Final

Hello everyone,

For my final assignment, I wrote a short story inspired by the numerous readings we explored this semester, which primarily focused on environmental ethics and the human-nature relationship. My story, “Finding Oannes,” was mainly inspired by the following quote from William Cronom’s “The Trouble with the Wilderness,” a text that critically examines the concept of wilderness and its implications for our culture’s relationship with the nonhuman world. 

“we mistake ourselves when we suppose that wilderness can solve our culture’s problematic relationships with the nonhuman world, for wilderness is no small part of the problem.” 

The idea of “the wild” being a man-made concept really opened my eyes to the bleak reality that everything humanity touches MUST produce some sort of monetary value. This realization has deeply impacted my understanding of our role in the world, and I came to the conclusion that we, as human beings, have become an invasive species. It made me question the value we place on nature and the extent to which we exploit it for our own gain.

This realization didn’t shatter my world or anything like that; I still enjoy camping and hiking with friends. There is still plenty of pleasure to be had in these types of activities, and by no means am I suggesting we should abandon our attachments to the concept of nature – but one thing needs to be made clear: human order does not belong in the natural world.

The concept of ‘the wild’ and its implications have been a recurring theme throughout the semester, and I’ve grappled with articulating my insights accurately. This struggle continues, but ‘Finding Oannes’ has provided a fantastic platform for me to delve deeper into this complex and thought-provoking topic. 

Thank you all for such a wonderful semester!

In “Finding Oannes,” I investigate human ambition, exploration, myth, truth, and the effects of these endeavors on nature. The story begins with a detailed description of a world where human civilization has reached a point of stasis on land, with all available resources methodically mapped out and used. This creates the conditions for the formation of a desire for adventure and wonder, prompting humanity to look to the undiscovered depths of the ocean. On this last frontier, the spirit of exploration still appears to be alive. The story also delves into the ethical implications of human exploration and the potential consequences for the natural world.

The majestic vessel Oannes is central to the plot, depicted as a marvel of ivory and gold that represents human intellect and the peak of marine exploration. The protagonist, Captain Jonathan Glanton, exemplifies the spirit of discovery and intellectual quest, similar to legendary heroes such as Einstein and Galileo. Glanton’s thorough research and documentation of the ocean’s contents illustrate the pursuit of knowledge and the desire to discover hidden truths about our planet. His character also serves as a reflection of the human ambition and curiosity that drives our exploration of the natural world.

I made an attempt to make the narrator untrustworthy because he is too enamored with the ship and its captain to realize how their exploitation of the sea could be detrimental. Making the ship out of ivory and gold was intended to reflect both the beauty of seeking an understanding of the natural world and the aggressive attitude with which we shape the natural world to work in ways we can comprehend and profit from. The Captain’s name, John Glanton, is a reference to the same-named infamous person from the old American West – best known for his merciless exploits as a scalp hunter during battles in the American West, representing a darker side of human desire and conquest. 

The story takes a poignant turn when the protagonist discovers Oannes, fifteen years after its departure, sunken on the ocean floor. This finding, combined with the tragic destiny of a mermaid crushed beneath the ship, provides a compelling metaphor for the repercussions of human ambition. The mermaid, once a symbol of mythological wonder, now represents the neglected and shattered portions of nature that we ignore in our never-ending search for knowledge and advancement.

The image of the mermaid trapped beneath Oannes provokes a mixture of awe and grief, emphasizing the fragile balance between human enterprise and its unintended effects on the natural world. The author’s undersea picture delivers a profound contemplation on the beauty and sorrow that come with our pursuit of enlightenment.

The narrative’s complexity is found in its investigation of human ambition and its consequences on nature and in its depiction of the interaction of myth and reality. The mermaid, a mythological creature, becomes a palpable emblem of the hidden costs of exploration, encouraging readers to consider the impact of their actions on the environment.

To summarize, “Finding Oannes” is a thought-provoking investigation of human ambition, exploration, myth, reality, and their effects on nature. The story goes into the depths of human curiosity and the drive for knowledge, pitted against the potential consequences of our persistent pursuit of discovery. The terrible fate of the mermaid beneath Oannes serves as a devastating metaphor for the natural qualities that we neglect and destroy on our voyage of exploration. Finally, the story encourages readers to explore the difficult balance between human advancement and environmental stewardship, demanding a deeper examination of the ethical consequences of our acts in the pursuit of enlightenment.

Concluding Thoughts

This was by far the best college classroom experience I’ve had thus far.

