In this book, I have argued that archaeologists tend to view shipwrecks as dead ships, as once active, vibrant things made inert through irreparable bodily harm. Because Western science is a function of Christian theology, even the agnostic archaeologist understands dead ships as awaiting resurrection from the seafloor, which places the scientist in the position of the savior. In the Early Modern period, ships embodied Christ while enacting imperial and colonizing missions, and for these vessels to succumb to degradation at the hands of demonic waters is an affront to the scientist, whose credo—even subconsciously—remains in keeping with the Christian theological emphases on salvation and the restoration of Edenic utopia. I see this approach as problematic in its paternalism and its insistence on intervention, both of which seem to be an effort to mimic the god that has risen to power in the West and, by extension, around the globe. Most deleterious is that the motives underlying these paternalistic interventions derive from the Abrahamic tradition that there is an ontological hierarchy with humans—made in imago dei—at the peak, lording over all other entities beneath them, down the scala naturae into devilish, microbial waters with their lowly fish and kelp and corals. From our collective view in the ecocidal Anthropocene, the violent severance and elevation of human culture from everything else on Earth has the consequence of extinction for everyone populating that supposed chain of being. As an alternative to the Abrahamic approach to the scientific study of wreckage, this book would like to offer a more anarchic variation—hauntography or something like it—that embraces others as kin and that regards with a sense of wonder the finitude of materiality.