“COMPREHENSIVE, COMBINING, AND
SUBTLE”: ISHMAEL’S PHILOSOPHY OF
CONNECTION IN MELVILLE’S MOBY-DICK
CATHERINE FERRANTE
T
he namesake of Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick, the white whale being
hunted by the vengeful Captain Ahab and his crew aboard the Pequod, is
fundamentally difficult to define. Moby Dick himself is an elusive symbol:
both the characters in the novel and contemporary critics struggle to concretize his
significance. However, this paper does not attempt to find an allegory for what the
great white leviathan symbolizes, a famously dangerous thing to do,1 but it instead
aims to explore how the form of the novel presents a specific philosophy. The
philosophy of the novel aims to accept all that Moby Dick might represent—the
unknown and the undefinable. Ishmael, one of the crewmembers of the Pequod
and the novel’s narrator, is not a whaler by trade, but a man who ventures out to
sea when depressed and discontent with his life on the shore. As the sole survivor
of the Pequod’s eventual wreckage, Ishmael’s recounting of his journey provides
the novel’s framework. As the narrator, it is Ishmael’s philosophy that becomes
the guiding philosophy of the novel. Furthermore, Ishmael survives the wreck
because his life philosophy centers life, while Ahab’s moves towards death.
1 One chapter of the novel—“The Affidavit”—warns against interpreting “Moby Dick as a monstrous fable, or still
worse and more detestable, a hideous and intolerable allegory” (223).
Moby-Dick explores man’s myriad attempts to survive the overwhelming
nature of the existential unknown, represented often by the vast sea or the great
white whale. Melville populates the crewmembers with vastly different
perspectives, and Ishmael and Ahab hold the most diametrically opposed ways of
interpreting and viewing life. Ahab, a determined hunter and captain, has a limited
narcissistic vision, which sees all the world as a mirror of himself, as he projects
himself into everything he sees. On the other hand, Ishmael, the apparent wanderer
and crewmember has an extensive peripheral vision, as he seeks understanding of
perspectives other than his own. Melville intentionally gives these two characters
the most power in the novel; Ahab, the captain, commands the ship’s direction,
and Ishmael, the narrator, commands the novel’s direction. Ahab leads himself and
his crew to destruction—only Ishmael survives. This paper argues that, as the sole
survivor, Ishmael’s way of life is presented as a successful remedy to Ahab’s self-
destructive affliction. Through this reading, the novel posits that man must give
up Ahab’s philosophy, which involves a pointed search for specific meaning.
Instead, man should allow himself to wander through life like Ishmael. Ishmael
connects with ideas and people and allows himself to experience the journey of life
without a predetermined end-goal. Additionally, Ishmael’s openness to new
people, experiences, and ideas allows him to find meaning and spirituality in a
plethora of places. This is not to say that Ishmael is a person without judgement
or assumption; in fact, Ishmael begins the novel steeped in biases. This paper
claims that Ishmael’s rejection of these biases, although perhaps incomplete,
proves that Ishmael is capable of change and is willing to admit his own
wrongdoing to foster meaningful connections with other people. Not only does
Ishmael’s ability to connect with others contrast with Ahab’s intense narcissism,
Ishmael values new information and actively seeks to embrace any and all sources
of knowledge. In the end, it is Ishmael’s openness and desire for human connection
that eventually saves him.
I. Ahab: Looking Inward and in Conversation with Himself
This paper will first detail Ahab’s narcissism to better contextualize
Ishmael’s radical rejection of Ahab’s worldview. Ahab is the captain of the Pequod,
and it seems that his duty would be to focus his energy on the ship and its crew.
However, Ahab is inordinately narcissistic, placing himself above everything, even
his ship and crew. He relates all symbols to his own selfhood, assigning meaning
to others based on his own relation to them. Daniel G. Hoffman, exploring the
relationship between the myth of Narcissus, the origin of narcissism, and Moby-
Dick, claims that “in the Narcissus myth, which Melville invokes in the very first
chapter (and often again), the hunter becomes both a seeker and a solipsist”
(Hoffman 207). Ahab’s solipsistic attitude, the idea that the self is the only thing
that truly exists, becomes explicit in “The Doubloon,” the chapter in which
Ishmael describes an Ecuadorian doubloon that has been hammered into the mast
of the Pequod as a prize for the first crew member that sights the white whale.
Each member of the crew relates to the gold coin in a different way, and Ishmael
describes each unique reaction. When Ahab turns to the doubloon one morning
“for the first time beginning to interpret for himself in some monomaniac way
whatever significance may lurk” in the coin’s face, his thought process reveals a
distinctly self-absorbed mode of meaning-making (470).2 Melville’s repetitive use
of “monomaniac” and “monomania” as descriptors for Ahab—fifteen times
throughout the novel—highlights Ahab’s single-minded perspective.
2 If no author is given for an internal citation, the citation is from Herman Melville’s Moby-Dick, edition stated in this
paper’s “Works Cited.”
While it may seem that Ahab’s single focus should be on the great Moby
Dick, Ahab’s monomaniacal obsession is with himself. This is clear when he
describes what he sees in the Doubloon: “There’s something ever egotistical in
mountain-tops and towers, and all other grand and lofty things,” Ahab begins,
associating his ego with the mountains on the coin (471). He continues to find
representations of himself in each figure impressed on the coin: “The firm tower,
that is Ahab; the volcano, that is Ahab; the courageous, the undaunted, and
victorious fowl, that, too, is Ahab; all are Ahab” (471). He does not, as the third
mate does, see merely “a round thing made of gold,” but instead sees this doubloon
as “a magician’s glass [that] to each and every man in turn but mirrors back his
own mysterious self” (474, 471). Likewise, when Starbuck, the first mate, interprets
the coin as representing the Holy Trinity, and when Stubb, the second mate,
manages to find the superstitious zodiac reflected in the coin’s face, they are
connecting the object to concepts and knowledge outside themselves. With his
solipsistic attitude, Ahab believes that all meaning is merely projected from the self
onto objects. He projects his own selfhood into the doubloon, unable to see
anything besides himself in the trees and birds presented there. It may be suggested
that Ahab holds this same attitude towards Moby Dick; Ahab’s obsession with the
white whale is perhaps a manifestation of his obsession with himself.
Ahab’s self-obsession results in the delusion that meaning is only found in
relation to the self, and this belief produces a confidence in his own superiority.
He dismisses criticism and scrutiny from others, even, potentially, from God.
Facing criticism from Starbuck regarding his monomaniacal hunt of Moby Dick,
Ahab compares himself to the Christian god: “there is one God that is Lord over
the earth, and one Captain that is lord over the Pequod” (517). He even calls
Starbuck a “devil” for doing so “much as to dare to critically think of” Ahab (517).