I was a little nervous about starting this semester. I had no idea what a course about mermaids in literature would entail. I had never been interested in the subject, and I had no idea how enthralled I would become by it. I believe that if the class had been given by another professor, I would have missed the underlying relevance of these stories. Professor Pressman did an excellent job of making the class an engaging one to be a part of, and this was the first class in which I actually wanted to participate. Getting to know the text with you all has been fantastic, and it’s a shame it’s coming to an end.

One thing I didn’t expect from a Literature and Environment course was to learn so much about myself and my views. I didn’t anticipate to delve as deeply into human history as we did, and my perspective on the world changed as a result of our global studies of human values. This class, like any other history course, taught me to look at topics like sexism, religion, and capitalism from different perspectives. A quote I frequently thought about during these readings came from Detective Rust Cole in season 1 of True Detective, who says, “Certain linguistic anthropologists believe that religion is a language virus that rewrites the pathways in the brain, dulls critical thinking.” I believe this remark, while pessimistic as hell, accurately captures the mental state that many of these readings have put me in. Religion has spread many of our outdated beliefs, and religious populations have had the same societal framework for millennia. I’m rambling a lot, but I just wanted to highlight how deeply this class struck a chord with me, and I’m thankful I got to share this experience with you.

Thank you everyone!

Week 15: Stuck at the Bottom

I really enjoyed reading Stephanie Burt’s poem, We Are Mermaids. The poem is ripe with brilliant imagery and metaphor that do a great deal to describe the internal struggle of being a transgender person.

The ocean is presented almost like a landscape in the poem, which hones in on terracentric language to describe those who subscribe to beliefs and lifestyles they are familiar or comfortable with. The full potential of the waters between the surface and the ocean floor are ignored, with the speaker often reassuring the reader that they do not have to leave the water they are comfortable in.

“You can spend your life benthic, or brackish,

subsisting and even thriving where a fingertip

comes away saline and still refreshing,

exploring the estuary, the submerged lip

and congeries of overlapping shores

on the green-black water, the harbor, the bay.” (Burt Pg. 1-2, 24-29)

This is followed by the sentiment that it’s okay to be scared to go into the vast, open ocean; the rest of us will be all right out here.

I think this poem has two target audiences. One is transgender people who are afraid to embrace their true identity – in which case the poem is a kind and welcoming invitation to a better, more belonging life. The other is people who are transphobic and who are choosing to keep out of the issue of transgender rights. Either way, the poem paints the ocean (or this more free way of living, unrestricted by the rules and patterns of the land) as a sanctuary thats in reach and ready for you to embrace it.

Embracing the mermaid as a symbol of transgender people is a beautiful way of showing someone who comes from the constraints of land (society) and has embraced the water and turned it into their home (identity). This was a really powerful piece to end the semester with.

Final Thesis Proposal

Hello all,

In “Finding Oannes,” the quest for the missing ship The Oannes, as a sign of intellectual harmony with nature, ultimately serves to highlight the disastrous implications of our faulty relationship with the natural world, as demonstrated by the shipwreck, pointing to a broader reflection on human-nature bonds.

Week 14: Nature Doesn’t Need Validation.

Sorry for the short post, everyone. It’s been a very difficult weekend, so my creative juices aren’t flowing as freely.

This remark encapsulates an important aspect of Wajinru living. The whale, which represents nature’s protective and caring features, cares for the Wajinru and even feeds their smallest members. Our need to assign specific meanings and purposes to everything contrasts dramatically with nature’s intrinsic ability to exist in harmony and serve its surroundings.

People frequently seek meaning and purpose via their actions and lives. Everything, to humans, has a certain function. We provide little to no wiggle space for these specified reasons to change, and we are terrible at admitting when something does not contribute to society in the way we EXPECT. As we strive to understand our place in the world, we assign events, objects, and relationships significance. Nature, however, functions in a different way. Without making a conscious effort to define its function, each component of the ecosystem operates in tandem. This natural hierarchy is best demonstrated by the whale in the quotation, which provides care and nourishment without needing to justify its actions or seek acceptance from others.

Entering Chapter 3 of “The Deep,” readers are prompted to consider the complexities of human perception and our proclivity to provide meaning where it is not required. We are urged to contemplate the natural world’s intrinsic equilibrium of cohabitation, as well as the balance of seeking meaning through the lens of the Wajinru’s story and their relationship with the whale.

Sorry, again, for the brevity. I’ll see you all in class.

