This is a translation of my original French version.
Some phrasing may sound imperfect.
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To measure is to compare. We compare a length to another length chosen as a reference, or a time interval to a regular, stable rhythm. The meter, the second, the kilometer, or the year are remarkably effective tools in everyday life. They were born at our scale — that of human beings living on the surface of a planet.
The problem begins as soon as we look up.
Very quickly, astronomical distances disrupt our habits. Saying that the Moon is about 384,000 km away is still understandable: it is “only” a few hundred thousand kilometers. But when we start expressing the distance to the Sun, and then the distances between the planets, the numbers stretch out, zeros pile up (Figure 1), intuition fades, and our mental picture dissolves. The numbers remain exact, of course, but they lose their meaning. The limit is not mathematical — it is cognitive.
The kilometer works as long as distances remain comparable to what we can travel on Earth. At the scale of the Solar System, it quickly becomes unsuitable.
Figure 1 — Average distances of the planets from the Sun.
The first thing we can do to regain meaning is to change our reference scale. Instead of relying on a unit calibrated for everyday life, we adopt a distance that naturally structures the Solar System: the distance between Earth and the Sun. This gives rise to the astronomical unit (au).
With this unit, reading distances becomes immediately simpler. Earth is 1 au from the Sun, Jupiter a little over 5 au, Neptune about 30 au (Figure 2).
The numbers become modest again, the ratios more intuitive, and the structure of the Solar System can almost be grasped at a glance. We are no longer dealing with kilometers, but with a unit adapted to the scale of planetary systems — one that brings distances back to manageable and coherent orders of magnitude.
But as soon as we change scale again, it too becomes unsuitable. Expressing the distance to the nearest star in astronomical units means stacking hundreds of thousands of them. The numbers grow large again and become difficult to grasp.
This is where a unit appears that, for many people, marks a real conceptual shift: the light-year. Its definition is deceptively simple. It is the distance light travels in vacuum in one year. Nothing more, nothing less.
This definition relies on a fundamental constant of space-time: the speed of light in vacuum, fixed at exactly 299,792,458 meters per second. In one year at that speed, light travels about 9.46 trillion kilometers. A staggering, almost abstract number, far beyond any intuitive sense of distance. The light-year helps us avoid that problem.
Its success comes from a powerful idea: to look far away is to look into the past. A star located one hundred light-years away is seen as it was a century ago. Distance gains a temporal dimension, changing the way we think about the Universe. This link between distance and the time when the light was emitted is extremely useful for building intuition, which explains why the light-year remains deeply rooted in everyday language.
But that strength is also its limitation. It works very well for storytelling and for giving a broad sense of stellar scales. However, it has no direct connection to how the distance was actually measured. It says nothing about the reasoning or the geometric framework that links observation to distance.
There is finally another way to estimate distances in astronomy, based not on geometry but on the light spectrum of objects: redshift.
This approach comes into play at scales where direct measurement gives way to cosmological interpretation. It relies on tools and models that go beyond the usual scope of amateur astronomy.
The principle is based on the redshift of light. When a galaxy moves away from us due to the expansion of the Universe, the spectral lines of its light shift toward longer wavelengths — toward the red. This shift, noted z, can be measured and related to what is called a cosmological distance.
In this framework, distance is no longer inferred from an angle, as in parallax, nor from intrinsic brightness, but from a global effect tied to the dynamics of space itself. On large scales, the farther a galaxy is, the greater its redshift. This relationship is one of the observational foundations of modern cosmology.
However, this approach relies on a set of assumptions: a model of cosmic expansion, precise cosmological parameters, and a rigorous interpretation of spectra. It is only truly meaningful at very large distances, far beyond our galactic neighborhood. For nearby stars and galaxies, redshift is too small — or dominated by their own motions — to provide useful distance information.
Redshift therefore marks a conceptual boundary. It is no longer used simply to estimate distance, but to describe the structure and evolution of the Universe as a whole. While marginal in amateur practice, it completes the range of tools used to describe distances on cosmological scales.
This point is essential: a unit is never neutral. It is not just a conversion factor. It shapes the way we think.
Astronomers do not change units for style. They do so because each field of study has its own natural scale. Describing the Solar System in kilometers, the Galaxy in astronomical units, or the observable Universe in light-years is not wrong — but it obscures the orders of magnitude involved, just as one would not give the size of a bacterium in kilometers.
Planetary orbits, galactic structure, and cosmology do not rely on the same phenomena or the same measurement methods. Using the right unit means adopting the right descriptive framework.
For the informed amateur, understanding this is more than intellectual comfort. It is a key to interpretation. It allows one to decode the numbers in a scientific paper, to make sense of distances listed in a catalog, and to place one’s own observations within a coherent framework.
Measuring the Universe is not simply about accumulating ever larger numbers. It means accepting that our human reference points have limits, and learning to think differently when the scale demands it. Astronomical units are not technical curiosities — they are milestones in an intellectual journey, from our planet to the edges of the cosmos.
Hubble Ultra Deep Field — A small region of the sky containing several thousand galaxies, some observed as they were more than 13 billion years ago.
Credit: NASA, ESA, STScI