the heads of Locke and Kant

In Chapter 73 of Moby-Dick, Stubb and Flask are sent out from the Pequod to try to kill a right whale (and they succeed, after a bit of danger). These catches are fairly worthless compared with sperm whales, and had been ignored previously when seen on the cruise. But a right whale is now sought due to a superstition: with the previously slaughtered sperm whale’s head already hanging from one side of the ship, it is believed that putting a right whale’s head on the other side will prevent the ship from capsizing. And that leads Melville to a pleasing philosophy analogy:

“As before, the Pequod steeply leaned over towards the sperm whale’s head, now, by the counterpoise of both heads, she regained her even keel; though sorely strained, you may well believe. 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. Oh, ye foolish! throw all these thunder-heads overboard, and then you will float light and right.”

I’m greatly enjoying the reread. The only time I read Moby-Dick was in high school, and I wasn’t ready to appreciate it fully then.

The book did not sell out its initial 1851 printing (3,000 copies) in Melville’s lifetime. Ignored for the most part after the 1840’s, he enjoyed a resurgence in the U.K. in the 1890’s, but did not recover among American readers until a new fashion for his work in the 1920’s.

Raymond Chandler makes an interesting remark about all failure being a species of moral failure. He was talking about writers, and what he meant was that there’s always a way to do good work and have some success with it rather than feeling self-pity about one’s work being too good for the public to understand. He says specifically that Shakespeare would have found a way to thrive amidst Hollywood Kitsch. And Chandler was also thinking of his own wild literary and screenwriting success despite not even beginning his writing career until past age 40, which makes him a sort of Kandinsky of literature.

At times I take Chandler’s point very seriously. But Melville is one of the great counter-examples. The better his writing became, the more the public deserted him, until finally he was a broken man.