All this is happening above our heads
Constellations, an Invention of Humankind
By Michel Gravereau
Since humankind first appeared on Earth, we have had above our heads this canopy of stars that tirelessly returned, night after night, to the same positions relative to one another. Being able to orient ourselves using these stars became second nature. So, taking seven here, twelve there, and deciding that they represented an object, an animal, or a person in a drawing stemmed from the boundless imagination of Homo sapiens.
Thus, constellations were born.
Therefore, in astronomical terms, while stars, planets, asteroids, quasars, nebulae, comets, etc., truly exist, constellations have no reality. They are simply the grouping of stars by the will of humankind, who lives on this observatory we call Earth.
But if, with a means of transport yet to be invented, we could position ourselves in record time at 90° to the Big Dipper, very far away in space, this constellation would no longer appear to us in its familiar shape of a saucepan.
The stars in the same constellation have no connection to one another. And this opens up the debate, if it were necessary, on everything that alludes to constellations, particularly astrology.
Past civilizations saw mythical figures, deities, or various monsters in them.
Twenty centuries ago, Claudius Ptolemy established the first star catalog: the Almagest. They were divided into 48 constellations, alluding to very ancient names inherited from the Mesopotamians, such as Leo or Cancer, or from the Greeks, who saw in them Orion, the giant, Perseus, the very one who killed the Gorgon Medusa, and Andromeda, who was destined to be sacrificed to the sea monster had Perseus not saved her.
Then came Hevelius and Bayer, two Germans who, in turn, created constellations in the 17th and 18th centuries. A Frenchman, Louis Nicolas de la Caille, a monk living at the Cape of Good Hope, discovered this southern sky, and from 1750 to 1754, he thus imagined 14 new constellations. To name them, he no longer alluded to the mythology dear to the ancients, but the instruments born of the Renaissance took their place in the sky. The Clock, the Rule, the Compass, and even the Pneumatic Engine became celestial markers.
In those days, it was possible to scramble the maps. A very large constellation existed: the Argo, the ship Jason and the Argonauts used to conquer the Golden Fleece.
De la Caille divided it to create three new constellations: Carina, Vela, and Puppis.
It wasn't until 1927 that the International Astronomical Union officially established the names and dimensions of the constellations once and for all.
There are 88 of them: large, medium, and small. Their area is measured in square degrees (°2). One square degree represents four full moons squared in the sky.
The largest is Hydra, at 1,302°2. The smallest is the Southern Cross, at only 68°2. The Virgin Mary takes the silver medal with 1294.2°, and the third place on the podium is occupied by the Big Dipper with 1279.2°.
Thus, since time immemorial, humankind has longed to leave its birthplace to explore beyond the hill, beyond the distant mountains, to sail upon the waters and discover if something else existed beyond the horizon. To find their bearings, to retrace their steps, to return to their village like Ulysses, they entrusted their instincts to the stars to show them the way.
A great GPS before its time, the stars, linked together by human imagination, reign in the sky and enchant our winter nights, like Capella in Auriga and Aldebaran in Taurus, or our summer nights with Vega in Lyra and Deneb in Cygnus.
Learning about the stars and constellations, little by little, with a star chart, just like learning the basics at school, is a pure joy. Watch out for neck strain!
Happy stargazing, everyone.
Past civilizations saw mythical figures, deities, or various monsters in them.
Twenty centuries ago, Claudius Ptolemy established the first star catalog: the Almagest. They were divided into 48 constellations, alluding to very ancient names inherited from the Mesopotamians, such as Leo or Cancer, or from the Greeks, who saw in them Orion, the giant, Perseus, the very one who killed the Gorgon Medusa, and Andromeda, who was destined to be sacrificed to the sea monster had Perseus not saved her.
Then came Hevelius and Bayer, two Germans who, in turn, created constellations in the 17th and 18th centuries. A Frenchman, Louis Nicolas de la Caille, a monk living at the Cape of Good Hope, discovered this southern sky, and from 1750 to 1754, he thus imagined 14 new constellations. To name them, he no longer alluded to the mythology dear to the ancients, but the instruments born of the Renaissance took their place in the sky. The Clock, the Rule, the Compass, and even the Pneumatic Engine became celestial markers.
In those days, it was possible to scramble the maps. A very large constellation existed: the Argo, the ship Jason and the Argonauts used to conquer the Golden Fleece.
De la Caille divided it to create three new constellations: Carina, Vela, and Puppis.
It wasn't until 1927 that the International Astronomical Union officially established the names and dimensions of the constellations once and for all.
There are 88 of them: large, medium, and small. Their area is measured in square degrees (°2). One square degree represents four full moons squared in the sky.
The largest is Hydra, at 1,302°2. The smallest is the Southern Cross, at only 68°2. The Virgin Mary takes the silver medal with 1294.2°, and the third place on the podium is occupied by the Big Dipper with 1279.2°.
Thus, since time immemorial, humankind has longed to leave its birthplace to explore beyond the hill, beyond the distant mountains, to sail upon the waters and discover if something else existed beyond the horizon. To find their bearings, to retrace their steps, to return to their village like Ulysses, they entrusted their instincts to the stars to show them the way.
A great GPS before its time, the stars, linked together by human imagination, reign in the sky and enchant our winter nights, like Capella in Auriga and Aldebaran in Taurus, or our summer nights with Vega in Lyra and Deneb in Cygnus.
Learning about the stars and constellations, little by little, with a star chart, just like learning the basics at school, is a pure joy. Watch out for neck strain!
Happy stargazing, everyone.
