Moby-Dick and Schopenhauer (Critical Essay)
Moby-Dick and Schopenhauer
From the International Fiction Review, Jan , 2004
"For it is the case with regard to everything, that each man can only prize that which to a certain extent is analogous to him and for which he has at least a slight inclination."
-Arthur Schopenhauer
In his last years, Herman Melville (1819-1891) avidly read Arthur Schopenhauer (1788-1860), the German philosopher whose works first became available in English translation only in 1883. Melville acquired personal copies of many of these works--the three-volume The World as Will and Idea, The Wisdom of Life, Studies in Pessimism, Religion: A Dialogue and Other Essays, and Counsels and Maxims--and made extensive markings and some annotations in them. He borrowed Counsels and Maxims from the New York Society Library in February 1891, a few months before his death. (1)
In "Bartleby the Scrivener: A Parable of Pessimism," Daniel Stempel and Bruce M. Stillians have suggested the possibility of Melville learning about Schopenhauer during his 1849 trip to Europe from his traveling companion George J. Adler (1821-1868), Professor of German at New York University and "an enthusiastic student of German philosophy"; and again through John Oxenford's (1812-1877) comprehensive survey of Schopenhauer's works in the 1 April 1853 issue of the Westminster Review, a magazine Melville was likely to be familiar with. (2) If in absence of conclusive evidence the theory remains conjectural, the question still arises why in his final years Melville turned to Schopenhauer with such passion.
The explanation, I think, lies in the remarkable congruence of views between the two writers. Since the late 1840s Melville had been moving toward a Schopenhauerian view of human life and the world. The process, adumbrated in the change of course in Mardi from travel and adventure to metaphysical speculation, came to fruition with Moby-Dick, which is shot through and through with Schopenhauerian images, ideas, and motifs, a study of which promises to throw new light on the novel and on Melville's intellectual relationship with the German philosopher.
Dissenting from the Western philosophical tradition that identifies reason as the defining trait of man, Schopenhauer posited the ultimate reality as a blind and involuntary force which he called the will. The will is the "inside" of the world, the noumenon. It objectifies itself through the operation of the principium individuationis of time and space in the phenomenon, the multiplicity of phenomena being the "idea" (or "representation," as Schopenhauer's recent translator E. F. J. Payne would have it). Like Freud's id, Schopenhauer's will is not purposeful volition but a primitive force inaccessible to rational admonishment. Being unassuageable--an endless, restless, tormented striving for satisfaction--the will is the chief source of the pain and suffering of life: "The wish is, in its nature, pain; the attainment soon begets satiety: the end was only apparent; possession takes away the charm; the wish, the need, presents itself under a new form; when it does not, then follows desolateness, emptiness, ennui, against which the conflict is just as painful as against want." (3)
In Moby-Dick, Schopenhauer's will--an unconscious force of great potency, insatiable, and imperious in its demands on the individual--is seen in operation, time and again. Thus Ishmael finds that his decision to go on a whaling voyage is not an act of conscious choice but involuntary. Ishmael is also unable to explain how the crew fall under Ahab's spell and make his cause their own, identifying the White Whale with evil. In the crucial quarter-deck scene, when Ahab tries to win over the three mates, including the recalcitrant Starbuck, "it seemed as though, by some nameless, interior volition, he would fain have shocked into them the same fiery emotion accumulated within the Leyden jar of his own magnetic life." Ahab then asks the mates to be cupbearers to "my three pagan kinsmen there ... my valiant harpooneers," adding: "I do not order ye; ye will it." (4) Sitting alone in the cabin, Ahab soliloquizes: "What I've dared, I've willed; and what I've willed, I'll do! ... I'm demoniac, I am madness maddened!" (7: 210).
To be sure, Melville does not use the term "will" in Schopenhauer's technical philosophical sense. But the idea of an imperious, subterranean force controlling human behavior is common to both writers. Starbuck thus speculates on Ahab's inexplicable hold over him: "he drilled deep down, and blasted all my reason out of me! ... Will I, nill I, the ineffable thing has tied me to him; tows me with a cable I have no knife to cut" (7: 211).
