Starbuck’s internal struggle also raises more abstract questions of morality and law. Starbuck feels that murdering Ahab will save the other thirty lives on board the Pequod, and so may be justified. He then observes that “I stand alone here upon an open sea, with two oceans and a whole continent between me and law,” and he asks: “Is heaven a murderer when its lightning strikes a would-be murderer in his bed, tindering sheets and skin together?” Of course, the law serves morality and not vice versa, and in the end Starbuck seems to understand that existing at sea, apart from civilization, does not transform a human being into an amoral force of nature.

Unfortunately for Starbuck, his choice has no clear moral imperative. Starbuck finds himself in a variation of an age-old moral dilemma — if you could save many people by sacrificing one person, should you? Is any individual entitled to be jury and executioner in the sacrifice of another human life? On the other hand, isn’t doing nothing a judgment as well, albeit a passive one, and so shouldn’t you at least make the choice that results in the fewest deaths? At the end of “The Musket,” Starbuck spares Ahab and re-shelves his musket. I can’t help but wonder, though, when Starbuck “seemed wrestling with an angel,” who was arguing for which side of the dilemma? Does Starbuck’s choice represent a regaining of his moral sense or, like the Pequod’s compass, did the storm reverse the needle’s polarity, and point him in the wrong direction?

Chapter 123: The Musket

Spinning in the storm,
An angel adored me,
Tempted my escape from every claimant,
And we’d take the open sea,
And turn it around.

A token of the war
In every arrangement
Made between a man and that which taints him –
It’s a life to overthrow,
May heaven allow.

Tell me, could it be the loss,
The stinging loss
I feel in every dream? In every
Meaning lost to waves in rugged sea?

Here I stand alone,
At opposite corners
From my only duty as I claim it –
Can I take the open sea,
And turn it around?

(c) and (p) 2009 Patrick Shea
Words and music written by Patrick Shea August 5, 2009
All parts performed, arranged, and recorded by Patrick Shea June 26, 2010

Though I recognize the choice may be incidental, I couldn’t help but to ask myself: if only a matter of race, why did the mates send Tashtego up the mast and not Queequeg or Daggoo? Do we as readers see in this choice a stereotype of the Native American as elemental? Perhaps, but we should also remember Stubb’s words one chapter prior: “What’s the mighty difference between holding a mast’s lightning-rod in a storm, and standing close by a mast that hasn’t got any lightning rod at all in a storm?” Maybe our race-attuned modern minds should recognize “Midnight Aloft” as a racially problematic presentation of Native Americans, but also look deeper into what might be Ishmael’s intention in including such a strange chapter — offering a vivid illustration of how Ahab’s supposedly great act of defiance is regularly performed as an unpleasant but routine and endured assignment in the life of a sailor.

Chapter 122: Midnight Aloft — Thunder and Lightning

Um, um, um.
Um, um, um.
Every snowflake in the winter,
Every lightning bolt in spring,
Every gift the Earth is given,
Is given unto me. (Given unto me!)

Um, um, um.
Um, um, um.
At the bottom of the order,
Every dangerous task in need
Is given unto me. (Given unto me!)

The sky, undone,
Overthrown,
Daggers flashing off and on.

And I sway,
Dearly clung
To the lightning rod.

Um, um, um.
Um, um, um.
When the white man touched the metal,
That would bring the lightning nigh,
Well, you thought the man defiant
And crazy, by and by. (Crazy, by and by!)

But you sent me to the rigging,
Climbing to the sky! (Climbing to the sky!)

Um, um, um.
Um, um, um.

(c) and (p) 2009 Patrick Shea
Words and music written by Patrick Shea July 30, 2009
All parts performed, arranged, and recorded by Patrick Shea June 19, 2010

It comes as no surprise, then, in this most tempting of books to over-analyze, that Moby Dick himself resides in these waters, and that upon entering the Pacific, Ahab’s purpose “intensified itself.” Of course, Ishmael’s naive, joyful, and ponderous fulfillment of a childhood dream also provides a perfect foil for Ahab’s rash and jaded acceleration toward fulfilling the dreams of his old age, and perhaps Ishmael’s poetics merely found the raw and vicious potters’ fields of the Pacific an apt grounds for these opposite ends of the human experience to contrast.

Chapter 111: The Pacific

A dream rolling over me,
Rolling on, the sea
Rolling over me.

A dream rolling on,
The sea touching all –
Receive of the harmony.

Out over the ocean,
I feel every notion
Of peace, and of suffering.

In every great undulation,
Every soul, every patient
Belief, every broken sleep.