DISCOVERY ASSIGNMENT: The Mermaid and Human Nature in The Lighthouse (2019)

Robert Eggers’ 2019 film The Lighthouse follows two lighthouse keepers, Thomas Wake and Thomas Howard, who are stranded on a secluded island due to a severe storm. The movie’s narrative is presented from Howard’s point of view, and it explores themes like isolation and the fragile condition of human sanity. These concepts are accompanied by hallucination, including encounters with a mermaid and a man from his past. The film is rather avant garde: there are only two characters with spoken lines, it takes place in one location for a vast majority of the films runtime, and it’s shot with black and white film on a 1.19:1 aspect ratio – making the screen appear almost like a square. That all being said, The Lighthouse is more comparable to a novel than the run-of-the-mill suspense thriller film, which means the audience should look at the components of the narrative more for what they represent rather than what is actually being shown. Through editing and use of symbolism, the mermaid in The Lighthouse represents human nature and man’s inability to suppress it.

To understand the mermaid’s symbolic significance in the film, it is essential to define what the island represents to Howard. In a conversation with Wake, Howard reveals that he used to be a timber man on the American mainland, but he wanted to start fresh and earn a living as a “Wickie.” The script says, “Nothin’ wrong with a man startin’ fresh, lookin’ to earn a living… Soon enough, I’ll raise my own roof, somewheres up country, with no one to tell me ‘what for’…“ (Eggers Pg. 29-30). This statement alone implies that Howard feels the need to escape his past; add to that, the fact that Howard killed a man and took his identity previous to the events of the film – it is almost blatantly obvious that Howard being a lighthouse keeper is an attempt to distance himself from guilt. The island becomes a symbol of escapism.

There are two mermaids in The Lighthouse, one, a wooden figure, and the other being a seemingly real mermaid that washes up on the beach. The audience is introduced to the wooden mermaid relatively early in the film’s runtime, but it is not until near the end of the first act that Eggers presents the real mermaid. While Howard is out doing his chores on the island, he sees lumber floating off its shore. He goes to investigate it, and as it gets closer, the logs move and reveal the body of a bleach-blonde man (Ephraim Winslow). He approaches the body in a trance, and the tide rises, submerging him underneath the water. In the direction of where the man used to be, there is a mermaid in the depths – its face obscured by its hair and its screeching song muffled by the water’s density. This editing succeeds in establishing a thematic connection between the mermaid and Howard’s murdered or possibly fatally neglected ex-coworker. The two symbols do not exist independently from one another in the film – every time the audience is shown the mermaid, she closely follows the appearance of the late Ephraim Winslow.

The next significant appearance of the mermaid is during a scene where Howard attempts to pleasure himself, using the scrimshaw as inspiration. It seems like he has a really difficult time accomplishing this because his mind is clouded with thoughts of the white-haired Winslow. During this scene, three events are inter-spliced with one another: Howard matsurbating, Winslow dying (having been stabbed or shoved with a stake, and then drowned), and Howard engaging in sex with the mermaid. These events are cut together hastily, never spending too much time on one shot. His interaction with Winslow and the mermaid are happening simultaneously in his head, indicating that the two activities are equal to one another. On first viewing, it can be easy to assume that the editing in this scene is meant to show us that Howard is haunted by the action or inaction he committed on Winslow. However, the last thing Howard imagines before reaching climax is Ephraim Winslow sinking under a log. Having achieved his goal, he throws the wooden carving to the ground, breaks it, and wails like a wild animal in anguish. The editing of this sequence leaves little doubt that the death of Winslow is what peaked Howard’s arousal, underscoring his violent human nature and implying a disturbing sexualization of death. To Howard, killing Winslow and dominating the mermaid are on and the same, and the distress in his tone at the end of the scene is generated by his inability to escape his own depravity.

The last place where the mermaid is utilized as a symbol of human nature is in the last act of the film when Howard and Wake get into a fist fight over the old man’s ledger. Wake calls Howard a dog, a term used earlier in the film by Howard as he recounted the death of Winslow to Wake – “but Winslow that goddamned Canady fool bastard… always callin’ me a dog. A filthy dog.” (Eggers Pg. 51). In response to Wake’s insult, Howard attacks him and the two wrestle around the lighthouse’s living quarters until Howard looks at Wake and sees a hallucination of Winslow. He mounts the old man, still seeing Winslow, who lands a punch on him, staggering him. When he looks down again, Winslow is replaced by the mermaid – who caresses his neck before strangling him and turning into Wake again, but this time with a crown of barnacles and brine and a set of tentacles. 

