The Power of Misnaming the Universe [edit]
From telescopes to exoplanets, astronomers have a history of tagging ridiculous names to incredible things.
Apollo 11, 1969. Neil Armstrong and Edwin “Buzz” Aldrin deployed the American flag onto the moon’s surface on live television broadcasts worldwide. It wasn’t a special flag.
“[NASA] literally sent out a secretary to the nearby Sears and bought an off-the-shelf flag and modified it,” states Robert Pearlman, an expert on space history.
The United Nation’s Outer Space Treaty from 1966 outlined that no nation could claim sovereignty over celestial objects; they are free to explore for all humans. NASA mentioned that the flag deployment was for symbolic purposes only, but it still showcased ownership, a reminder that our mission to the moon was America’s.
Nowadays, the question of how one claims ownership in space leads to a common denominator: names. Naming the universe and its stellar features is not as easy as coming up with a “good” name. So far, “good” names isolate much of the world and focus only on space-bound nations or cultures they appear to appreciate the most (cough, cough, Greek and Roman). A simple name can also do more harm than good, serving as a potential excuse for not giving all voices a chance to participate in our space age. There remains a tremendous problem in how astronomers go about naming things, and we must choose our names wisely because we only get one chance of scribing our legacy onto the cosmos.
You might have heard of the James Webb Space Telescope. If you keep seeing high-resolution images of nebulae (those colorful clouds in space) on your Twitter feed, you might have already seen some of the telescope’s breathtaking work. The world’s most powerful telescope is no small feat, and it begs the question of why we named it the James Webb Space Telescope.
Neither a scientist nor an engineer, Webb was a manager, attorney, and businessman by the time President John Kennedy advocated him for NASA Administrator in 1961. Considering Webb’s unique background, he was reluctant to take on the job, but his vision for NASA during the Apollo program set the decade with unmatched space research. He even created the NASA University Program, which brought a new stream of resources for space research in academia.
That’s not to say he was perfect. Recent allegations claim that Webb was complicit in the discrimination of LGBTQ employees during his time at NASA and, before then, at the US Department of State. For starters, Webb passed a memo on “the problem of homosexuals and sex perverts in the Department of State.” Then, he did not act on the unlawful firing of Clifford Norton from NASA for “immoral, indecent, and disgraceful conduct” of sexual advances toward another man. At the very least, Webb was complicit. Despite what has come up, the name of the James Webb Space Telescope remains a settled case.
It’s a grainy pill to swallow and hence is a prime example of why naming anything, let alone a breakthrough technology in astronomy, after a human is downright faulty. We can acknowledge Webb’s many achievements for NASA, but no accomplishment is worth turning a blind eye to underlying issues. Now, every new photo of nebulae, planets, and anything else out of this world will have a stamp of Webb’s name on it. His continuing legacy in astronomy reveals a fatal flaw in what we deem worthy of what to call the wonders of the cosmos.
I have spotted two areas where astronomers have fallen into the trap of exclusive, boring, and insufficient names. However, hope is on the horizon for a cooperative and inclusive naming procedure.
The Failed Attempt of Using Mythology
Consider the planets in our solar system. What do the names Neptune, Jupiter, and Mars all have in common? They come from Greco-Roman mythology, and since the planets were already associated with these names, that’s the convention that the International Astronomical Union (IAU) kept. Established in 1919, the IAU represents a worldwide society of professional astronomers who oversee the naming of celestial objects. Comets get a name, stars get a name, and even satellites in our solar system get a name. The IAU held on to the Greco-Roman precedent with good faith. Jupiter’s satellites started with Zeus’s/Jupiter’s lovers and favorites; then, it threaded into Zeus’ descendants. For Saturn, his rocky friends in orbit have been named Greco-Roman Titans, their descendants, Giants and the Roman god of the beginning.
