Icebergs and Us

I’ve been fascinated by the Titanic for as long as I can remember. While the Cameron movie never had any particular hold over me (I saw it once) the archeology of the wreck itself, since its discovery by Robert Ballard some twenty years ago, never ceases to fascinate me. The thought of something that big, that deep—on trans-Atlantic flights I’ve often caught myself wondering whether it was right below.

So when the news appeared a couple of days ago that a recent expedition determined the ship broke into several more pieces than was first thought, my ears perked up. And I was taken aback by Ballard’s dismissive comment, “It hit an iceberg and it sank. . . . Get over it.”

I’m not sure why this rubs me so wrong. In one sense of course it doesn’t matter how many pieces the Titanic is in: the victims are long dead, their worldlines and ours permanently altered by the event. But as humans we leave remains, mortal and material—our works are our remains too. That’s one difference between us and the icebergs melting in the shipping lanes. And I wouldn’t want to live in a world where the question didn’t matter either. So Mr. Ballard, I’m disappointed in you.