"Human nature," observes Schopenhauer, "has depths, obscurities, and perplexities, the analysis and elucidation of which is a matter of the very greatest difficulty" (1: 520). The truth of human nature is so profound that even a deep diver like Ishmael cannot fathom it. "As touching all Ahab's deeper part," he remarks, "every revelation partook more of significant darkness than of explanatory light" (8: 231). Although Ahab at times believes himself his own master, many of his actions seem the product of forces beyond his control. The ceaseless torment of an unsatisfied will allows Ahab no respite even in sleep (cf. 7: 251-52). Ahab's quest for vengeance, which by "its own sheer inveteracy of will" assumes "an independent being of its own" (7: 252-53), substantiates Schopenhauer's view that "the more intense the will is, the more glaring is the conflict of its manifestation, and thus the greater is the suffering" (1: 511). Unlike Schopenhauer, however, Melville associates capacity for intense suffering with nobility of character: "In an instant's compass, great hearts sometimes condense to one deep pang, the sum total of those shallow pains kindly diffused through feebler men's whole lives" (8: 339).
Some characters in Moby-Dick attribute events to an external agency they call fate or the gods. Ishmael thus ascribes his going on a whaling voyage to "those stage managers, the Fates" (7: 6). Stubb finds comfort in the thought that "it's all predestinated" (7: 213). Ahab persistently holds supernatural powers responsible for his self-destructive quest. Stubb reports to Starbuck that he heard Ahab mutter: "Here someone thrusts these cards into these old hands of mine; swears that I must play them, and no others" (8: 275). Ahab tells Starbuck just before the chase begins: "By heaven, man, we are turned round and round in this world, like yonder windlass, and Fate is the handspike" (8: 330). A little later Ahab harangues Starbuck: "This whole act's immutably decreed. 'Twas rehearsed by thee and me a billion years before this ocean rolled. Fool! I am the Fates' lieutenant; I act under orders" (8: 352).
Although Ahab identifies the force that propels him with a supernatural agency, his description closely fits Schopenhauer's will, to which he might as well have traced the source of his action. According to Richard Brodhead, "Ahab's disease is that he can't keep from extrapolating from local experiences to their cosmological implications." (5) Ahab's vulnerability, however, may be more fittingly characterized as a "tragic flaw" and located in his attribution of that which is essentially inborn and innate to external, supernatural agencies. Ahab's remarkable capacity for self-analysis does not prevent his remaining deluded to the end or failing to realize that the "hidden lord and master" (8: 330) who commands him is nothing but his own will. He is unable to grasp that the "shadows" that haunt him are no more than "verifications of the foregoing things within," that "with little external to constrain us, the innermost necessities in our being, these still drive us on" (7: 205). Ahab presents the rare phenomenon of the will-to-live being supplanted by, and subsumed in, the service of an all-consuming passion.
Schopenhauer's will is amoral and its domain is frequently the unconscious. In Moby-Dick Ahab ignores all moral considerations in his obsessive pursuit. The unconscious nature of the operation of the will is, as in Pierre, emphasized by recurrent images of diving, drilling, and mining.
Schopenhauer suggests that although permanen't escape from the will is possible only through asceticism and renunciation, temporary respite can be obtained through dispassionate, will-less contemplation of art or nature. That is why "the man who is tormented by passion, or want, or care, is so suddenly revived, cheered, and restored by a single free glance into nature: The storm of passion, the pressure of desire or fear, and all the miseries of willing are then at once, and in a marvellous manner, calmed and appeased" (1: 255-56). In Moby-Dick Ishmael often experiences this elevated state in which one at last "loses his identity" and "takes the mystic ocean to his feet for the visible image of that deep, blue, bottomless soul, pervading mankind and nature." In this "enchanted mood," the "spirit ebbs away to whence it came; becomes diffused through time and space" (7: 198). Standing at the foremast-head, and idly swaying in "what seemed an enchanted air," Ishmael experiences that epiphanic suspension of individuality that lulls the gnawing pain of constant willing: "losing all consciousness, at last my soul went out of my body; though my body still continued to sway as a pendulum will" (8: 1). At times, notably in "The Symphony," even Ahab is moved by the calm serenity of nature, by the "mild, mild wind, and a mild-looking sky" (8: 327), so far as to forget himself, soon, however, to relapse into habitual defiance.
