The Sea-Wolf contains numerous allusions to “survival of the fittest,” a phrase Charles Darwin coined to describe how the organisms that are most likely to survive and reproduce are those that are best adjusted to their natural environment. In The Sea-Wolf, seals—which Wolf Larsen and his crew hunt for their valuable pelts—are at the bottom of the evolutionary hierarchy. On the one hand, the seals represent the consequences of weakness—how a lack of strength (fitness) and cunning makes for an easy target. On the other hand, however, the seals are innocent victims that help demonstrate the cruelty of modern society. The narrator, Humphrey Van Weyden notes that the seals are turned into clothing for wealthy women who never have to witness the cruelty and violence involved in the processing of seal pelts. In this way, the seals reveal the hidden violence and cruelty inherent in many aspects of (outwardly) refined, wealthy society. The seals also represent a turning point in the character arcs of Van Weyden and Maud Brewster—when Van Weyden and Brewster find themselves stranded on an uninhabited island, they must club seals for survival. That Van Weyden and Brewster can bring themselves to kill the seals represents a new level of self-sufficiency for Van Weyden and Brewster—both characters come from affluent backgrounds that did not require much grueling, physical labor. In addition, Van Weyden and Brewster’s willingness to murder the seals shows how survival often requires cruelty. In this way, London shows how the cruelty of modern society mirrors the cruelty inherent in nature.
Seals Quotes in The Sea-Wolf
But life and death were in that glance. I could see the vessel being swallowed up in the fog; I saw the back of the man at the wheel, and the head of the other man turning, slowly turning, as his gaze struck the water and casually lifted along it toward me. His face wore an absent expression, as of deep thought, and I became afraid that if his eyes did light upon me he would nevertheless not see me. But his eyes did light upon me, and looked squarely into mine; and he did see me, for he sprang to the wheel, thrusting the other man aside, and whirled it round and round, hand over hand, at the same time shouting orders of some sort. The vessel seemed to go off at a tangent to its former course and leapt almost instantly from view into the fog.
I have made the acquaintance of another one of the crew,—Louis he is called, a rotund and jovial-faced Nova Scotia Irishman, and a very sociable fellow, prone to talk as long as he can find a listener. In the afternoon, while the cook was below asleep and I was peeling the everlasting potatoes, Louis dropped into the galley for a “yarn.” His excuse for being aboard was that he was drunk when he signed. He assured me again and again that it was the last thing in the world he would dream of doing in a sober moment. It seems that he has been seal-hunting regularly each season for a dozen years, and is accounted one of the two or three very best boat-steerers in both fleets.
“We must club the seals,” I announced, when convinced of my poor marksmanship. “I have heard the sealers talk about clubbing them.”