Because of the rapid pace at which this scene unfolds, the audience is presented with a great deal of visual information to process and evaluate in a brief period of time. Howard is reminded of his earlier aggressions by Wake’s calling him a “dog,” and his desire for violence is promoted by the alluring image of the mermaid. This is similar to the situation in the two examples that came before it, in which the mermaid did not appear until after Winslow is present in Howard’s psyche. The fact that Howard is able to see the mermaid while he is impulsively beating Wake is a clear sign that he is taking pleasure in this assault.

The most astounding aspect of The Lighthouse is Eggers’ ability to establish Howard’s murderous intent without using words. Although it is logical to believe that Howard was responsible for Winslow’s death because he stole his name and identity, Howard never acknowledges this in the film, and he is not required to do so. From the time the mermaid appears on screen – when Howard discovers the body in the sea – it achieves its goal of establishing a link between Howard and death without disclosing the specifics of that relationship. In the scrimshaw scene, the spectator can deduce that Howard is responsible for Winslow’s death. Winslow’s death is practically a fantasy for Howard, heightening his excitement. Finally, in the fist fight scene, Howard unwittingly admits to killing Winslow. He sees the mermaid in front of him; she appears genuine to him at that moment, and he indulges in his inner darkness. His reaction to the mermaid shatters any doubt that Howard is a violent human being. Thomas Howard’s story in The Lighthouse is jam packed with mystery. In the end, he wasn’t able to escape the violence embedded within him – and although most people aren’t secretly evil like Howard, the feeling of not being able to escape your negative traits is a widely human experience. It is easy to say the past is in the past, but without taking the right steps to take accountability and improve, these undesirable features remain dormant until provoked. The mermaid shows the audience that running away is not the answer to moving past trauma or consequences, and that human nature prevails if left neglected.

Week 13: Nature is Violent

Good afternoon, everyone. For today’s blog post, I want to discuss a crucial theme I noticed reading Aganju and Yemaja, nature is violent.

Aganju and Yemaja is a perfect example of a creation myth. Aganju and Yemaja are the children of Odudua and Obatala. The story says, “The name Aganju means uninhabited tract of country, wilderness, plain, or forest, and Yemaja, “Mother of fish” (yeye, mother; eja, fish). The offspring of the union of Heaven and Earth, that is, of Obatala and Odudua, may thus be said to represent Land and Water.” (Penguin pg. 168). The siblings marry and have a child named Orungan (Air), who falls in love with Yemaja and assaults her, which causes the creation of 15 new Gods.

This is where I believe the theme that Nature is violent really shines through. After Orungan sexually assaults his mother, she attempts to flee from him. “Orungan, however, rapidly gained upon her and was just stretching out his hand to seize her when she fell backward to the ground. Then her body immediately began to swell in a fearful manner, two streams of water gushed from her breasts, and her abdomen burst open…” (Penguin pg. 168). These two sentences depict truly jarring body-horror. Yemaja explodes after her being savagely taken advantage of – and her annihilation birthed deities representing natural occurrences like vegatables and different African rivers – but also human ideas like wealth and war.

This made me ask myself why, like so many other creation myths I’ve read in the past, the myth of Aganju and Yemaja depicts the creation of the world as we know it as such a disturbing event. I’ve mentioned in blogs of the past that the natural world exists under an equal parts chaotic and serene state. The natural world lacks the order we crave in human civilization; the “wild” isn’t governed. I mean, there’s a reason why we call it “the wild” or “wildlife.”

I apologize because I don’t have a clear enough idea of the relationship between violence and nature to end the post on a clear and concise note, but I do believe that we should ask ourselves to make a distinction between human violence and the violence of the natural world. For centuries, Americans alone have been using terms like “beasts” and “animals” to describe their enemies or people “below” them. The violence that humans commit on other humans is different than the violence that occurs in the natural world – but the comparison has done nothing to help us understand the world better. If anything, this type of language only works to solidify the absurd ego imbalance we are all accustom to.

Week 12.5 – The Ocean Contains True History

I was working on my discovery assignment and thinking about yesterday’s in-class discussion when a realization dawned on me.

When talking about The Sea Is History we talked a lot about how the ocean preserves what’s lost in it. We talked about Moby Dick and its last line and how it gives the impression that the ocean is (literally) filled with stories and artifacts of events that we can’t memorialize by building a statue in its place.