From Ahab’s self-appointed pinnacle, he is akin to God, and those that contradict
him are akin to Lucifer. “I’d strike the sun if it insulted me,” Ahab claims, further
testifying to his own aggrandizement (178). Throughout the voyage, Ahab makes
it clear to his crew that he sees himself as far superior, and he expects his crew to
respect this hierarchy.
Ahab rejects the authority of knowledge that originates outside of his own
experiences and assumptions. For example, he dismisses science as a tool for
meaning making when he destroys the quadrant, a tool used to help sailors orient
themselves on the sea by charting their position in relation to the stars. Ahab
adamantly rejects any external influence as he yells, “Science! Curse thee…and
cursed be all the things that cast man’s eyes aloft to that heaven...no longer will I
guide my earthly way by thee” (544). While Ahab dismisses the validity of the
quadrant because it is powerless to determine the location of the white whale, he
cannot admit its necessity to the crew and ship to steer its course. In rejecting the
quadrant, Ahab symbolically rejects systems of knowledge outside of himself, and,
thus, he “trampled,” “split and destroy[ed]” the quadrant, showcasing his power
over the stars and the symbols found within them.
Ahab’s belief in his own limitless power over the Pequod perhaps reaches
its zenith during the fire ceremony in “The Candles.” As corpusants, blue flames
that sometimes form around mastheads during strong lightning storms, blaze atop
the Pequod’s mast, the crew becomes “panic-stricken,” fearful of the potentially
divine consequences of their mission. Starbuck interprets the “lofty tri-pointed
trinity of flames” to be God’s warning against the hunt for Moby Dick: “God, God
is against thee, old man,” he says aloud (552). Even Stubb, typically characterized
by his “invulnerable jollity of indifference and recklessness,” cries out, almost in
prayer: “The corpusants have mercy on us all” (550). Ahab, however, is not fearful
of this potentially divine remonstrance. Instead, he turns to his harpoon, the one
he had bathed in “heathen blood” as he “deliriously howled” the phrase “Ego non
baptizo te in nomine patris, sed in nomine diaboli!”3 and directs it towards the
3 In English, this translates to “I do not baptize thee in the name of the Father, but in the name of the Devil.”
corpusants, attacking both the flames and the implication that he might be in the
wrong (532). Triumphantly, he tells his crew, “I blow out the last fear,” and “with
one blast of his breath he extinguished the flame” (552). With this action, Ahab
defiantly dismisses any criticism, even criticisms with potentially divine sources.
Ahab’s self-preoccupation informs his interpretation of the white whale’s
violence: a manifestation of evil intent on personally attacking his ego. While
Starbuck sees Moby Dick as merely a “dumb brute” who only attacked Ahab out
of “blind instinct” against predators, Ahab sees “outrageous strength, with an
inscrutable malice sinewing it” (178). To Ahab, the white whale’s incomprehensible
motive for taking his leg becomes a personal affront that must be avenged because
Ahab has chosen to imbue Moby Dick with hatred or evil. As Ishmael describes,
“The White Whale swam before [Ahab] as the monomaniac incarnation of all those
malicious agencies which some deep men feel eating in them,” and “[h]e piled upon
the whale’s white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole
race from Adam down” (200). Ahab, aware of his suffering and anger, does not
learn to cope with these emotions and instead projects them onto the figure of
Moby Dick. Moby Dick becomes a symbol for Ahab’s own misplaced emotions of
hatred and rage: the “intangible malignity” that Ahab feels but cannot define is
“deliriously transfer[ed]... to the abhorred white whale” and Ahab “pitted himself,
all mutilated, against it” (200). Ahab conflates his own hate for Moby Dick with
Moby Dick’s hate for him, imbuing the whale with conscious feelings of animosity.
He projects his own selfish meaning onto Moby Dick, and, as with the doubloon,
he can only find aspects of himself reflected in the symbol he has created.
Ahab’s egomania impedes his understanding of the intangible or
unknowable because he has a myopic viewpoint filtered through a singular, self-
informed lens. In Chapter 74, “The Sperm Whale’s Head-Contrasted View,”4
Melville provides a counterexample to Ahab’s defective vision, showing the extent
of its inadequacy. This chapter follows “Stubb and Flask Kill a Right Whale,” in
which the Pequod attempts to balance multiple dead whales on either side of the
boat. Ishmael relates the balancing of two whales on either side of a whaling vessel
to balancing two disparate philosophies in one mind: “So, when on one side you
hoist in Locke’s head, you go over that way; but now, on the other side, hoist in
Kant’s and you come back again; but in very poor plight. Thus, some minds for
ever keep trimming boat” (357). Ishmael recognizes the necessity of synthesizing
the two arguments, seeing the truth in both, or else “throw all these thunder-heads
overboard” (357). Humans struggle to hold two dissonant truths. However,
Ishmael interprets that, because of the position of the whale’s eyes, one on either
side of its head, the whale “can at the same moment of time attentively examine
two distinct prospects, one on one side of him, and the other in an exactly opposite
direction” (361). Perhaps the whale can simultaneously balance two opposing
images because “his brain [is] so much more comprehensive, combining, and
subtle than man’s” (361). In contrast, even “though [man] can take in an
4 This chapter is one of the many chapters detailing the mathematical or historical context of the sperm whale as
opposed to discussing the narrative of the Pequod; this paper will refer to such chapters as whale-fact chapters.
undiscriminating sweep of things at one glance, it is quite impossible for him,
attentively, and completely, to examine any two things—however large or however
small—at one and the same instant” (360-361). Melville does not use this whale-
fact chapter as an extraneous interlude; rather, he highlights the heart of Ahab’s
problem: Ahab’s reasoning is imbalanced because he excludes any other opinion
but his own. While all men are limited in their perspective physically by the
placement of their eyes in the front of their head, Ahab limits his philosophical and
internal dialogue by only listening to himself. His self-centered grandeur has
reached such a height that he truly cannot see anything but himself and his beliefs.
II. Ishmael: Looking Outward and In Conversation with Others
In contrast to Ahab, Ishmael’s character is defined by his relationship to
others, be it a direct relationship with a single person or a wider relationship to
humanity. The opening paragraph of the novel introduces Ishmael not through a
description of what is inherent to him, but through a display of how he relates his
selfhood to others. In fact, in the iconic opening line of the novel, “Call me
Ishmael,” Melville uses the imperative form of the verb, which implies a second
person that he is addressing (3). In this case, that second person is the reader,
indicating that Ishmael aims to communicate with another person and share his
knowledge with the reader. Because Melville does not begin with the pronoun “I”
(for example, I am called Ishmael), the author ascribes to Ishmael an ability to
sublimate his own self and ego to invite the reader into conversation. Thus, his
identity as Ishmael is dependent on the reader’s relationship to him and their
willingness to call him Ishmael. However, this is not to say that Ishmael has no
ego; in fact, he acutely perceives his own selfhood and recognizes his own self-
destructive impulses. He introduces himself as depressed, experiencing “a damp,
drizzly November in [his] soul,” and decides to “sail about a little and see the
watery part of the world,” hoping to prevent his own self-destructive inclinations
(3). He then links his own thoughts and fears to all of humanity, saying, “almost
all men in their degree, some time or other, cherish very nearly the same feelings
towards the ocean with me” (3). Ishmael believes he shares attributes and
experiences not unique to his life alone. Even when he is talking about himself and
his own experiences, he is able to relate those experiences to others; he can use his
subjective and personal perspective as its own means of connection.
