The Odyssey of English: Galaxies named by ancient Greeks
The same night sky shines down on all of us (depending on our precise location), but every culture has developed its own terminology to describe celestial phenomena, and the keenly observant ancient Greeks were no exception. In particular, the Greek word “astēr”, meaning “star”, has been a fruitful source for much English vocabulary about heavenly bodies.
Most obviously, we have “astronomy” and “astrology”. For us today, these are two very different (even mutually hostile) disciplines. The ancient Greek terms “astronomia” and “astrologia”, however, originally meant the same thing, both signifying what we now understand as scientific “astronomy”.
The “-nomia” part suggests an organised system of fixed laws (natural or human), while “-logia” refers to a rational account or explanation of some phenomenon. It was only later that “astrologia” came to refer specifically to the belief in the stars’ mysterious influence on human destiny, i.e. our “astrology” – which modern astronomers would definitely not classify as a “rational account” of the stars.
“Astēr” is more subtly present in the English “planet”, abbreviating the Greek phrase “planētes asteres”, literally “wandering stars”, a reference to the apparently erratic, zigzagging motion of e.g. Mars and Venus (when viewed from earth), as distinct from the main mass of stars, which remain fixed in the night sky (relative to each other).
Another variant was the “komētēs astēr”, “long-haired star”, i.e. “comet”, named for the impression that “the flame flies like hair, as though long tresses were flowing down from someone’s head” (according to the Roman astronomical poet Manilius). Because of their striking appearance and (seemingly) random occurrence, comets were often dreaded in antiquity as omens of disaster.
But in the spirit of true “astronomia”, many ancient thinkers strove to understand this phenomenon rationally and systematically, i.e. scientifically. After exploring various theories, the Roman philosopher Seneca concluded that, on the available evidence, a full explanation for comets was not yet possible.
Nonetheless, he retained his faith in the progress of human knowledge: “The people of a future age will know much that is unknown to us; much is being kept for the generations to come, after memory of us has faded away. The universe is a paltry thing unless it contains something new for every age to discover.”
And Seneca was right. Two thousand years later, we no longer have to fear comets as mysterious, unpredictable, doom-laden portents. Indeed, we can know with certainty that, on December 9 of this year, Halley’s Comet will reach its “aphelion”, its furthest point from the sun.
I was only a child at the last appearance of Halley’s Comet, in 1986. By the time it returns to our neighborhood of the solar system in 2061, I will have joined Seneca among the silent majority of the dead.
But the stars will shine on, whether “long-haired”, fixed, or “wandering”; and beyond our puny individual lifespans, the great adventure of human discovery continues.
As Oscar Wilde put it: “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”
The Odyssey of English is a regular series looking at the Greek and Latin origin of words and is part of the 50th-anniversary celebrations of Massey University’s Classical Studies program.
Jonathan Tracy is a lecturer in the classical studies program at Massey University.