To try to illustrate why I think this reality is so significant, consider a battle at sea versus a battle on land for a moment. Both fights share a few characteristics: each will result in a massive expenditure of money, resources, and troops, and each will have a winner and a loser. Beyond that, the two are completely independent. The winner of a land battle is entitled to the territory on which they fought. They get to change the way the area is governed and build monuments and museums filled with art and propaganda sympathetic to their cause. They are free to discard any proof that their acquisition of the land was any more violent or hateful than was necessary in order to remain benevolent to its governed peoples.

At sea, we are more than likely left to take the winner’s word on how their victory is achieved. You can’t claim the water, really – you definitely can’t build memorials to commemorate it. And while, yes, there is no presentable evidence to show malice or the true moral ambiguity of the conflict – the evidence DOES exist. Its under the water, untouched by men – resulting in what I would safely refer to as TRUE history.

It’s history without a consciousness; ultimately, it’s a dead history – having avoided the post-mortem manipulation that events on land face to keep the propaganda alive. But personally, I don’t want history to have a narrative. I do not want there to be good guys and bad guys, and I don’t believe in generational hate. I value the ocean for its ability to be honest with us and hold a mirror to our shitty behavior because the first step to improving at anything is to take accountability for the fact that you need to improve to begin with.

Sorry if I essentially reworded the conclusion we came to in class, I just felt like this was a revelation for me. I definitely dabble in true crime and conspiracy thought a bit too much and I totally could be predisposed to this line of thinking – but I do think that the history books we are all made to read growing up were largely dishonest promotions of “*Insert Country Name* Values and Reasons For Being Superior”, so I enjoy getting the chance to take a more critical look at human history.

Week 12: The Sea Remembers

One thing I found really interesting in Derek Walcott’s poem “The Sea Is History” is the notion he introduces that, as humanity developed and began spreading its territory on land, the sea remains this immovable force that is ever present throughout all these eras of turbulence. It seems to act primarily as an observer, only stepping in to swallow that which gets lost in it. One line from the poem that got me to read and reread it a couple of times over reads as such,

“Then came the men with eyes heavy as anchors
who sank without tombs,

brigands who barbecued cattle,
leaving their charred ribs like palm leaves on the shore,” (Walcott, lines 26-29)

These lines gave me chills.

It paints the picture of the ocean being used as a macabre means of waste disposal. We’ve seen the ocean (or any body of water, at that) being used as a means of body disposal in countless movies, TV shows, books, etc. – like the old Mobster term “sleeping with the fishes”. The act of throwing a body in water to sweep it under the rug and leave it somewhere where it won’t be traced is a familiar yet sinister practice to us surface beings. The poem does a good job of reminding us that discarding something in the ocean doesn’t erase it from existence. The ocean remembers. It holds onto our waste like a ledger mapping the geological reaches of our control and depravity. The next bit about the barbecued cattle and the comparison between rib bones and palm leaves just filled my head with images of shapes along the coast, dripping with seafoam and obscured by a marine layer. The poem is a very good read.

Earth’s Second World and The Right to Understand

Good evening Class,

Did anybody else get goosebumps reading the introduction to The Ocean Reader? Because those measurements made a shiver run down my spine.

It wasn’t until very recently that I’ve been able to better accurately visualize distances and lengths mentally – because of this newfound ability, I had to do double take after double take when reading the introduction to The Ocean Reader. I do all of my mental measurements in yards because its easy for me to visualize the length of a football field in my head than a kilometer. So if one kilometer is 1,093, and some change, yards long – or a little less than 11 football fields – then that means the Mariana Trench is about 27,887 football fields deep… please, somebody tell me I’m not the only one freaked out by that idea.

To think that a majority of the Earth’s crust is underwater is baffling. This means a majority of OUR planet is not easily accessible by any means. I’m personally conflicted by this. I see myself as a part of Earth – I believe that just because I can ask questions about how the world operates and what life means doesn’t necessarily mean I’m entitled an explanation. I do not want to meddle with the natural order of the planet just to scratch any philosophical itch I may conjure up. I WAS content with living in a world full of mystery and I DO enjoy looking at the sky and day dreaming about the universe and its plethora of mysteries. But seeing just how much of the world is underwater (and really being able to visualize it) has made me a little more curious than I was before. The ocean is truly another world existing within our own, and this realization is becoming more and more apparent to me the more we read in this course.

EDIT: I think I might have gotten my calculations wrong. My bad, everyone.