Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900. When I heard the Learn’d Astronomer

WHEN I heard the learn’d astronomer; When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me; When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them; When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room, How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick; Till rising and gliding out, I wander’d off by myself, In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, Look’d up in perfect silence at the stars.

(I accessed the poem here: http://www.bartleby.com/142/180.html)

-- SherieGertler - 27 Feb 2012

This poem resonates with me as well; thank you for sharing! The speaker’s idea that no words of explanation can adequately capture the stars is reminiscent of Holmes’ contention that certainty in law is generally illusion. Perhaps this astronomer emphasizes the equations and the numbers that inform his understanding of the stars for the same reason that judicial opinions are couched in the language of “logic”: it flatters human longing for certainty and repose. After reading this poem, I would venture to guess that Whitman might agree with Holmes’ assertion that certainty generally is illusion and repose is not the destiny of man. The poem’s speaker ultimately seems to accept that the stars can never be fully understood, and knowledge of them is incomplete by definition, but that silence – no verbal explanation at all – is enough to adequately capture their beauty.

This poem made me think about Holmes’ assertion that rationalizations lie at the heart of many judicial decisions, though they are veiled in the language of “objective” standards, and how Holmes’ contention manifests itself in other contexts.

-- CourtneyDoak - 27 Feb 2012