“I’m trying to imagine what it would be like going through life not knowing the names of the plants and animals around you,” writes Dr. Robin Wall Kimmerer in Braiding Sweetgrass. “I think it would be a little scary and disorienting—like being lost in a foreign city where you can’t read the street signs.”
Scientists give every living being a two-part name: genus and species. This system is called “binomial nomenclature.” Each name tells a story, sometimes about the organisms themselves and sometimes about the way we have come to understand them.
Scientific names often describe an organism using familiar root words. Take Marmota flaviventris, for example. Marmota derives from a Latin term meaning “mountain mouse”. The genus tells us that it’s closely related to all other Marmota species. The prefix flavi- means “yellow”, and -ventris refers to the belly. Put together, we have an apt name for a yellow-bellied marmot.
See if you can use your knowledge of language to identify these species!
Populus tremuloides Hint: Its common name also refers to its trembling with a synonym.
Castor canadensis Hint: The genus name is also its name en español.
Antilocapra americana Hint: Despite the similar-sounding name, their relation to the African plains animals is as distant as their relation to whales.
The scientific name Marmota flaviventris refers to the animal’s yellow belly.
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Sometimes species are named after scientists, usually with a science-y “i” added. There are at least 30 organisms in different genera with the species name darwini. It’s a cool legacy, particularly for less famous scientists whose eternal glory is to be memorialized within the binomial of, say, an extinct moth or obscure deep-sea yeast.
What happens when we’re wrong? Or when there’s discourse over how to categorize this complex web of life? Scientific names can and do change when new evidence emerges. Sometimes it takes a while–you’ll find Northern Leopard Frogs described as Rana/Lithobates pipiens while herpetologists hotly debate which genus better describes them.
Regardless of such disagreements, binomial nomenclature allows people across the world and many languages to communicate without confusion. It also helps you get the search results you wanted for the gluttonous Gulo gulo instead of a shirtless Hugh Jackman with claws.
Of course, it doesn’t always work like that. A search for Han solo will yield lots of results about the Millennium Falcon captain, not so much the extinct trilobite named after him.
Named after a famous character? Why, yes! Although scientific names are casually referred to as “Latin names”, that is, ironically, a misnomer. Many have Latin origins, but there is no etymological requirement. They can originate from any language, or no language at all.
In fact, scientists are a bunch of goofballs who have named organisms Dracorex hogwartsia (a dinosaur), Ba humbugi (a snail), and Spongiforma squarepantsii (a fungus). There’s a genus of lizards called Smaug and a genus of tiny sea snails called Ittibittium. Other silly names abound, and I love coming across them. They serve as a reminder that science isn’t a solemn pursuit of unchanging knowledge; it’s a dynamic way for humans to understand the world, and it blends easily with other ways of understanding such as art, culture, and language.
Binomial nomenclature undoubtedly serves an important purpose, enabling clear communication and holding scientific knowledge. But ultimately, it is just one way to talk about our neighbors. Take the time to know organisms intimately and you’ll see why every one carries many names. In Gathering Moss, Dr. Kimmerer writes, “The name on our lips reveals the knowledge we have of each other… Outside the circle, scientific names…may suffice, but within the circle, what do they call themselves?”
Lydia Delehanty is the After-School Programs Manager at Walking Mountains. She is a member of the species Homo sapiens.