Schopenhauer's worldview, his most telling aspect, Melville came to share progressively as he matured. Moby-Dick depicts the predominance of evil and destructive forces, and human impotence in the face of them. "Though in many of its aspects this visible world seems formed in love," says Ishmael, "the invisible spheres were formed in fright" (7: 243). Ishmael draws repeated attention to "the full awfulness of the sea," its "universal cannibalism" (7: 348), which, in turn, becomes symbolic of "the demonism in the world" (7: 243), of which even the dumb brute seems instinctively aware. The tranquil beauty of the sea only conceals "the tiger heart that pants beneath it" (8: 263). The capture and killing of the whale brings out the full horror and pity of the exercise (8: 96-97). Not only is nature indifferent to human affairs--"The Castaway" presents a world formed through a natural process heedless of human concerns, while Ishmael comments on "the general stolidity discernible in the whole visible world" (8: 234)--but its very beauty is deceptive. Starbuck exclaims: "Oh, life! 'tis now that I do feel the latent horror in thee!" (7: 212). While his biblical name makes Ishmael represent a disenfranchised mankind, a general sense of futility, decay, and death pervades the world of Moby-Dick. Neal Tolchin argues that Moby-Dick is a novel permeated by unresolved grief, (6) while according to John T. Matteson, in Moby-Dick Melville declares "the natural world to be just a screen for pervading, all-consuming death." Brodhead points out that "The Chapel," in particular, presents "a world peopled with the dead, filled with the void of the nonexistent." (8) As in Schopenhauer (1: 254), Ixion and Tantalus seem the most apt symbols for the human condition in Moby-Dick (8: 251; 368).
Schopenhauer had such an overwhelming sense of human suffering that a note of horror creeps into his voice when dealing with it: "if we were to conduct the confirmed optimist through the hospitals, infirmaries, and surgical operating-rooms, through the prisons, torture-chambers, and slave-kennels, over battle-fields and places of execution; if we were to open to him all the dark abodes of misery, where it hides itself from the glance of cold curiosity ... he, too, would understand at last the nature of this 'best of possible worlds'" (1: 419). Schopenhauer concludes that "the life of every individual, if we survey it as a whole and in general, and only lay stress upon its most significant features, is really always a tragedy, but gone through in detail, it has the character of a comedy" (1: 415). In a similar vein Ishmael remarks: "There are certain queer times and occasions in this strange mixed affair we call life when a man takes this whole universe for a vast practical joke, though the wit thereof he but dimly discerns, and more than suspects that the joke is at nobody's expense but his own" (7: 286).
As early as "Hawthorne and His Mosses" Melville had given a Schopenhauerian interpretation to Shakespeare and Hawthorne, stressing their tragic vision but ignoring their humor and comedy. The preacher in the New Bedford Negro church Ishmael stumbles upon has as his theme "the blackness of darkness" (7: 10), a "blackness of darkness" Ishmael later comes to consider "the material counterpart" of Pequod's "monomaniac commander's soul" (8: 180). Ahab broods: "Born in throes, 'tis fit that man should live in pains and die in pangs!" (8: 190). Later Ahab thinks: "both the ancestry and posterity of Grief go further than the ancestry and posterity of Joy" (8: 230). Ahab concludes that "the ineffaceable, sad birth-mark in the brow of man is but the stamp of sorrow in the signers," the gods, who "themselves are not for ever glad" (8: 230). Schopenhauer scorned Leibnizean optimism as "not merely ... an absurd, but also ... a really wicked way of thinking ... a bitter mockery of the unspeakable suffering of humanity" (1: 420; original emphasis). For Ishmael, the man "who dodges hospitals and jails, and walks fast crossing graveyards ... not that man is fitted to sit down on tomb-stones, and break the green damp mould with unfathomably wondrous Solomon" (8: 182). On the last day of the chase Ahab finds even the wind "tainted": "A vile wind that has no doubt blown ere this through prison corridors and cells, and wards of hospitals.... Were I the wind, I'd blow no more on such a wicked, miserable world. I'd crawl somewhere to a cave, and slink there" (8: 355). As in Schopenhauer, references to hospitals and prisons in Moby-Dick quintessentially signify human suffering.
Human life consists largely of repetitive labor and drudgery. In a Thoreau-like vein Ishmael points out how on week-days landsmen remain "pent up in lath and plaster--tied to counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks" (7: 2), asking rhetorically: "Who aint a slave? Tell me that" (7: 5). "All men," he comments later, "live enveloped in whale-lines. All are born with halters round their necks" (7: 357). But then "this is life. For hardly have we mortals by long toilings extracted from the world's vast bulk its small but valuable sperm ... when ... away we sail to fight some other world, and go through young life's old routine again" (8: 186-87).