Mark My Words
A Whale’s Contribution to Civilization
Now, dear reader, I have long suspected that nature, despite her many admirable qualities, possesses a perverse sense of humor. Consider, if you will, the esteemed whale—a creature of such enormity that it could swallow Jonah and still have room for a light luncheon. One would think that its chief occupation is grand and noble, consisting of deep-sea philosophizing or composing sonorous sea shanties. But no! Science now informs us that the whale’s greatest contribution to civilization is its urine.
Yes, this great leviathan, which once inspired terror in the hearts of sailors and provided lamp oil for the industrious, now finds its highest calling in relieving itself for the benefit of the ocean. And what a generous benefactor it is! Four thousand tons of nitrogen annually—enough, I presume, to make a cabbage patch out of the Atlantic. Gone is the age of Moby-Dick, where whales were seen as beasts of vengeance and mystery; we now find ourselves in the age of Moby-Drip, where their chief occupation is that of an oceanic fertilizer factory.
The Economy of Waste
Now, I have long advocated for the principle that nothing ought to go to waste, not even waste itself. Nature, in her infinite thrift, has ensured that even the most unmentionable of substances finds its purpose. As it happens, the nitrogen in whale effluence is a veritable feast for plankton, those microscopic artisans of the sea who toil ceaselessly to produce the very air we breathe. In turn, these plankton nourish fish, sustaining the great web of life.
This, of course, presents an elegant irony: the very creatures we hunted nearly to extinction are the same that keep our oceans alive. One might say that whales, in their infinite patience, have forgiven humanity its transgressions and continue to bestow their gifts upon us—though I suspect that, if given the choice, they would rather we appreciated them for more than their bathroom habits.
Lessons from the Leviathan
There is a lesson here, though I fear it will be lost on those too preoccupied with human affairs to look seaward. The whale, in its indifferent majesty, reminds us that even the smallest act—however humble—can shape the world. If a mere bodily function can sustain an entire ecosystem, what excuse have we for neglecting our own responsibilities to this planet?
Perhaps instead of plundering the seas, we might take a page from the whale’s book and learn to give back. Or, at the very least, we might pause before dismissing any part of nature as useless, for the universe has a peculiar way of making fools of those who believe they understand it entirely.
In the meantime, let us raise our glasses—not in mere sentiment, but in genuine appreciation—to the whales, those great, unheralded custodians of the deep. And should you find yourself afloat upon the ocean waves, watching one of these gentle giants pass by, remember: you are in the presence of a biological marvel, a floating fertilizer factory, and, perhaps, a better steward of the earth than we humans have yet to become.