A dream rolling over me,
Rolling on, the sea
Rolling over me.

A dream rolling on,
The sea touching all –
Receive of the harmony.

Just as the sea touches rivers
In the valleys, as they quiver
From hearts to humanity,

Each of us touched and delivered
By the shadows and glimmers
Of all time, of all human beings.

A dream rolling over me,
Rolling on, the sea
Rolling over me.

A dream rolling on,
The sea touching all –
Receive of the harmony.

(c) and (p) 2009 Patrick Shea
Words and music written by Patrick Shea July 29, 2009
All parts performed, arranged, and recorded by Patrick Shea June 12, 2010

The long and short of the gam itself — it was a blowout, indeed. The English provided not only an abundance of good cheer and good humor for their guests, but backed it up with piles of beef and dumplings, not to mention many gallons of “flip” — the whalers’ version of moonshine. Besides bugs in the bread, the only downside to this gam was having to weather a squall at the height of the party, causing many of the drunkest men to accidentally furl their coats into the sails, and dangle from the masts as “a warning example to all drunken tars.”

In telling of this gam to end all gams, Ishmael points us to a major difference between the English whaling fleets (and the Dutch fleets before them) and the whaling fleets of New England: the English and Dutch really stock their larders –good cheese, butter, beer, gin, beef pork, etc. — and the New England fleets do not. Ishmael admires the English for their high living, and gives them their due respect for significant contributions to the whaling industry, but he also constantly points at the longer-lived and more significant history of New England whalers. Ishmael’s subtext, intended or no, points to a superiority in the Puritan tradition of hard work and moderation. Of course, Ishmael and his fellow workers benefit from this ethic in little more than bragging rights — they’re poor no matter what. And so goes Ishmael’s excellent parting advice, “when cruising in an empty ship, if you can get nothing better out of the world, get a good dinner out of it, at least.”

Chapter 101: The Decanter

Oh, everybody knows you’re an Englishman,
Leaning with a beer on the still capstan.
A party in the bow, with beef to pass around –
Oh, you’re out of sight!

Extend your generous hospitality –
We’re worked to the bone.
Whether it bull-beef or dromedary,
It’s more than I’ve known.
And so we sing it!:

Make me an Englishman,
His life is for me!
Never to lift a hand,
Without some relief!

That’s how we sing it!

Oh, everybody knows you’re an Englishman,
Dizzy in the head when you’re harpoonin’ –
You throw it in the dark, but always hit your mark.
Oh, you’re out of sight!

And so we sing it!:

Make me an Englishman,
His life is for me!
Never to lift a hand,
Without some relief!

That’s how we sing it!

(c) and (p) 2009 Patrick Shea
Words and music written by Patrick Shea July 27, 2009
All parts performed, arranged, and recorded by Patrick Shea June 5, 2010

In the previous chapter, Ishmael introduces his readers to a substance called ambergris. Ambergris fetches exceptionally high prices, both for its use as a fragrance in cosmetics, and to a lesser extent as a flavoring in wine and food. Some might find it ironic that such a luxurious substance comes from the bowels of a sick whale — a lubricant of sorts to help sharp bones and squid beaks pass through the intestines.

Ishmael — American, democratic — does not find the fact of luxury grown from base origins the least bit ironic, nor does he humor the reputations of whales (or whalemen) as smelling badly. These rumors, says Ishmael, are certainly based in truth — Northern whaling ships carry blubber back to port to try out the oil, rather than trying the oil out at sea, and the stored blubber stinks as it begins to decay. But in good health — in the freedom of the outdoors — a whale more often smells like “a musk-scented lady” who “rustles her dress in a warm parlor.”

Ishmael certainly points in metaphor here to the democratic gentility of hard work, an elevation of working men and women from an esteem of dishonor to one of new-found glory. To me, the metaphor also points at the inverse — a gluttonous, slothful aristocracy masking the smell of poor health with the smell of wealth and circumstance. In this metaphor, the smell of wealth is actually the smell of rot — digested waste from the innards of a creature majestic in its natural freedom, not unlike the American worker.

Chapter 92: Ambergris

Three cheers for the atmosphere,
To good health in the coming years,
To all smells foul, and to the sweet aroma
Born from the wretched, blossomed in the corner.

Hey, hey, we’re only what we own.
Hey, hey, we’re gonna own the form!

St. Paul dancing at the ball –
From dishonor to the glory tall.
Wake, baby, wake — it’s only in the water!
Change what you take, and change the holy order!

Hey, hey, we’re only what we own.
Hey, hey, we’re gonna own the form!