The reader gains notable insight into Ishmael’s inner struggle in the chapter
titled “The Whiteness of the Whale,” where Ishmael shares his frustration
regarding his limited ability to comprehend and communicate spiritual experiences.
Ishmael begins the chapter by enticing the reader: “What the white whale was to
Ahab, has been hinted; what, at times, he was to me, as yet remains unsaid” (204).
Ishmael, unlike Ahab, can hold two seemingly contrary perspectives, Ahab’s and
his own, in balance (205). Moby Dick’s whiteness was, to Ishmael, “a nameless
horror” and “yet so mystical and well nigh ineffable was it, that I almost despair of
putting it in a comprehensible form” (204). Therefore, within even one being,
Ishmael witnesses a complicated symbolic meaning within the color white. “It was
the whiteness of the whale that above all things appalled me,” he admits (204).
Ishmael reflects on why the color white holds a complicated symbolic power: “in
essence whiteness is not so much a color as the visible absence of color; and at the
same time the concrete of all colors...a dumb blankness, full of meaning” (212). A
white object reflects all visible light off of its surface, thus not absorbing anything
itself. In this way, the white object is devoid of color. However, white light
combines all visible colors of light; therefore, seeing something white is seeing an
infinity of color at once. Thus, when ascribing meaning to something white, like
the white whale, it seems to be both infinitely full of that meaning and void of it
completely. To Ishmael, this seeming contradiction makes the concept of
whiteness overwhelmingly difficult to communicate.
The nuanced, complicated nature of the symbolic meaning of whiteness
distresses Ishmael because it represents the nuanced and complicated nature of
meaning-making. On one hand, there is “spiritual whiteness...divineness
[that]...though commanding worship, at the same time enforced a certain nameless
terror” however, “there are other instances where this whiteness loses all that
accessory and strange glory” (207). Ishmael claims that the white coloring of an
albatross seems divine, but the whiteness of some other animals seems to hold no
particular meaning. Ishmael recognizes that a person’s sensory experience and the
context in which they view an object will change the meaning they ascribe to it.
This directly opposes Ahab’s strict adherence to his own self-determined truth; in
fact, Ishmael seems to be overwhelmed by his belief in the infinity of truths. He
sees so many options and contradictions that he struggles to communicate what, if
anything, whiteness inherently symbolizes.
However, Ishmael does not think that this infinity of possible meanings
makes the search for meaning futile. His confusion about Moby Dick’s symbolic
power is not a reason for him to turn to despair; though Ishmael knows he may
not be capable of adequately expressing every aspect of his experience, he is
dedicated to the attempt: “But how can I hope to explain myself here; and yet, in
some dim, random way, explain myself I must, else all these chapters might be
naught” (204). Even if his language is “dim” and “random,” he deems the effort
to communicate essential. Ishmael reflects upon the necessity of the seemingly
impossible task of exploring the infinity of meaning-making:
...how is mortal man to account for it? To analyse it, would seem
impossible. Can we, then, by the citation of some of those instances
wherein this thing of whiteness—though for the time either wholly or in
great part stripped of all direct associations calculated to impart to it aught
fearful, but nevertheless, is found to exert over us the same sorcery,
however modified;—can we thus hope to light upon some chance clue to
conduct us to the hidden cause we seek? / Let us try. But in a matter like
this, subtlety appeals to subtlety, and without imagination no man can
follow another into these halls. And though, doubtless, some at least of the
imaginative impressions about to be presented may have been shared by
most men, yet few perhaps were entirely conscious of them at the time,
and therefore may not be able to recall them now. (208-209)
As he writes this novel, Ishmael has accepted that meaning is not fixed and
is perhaps incommunicable in its entirety. It “seem[s] impossible” to parse through
the contradictory and incomplete recorded interpretations of whiteness and find
some “chance clue” to unlock the “hidden cause” behind all its meaning. Although
the task of finding this concealed, secret, concrete source of meaning is likely
impossible, he petitions his reader: “Let us try.” Ishmael recognizes both the futility
of seeking meaning and the value of the search. The process of communicating
spiritual and meaningful experiences to other people is worth time and effort, even
if the final destination, “the hidden cause” of ultimate truth, is never accessed.
Furthermore, by claiming that a man needs an attitude of “subtlety” to
perceive meaning, Ishmael implies the necessity of maintaining an open mind and
a willingness to synthesize new information with one's own personal experiences
in order to access greater truth. Much like the “subtle” brain of the sperm whale,
to make peace with the vastness of the spiritual, one must see and validate all
things. The passage’s final line indicates that “most men” have witnessed spiritual,
meaningful, and “imaginative experiences,” but “few perhaps were entirely
conscious of them at the time, and therefore may not be able to recall them now.”
Ishmael claims it is insufficient to simply find truth if one cannot recall and reflect
on the experience of it. To share one’s own meaningful experience with others, as
Ishmael is trying to do with his novel, necessitates a conscious, purposeful
openness to the complexity of truth. In the final line of the chapter, Ishmael claims
that man “gazes himself blind at the monumental white shroud that wraps all the
prospect around him. And of all these things the Albino whale was the symbol.
Wonder ye then at the fiery hunt?” (212). Ishmael concludes the chapter
confirming that, while he has come to terms with the complexity of meaning-
making sometime between joining the Pequod’s crew and writing his novel, he was
once guilty of projecting his inner struggles onto Moby Dick.
Ishmael, as a character and a narrator, is concerned with exploring effective
means of communicating that which is meaningful or spiritual. As a character, he
listens to everyone, accepting everyone’s opinions and beliefs without judgement,
presenting their opinions to the reader as equally potentially valid. The crew of the
Pequod is “chiefly made up of mongrel renegades, and castaways, and cannibals,”
each functioning under different belief systems (203). Ishmael, aware of this,
presents the reader with varying belief systems without devaluing them. For
example, the three mates—Starbuck, the Quaker first mate, Stubb, the
superstitious second mate, and Flask, the disillusioned, money-conscious third
mate—are nothing alike. While Ishmael describes Starbuck as a man of “virtue or
right-mindedness,” and thus gives some level of validity to Starbuck’s moral belief
system, he includes the potential for truth to be found through other access points,
such as the “superstitions of seafaring folk” (Babcock 128). As mentioned in
reference to the Doubloon chapter, Ishmael describes how each crew member
finds their own disparate meanings within the images of the doubloon. Ishmael
does not critique, analyze, or editorialize each mate’s interpretation of the “white
whale’s talisman,” but prefaces the chapter with the statement that “some certain
significance lurks in all things, else all things are little worth” (470-471). Thus,
Ishmael merely presents the reader with possible symbolic meanings from the
point of view of various characters.
