brief character sketch of Professor aronnax
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Ever notice how close the name Aronnax is to arrogance? Well, we don't think that's an accident. Pierre Aronnax is billed as a scientist's scientist, a Professor of Marine Biology who lectures at hoity-toity European museums. But the dude begins 20,000 Leagues by claiming that the creature currently terrorizing the world's oceans is a giant narwhal. Boy, is he wrong.
So, our introduction to Aronnax isn't exactly flattering. He thinks he knows everything, but he misses a lot. And he gets kinda agitated when other people seem to surpass his own capabilities.
For example, Professor Arrogance didn't build any submarines. And when he boards the Nautilus, he's very suspicious of how Captain Nemo could have put the thing together on his own. Sure, we admit it: it's pretty hard to imagine how Nemo could have constructed such a crazy futuristic piece of technology all by his lonesome. But Aronnax's response to the Nautilus reeks of envy and insecurity:
That a private individual had at his disposition a mechanical contrivance of this sort was improbable. When and where could he have had it built, and how could he have kept its construction secret? (1.2.6)
Dude is really trying to save face here. Similarly, Professor Arrogance often puts the preservation of knowledge and the upholding of social norms above humanity. Like, even above his own, and others', safety.
For most of the novel, Aronnax and Ned Land engage in verbal fisticuffs about their potential escape from the Nautilus. Aronnax is so often paralyzed by indecision that he just sits and watches the pretty fishies swim by the sub's giant windows. And what might wrest him from his own inaction, you ask? Further self-absorption, of course:
We had not been made to break with humanity. For my part, I did not wish my intriguing and original studies to be buried with me. (1.18.7)
Ah, now here's the real reason Aronnax must return to land: if he doesn't, no one will ever laud him for all of the fantastic discoveries he made aboard the Nautilus.
We're guessing that you're also wondering why our protagonist seems so darn obsessed with people's nationalities. At least with Nemo, this shtick kind of makes sense, because Aronnax is trying to figure out how his Captain ended up so ragey. So Aronnax thinks deep thoughts like, "Would I ever know to what nation this strange man belonged, that boasted of belonging to none?" (1.14.24).
But that's not the whole story, is it? Clearly, Aronnax's got a lot of national pride. He gets all excited when other people can speak his language, and he's evidently a little disappointed that the ol' harpooner is French-Canadian—a.k.a, not the real (French) deal. Plus, when the group gets into a little fracas with those cannibals, Aronnax seems less concerned with getting eaten alive than he is with acting like a good European should:
I could easily have shot this native, within close range, but I believed it better to wait for really hostile behaviour. When dealing with savages, it is better for the Europeans to riposte, rather than attack first. (1.22.39)
In part, Aronnax's obsessive nationalism is a product of Verne's times. But it also furthers the book's theme of the questionable defensibility of violence; is there any backstory Aronnax could dream up for Nemo that'd justify Nemo's killings? What do you think Aronnax is trying to justify by obsessively focusing on his and others' nationalities?