These names are more relevant to English and other Latin-derivative languages. The IAU does not see itself as the police for upholding Greco-Roman names for every language, so some nations take on different meanings for what to call celestial objects. Even then, recognizing other cultures in the same language introduces a much-needed diversity; the IAU has overlooked many cultures for the dominant Greco-Roman mythology. It wasn’t completely blind to this fact and has since used names from international mythologies (so far Gallic, Inuit, and Norse). Greco-Roman mythology is still running strong, however. NASA’s Artemis mission comes from Apollo’s twin sister: the goddess of the moon. Whether it is out of nostalgia or the complete convenience of sticking to what they know best, astronomers cannot resist Greco-Roman mythology, like the Earth cannot escape the sun’s pull. Get too close, and we all burn. Greco-Roman culture is no more classic than the other cultures of the Earth, so it is time for astronomers to be more intentional in exploring representative alternatives.
Simplicity is Complicity
When naming observational equipment, astronomers practically threw in the towel. The European Southern Observatory (ESO) has a flagship facility for European-based astronomy that houses one of the world’s most advanced optical telescopes. Their facility consists of four Unit Telescopes and four portable Auxiliary Telescopes. Together, the telescopes liken to an interferometer, using the interference between each telescope to gather a precise observation. The name ESO chose for this powerhouse is…the Very Large Telescope (VLT).
The name Very Large Telescope isn’t going anywhere, but there was still hope for the Unit Telescopes, which were called UT1 to UT4. In March 1999, before any of the telescopes were operational, ESO chose four meaningful names from the Mapuche (Mapudungun) language to designate to the Unit Telescopes. This indigenous population resides south of the Bio Bio river, some 1800 kilometers along the strip of Chile where the VLT operates. ESO would later set out an essay contest among schoolchildren of the Chilean II Region to draw implications for the new names. The unanimous winning entry went to 17-year-old Jorssy Albanez Castilla from Chuquicamata; her and many others’ contributions in providing the new name and cultural context of the telescopes show how science and cultural identity can mix into a beautiful harmony of histories. Telescopes UT1 to UT4 are now known, respectively, as Antu (the Sun), Kueyen (The Moon ), Melipal (The Southern Cross ), and Yepun (Venus — as the evening star).
If ESO had kept their VLT under simple names, they would be stripping away recognition of the people from the land they so chose to build their telescope. Many telescopes find their way to Chile because of its clear view into outer space with little pollution to interfere the telescopes. In these cases, science typically trots a fine line between the ethical and insidious. The least ESO could do was allow the Mapuche people to have a say in what to call the telescopes, to give them their stamp on Europe’s mark on their land.
Currently, the successor to the VLT is in construction. ESO deems it the Extremely Large Telescope, and I’m afraid they are running out of degree adverbs. At one point, even NASA couldn’t resist the urge to be simple; the Hubble Space Telescope was initially the Large Space Telescope. ESO’s precedent with the VLT offers an avenue for providing telescopes with meaningful and appropriate names based on where they take up space. Future telescopes should honor this model and give the power of naming to the indigenous population that must live with the aftereffects of science infiltrating their land.
The Promising Option of Leaving It to the People
Scientific names for most celestial objects are bland. They usually include a mix of letters followed by a list of numbers. You have probably not heard of planet 134340, but you know Pluto (plot twist, they are the same). Just 30 years ago, astronomers discovered the first exoplanets. Now, their tally is upward of five thousand, and out of the global interest in astronomy, the IAU held a naming contest to stamp our cultures and stories onto these stars and planets. The first NameExoWorlds competition started in 2015 and named 19 ExoWorlds (14 stars and 31 exoplanets orbiting them) with over half a million votes from 182 countries and territories. In another contest four years later, the IAU offered every country the chance to name one planetary system, consisting of an exoplanet and its host star. Over 780,000 people directly participated in the contest through national campaigns across 112 countries.
The excitement of seeding culture into outer space extends to us at this very moment. NameExoWorlds 2022 is officially underway; you (yes, you!) can participate in the competition by finding a team of members from various backgrounds in astronomy. The steps are as easy as creating a name and providing cultural context. If you need inspiration, take it from Valerie Ambroise, who named NASA’s Mars rover Sojourner in memory of Sojourner Truth, an African American reformist who fought for civil and women’s rights.
Just like incorporating international mythologies, expanding our celestial dichotomy to that of the world and its rich histories makes naming the universe a global bonding adventure. See, we don’t have to go about stabbing $6 flags into the moon’s surface; exploring space is nothing like exploring the Earth. We can all investigate the cosmos together, one name at a time.