Perhaps the most notable example of Ishmael’s willingness to respect
different opinions is exemplified in his relationship with Queequeg, a harpooner
who hails from a fictional island “far to the West and South” (61). From the
beginning, Melville intentionally makes the relationship a difficult one, which
reflects the suspicious attitude of a typical nineteenth-century white American
towards someone of a different culture. As Queequeg approaches Ishmael for the
first time, Ishmael prays, “Lord save me, thinks I, that must be the harpooner, the
infernal head-peddler” (22). Because he sees Queequeg’s face in the shadows and
assumes he is covered in bruises and bandages, Ishmael prejudges his new
bedfellow: “Yes, it’s just as I thought, he’s a terrible bedfellow; he’s been in a fight,
got dreadfully cut, and here he is, just from the surgeon” (23). However, Ishmael
learns almost immediately that his assumptions were wrong: “he chanced to turn
his face so towards the light, that I plainly saw they could not be sticking-plasters
at all” (23). With his limited experience, he has never seen tattoos on someone’s
face before, and, thus, “knew not what to make of this” at first (23). Seeking to
understand, Ishmael recalls “a story of a white man” who was given tattoos by
some “cannibals,” recalling this tale to help him expand his own limited perspective
(23). Yet, this knowledge is still inadequate because referring to an island’s native
peoples as merely “cannibals” showcases the limitations of story as a replacement
for experience. Without realizing that his comprehension may be lacking, Ishmael
decides that he will not place moral judgement on the fact that Queequeg is
tattooed: “It’s only his outside; a man can be honest in any sort of skin” (23). Thus,
the reader is privy to Ishmael’s struggle with his own assumptions and biases
against non-white people. These assumptions initially prevent him from
approaching Queequeg as an equal from the beginning of their interaction.
However, Ishmael’s resolution to withhold judgment does not endure, as
the story cannot dispel Ishmael’s biases completely. As Ishmael reflects on his
negative reaction to Queequeg, he identifies fear caused by ignorance as his
shortcoming:
I am no coward, but what to make of this head-peddling purple rascal
altogether passed my comprehension. Ignorance is the parent of fear, and
being completely nonplussed and confounded about the stranger, I confess
I was now as much afraid of him as if it was the devil himself who had thus
broken into my room at the dead of night. In fact, I was so afraid of him
that I was not game enough just then to address him, and demand a
satisfactory answer concerning what seemed inexplicable in him. (24)
Much like Ishmael describes the “the invisible,” unknowable, or
incomprehensible aspects of the world as “formed in fright,” Queequeg, unknown
and therefore incomprehensible to Ishmael, becomes a source of fear (211).
Queequeg is also afraid of the unknown in Ishmael because the two of them are,
at first, unable to communicate directly (26). However, once the landlord of the
inn helps them understand each other, Ishmael is able to see Queequeg as “not
only a civil but a really kind and charitable...For all his tattooings he was on the
whole a clean, comely looking cannibal” (26). Finally, Ishmael recognizes his
assumptions regarding Queequeg’s character. Presented with the truth, Ishmael
scolds himself: “What’s all this fuss I have been making about, thought I to
myself—the man’s a human being just as I am: he has just as much reason to fear
me, as I have to be afraid of him” (26). Communication is presented as the antidote
to this fear; to make the seemingly inexplicable somehow explicable is
accomplished through dialogue and relationship.
Eventually, after many missteps and faulty assumptions, Ishmael
overcomes his racist preconceptions and recognizes Queequeg as an equal. While
this is the bare minimum inner work required of anyone with racist ideology, this
chapter does not praise Ishmael for doing this inner work. Instead, it demonstrates
the foolishness of Ishmael’s racism, which is rooted in ignorance. As John Bryant
discusses in his recent article “Rewriting Moby-Dick: Politics, Textual Identity, and
the Revision Narrative,” Ishmael’s preconceptions, especially at the beginning of
the novel, are imbued with orientalist and imperialist attitudes. Bryant claims that
“Ishmael transforms himself from jingoist to critic of Pacific imperialism,” which
is part of Melville’s larger “strategy” to imbed “discourse on alternatives to
imperialism” within Moby-Dick (Bryant 1050). Using Edward Said’s seminal book
Orientalism as a guide, Bryant claims that “Melville’s orientalist critique” of
imperialism, which includes using Queequeg as “a projection of Ishmael's
imperialist guilt, a self-sacrificing savage whose physical friendship conveniently
transcends imperial politics,” is both dependent on and critical of orientalism
(Bryant 1051).5 Ishmael’s relationship with Queequeg does not exempt him from
critique, but it is a definitive example of Ishmael’s proclivity for self-reflection and
change. This trait of Ishmael’s opposes Ahab’s refusal to listen to others. As
discussed in the previous section, Ahab clings to his personal experience as
inherent truth whereas Ishmael learns new information that opposes his narrow-
minded preconceptions and eventually abandons his ignorant assumptions.
5 I agree with Bryant’s arguments and acknowledge that Melville’s orientalism affects how Ishmael views Queequeg.
As this paper focuses on Ishmael’s capacity for and dedication to changing his own beliefs, which Bryant himself
notes, I will not be discussing in detail the context of Melville’s historical moment nor the complicated roots of
Ishmael’s racism. However, I encourage readers who are interested to turn to Bryant for a valuable and in-depth
consideration of how orientalism affects Moby-Dick and its characters.
Beyond developing basic respect for Queequeg, Ishmael engages with
Queequeg’s religion, indicating that Ishmael’s acceptance of his new friend extends
beyond a mere tolerance of the unknown. His own beliefs in the Christian god are
not threatened by critical analysis or by understanding other faiths. Rather, his own
faith can be enhanced by new experiences of the divine. For example, Ishmael says,
“Better sleep with a sober cannibal than a drunken Christian,” implying that the
strength of a man’s morality is not necessarily linked to a man’s religious beliefs
(26). In the chapter titled “A Bosom Friend,” after reflecting more on his
impressions of Queequeg and deeming him a man with a good soul, Ishmael
decides, “I’ll try a pagan friend...since Christian kindness has proved but hollow
courtesy,” noting the ineffectiveness of Christian tradition to foster brotherhood
indiscriminately (57). They speak, ask each other questions, and smoke, their
interchange of dialogue and possessions making them “married; meaning, in
[Queequeg’s] country’s phrase, that we were bosom friends” (57).
