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Chapter 119

2021 : C

READING1 · 52 questions

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Chapter 119 · 2021 : C · READING1

My emotions are complicated and notreadily verifiable. I feel a vast yearning that issimultaneously a pleasure and a pain. I am certainof the consummation of this yearning, but I don’tknow yet what form it will take, since I do notunderstand quite what it is that the yearning desires.For the first time there is borne in upon me the fulltruth of what I myself said to the doctor only an hourago: that my motives in this undertaking are notentirely clear. For years, for a lifetime, the machineryof my destiny has worked in secret to prepare for thismoment; its clockwork has moved exactly towardthis time and place and no other. Rising slowly fromthe earth that bore me and gave me sustenance, I amcarried helplessly toward an uninhabited and hostile,or at best indifferent, part of the earth, littered withthe bones of explorers and the wrecks of ships, frozensupply caches, messages scrawled with chilled fingersand hidden in cairns that no eye will ever see.Nobody has succeeded in this thing, and many havedied. Yet in freely willing this enterprise, in choosingthis moment and no other when the south windwill carry me exactly northward at a velocity ofeight knots, I have converted the machinery of myfate into the servant of my will. All this I understand,as I understand each detail of the technique by whichthis is carried out. What I don’t understand is why Iam so intent on going to this particular place. Whowants the North Pole! What good is it! Can you eatit? Will it carry you from Gothenburg to Malmö likea railway? The Danish ministers have declared fromtheir pulpits that participation in polar expeditions isbeneficial to the soul’s eternal well-being, or so I readin a newspaper. It isn’t clear how this doctrine is tobe interpreted, except that the Pole is somethingdifficult or impossible to attain which mustnevertheless be sought for, because man iscondemned to seek out and know everythingwhether or not the knowledge gives him pleasure. Inshort, it is the same unthinking lust for knowledgethat drove our First Parents out of the garden.And suppose you were to find it in spite of all, thiswonderful place that everybody is so anxious to standon! What would you find? Exactly nothing.A point precisely identical to all the others in acompletely featureless wasteland stretching around itfor hundreds of miles. It is an abstraction, amathematical fiction. No one but a Swedish madmancould take the slightest interest in it. Here I am. Thewind is still from the south, bearing us steadilynorthward at the speed of a trotting dog. Behind us,perhaps forever, lie the Cities of Men with their teacups and their brass bedsteads. I am going forth ofmy own volition to join the ghosts of Bering andpoor Franklin, of frozen De Long and his men.What I am on the brink of knowing, I now see, is notan ephemeral mathematical spot but myself. Thedoctor was right, even though I dislike him.Fundamentally I am a dangerous madman, and whatI do is both a challenge to my egotism and asurrender to it.

Over the course of the passage, the narrator’s attitude
shifts from
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