some arrows occasionally. And if your alter ego is Donald Trump, you should seek therapy.
Saint Marty is thankful today for Bigfoot.
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