Ishmael then participates in Queequeg’s religious practices while explaining
to the reader how his participation in this pagan ritual is another access point to
his own god:
I was a good Christian; born and bred in the bosom of the infallible
Presbyterian Church. How then could I unite with this wild idolator in
worshipping his piece of wood? But what is worship? thought I. Do you
suppose now, Ishmael, that the magnanimous God of heaven and earth—
pagans and all included—can possibly be jealous of an insignificant bit of
black wood? Impossible! But what is worship?—to do the will of God—
that is worship. And what is the will of God?—to do to my fellow man
what I would have my fellow man to do to me—that is the will of God.
Now, Queequeg is my fellow man. And what do I wish that this Queequeg
would do to me? Why, unite with me in my particular Presbyterian form
of worship. Consequently, I must then unite with him in his; ergo, I must
turn idolator. So I kindled the shavings; helped prop up the innocent little
idol; offered him burnt biscuit with Queequeg; salamed before him twice
or thrice; kissed his nose; and that done, we undressed and went to bed, at
peace with our own consciences and all the world. (58)
He claims that this practice does not oppose his own Christian god; in fact,
he believes that participating in this pagan ritual is “the will of God” because he is
doing “to [his] fellow man what [he] would have [his] fellow man do to” him.
Ishmael “worships” by demonstrating reciprocity and mutual respect, so to
communicate and cooperate with others is a form of spiritual worship. Ishmael
continues his search to find effective means of communication, and reasons that
disdain for other forms of spirituality outside the Christian world is anti-Christian,
because it involves prejudicial judgement. The most Christian thing to do, then, is
to respect and even participate in other significant modes of spiritual experiences.
In this way, Ishmael follows the will of God by being respectful and open to new
encounters through thoughtful consideration of each person’s dignity and faith.
He does not compromise his own individual beliefs, remaining steadfast in his
adherence to the “infallible Presbyterian Church,” but he is able to see other beliefs
as an access point to the divine. Thus, while Ahab refuses to see any viewpoint but
his own, dismissing all criticism as devilish, Ishmael deepens his knowledge of
himself and others, even those he previously considered devilish, through respect
and communication.
Made clear through Ishmael’s relationship with Queequeg, which only
becomes stronger throughout the novel, Ishmael values human relationships as a
means to broaden one’s understanding of the world and as a way to bring spiritual
meaning to one’s own life. While this can happen one-on-one, human connection
can also happen on a larger scale; Ishmael unites his story with the larger
community of humanity by referencing ancient tales and variant religious beliefs.
Within the first paragraph, Ishmael mentions Cato, a Roman senator, contrasting
Cato’s suicide to his own desire to go to sea (3). Ishmael relates his own experience
of the sea with the religious experiences of the Persians and the ancient Greeks (4).
With allusions such as these, he connects his life to a more ancient and expansive
human community. He is one man with one experience, but, for centuries, others
have had similar emotions. These shared experiences have been infused into myth
and story, just as his experiences and feelings are infused into his novel.
Furthermore, Ishmael not only references people from the past, but also other
religions such as the Hindu god, Vishnu, and Roman gods, such as Jupiter (286,
596). He presents them as authentic religions, not just tales and stories that
Christianity often dismisses as more folklore than religion. Although Ishmael
identifies himself as Christian, he connects his own experience to any incident that
will serve as a helpful addition to his tale, regardless of its origin.
Ishmael engages various unique references to explore his own experience,
and, similarly, Melville references a plethora of seemingly dissonant religious and
spiritual modes of thought. In a novel partly interrogating how people
communicate their stories, fictional fact as decreed by Melville is nearly
indistinguishable from Ishmael’s subjective experience of the story. Nevertheless,
scholars such as Helen P. Trimpi and R.H. Winnick have explored how Melville
engages various sources of knowledge, including those that seem contradictory,
such as witchcraft, Catholicism, and folklore. In her essay “Melville's Use of
Demonology and Witchcraft in Moby-Dick,” Trimpi explores the extent to which
Melville references witchcraft and the supernatural, employing the occult at various
points throughout the novel. For example, she writes, Melville accessed “the
pervasive and powerful superstition of the Devil, as it was found in the history of
European and world superstition. By means of the literary form of the romance,
he could make his statement about evil, both nature itself and in the human mind
contemplating it” (Trimpi 562). Although magic was often seen as a pagan opposite
to Protestant Christianity, Melville did not reject it merely because his protagonist
was Protestant. As Trimpi notes, Melville was likely not a believer in witchcraft or
demonology, but he was able to reference it for his own purposes (Trimpi 562). In
a similar way, although Melville was not a Catholic himself, Winnick proposes in
“Melville's “The Candles and the Easter Village” that “The Candles” chapter of
Moby-Dick was constructed to parallel the Catholic Easter vigil to emphasize Ahab’s
unholiness: “infernal darkness daring to quench divine light” (Winnick 186). C.
Merton Babcock provides context for the nautical superstitions of the Pequod’s
crew, claiming that “Melville was aware of the importance of folk materials as a
foundation upon which to create a work of art” (Babcock 133). By giving his
characters a rich background in folk traditions like superstition, Melville not only
makes his characters seem realistic, but adds another meaning-making mode to the
world of his novel. Thus, Ishmael and Melville employ a mixture of multicultural
allusions to support the protagonist’s claim that dialogue with other human beings
and their beliefs allows for growth and insights that are otherwise inaccessible.
Another device that Melville employs is his extensive chapters on whale
facts, which he uses to ground the spiritual ineffable in the worldly. While these
chapters provide insight into the conditions of a whaling ship or material facts such
as the length of the sperm whale’s body, these facts are not merely for the sake of
the reader’s education. The whale-fact chapters are also part of Ishmael’s attempts
to interlace as many systems of thought as he can to contextualize the Pequod’s
journey. One example was discussed earlier in this paper, as Ishmael relates keeping
different mental ideas in balance to the difficulty of balancing the ship with two
whales on either side. Another significant example is the chapter entitled “Fast-
Fish and Loose-Fish.” Ishmael begins the chapter by explaining his reason for
presenting the following information: “the allusions to the waifs and waif-poles in
the last chapter...necessitates some account of the laws and regulations of the whale
fishery” (432). His explanation indicates the necessity of context for understanding,
and he willingly makes the effort for the readers’ greater enlightenment.
However, Ishmael uses these facts as a vehicle to impart something greater
than the context of whaling as he compares these two different types of fish. While
a “Fast-Fish” is a fish that has been assigned to a hunting party, a “Loose-Fish” “is
fair game for anybody who can soonest catch it” (433). These two types of fish
develop into a sort of allegory for the larger world as he asks the question: “What
all men’s minds and opinions but Loose-Fish?” and “What is the great globe itself
but a Loose-Fish?” (435). Through these terms, he engages philosophical
questions, such as whether or not some institutions and philosophies are racing to
ensnare men's minds. Even within the factual details of whaling life, Ishmael finds
new vocabulary, a new means of engaging with his perception of the world. He
also invites these modes of meaning-making to be turned inwards as well, implying
that while it is important to understand the world, one must be willing to
interrogate the self: “And what are you, reader, but a Loose-Fish and a Fast-Fish,
too?” (435).
