We've got it all wrong

From outrage to a rising dawn of realisation – when it comes to the way we name ourselves and our pursuits, Russ Swan thinks scientists have got it all wrong… "Are you an astrologer, then?" I was setting up my modest home-made telescope in the local park, hoping for darker skies than was possible under the sodium streetlights at home, when the question came out of the gloom. "Um, not exactly. But you're welcome to have a look…" It was the sort of sight that I think everybody should experience, now and then. The almost-full moon was lined up with Saturn – certainly the most beautiful object visible in amateur optics. The two were less than a lunar diameter (about half a degree) apart, and comfortably in the same field of view. In one glance, the stark relief of the lunar mountains and the ethereal rings of Saturn were both visible. As a bonus, the pinkish beige disk of Mars was just a few degrees away to the left. My accidental companion didn’t seem all that impressed, but I suppose this sort of thing doesn’t appeal to everybody. I was happy with the sense of big wheels turning in the orrery of our solar system, and with this rather special view from within the mechanism. There is also something quite important about seeing the objects directly, using the Mk I human light detector. Others may take better pictures and share them on the internet, but I caught on my retina the actual photons that had zoomed across the void. Soon enough the moon began to set, and I trudged towards the pub, scoffing to myself at the opening question. Astrologer indeed! There is no place for that meaningless mumbo-jumbo in this highly tuned scientific mind. And then I began to realise that, in fact, it wasn't such a stupid question. We call the science astronomy, implying that it is the activity of naming the heavens – applying the nomy to the astro, if you like. Giving things pretty names is the kind of activity that excites the more spiritual elements of society, while rational scientists like you and me are more interested in applying a bit of learning (logy) instead. We’ve got the names the wrong way round – the science ought to be the ology. It gets worse. I had been out to witness an alignment of heavenly bodies, which is interesting and valuable science (the exact timings of occultations for instance are important for refining our knowledge of positions in space). It’s also exactly the sort of thing the makers-up of horoscopes blether on about. Not only were the thing I thought I was doing and the thing I thought I wasn't doing the result of some separated-at-birth name-swap malarkey, but it turns out I was really doing the thing I thought I wasn't and not so much the thing I thought I was. And don’t even get me started on the concept of an occultation. This was going to take a couple of beers to sort out. The naming of things is important in science, and we spend a lot of time trying to get it right. Considering this, and the fact that some pretty powerful brains apply themselves to the task, it's a bit of a shock to realise how often we get it wrong. Organic chemistry? There's no organism involved – and if there were, wouldn't it be biology rather than chemistry? Consider spectroscopy, or if you prefer spectrometry. Or even spectrography. Dyed-in-the-wool old timers might insist that these are subtly different, that one is a scientific study while the other is a measurement technique and the third a recording process, but in reality they all mean pretty much the same thing. Can you imagine if photographers called themselves photoscopists on Tuesdays and Thursdays, just for fun? We're in good company, at least: the geographers cocked it up big time with Greenland and the Pacific Ocean, both of which positively invite a legal challenge over their inaccuracy. Perhaps science can share with geography the shame for getting the names of the magnetic poles completely, 180 degrees, wrong. In our case, even the name we give ourselves is dubious. It's less than 200 years since the term scientist was coined, and it wasn't immediately popular. It spoke of one who performs science in much the same way that an artist performs art, and was less clumsy than alternatives like natural philosopher or naturforscher (naturalist or nature poker). That first letter 't', though, appears from nowhere. We might all have been sciencists had the mood at the Royal Society swung the other way. Perhaps it’s for the best, and generations of lisping researchers must surely be grateful.