The Sperm Whale's Head: A Contrasting View

Here, now, are two great whales, laying their heads together; let us join them, and lay together our own.

Here are two great whales putting their heads together. Let us join them and put our own heads together.

Of the grand order of folio leviathans, the Sperm Whale and the Right Whale are by far the most noteworthy. They are the only whales regularly hunted by man. To the Nantucketer, they present the two extremes of all the known varieties of the whale. As the external difference between them is mainly observable in their heads; and as a head of each is this moment hanging from the Pequod’s side; and as we may freely go from one to the other, by merely stepping across the deck:—where, I should like to know, will you obtain a better chance to study practical cetology than here?

Of the great order of folio leviathans, the Sperm Whale and the Right Whale are by far the most noteworthy. They are the only whales regularly hunted by people. To a Nantucketer, they represent the two extremes of all known varieties of whale. Their most noticeable outward differences are in their heads. And right now, a head of each kind hangs from the Pequod’s side. We can easily go from one to the other just by crossing the deck. So where, I would like to know, could you find a better chance to study practical cetology than here?

In the first place, you are struck by the general contrast between these heads. Both are massive enough in all conscience; but there is a certain mathematical symmetry in the Sperm Whale’s which the Right Whale’s sadly lacks. There is more character in the Sperm Whale’s head. As you behold it, you involuntarily yield the immense superiority to him, in point of pervading dignity. In the present instance, too, this dignity is heightened by the pepper and salt colour of his head at the summit, giving token of advanced age and large experience. In short, he is what the fishermen technically call a “grey-headed whale.”

First, you notice the striking contrast between these heads. Both are certainly massive, but the Sperm Whale’s head has a mathematical symmetry that the Right Whale’s sadly lacks. The Sperm Whale’s head has more character. When you look at it, you cannot help recognizing its immense superiority in overall dignity. In this case, the salt-and-pepper coloring on top of the Sperm Whale’s head adds to that dignity. It shows that the whale is old and has plenty of experience. In short, he is what fishermen call a “grey-headed whale.”

Let us now note what is least dissimilar in these heads—namely, the two most important organs, the eye and the ear. Far back on the side of the head, and low down, near the angle of either whale’s jaw, if you narrowly search, you will at last see a lashless eye, which you would fancy to be a young colt’s eye; so out of all proportion is it to the magnitude of the head.

Let us now look at what differs least in these heads: the two most important organs, the eye and the ear. If you look closely, you will eventually see an eye without lashes on either whale. It is far back and low down on the side of the head, near the corner of the jaw. You might think it was a young colt’s eye, so small is it compared with the head.

Now, from this peculiar sideway position of the whale’s eyes, it is plain that he can never see an object which is exactly ahead, no more than he can one exactly astern. In a word, the position of the whale’s eyes corresponds to that of a man’s ears; and you may fancy, for yourself, how it would fare with you, did you sideways survey objects through your ears. You would find that you could only command some thirty degrees of vision in advance of the straight side-line of sight; and about thirty more behind it. If your bitterest foe were walking straight towards you, with dagger uplifted in broad day, you would not be able to see him, any more than if he were stealing upon you from behind. In a word, you would have two backs, so to speak; but, at the same time, also, two fronts (side fronts): for what is it that makes the front of a man—what, indeed, but his eyes?

Because a whale’s eyes are on the sides of its head, it plainly cannot see anything directly ahead. Nor can it see anything directly behind. In short, a whale’s eyes are positioned like a man’s ears. Imagine how you would manage if you looked sideways at things through your ears. You would find that you could see only about thirty degrees ahead of your straight sideways line of sight. You could see about thirty degrees behind it, too. Suppose your bitterest enemy walked straight toward you in broad daylight, dagger raised. You would be no more able to see him than if he were sneaking up behind you. In short, you would have two backs, so to speak. But at the same time, you would also have two fronts, one on each side. After all, what makes the front of a man if not his eyes?

Moreover, while in most other animals that I can now think of, the eyes are so planted as imperceptibly to blend their visual power, so as to produce one picture and not two to the brain; the peculiar position of the whale’s eyes, effectually divided as they are by many cubic feet of solid head, which towers between them like a great mountain separating two lakes in valleys; this, of course, must wholly separate the impressions which each independent organ imparts. The whale, therefore, must see one distinct picture on this side, and another distinct picture on that side; while all between must be profound darkness and nothingness to him. Man may, in effect, be said to look out on the world from a sentry-box with two joined sashes for his window. But with the whale, these two sashes are separately inserted, making two distinct windows, but sadly impairing the view. This peculiarity of the whale’s eyes is a thing always to be borne in mind in the fishery; and to be remembered by the reader in some subsequent scenes.

