During finals week in December, a student from my Early Modern Philosophy course showed up for his final oral exam. He asked “Do you remember a student named _____________? You had him in class eight or nine years ago.” I admitted that although the name sounded vaguely familiar, I did not remember the student. “He’s my older brother,” the student replied. “When I told him I was having an oral exam today in your office, he said ‘check out the penguins.'” The student looked around. “This is a lot of penguins.”
My office is indeed filled with a great deal of penguin paraphernalia. 
Penguin figurines, penguin calendars, penguin stuffed animals of various sizes, penguin slippers (really), a penguin tissue dispenser, penguin pictures and posters. Not long ago a student stopped by during office hours. About ten minutes into his visit, he observed “I guess you must like penguins.” “What do you mean?” I asked.
Penguins spend a lot of time on the ice, but are sea birds as graceful in the ocean as they are clumsy on land. Penguins have few natural predators on land, but are a favorite meal for any number of water creatures, including leopard seals and sharks. 
When penguins want to take a swim, they will collectively crowd toward the edge of an ice cliff overhanging the water, pushing and pushing closer to the edge, sort of like a human crowd preparing to board an approaching subway, until one or two penguins fall off the edge into the sea. If these unfortunates do not surface, it is clearly not safe to swim there. If their heads bob above the surface, a virtual waterfall of penguins follows them for a safe swimming and feeding event.
Once a guy from Institutional Advancement dropped by my office. He poked his head in, we exchanged brief pleasantries, and he surveyed my office. “What’s with the penguins?” he asked. “I love penguins,” I replied. “I’ve loved penguins ever since I was a little kid.” Silence for fifteen seconds. “I don’t get it,” he finally admitted. “Dude, if ‘I love penguins’ isn’t good enough for you, I’ve got nothing else,” I replied. Some obsessions (like penguins and wild orchids) do not require supporting argumentation.
My love of penguins is a classic example of what Aristotle means by a “first principle.” Aristotle advocates vigorous dialogue and debate, challenging everyone to support their arguments with reasons. But eventually one hits bedrock, a belief or principle that is foundational and has no deeper explanation. As I might have said, “Dude, if you don’t get my love of penguins, we’ve got nothing else to talk about.”
Emperor Penguin couples spend their lives apart from each other and meet once a year in late March, after traveling as far as 70 miles inland—on foot or sliding on their bellies—to reach the breeding site. Once there, penguins look for their mates by making a bugling call. Male penguins generally stay in one place, lower their head to their chest and call out to the females. Once they find one another, they stand breast to breast, repeatedly bow to each other and bugle penguin songs. Penguins are “serially monogamous.” Each penguin couple is an item for a single breeding season, but if they can’t find each other the next breeding season (and they usually can’t), they will hook up with someone new.
I learned from a colleague at the gym a couple of days ago about a clip from Werner Herzog’s 2007 documentary “Encounters at the End of the World” about a penguin who, against all odds, decides that he’s had enough. He leaves the penguin colony and walks off into the interior of Antarctica on his own.
Google “Nihilist penguin” and you’ll find dozens of interpretations of this phenomenon. Apparently the video has gone viral over the last month, becoming a symbol for modern burnout and existential dread. What does this penguin’s death march mean? Interpretations and opinions abound.
- Nihilism: Many view the penguin as an “active nihilist” who rejects the meaningless routine of the colony to embrace the void and create its own destiny, even if it ends in oblivion.
- The one who has had enough and leaves: The penguin is a metaphor for walking away from the rat race or societal expectations that no longer are meaningful or fulfilling.
- The Nietzschean Uberpenguin: This is Nietzsche’s philosophy in action, the overcoming of biological hardwiring and herd (colony) mentality by risking individual choice.
Of course, all of these interpretations are undoubtedly examples of out-of-control anthropomorphizing, essentially saying “if I did this, this would be the reason why,’ then projecting that reason onto the penguin. We love doing that, projecting our own intentions and purposes where they don’t fit, from inanimate objects to God.
Which brings me where I usually end up in this blog–what are the faith implications and lessons to be learned from the nihilistic penguin? Penguins are group and colony birds, so this solitary penguin’s break with the usual, even in the face of likely death, is risky to say the least. But his is a commitment which allows no return. As Herzog says narrating the documentary, if someone tries to return the wandering penguin to his natural habitat, he will leave and continue on his solitary journey.
This is a familar aspect of faith–it is both inescable once it has its hooks in you, and it doesn’t make any sense. It is a mystery that is anything but certain. But it is also unavoidable. Once one is on the path, one can’t go back.
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