Thus, these whale-fact chapters are not merely a critical and interesting lens
through which the reader experiences the Pequod and its journey, but they are
essential to understanding the concept of the journey itself. The narrative style of
the novel is wandering, like Ishmael’s namesake,6 as he weaves the narrative of the
Pequod with whale facts, history, his own philosophical musings, and
psychological insights into the other characters. Grant McMillan explores how
Ishmael’s subjective narration serves as “a medium through which the narrative
filters, seeking to explain, to reach some understanding of himself” (McMillan 206).
Thus, the extent to which Ishmael as a narrator influences the story cannot be
underestimated. McMillan describes how Ishmael’s narrative style is indicative of
his attempt to engage both the material and spiritual:
6 In Genesis (15 - 16:11), Ishmael is identified as the son of Abraham, who, in turn, is identified as a “wandering
Aramean” in (New American Bible, Deuteronomy 26:5).
...the evasiveness, the circumlocutory structure of his narrative, results
from his fluctuation between a description of the material actions and a
probing into the spiritual significance of these actions. The narrative itself
follows this pattern of fluctuation. Whenever Ishmael becomes most
absorbed with this spiritual significance, the reader can not long after
expect him to seek refuge in the material description of the whale.
(McMillan 209)
After trying so often to communicate spiritual significance, Ishmael finds
refuge in the physical. However, even within these factual sections, these seemingly
totally secular and perhaps even boring measurements of bone and descriptions of
eyes, Ishmael finds larger significance. McMillan identifies that “Ishmael as
narrator is tentatively attempting to discover a sort of universal code, a conversion
factor for translating material objects and experience into spiritual significance”
(208). McMillan concludes that “Ishmael does not effect a reconciliation” between
the spiritual and the material, citing Ishmael’s “affrighted and affronted” narrative
style that “retreats from the painful examination of his experiences” (McMillan
217). There is significance to Ishmael’s wavering between the spiritual and the
material; however, this paper proposes that the wandering aspect of Moby-Dick’s
narrative style is an inherent aspect of the reconciliation between spiritual and
material.
III. Subtilization and Connection
While it may seem that Ishmael constantly widens his perspective by taking
in new information, he views it not as an expansion but a subtilization. In the “The
Sperm Whale’s head—Contrasted View,” Ishmael, once again creating a metaphor
using the whale, explains what he means by subtilization: “Is it not curious, that so
vast a being as the whale should see the world through so small an eye...But if his
eyes were broad as the lens of Herschel's great telescope...would that make him
any longer of sight...Not at all.—Why then do you try to ‘enlarge’ your mind?
Subtilize it” (361-362). Subtlety implies the art of taking concepts that might be
obscure and learning to refine them with new information. According to the
Oxford English Dictionary, subtle can be defined as “involving distinctions that
are fine or delicate, esp. to such an extent as to be difficult to analyse or describe.”
When specifically relating to “intellectual activity,” it implies “wisdom or
perceptiveness.” Thus, a subtle mind is one that has keen insight, one that can
thoroughly penetrate the complicated nuances of a subject, which Ishmael claims
is necessary for accessing truth. To “subtilize” one’s mind, then, is to synthesize
one thing with something else, finding nuance and complication. Ishmael concerns
himself not only with exploring new ideas and accumulating facts, but also how
these ideas and facts relate to each other. Thus, the whale-fact chapters are
Ishmael’s attempt to subtilize his mind; he is working to find secular contexts
through which to better understand the leviathan, constantly asking how one piece
of information is in conversation with another. Therefore, the wandering aspect
that the whale-fact chapters bring to the novel is not merely Ishmael, as McMillan
claims, recoiling from the great spiritual as a “psychological defense mechanism”
(217). Ishmael is using the secular to engage the spiritual, using the material,
historical, and mathematical forms of knowledge—among others—to share with
his reader a subtler, and, therefore, more complex, manner of thinking.
Ishmael’s “subtilization” requires respecting information that comes from
outside of oneself, and, returning to Ahab, the captain finds subtilization
impossible. It has been established that Ahab’s narcissism contrasts with Ishmael’s
collectivism, and this section furthers this contrast by elaborating on Ahab’s
inability to foster meaningful human connection and the consequences this has for
himself and his crew. Ahab projects himself onto symbols while Ishmael validates
everyone’s perspective; Ahab acts as if he is above God, science, and his fellow
man while Ishmael consciously engages all three. Ahab is actively determined to be
immovable in his position, and Ishmael is willing to change.
However, one potential exception to Ahab’s abhorrence to all outside
influences (both scientific and personal) is the relationship that he develops with
the young stowaway, Pip. At first, Ahab tolerates Pip, but then he invites Pip to
stay in his cabin to chat. As their relationship progresses, Ahab views Pip with
concern and even tenderness. Once his gaze is distracted from himself, Ahab has
the potential to be cured of his self-absorption and malignant course of action.
Yet, slowly Ahab senses his desire to hunt the white whale softening, causing him
to reject Pip: “The hour is coming when Ahab would not scare thee from him, yet
would not have thee by him. There is that in thee, poor lad, which I feel too curing
to my malady. Like cures like; and for this hunt, my malady becomes my most
desired health” (580). Ahab, after accidentally becoming fond of Pip, cannot bring
himself to explicitly force Pip to leave him. Nevertheless, he knows that having Pip
around would somehow “cure” him of his “malady”: his dedication to the hunt for
Moby Dick. Even though Ahab might know his monomania is like a disease with
which he has been infected, he wants to stay afflicted to reach his goal. In order to
rid himself of all potential distractions, Ahab aggressively bans himself from any
true bond or human connection that could relieve him of his narrow-minded focus.
Melville offers Ahab a final opportunity to abandon his obsessive and self-
destructive behavior through his interaction with Starbuck, his first mate. This
chapter gives Ahab a rich emotional depth, showcasing that under the armor of his
egoism is a wounded and lonely old man. In the chapter “The Symphony,” Ahab
and Starbuck have a revelatory talk the night before the final hunt. While on the
deck, Starbuck listens to Ahab’s woes, hoping to eventually convince Ahab to
abandon the hunt and return home. Ahab, moved by mediating on the sea, shares
his internal thoughts with Starbuck, and, for the first time in the novel, Ahab seems
to regret his monomaniacal search. He tells Starbuck that he abandoned his wife
and child: with “the madness, the frenzy, the boiling blood...Ahab has furiously,
foamingly chased his prey—more a demon than a man! —aye, aye! what a forty
years’ fool—fool—old fool, has old Ahab been! Why this strife of the chase?”
