Today, a unanimous tribute is paid to the five victims of the underwater excursion which has just come to a tragic end. We call great adventurers these tourists from the abyss who have, let’s face it, accomplished neither exploit nor discovery. At most the realization of a caprice of billionaires which had no use, no meaning, and contributed nothing to their research except the satisfaction of a curiosity which, if one thinks about it, raises questions.
Because there is, in the excursion of the Titan, something which disturbs. The wreck of the Titanic is a burial place, a steel tomb for more than a thousand victims, men, women and children who, in this broken sarcophagus, are slowly returning to dust. That the tragedy of the Titanic fascinates us is more than understandable: its dramaturgy is intense. To be interested in it is logical, to study it is healthy; seeing films, documentaries, exhibitions allows us to better understand this adventure and all that it teaches us about Man.
As long as the dives on the wreck were useful (capturing images allowing analysis, bringing up objects), they were authentic adventures, new discoveries. However, since the last expeditions, the wreckage has deteriorated considerably. There is not much left to observe except rusty metal structures covered with concretions, nothing more to discover or learn. In that case, why would you want to approach these last vestiges at all costs? What good does it do for those deep dwellers, other than being able to say, “I’ve been there!” and brag about paying $250,000 for it?
It is not a personal achievement, like reaching an alpine peak or performing a stratospheric jump in free fall. In such accomplishments, there is always a question of a breakthrough, of progress — on oneself, on the technical level or in the field of knowledge. But, in this case, the intended purpose seems to be nothing more than an unhealthy thrill. Accomplishing or exploiting, mastering no technique, the passengers of the Titan are as passive as a bungee jumper who has paid to be thrown from a bridge. We are here faced with an act of consumption, not a great human adventure.
The discomfort grows when one realizes that this thrill, paid for very dearly, is undeniably associated with the ordeal and death of countless beings. Therein lies, for me, the less appealing “onlooker” side of the case. I understand that we visit the Auschwitz or Treblinka camps. It’s not voyeurism. Going to these places allows you to take the measure of the unspeakable. Seeing with your own eyes perfectly preserved rooms, bedsteads, hooks, gallows, allows you to feel, reflect, meditate, nourish an increased awareness of what happened there, of what Man is capable of enduring or inflicting. We come back upset, and increased.
What more would a few rusty, collapsed, algae-covered structures have taught Titan tourists? What would they have taught them more than all the knowledge and discoveries already made on the site?
Forgive me for doubting and wondering. The Titanic brought in its wake new victims and I should feel some compassion. That we mourn the missing of the Titan, in particular this son who had followed his father at the latter’s insistence, I understand that, but that we pay homage to them… In what capacity? It is not a question here of sacrifice but of vanity and emptiness. At a time when everything is for sale and to buy, in the era of the selfie at all costs, if I have to mourn a disappearance, it is that of meaning, reflection and the sacred.
Philippe Graton, Brussels