Moreover, in most other animals I can think of, the eyes are positioned so their vision blends imperceptibly. This produces one picture in the brain, not two. But the whale’s eyes are positioned differently. Many cubic feet of solid head separate them, towering between them like a great mountain between two lakes in valleys. This must, of course, completely separate the impressions each eye conveys. The whale must therefore see one distinct picture on one side and another on the other side. Everything between must be, to the whale, utter darkness and nothingness. A person may be said to look out on the world from a sentry box with two joined windowpanes. But the whale’s two panes are set apart, making two separate windows and sadly impairing the view. This peculiarity of the whale’s eyes must always be kept in mind during whaling. The reader should remember it, too, in some scenes to come.

A curious and most puzzling question might be started concerning this visual matter as touching the Leviathan. But I must be content with a hint. So long as a man’s eyes are open in the light, the act of seeing is involuntary; that is, he cannot then help mechanically seeing whatever objects are before him. Nevertheless, any one’s experience will teach him, that though he can take in an undiscriminating sweep of things at one glance, it is quite impossible for him, attentively, and completely, to examine any two things—however large or however small—at one and the same instant of time; never mind if they lie side by side and touch each other. But if you now come to separate these two objects, and surround each by a circle of profound darkness; then, in order to see one of them, in such a manner as to bring your mind to bear on it, the other will be utterly excluded from your contemporary consciousness. How is it, then, with the whale? True, both his eyes, in themselves, must simultaneously act; but is his brain so much more comprehensive, combining, and subtle than man’s, that he can at the same moment of time attentively examine two distinct prospects, one on one side of him, and the other in an exactly opposite direction? If he can, then is it as marvellous a thing in him, as if a man were able simultaneously to go through the demonstrations of two distinct problems in Euclid. Nor, strictly investigated, is there any incongruity in this comparison.

A curious and deeply puzzling question arises about the Leviathan’s vision. But I must be content to offer a hint. As long as a man’s eyes are open in the light, seeing is involuntary. He cannot help seeing whatever objects are in front of him. Yet experience teaches anyone that, though he can take in a whole scene at a glance, he cannot attentively and completely examine two things at exactly the same instant. Their size makes no difference. Nor does it matter if they lie side by side and touch each other. But suppose you separate the two objects and surround each with a circle of profound darkness. To see one of them and focus your mind on it, you must completely exclude the other from your awareness at that moment. How, then, is it with the whale? Both his eyes must indeed work at the same time. But is his brain so much more comprehensive, coordinated, and subtle than a man’s? Can he attentively examine two distinct views at once, one on either side of him, in exactly opposite directions? If he can, that is as marvelous as a man working through the proofs of two distinct problems in Euclid at the same time. Nor, on close examination, is there anything mismatched about this comparison.

It may be but an idle whim, but it has always seemed to me, that the extraordinary vacillations of movement displayed by some whales when beset by three or four boats; the timidity and liability to queer frights, so common to such whales; I think that all this indirectly proceeds from the helpless perplexity of volition, in which their divided and diametrically opposite powers of vision must involve them.

This may be only a fanciful idea, but I have always thought that some whales behave strangely when surrounded by three or four boats. They hesitate wildly in their movements, and they are often timid and easily startled by strange things. I think all of this results indirectly from the helpless confusion they must feel when trying to decide what to do. Their eyes face in opposite directions, and this must leave them confused.

But the ear of the whale is full as curious as the eye. If you are an entire stranger to their race, you might hunt over these two heads for hours, and never discover that organ. The ear has no external leaf whatever; and into the hole itself you can hardly insert a quill, so wondrously minute is it. It is lodged a little behind the eye. With respect to their ears, this important difference is to be observed between the sperm whale and the right. While the ear of the former has an external opening, that of the latter is entirely and evenly covered over with a membrane, so as to be quite imperceptible from without.

But a whale's ear is just as curious as its eye. If you knew nothing about whales, you might search these two heads for hours without ever finding an ear. The ear has no external flap at all. The opening itself is so remarkably tiny that you can hardly insert a quill into it. It lies a little behind the eye. There is an important difference between the ears of sperm whales and right whales. The sperm whale's ear has an external opening. But the right whale's ear is completely and evenly covered by a membrane, making it impossible to see from outside.

Is it not curious, that so vast a being as the whale should see the world through so small an eye, and hear the thunder through an ear which is smaller than a hare’s? But if his eyes were broad as the lens of Herschel’s great telescope; and his ears capacious as the porches of cathedrals; would that make him any longer of sight, or sharper of hearing? Not at all.—Why then do you try to “enlarge” your mind? Subtilize it.