(591). To give up on the chase would be to give up on forty years of energy and
devotion. In the midst of telling this story and revealing his inner life to another
man, he turns to Starbuck and entreats him, “Close! stand close to me, Starbuck;
let me look into a human eye; it is better than to gaze into sea or sky; better than
to gaze upon God. By the green land; by the bright hearth-stone! this is the magic
glass, man; I see my wife and my child in thine eye” (591). Ahab uses the same
language to describe this experience as he did the doubloon: the magician’s magic
glass. However, Ahab seems to be expressing that the doubloon, that image that
reflects back only himself, is a false magic glass, and that the human eye of another
holds true magic. Instead of seeing himself, he sees someone else, someone he has
once claimed to love. Thus, to look in the eyes of another, to connect with them
on equal terms, eye to eye, is not merely the work of a magician, but akin to gazing
upon God. As Ishmael believes that to connect with others is to do the will of
God, Ahab’s experience in this chapter confirms the relationship between spiritual
connection and human connection. Ahab, for just one blissful moment, glimpses
the magical, spiritual power of human connection.
However, Ahab remains unconvinced to return home to the family he sees
reflected in Starbuck’s eyes. Starbuck leaves Ahab, unable to fully join in a union
with him, leaving Ahab to regress to his narcissistic state of mind. Starbuck tries to
convince Ahab to find his family, and Ahab tries to articulate why he cannot. Ahab
feels that he is forced by some “hidden lord and master...against all natural lovings
and longings” to seek the whale (592). “Is Ahab, Ahab? Is it I, God, or who, that
lifts this arm” he muses to himself; alongside the narcissism and delusions of
grandeur, Ahab feels he is not in control of his own life (592). Ahab clings to his
vengeance, even if it goes against a deeper want or longing, “ready to do what in
[his] own proper, natural heart, [he] durst not so much as dare” (592). The push
and pull between his commitment to his hunt and the feeling that he has no control
over this all-encompassing and overwhelming drive confuses Ahab. Throughout
most of the novel, Ahab does not want to face that he has potentially wasted forty
years of his life, choosing to cling to his “malady,” convincing himself that the
search for Moby Dick is justified at all costs. In this chapter, however, Ahab spirals
into a monologue of despair, expressing the above thoughts and more, such as his
distrust in God’s power to enact justice and his fear that men have no free will.
As he turns once again to Starbuck, hoping to continue a dialogue with
him, perhaps even to ask him how the Quakers cope with God’s power and the
knowledge of their own death, he finds that “blanched to a corpse’s hue with
despair, the Mate had stolen away (593). Starbuck, unable to bear witness to Ahab’s
deep pain, abandons him, sealing their fates, and leaving Ahab to regress to his
narcissistic state of mind. Realizing no one is there to listen to him, Ahab “crossed
the deck to gaze over on the other side; but started at two reflected, fixed eyes in
the water there” (593). While these eyes could be Fedallah’s, the fire-worshipper
Ahab brings on board the Pequod, the effect remains the same: the tableau of the
Narcissus myth. Ahab is left alone to look into either his own eyes or the eyes of
Fedallah reflected in the water. On the verge of letting someone into his inner life,
about to release himself from the anger and fear he has projected into this white
whale, Ahab is left looking into the water, where the only eyes he can see are
probably his own reflected in the vast ocean. Immediately following this chapter,
Ahab hunts the whale; the antidote to Ahab’s narcissism, human connection, could
not be administered in time. Starbuck’s untimely exit seals their fates.
While Ahab’s lonely narcissism leads to his death, Ishmael’s human
relationships with others leads to life. Perhaps most dramatically, at the end of the
novel, when Ishmael is “cast up by the sea, he is saved by the coffin prepared for
his bosom companion Queequeg...to whom the bonds of human love had bound
him the closest” (Hoffman 207). As it is due to Ishmael’s insistence that Queequeg
is onboard the Pequod—and that a coffin was made for Queequeg— Ishmael’s
dedication to his relationship with Queequeg is responsible for the life-buoy that
saves him. However, as scholar Daniel G. Hoffman notes, Queequeg’s influence
on Ishmael’s ultimate survival is “not merely to provide the coffin-lifebuoy,
important as that is” (Hoffman 214). In fact, the suicidal thoughts plaguing Ishmael
at the beginning of the novel, the disinterest in everything on shore, is dissipated
by Ishmael’s friendship with Queequeg. Hoffman claims that “Queequeg's love
redeems Ishmael from the fatal isolation which had led him to choose Ahab's ship”
and that “His love for Queequeg...qualifies Ishmael, alone of Ahab's oath-bound
crew, to dissever the bonds of hatred and vengeance and so qualify for survival
from the annihilation that Ahab willed for all the rest” (Hoffman 214). The bond
between Ishmael and Queequeg holds its own saving power, as proven by both
the life-buoy and Ishmael’s improved emotional well-being, and this paper takes
these findings further, claiming that the bond between Queequeg and Ishmael is
indicative of the necessity for humans to recognize their dependence on each other.
Ishmael, explicitly aware of his dependence on Queequeg, is receptive to
other people influencing his selfhood and perception of the world. In the chapter
titled “The Monkey-Rope,” Queequeg and Ishmael “for better or for worse...were
wedded” for a time, thus continuing God’s will by uniting further with one another
(349). Ishmael tells his readers, “I seemed distinctly to perceive that my own
individuality was now merged in a joint stock company of two; that my free will
had received a mortal wound; and that another’s mistake or misfortune might
plunge innocent me into unmerited disaster and death” (349). Although Ishmael
recognizes the risks involved in human connection, he is willing to engage
nonetheless. This experience makes Ishmael reflect upon the dependency all men
have upon one another for mere survival, which he calls “a connnexion with a
plurality of other mortals” (349). Ishmael would have died had there been no life-
buoy, but it is a strange series of events, spurred to motion by Ishmael and
Queequeg’s dedication to their relationship to each other, that leads to Ishmael’s
ultimate survival. Thus, Queequeg’s coffin is a reminder that, even though it is
risky to partly surrender control of one’s life to another person, all humans are
bound in an ineffably complex dependency, and thus, willingly fostering human
connection is necessary for survival.
IV. Ahab as Seeker, Ishmael as Wanderer
The Pequod itself embodies this “connection with a plurality of other
mortals” when it is working in total harmony, when each member of the crew
recognizes their dependence on the rest. The Pequod reaches this total harmony
during the chase for Moby Dick:
They were one man, not thirty. For as the one ship that held them all;
though it was put together of all contrasting things—oak, and maple, and
pine wood; iron, and pitch, and hemp—yet all these ran into each other in
the one concrete hull, which shot on its way, both balanced and directed
by the long central keel; even so, all the individualities of the crew, this
man’s valor, that man’s fear; guilt and guiltiness, all varieties were welded
into oneness, and were all directed to that fatal goal which Ahab had their
one lord and keel did point to. (606)
Ishmael details how the ship, made “of all contrasting things,” becomes
something greater than the sum of its parts when these contrasting materials are
joined together. He compares this to the crew itself; the energy of the whole crew
working together, combining all of their “individualities” to become “one man, not
thirty” makes them collectively more powerful. Nevertheless, the mission still fails.
