Since humans first gazed upwards, the celestial tapestry has been a canvas for our stories, our fears, and our aspirations. We are pattern-seeking creatures, and in the pinpricks of light against the velvet dark, we saw heroes, beasts, and gods. This ancient tradition of imbuing the cosmos with meaning continues today, albeit in a more structured fashion, as we extend our reach and our understanding to other worlds. The naming of features on planets like Mars and Venus, and on our own Moon, is far from a dry, academic exercise. Instead, it’s a vibrant intersection of science, history, and, most compellingly, mythology.
The International Astronomical Union, or IAU, stands as the globally recognized authority for assigning official names to celestial bodies and their diverse surface features. This pivotal organization establishes clear, thematic conventions, often drawing inspiration from global mythology, significant historical figures, and scientific achievements. These naming frameworks ensure a consistent, meaningful, and culturally rich approach to cosmic cartography, helping humanity connect with these distant worlds.
This act of naming is profoundly human. It’s a way to make the alien familiar, to map not just terrain but also our own cultural narratives onto new frontiers. When we look at a feature on Mars called Ares Vallis, we’re not just seeing a channel carved by ancient floods; we’re also tapping into millennia of stories about the Greek god of war, a figure whose Roman counterpart gives the planet its very name.
Mars: The Red Echoes of Conflict and Discovery
Mars, the ruddy wanderer of our night sky, has long been associated with conflict and vitality, thanks to its distinctive color reminiscent of blood. The Romans named it after their god of war, and this martial theme, while not exclusively dictating every feature name, certainly set an atmospheric precedent. Early telescopic observers, like Giovanni Schiaparelli in the late 19th century, sketched what he termed canali, Italian for channels. This was famously, and somewhat romantically, mistranslated into English as “canals,” firing the public imagination with visions of engineered Martian waterways and, by extension, Martian engineers.
While the grand canals proved to be optical illusions and geological formations, the allure of Mars as a world with a story remained. Today, the IAU’s naming conventions for Mars are a fascinating blend. Larger craters, those grand scars on the Martian surface, often honor deceased scientists who expanded our understanding of the cosmos, or, in a nod to the planet’s fictional legacy, science fiction writers who have prominently featured Mars in their works. Think of craters named Asimov, Bradbury, or Sagan. This acknowledges the dual role Mars plays in our psyche: a subject of rigorous scientific inquiry and a fertile ground for imaginative storytelling.
Smaller craters, peppered across the landscape, receive names of towns and villages from around Earth with populations under one hundred thousand. This subtly democratizes the Martian landscape, dotting it with familiar terrestrial locales. Valleys, or valles, often take their names from the word for “Mars” or “star” in various ancient and modern languages, or from classical and modern river names, linking the hydrological history of Mars to that of Earth. While specific deities of war don’t populate every feature, the overarching mythological identity of Mars as a bold, dynamic, and somewhat formidable world provides a thematic backdrop to its nomenclature. The names chosen aim to reflect its character as a planet of grand, ancient processes and a beacon for future exploration.
Venus: A World Shrouded in Myth and Named for Goddesses
Venus, our brilliant morning and evening star, is named for the Roman goddess of love, beauty, and fertility. It’s a world perpetually veiled in thick, sulphurous clouds, adding an air of mystery to its divine namesake. Fittingly, the nomenclature of Venus is overwhelmingly, almost exclusively, feminine. It stands as a celestial monument to women, both mythical and real, from across global cultures.
When radar finally pierced Venus’s dense atmosphere in the latter half of the 20th century, revealing its complex and tortured surface, the task of naming its myriad features began. The IAU established a clear and evocative theme: with very few exceptions, features on Venus are named after goddesses or notable women from history and mythology. This decision has resulted in a planetary map that reads like a who’s who of female deities and heroines.
For instance, large impact craters (more than 20 kilometers in diameter) are named for deceased women who have made outstanding or fundamental contributions to their fields. Smaller craters often bear common female first names from various cultures. The distinctive, pancake-like volcanic domes known as farra are named for water goddesses. Coronae, large, crown-like oval features, are named for fertility and earth goddesses. Even the vast plains, or planitiae, are named after mythological heroines. You’ll find names like Lakshmi Planum, named for the Hindu goddess of prosperity, or Guinevere Planitia, after the legendary queen from Arthurian lore.
There is one glaring, and very famous, exception to this female-centric naming: Maxwell Montes, the highest mountain range on Venus. It is named after James Clerk Maxwell, whose work in physics and electromagnetic theory laid the groundwork for the development of radar – the very technology that allowed us to see the surface of Venus. This singular male name serves as a tribute to the science that unveiled the world it sits upon. Otherwise, Venus remains a testament to the power and diversity of female figures in our collective stories, a direct and potent use of mythology in planetary science.
The Moon: Our Ancient Companion, A Cartography of Minds and Maria
Our own Moon, Earth’s constant celestial companion, has a naming history that is both ancient and evolving. Known as Luna to the Romans and Selene to the Greeks, its bright face has inspired poets, lovers, and scientists for millennia. The naming of its features, particularly its craters, has a long tradition rooted in honoring intellectual achievement, while its vast, dark plains – the “maria” or seas – carry names that evoke moods and abstract concepts, often with a poetic, almost mythological resonance.
The system of naming lunar craters largely dates back to 1651, when Italian astronomers Giovanni Battista Riccioli and Francesco Maria Grimaldi published a map of the Moon. They established the convention of naming craters after prominent astronomers, philosophers, and other scholars of the past. This tradition continues under the IAU, with craters typically named for deceased scientists, scholars, artists, and explorers who have made significant contributions to their respective fields or to the exploration of space. Thus, we have craters like Copernicus, Plato, Armstrong, and Curie.
The maria, those dark, basaltic plains easily visible to the naked eye, were once mistakenly thought to be actual seas. Their Latin names reflect this early misconception and often evoke states of mind or weather phenomena. We have Mare Tranquillitatis (Sea of Tranquility), Mare Imbrium (Sea of Showers), Mare Serenitatis (Sea of Serenity), and Oceanus Procellarum (Ocean of Storms). While not directly naming features after specific lunar deities for the most part, these names tap into a more abstract, almost lyrical sensibility that connects with the Moon’s poetic and mythological associations. The feeling of “serenity” or “tranquility” easily aligns with the gentle light of the Moon goddess.
Mountains on the Moon, or montes, are often named after terrestrial mountain ranges (like Montes Alpes or Montes Apenninus) or after nearby prominent craters. Valleys, similarly, often derive their names from adjacent features. The Moon’s nomenclature, therefore, is a rich blend: a celebration of human intellect etched into its craters, and a more atmospheric, evocative naming for its grand plains, all under the silent gaze of a celestial body that has profoundly shaped human culture and mythology.
Ultimately, the way we name features on other worlds tells us as much about ourselves as it does about the planets and moons in question. Mythology provides a deep, shared wellspring of stories and archetypes that resonate across cultures and generations. By inscribing these ancient narratives onto the landscapes of Mars, Venus, and the Moon, we are not just cataloging geography; we are extending our cultural footprint into the cosmos, weaving humanity’s oldest stories into the fabric of new frontiers. It is a testament to the enduring power of myth to help us understand our place in the universe and to make the vastness of space feel a little more like home.
