evening, or a reckless fuck one night, I would be gone the next day, withouta message left behind. You were permitted to be rootless, taciturn, and cavalier about the feelings of others when you were a backpacker. Lightness was practically demanded of you, even, or especially, when you trafficked in weight.
I understood why Jim wanted to go to sea in the first place, how he could imagine that such a life would be one way—filled with adventure, dangerous tests, and honourable triumphs—and I could relate to his disappointment when that life turned out another way entirely—soaked in boredom, banal duty, and the pettiness of others, interrupted by brief moments of contentment and unexpected bursts of humiliation and fear. I had seen and done a fair bit myself by this point in my life, but the incident with the tree fort struck me in retrospect as having marked an unheeded warning of the many disappointments to come. Of course, I know my experience then was insignificant compared with the perils of some listing ship or violent storm, but I had been tested and found horribly wanting. I had been betrayed by my own weakness and I had betrayed others in turn. The fact that my shame was not made public, that I could disguise, cover up, and ignore the evidence of it, allowed me to rationalize such failure. I assumed at the time that the incident would not be characteristic of my entire life and personality but was only an aberration. Better yet, I told myself, it was a gift. It was a lesson that allowed me to prepare for a real test, when I would not be found wanting.
Jim thought so too. After a few early misadventures that rattled him badly yet lacked severe consequences, he pushed on in his career as a sailor, confident that his luck would be better next time. But in Conrad’s world, the sea wins every toss of thecoin. Jim’s life-turning confrontation with fate occurred when he found himself the chief mate on a dubious freighter loaded with Muslim pilgrims making its way across the Red Sea from India to the Arabian peninsula. Life and work on board a freighter was a particularly grim comedown for Jim. Nevertheless, on the fateful evening, the sea was as smooth as glass, the sun set to the sound of the Islamic call to prayer—an eerie, exotic, yet deeply peaceful wail—and Jim felt briefly at truce, if not in harmony, with the vexing world. Then, in the night, the ship slid over a submerged object, perhaps (as speculated later in court) a waterlogged, half-sunken wreck. In the awful aftermath, it became obvious that the freighter would sink and there were not enough lifeboats for even a small portion of the passengers. Facing certain death, as they say, Jim made his terrible choice. He escaped with the ignoble captain and crew, abandoning their human cargo.
The horror we feel at our own weakness and failing—is it made worse when the consequences are also horrible or when they are banal? In a particularly cruel twist, the freighter did not sink but was found listing on placid seas and towed back to port, the human cargo bemused by the adventure, confident that God had preserved them. While Jim was relieved so many lives were spared, this fortunate ending only highlighted his cowardice and exposed his missed chance. He knew in hindsight that he should have stayed on board, the only remaining crew member, and that if he had done so, he would have been seen as a hero now, the personification of valour, as though his virtue alone had kept the ship afloat. Wishing he had done so, however, was a kind of torture, because he understood, at the raw pit of hissoul, that bravery without consequence was mere vanity, a show of virtue rather than the real thing. He was nailed to the cross of his shame twice over. There was an eagle ripping at his liver and a snake dripping venom on his forehead both.
Of course, not everyone would feel such complicated self-loathing, and ultimately that is what makes Jim noble and makes his story worth
I understood why Jim wanted to go to sea in the first place, how he could imagine that such a life would be one way—filled with adventure, dangerous tests, and honourable triumphs—and I could relate to his disappointment when that life turned out another way entirely—soaked in boredom, banal duty, and the pettiness of others, interrupted by brief moments of contentment and unexpected bursts of humiliation and fear. I had seen and done a fair bit myself by this point in my life, but the incident with the tree fort struck me in retrospect as having marked an unheeded warning of the many disappointments to come. Of course, I know my experience then was insignificant compared with the perils of some listing ship or violent storm, but I had been tested and found horribly wanting. I had been betrayed by my own weakness and I had betrayed others in turn. The fact that my shame was not made public, that I could disguise, cover up, and ignore the evidence of it, allowed me to rationalize such failure. I assumed at the time that the incident would not be characteristic of my entire life and personality but was only an aberration. Better yet, I told myself, it was a gift. It was a lesson that allowed me to prepare for a real test, when I would not be found wanting.
Jim thought so too. After a few early misadventures that rattled him badly yet lacked severe consequences, he pushed on in his career as a sailor, confident that his luck would be better next time. But in Conrad’s world, the sea wins every toss of thecoin. Jim’s life-turning confrontation with fate occurred when he found himself the chief mate on a dubious freighter loaded with Muslim pilgrims making its way across the Red Sea from India to the Arabian peninsula. Life and work on board a freighter was a particularly grim comedown for Jim. Nevertheless, on the fateful evening, the sea was as smooth as glass, the sun set to the sound of the Islamic call to prayer—an eerie, exotic, yet deeply peaceful wail—and Jim felt briefly at truce, if not in harmony, with the vexing world. Then, in the night, the ship slid over a submerged object, perhaps (as speculated later in court) a waterlogged, half-sunken wreck. In the awful aftermath, it became obvious that the freighter would sink and there were not enough lifeboats for even a small portion of the passengers. Facing certain death, as they say, Jim made his terrible choice. He escaped with the ignoble captain and crew, abandoning their human cargo.
The horror we feel at our own weakness and failing—is it made worse when the consequences are also horrible or when they are banal? In a particularly cruel twist, the freighter did not sink but was found listing on placid seas and towed back to port, the human cargo bemused by the adventure, confident that God had preserved them. While Jim was relieved so many lives were spared, this fortunate ending only highlighted his cowardice and exposed his missed chance. He knew in hindsight that he should have stayed on board, the only remaining crew member, and that if he had done so, he would have been seen as a hero now, the personification of valour, as though his virtue alone had kept the ship afloat. Wishing he had done so, however, was a kind of torture, because he understood, at the raw pit of hissoul, that bravery without consequence was mere vanity, a show of virtue rather than the real thing. He was nailed to the cross of his shame twice over. There was an eagle ripping at his liver and a snake dripping venom on his forehead both.
Of course, not everyone would feel such complicated self-loathing, and ultimately that is what makes Jim noble and makes his story worth
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