While this image of individual talents and emotions joining together in total
harmony may seem idyllic, the problem is that their harmony is driven by “Ahab
their one lord and keel.” Initially, the Pequod is advertised as a “three-years’
voyage” during which the crew would find and hunt as much as they could before
returning home (74). However, Ahab disregards this pledge, opting to use this crew
and their time to prioritize the hunt for the white whale. Thus, the harmony of the
ship in this scene shows its great potential as a group, but their end goal is a
distortion of the whaling voyage.
Ahab’s focus on one goal makes him a seeker or a hunter; he wants to
conquer the whale above all else, and he cannot see past this end goal. However,
he has focused so much on this goal that nothing exists beyond it. By seeking the
completion of his only goal, he seeks death. This paper began by interrogating
Ahab as a narcissist as well as a hunter, a seeker, and a solipsist as described by
Hoffman. Hoffman notes that a hunter can become a “Seeker, a seeker after truth,”
but Ahab does not seek Moby Dick because he seeks the truth (Hoffman 207).
Ahab seeks the whale because he has already assigned a specific meaning to it, his
“visibly personified… rage and hate” (200). Ahab seeks to destroy the whale, and,
in turn, this rage that he has projected onto the image of the whale. Ahab narrows
his focus, always prioritizing the achievement of his goal, which is, in effect, his
own mortal end: he dies tangled in the rope of the very harpoon he launches against
Moby Dick (623). Even when the ship works in harmony, even when the entire
crew has overcome the narcissism of their leader to work as a collective, they are
working towards the goal of Ahab, and, thus, their own deaths. Ahab’s monomania
makes him so focused on his hunt for Moby Dick that he cannot imagine anything
beyond his revenge. The danger of the Pequod’s voyage is in its premise: to seek
something monomaniacally is to move single-mindedly to a fixed point. Once that
fixed point is reached, however, the journey is over. To seek an ultimate goal at the
cost of dismissing all other possibilities or responsibilities is to seek a kind of death.
Thus, the intensity with which Ahab has focused on his hunt is self-destructive,
and that destruction extends to the entire crew.
While Ahab’s mode of seeking is to move towards a final destination,
Ishmael, once again, presents a sustainable alternative: a focus on the journey, and,
thus, on the experience of life. Ahab ascribes unwarranted meaning to the whale
and refuses to renounce his pointed search. As McMillan proposes, Ahab is a
cautionary tale for Ishmael: “The lesson for Ishmael is clear: it is best not to be
overly meticulous in your attempt to understand and give meaning to the shards
of experience which make up life” (McMillan 206). While McMillan proposes that
Ishmael ends the novel in “ambivalences and ambiguities,” this paper looks to the
chapter “A Squeeze of the Hand” for proof that Ishmael has found the antidote
to being “overly meticulous” in one’s search for meaning making (McMillan 216).
While having a meditative experience squeezing the whale’s spermaceti, Ishmael
tells the reader, “since by many prolonged, repeated experiences, I have perceived
that in all cases man must eventually lower, or at least shift, his conceit of attainable
felicity; not placing it anywhere in the intellect or the fancy; but in the wife, the
heart, the bed, the table, the saddle, the fireside, the country” (456). After this
experience, when he thinks of heaven, Ishmael imagines “long rows of angels in
paradise, each with his hands in a jar of spermaceti” (456). What Ishmael has
learned is that even the quotidian and the seemingly miniscule hold spiritual
meaning. The realistic or attainable way to access joy, calm, and perhaps even the
spiritual, is to experience the day-to-day aspects of life.
Ahab assigns meaning to the largest animal, tries to grapple with the largest
questions of God’s existence, but Ishmael recognizes that the whiteness of the
whale is so overwhelming in its infinity that the only way to find peace is to release
the need to define it all. Ishmael proposes grounding oneself in the real world,
returning to the quotidian and the sensory, and letting the body experience
whatever it may need to. In this way, Ishmael is focused on the experiences that
life can bring while Ahab is focused on his goal with no regard for the process.
Ishmael, from the beginning, has no goal but to continue living, embarking on this
voyage to avoid his own suicide. Thus, he wanders through life, focused on
absorbing all the information and sensory input that he can, including the
viewpoints of others, as a means towards realistic, attainable felicity and spiritual
experience. While Ahab seeks to know and conquer, Ishmael seeks to experience
and communicate; while the former seeks the end and death, the latter seeks
continuance and life.
While Queequeg’s coffin, representative of Ishmael’s dedication to human
connection, saves him from the vortex that sinks the Pequod, Ishmael is also saved
by his willingness to wander and his acceptance of the basic and ordinary. Ishmael
is saved not only because of Queequeg, but because he is willing to float aimlessly
for days, surrendering himself to the whims of the sea: “for almost one whole day
and night, I floated on a soft and dirgelike main. The unharming sharks, they glided
by as if with padlocks on their mouths; the savage sea-hawks sailed with sheathed
beaks” (625). His willingness to float without a destination keeps him alive until
another ship, the Rachel, rescues him. In the final line of the novel, Ishmael brings
attention to the irony that “in [the Rachel’s] retracing search after her missing
children, [she] only found another orphan” (625). The Rachel, a boat the Pequod
encountered before their final hunt, was searching for some lost men, one of whom
was the captain’s son. Although the Rachel did indeed have a distinct goal, she was
still willing to adapt and rescue Ishmael. The Rachel’s willingness to wander across
the sea and embrace whatever she encountered mirrors Ishmael’s philosophy.
Therefore, Ishmael is not only saved by his own interpersonal connections or the
embodiment of his personal philosophy. He must depend on the goodwill of the
Rachel’s crew, emphasizing that all humans are dependent on one another. Ishmael
is also dependent on the willingness of others to allow the unexpected and the
unknown, as The Rachel accepts him, a man they were not necessarily pursuing.
As a result, even Ishmael’s ultimate salvation is reliant on the presence of others
and their readiness to accept him. Ishmael, from his suicidal beginning to his lucky
end, relies on both human connection and a willingness to adapt in order to live.
Thus, Melville presents Ishmael’s holistic, sustainable attitude as a counterpoint to
Ahab’s monomaniacal and self-destructive way of thinking that rebuffs all human
contact. While Ahab dies delusional, thinking himself a singular hero, Ishmael lives
authentically, knowing himself as just one in a large, interdependent crew of
humanity.
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CATHERINE FERRANTE, Barnard College '21, majored in English and
concentrated in Theatre. They are passionate about the intersection between the
spiritual and artistic, the psychological aspects of character, and the process of
creating safe and positive theatre spaces. They are currently focused on personal
writing projects and gaining professional experience before pursuing an MFA in
Directing.
