A shark has got to keep swimming, no matter what. From the moment it is born until its very last breath, swimming is imperative to its survival. That much had been drilled into Milly her entire life, as if Nature hadn't programmed her to work that out the second she burst through her amniotic sac. It was something about the mechanics of a shark--water had to constantly be pumped through their gills for oxygen to keep them breathing or something. There was something about floating, too, something not unlike the mechanics of an airplane meant that if they stopped moving not only would they cease to breathe, but they would also sink. It was simple really: swim, or sink/drown. And Milly had never before felt the urge to drown.
But she felt like she was drowning now. Something about the conditions of that day, perhaps the dim light shining through the water, perhaps the high tide, or perhaps a lack of company had her thinking heavy thoughts. Drowning, ultimately, as Milly saw it, was the final state. Whenever she didn't feel like she was drowning she was merely being distracted by superficial pleasures brought to her by friends, family or entertainment and generally occupying herself with banal activities that were all considered light. Funny that word 'light', she thought. It was positive, the opposite of darkness, but it was also the opposite of weight. Sharks like Milly were forever encouraged to stay light; to keep swimming. For Milly though, weight was synonymous with meaning, and she couldn't give that up just to be light. Sure, she would be the first to admit that darkness was no bed of eels, but weight, now, if she didn't have weight surely she would just float away? Milly knew that the other sharks were too preoccupied with playing, hunting, and, well, swimming, to notice any of this. They didn't ask questions, or if they did, they had already realised that the alternative to their lightness was drowning and so had decided to push it to the back of their minds. Perhaps, they had convinced themselves that to think about the heavy things was futile, that there was perhaps some sort of higher being that had sorted all that meaning business out, and, after all, they were only sharks and could hardly be expected to understand something so complex[1]. They were wrong though. Milly could see that the life she was leading, however miserable and dark, had weight and for that was it was more honest, and more likely to lead her to the Truth. Now, what that Truth was, Milly didn’t know, but she sure as hell wasn’t going to find it out tending to her own fucking garden[2] now, was she?
Having tried to discuss her feelings with other sharks her age and finding their attention spans lacking; their concerns entirely too far from meaningful conversation, Milly resolved to look elsewhere for her answers. She went to visit the Elder sharks—a confab of wizened, toothless creatures who had dedicated their lives to thinking about these things as they swam perpetually in circles. To join them, all Milly had to do was pass a simple test that involved, as legend told, answering a riddle. Watching them, she felt less alone and made a bid to join their high society. However, before she got close enough to be tested, the oldest and wisest of the congregation, referred to by the others as The First, or The One briefly dissociated from their ring and bellowed,
“YOU SHALL NOT PASS[3], child! I will not allow it! Return to your friends, while you still can, unless you wish to spend your life swimming in endless circles, drowning in the obscure and uncertain. At some point in our lives we must all face a choice: to go on breathing, or to drown. To swim, or to sink. Do you want wisdom? Ontological certainty? I will share with you what I know. Your peers who choose life are the wise ones and we, we are just old fools. A shark is not meant to understand.[4] That much is clear to me now.”
But he didn’t understand. Drowning, for Milly, hadn’t been a choice. It had just happened, and she was obliged to confront her thoughts; to go on living in ignorant bliss just wasn’t an option. But if what the Elder One had said was true, that there was no hope of ever coming to an answer—to what? She thought bitterly, she didn’t even know the question—what was she meant to do? Suddenly, a thought occurred to Milly. Struck her like lightning[5], actually. The answer had always been there, really, niggling in the back of her head, gnawing at the mantra that was always running just keep swimming just keep swimming. No, Milly hadn’t chosen to drown. But she could.
She had to try, of course. It wasn’t easy to go against your instincts, your autopilot that’s been running for you your entire life. Ultimately though, it wasn’t that hard. About as hard as it is for a human child to swallow a lump of chewing gum[6]. And just like that, Milly stopped swimming. Drowning, ultimately, was the final state. Living had just been putting it off.
[1] This is sometimes referred to in theology as the argument from limited perspective, and is used in an attempt to justify the existence of a god in the face of the problem of evil in our world.
[2] Here, Milly makes a reference to Voltaire’s Candide and the eponymous hero’s final mysterious precept that we must “tend our own garden”. One interpretation of this statement is that following a series of unfortunate events, Candide has become disillusioned with an indoctrinated Leibnizian optimism (care of his beloved mentor, Pangloss) but rather than rejecting it outright, resolves to keep busy and avoid thinking about the problem of evil… It is, however, an inadvertent reference, because Milly is a shark and knows nothing of books or reading.
[3] This is a reference to popular culture, a remark that Gandalf makes in the cinematic adaptation of J.R.R Tolkein’s fantasy series The Lord of the Rings. The Elder shark of course, was unaware that this coincidence might distract the readers of Milly’s story from the very serious point at hand. If he had been, the Editor is almost positive he would have revised his exclamation.
[4] While this again seems to refer to the limited perspective argument, The Editor does not, however, believe that Milly’s intentions in telling her tale were in any way theological, and therefore discourages the reading of it as a theodicy.
[5] Benjamin Franklin, to prove that lightning was electrical, conducted (excuse the pun) an experiment in 1752 using a kite to collect some electric charge from a storm cloud. This later led to his invention of the lightning rod.
[6] The difficulty there being, of course, the multitude of myths concerning the horrible, sometimes gory deaths you will suffer if you swallow gum.
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