Wake, baby, wake — it’s only in the water!
Change what you take, and change the holy order!
Wake, baby, wake! Wake, baby, wake!
Wake, baby, wake! Wake, baby, wake!

(c) and (p) 2009 Patrick Shea
Words and music written by Patrick Shea July 25, 2009
All parts performed, arranged, and recorded by Patrick Shea May 29, 2010

As is often the case, this simple fact of physiology carries ponderous implications for Ishmael, both practical and philosophical. On the practical side of things, Ishmael tells us that when we’re not believing that Moby DIck could sink the Pequod: believe it. Sperm whales can do that.

The philosophical implications, of course, carry well into the realm of human experience, pointing towards issues of interior life versus exterior life. It can be tempting for us to think that the true whale — the thinking, feeling whale — exists behind the battering ram, and that the battering ram is nothing more than an external wall protecting it. But the most delicate oil found in the whale resides inside that lifeless mass of flesh. How can we separate that flesh from the Truth of the whale?

People often talk about getting past exteriors, getting to know a person’s inner self, as if that were the true self. But people also build walls around themselves — images offensive or defensive — and perhaps in defining a person it isn’t fair to separate out from Truth the battering-ram that person uses to pass through life. Or perhaps the issue is more complex yet. Why does there have to be a true self? Must we always reduce the world to Truth?

Chapter 76: The Battering-Ram

May Truth reveal itself
In moth-fed predilections,
Furnished by the wealth
Experience conditions,
So we do it!

I can’t conceive your eyes,
But I don’t care.
Maybe another day.

In all, precedes a form –
A wall of indivision,
A cold protecting warm
In palpable commission,
And so we charge ahead.

Behind it all, amassed,
Tremendous life,
Or so I see in you.

But take, take, take, take, take, take, take it easy!
Now believe each fateful sight!
A wonder in every fold,
A truth waiting to be told!

A youth who steals the path
From timely revelation,
When sorrow takes it back,
Dies in observation
Of the only Truth.

I can’t conceive your eyes,
But I don’t care.
Maybe another day.

(c) and (p) 2009 Patrick Shea
Words and music written by Patrick Shea July 24, 2009
All parts performed, arranged, and recorded by Patrick Shea May 22, 2010

When the Pequod encounters the Jeroboam, the Jeroboam’s captain declines to board, not wanting to infect the Pequod’s crew with the epidemic his ship continues to suffer. The Jeroboam suffers from one of two possible epidemics depending on where you stand. If you look from the angle of a crew member, the epidemic awaits poised at the hand of God by way of (and at the discretion of, apparently) His messenger Gabriel. If you are Captain Mayhew, the epidemic is fanaticism itself, embodied here in the form of the very same Gabriel.

Of course, Ahab boldly declares his immunity to any of either epidemic, having with his own similar strain infected the Pequod. What Ahab does want, as per usual, is intelligence of Moby Dick. In the ensuing story Ishmael relates some key factors in Gabriel’s transformation from sociopath to pastor, an all-too-familiar progression even 150 years later.

Ahab and Gabriel exist clearly as parallels, both garnering power in the invocation of fear among their crews. They draw on fear of the same menace, Moby Dick, although to opposite ends — Ahab to inspire chase, Gabriel to require avoidance. But there’s another key difference between Ahab and Gabriel, that of institutional authority — Ahab has it, Gabriel doesn’t — and I for one am reminded with great terror at how easily title or deed can legitimize and empower delusion and fantasy.

Chapter 71: The Jeroboam’s Story

All heaven would delight,
Heaven would delight,
If the sing-song charlatan a-blowing his horn had never been torn
From permanent night.

Cry “hell!” until you’re right,
You’ll always be right
If you hem and haw wide as Arkansas, you’ll probably draw
Inside of a straight.

Oh, but you’re wrong,
You’ll always be wrong,
You offer damnation,
You offer mistakes.

Give me the law,
Let me be strong,
Give me salvation.

No angel would affright,
The way you affright.
You feed their fear so that you can steer them far and away
From nature’s rights.

Oh, but you’re wrong,
You’ll always be wrong,
You offer damnation,
You offer mistakes.

Give me the law,
Let me be strong,
Give me salvation.

All heaven would delight,
Heaven would delight,
If the sing-song charlatan a-blowing his horn had never been born.

(c) and (p) 2009 Patrick Shea
Words and music written by Patrick Shea July 23, 2009
All parts performed, arranged, and recorded by Patrick Shea May 15, 2010

Early in “Stubb’s Supper,” Ishmael parallels Stubb with a group of sharks, both of whom feast greedily on Stubb’s recently caught whale. Having one black crew member, Daggoo, cut his steak from the whale, and a black cook, Fleece, prepare the steak, Stubb settles down to enjoy the spoils of his hunt. Stubb quickly finds fault with the cook’s preparation, and calls him to deck to answer for the mistake. Ishmael turns the ensuing exchange into a masterful commentary on race and power.