Isn’t it curious that a creature as huge as the whale sees the world through such a small eye? And that he hears thunder through an ear smaller than a hare’s? But suppose his eyes were as wide as the lens of Herschel’s great telescope. Suppose his ears were as roomy as cathedral entrances. Would that let him see farther or hear more sharply? Not at all. Why, then, do you try to “enlarge” your mind? Make it more subtle.

Let us now with whatever levers and steam-engines we have at hand, cant over the sperm whale’s head, that it may lie bottom up; then, ascending by a ladder to the summit, have a peep down the mouth; and were it not that the body is now completely separated from it, with a lantern we might descend into the great Kentucky Mammoth Cave of his stomach. But let us hold on here by this tooth, and look about us where we are. What a really beautiful and chaste-looking mouth! from floor to ceiling, lined, or rather papered with a glistening white membrane, glossy as bridal satins.

Let us use whatever levers and steam engines we have to turn the sperm whale’s head upside down. Then let us climb a ladder to the top and peek down its mouth. If the body were not completely separated from the head, we could take a lantern and descend into its stomach, that great Kentucky Mammoth Cave. But let us hold on to this tooth and look around us. What a beautiful, pure-looking mouth! From floor to ceiling, it is lined, or rather papered, with a glistening white membrane, glossy as bridal satin.

But come out now, and look at this portentous lower jaw, which seems like the long narrow lid of an immense snuff-box, with the hinge at one end, instead of one side. If you pry it up, so as to get it overhead, and expose its rows of teeth, it seems a terrific portcullis; and such, alas! it proves to many a poor wight in the fishery, upon whom these spikes fall with impaling force. But far more terrible is it to behold, when fathoms down in the sea, you see some sulky whale, floating there suspended, with his prodigious jaw, some fifteen feet long, hanging straight down at right-angles with his body, for all the world like a ship’s jib-boom. This whale is not dead; he is only dispirited; out of sorts, perhaps; hypochondriac; and so supine, that the hinges of his jaw have relaxed, leaving him there in that ungainly sort of plight, a reproach to all his tribe, who must, no doubt, imprecate lock-jaws upon him.

But come out now and look at this enormous lower jaw. It looks like the long, narrow lid of a huge snuffbox, hinged at one end instead of along one side. If you pry the jaw up over your head, you expose its rows of teeth. Then it looks like a terrifying portcullis. And, alas, it proves just as deadly to many a poor soul in the whale fishery. Those spikes fall on them with enough force to impale them. But the jaw is far more terrible to see fathoms below the surface. There you may see a sulking whale floating motionless, its enormous jaw hanging straight down at right angles to its body. The jaw is some fifteen feet long and looks for all the world like a ship’s jib-boom. This whale is not dead. It is only discouraged, perhaps out of sorts or a hypochondriac. It is so listless that the hinges of its jaw have gone slack. So it hangs there in that awkward position, a disgrace to all its kind. They must, no doubt, curse it with lockjaw.

In most cases this lower jaw—being easily unhinged by a practised artist—is disengaged and hoisted on deck for the purpose of extracting the ivory teeth, and furnishing a supply of that hard white whalebone with which the fishermen fashion all sorts of curious articles, including canes, umbrella-stocks, and handles to riding-whips.

In most cases, the lower jaw is removed and hoisted onto the deck. A skilled worker can easily unhinge it. The jaw is brought aboard so the ivory teeth can be extracted and the hard white whalebone collected. The fishermen use this whalebone to make all sorts of curious articles, including canes, umbrella handles, and riding whip handles.

With a long, weary hoist the jaw is dragged on board, as if it were an anchor; and when the proper time comes—some few days after the other work—Queequeg, Daggoo, and Tashtego, being all accomplished dentists, are set to drawing teeth. With a keen cutting-spade, Queequeg lances the gums; then the jaw is lashed down to ringbolts, and a tackle being rigged from aloft, they drag out these teeth, as Michigan oxen drag stumps of old oaks out of wild wood lands. There are generally forty-two teeth in all; in old whales, much worn down, but undecayed; nor filled after our artificial fashion. The jaw is afterwards sawn into slabs, and piled away like joists for building houses.

With a long, tiring heave, the jaw is hauled aboard as if it were an anchor. A few days after the other work, the time comes to pull the teeth. Queequeg, Daggoo, and Tashtego, all accomplished dentists, are assigned the job. Queequeg cuts the gums with a sharp cutting spade. Then the jaw is lashed to ringbolts, and a tackle is rigged from above. The men pull out the teeth as Michigan oxen pull old oak stumps from wild woodland. There are generally forty-two teeth in all. In old whales, the teeth are much worn down, but they are not decayed or filled as ours are. Afterward, the jaw is sawed into slabs and stacked like joists for building houses.