The cook, Fleece, enters as a minstrel show, shuffling and arthritic, to stand formally before Stubb. As Stubb begins to lay into poor Fleece, however, Ishmael gives us a Fleece who responds with a nuanced mixture of deference and defiance, submitting to Stubb’s humiliating order to preach to the sharks overboard, but turning his sermon into a spiteful prayer for death to oppressors.

Of course, Stubb has all the power in this exchange, and so he turns Fleece’s rebellion into entertainment. After all, not unlike the sharks, Stubb likes his meat rare and tough, and in the end, that’s exactly the meal Fleece gives him.

Chapter 64: Stubb’s Supper

When I die, I’ll go to heaven,
When I die upon the sea.
When I die, I’ll go to heaven –
The blessed angels will deliver me!

Stiff of leg, with nature’s reason,
So the minstrel shows betray,
But I’ll preach another season
To the sharks who wouldn’t listen to be saved!

Oh, they feed upon the river,
And they feed upon the sea,
And they feed until they wither
With the burden that they gathered in their greed.

Sharks own the river,
Sharks own the sea,
Sharks don’t deliver,
But the blessed angles will deliver me!

When I die, I’ll go to heaven,
When I die upon the sea.
When I die, I’ll go to heaven –
The blessed angels will deliver me!

(c) and (p) 2009 Patrick Shea
Words and music written by Patrick Shea July 17, 2009
All parts performed, arranged, and recorded by Patrick Shea May 8, 2010

Chapter 55: Of the Monstrous Pictures of Whales

Science could never relate
(With a partial view of the animal state)
A true description of whales,
That would speak itself to our animal fate,

Neither the stories of old,
Predetermined by man,
Prior to Noah, alone,
Floating over the sand.

Show me Platonian form,
And I’ll show you one who has yet to have sworn
Blessings for each of the crew
In the eye of fear, in the mouth of the storm.

Give out an animal wail
In its terrible face;
And draw it, as bravery pales
To indifference.

Give out an animal wail!
Give out an animal wail!
Give out an animal wail!

Fault can only be laid
When a man assumes all experience stale,
Lifeless, and easy to rate,
‘Til the distance makes his illusion the same.

Lay out the soul of your soul,
A majestic array,
Tuned to the palpable, flawed
Imbrication of days!

(c) and (p) 2009 Patrick Shea
Words and music written by Patrick Shea July 16, 2009
All parts performed, arranged, and recorded by Patrick Shea May 1, 2010

Ahab waits until a moment of peak bustle and frenzy to first introduce his private crew of men, aborigines of the Manillas, whom he has been hiding in the hold for the early part of the voyage. This move has the desired effect of preventing the crew from protesting or asking questions, but the unintended effect of leaving the crew speechless and motionless, in a stupor of confusion. Much of “The First Lowering” consists of Ishmael’s fantastic characterizations of the mates, each trying to figure out what’s going on, while also trying to inspire their respective crews into action.

The message is clear from the mates to all hands — we’re here to make money, and those men (devils they may be) are here to help us make money. And just look at them — they’re such good rowers! In telling this story, Ishmael explores an important side of the America-as-melting-pot narrative. Without cynically dismissing Statue of Liberty ideals, its important to recognize the simple fact that oftentimes America swallows its racism just long enough to make a buck.

Chapter 48: The First Lowering

The more the merrier!
Came out of the heat, and they’re pulling beside.
There’s noting scarier
Than losing a whale while you pray to the sky.

Those devils are good fellows, too!
You see them row, and the rowing’s proof!

Break your back on it!
An angry dog with a knife his teeth,
But don’t belabor it –
You’re nodding off, like a day at the beach.

Now, hail ye, Starbuck, pull aside,
Have you seen such sights in the whole world wide?

Oh, the whales abound and the action’s nigh!
With duty, our profits will rise and rise!

Look thee out at the deep, dark blue –
The ocean’s looking at each of you!

And now, prepare you
To chase your death to the heart of a storm.
With hearts of caribou
We tarry on, and we’re never undone!

Now whale and squall and harpoon are one,
With hope aloft in the setting sun.

(c) and (p) 2009 Patrick Shea
Words and music written by Patrick Shea July 14, 2009
All parts performed, arranged, and recorded by Patrick Shea April 24, 2010