For an interesting example of the connections between science and public policy, look at the recent efforts to re-categorize the planets, a word that derives from the Ancient Greek term for ‘wanderer.’ The International Astronomical Union met in Prague recently to try and do so. Since 1919, they have been the scientific body charged with astronomical naming. At least two competing options were advanced: one was basically to grant planet status to any object in the solar system that has sufficient gravity to have become spherical. This would expand the ranks of planets to twelve, adding Charon – the moon of Pluto – Ceres – a large asteroid – and a distant object called 2003 UB313. (Mythology appreciators may recall that Ceres is the mother of Persephone, who Pluto kidnapped to the underworld and made his queen.)
The alternative, based on different considerations, strips Pluto of its status as a planet. Along with the other objects listed above, barring Charon which is to remain a moon, it will join the ambiguous category of ‘dwarf planet.’ Unsurprisingly, the director of a NASA robotic mission of Pluto is irked by the change. Naturally, funding and attention find themselves tied to terms and definitions that are often arbitrary. Note the scramble to brand all manner of research ‘nanotechnology’ in hopes of capturing the interest, and cash, that is attaching itself to that branch of science. The connection between attention paid to scientific developments and arbitrary phenomenon seems especially important in terms of the way in which the general public is exposed to scientific developments. Remember all the media flurry about the race of ‘hobbit’ proto-humans (Homo floresiensis)? How much less attention would there have been if a certain series of films hadn’t been recently made? Consider also the increased attention paid to climate change in the United States after Hurricane Katrina: an event that it is essentially impossible to definitively attribute to changes in the composition of the atmosphere and attendant climatic shifts.
For all the kerfuffle, there is obviously nothing about the solar system itself that has changed. Why, then, do people care so much? Partly, I suspect it has to do with simple familiarity. Just as it famously discomfited Einstein to be presented with the possibility that the universe is governed by chance at small scales, the idea that the millions of wall-charts in science classrooms everywhere depicting the nine planet solar system are, in some sense, ‘wrong’ may upset others. The solar system, as portrayed in everything from Scientific American to the Magic School Bus series, was a familiar model. That is not, in and of itself, a reason for preserving it. At the same time, I fail to see why this change is being granted such attention.
One other explanation that comes to mind has to do with the way in which many people relate to science: as a set of particular facts in which they have been educated and which they are to remember. All the discussion of having to change mnemonic devices by which the names and sequence of planets are remembered relates to that. Such a stripped-down conception of science doesn’t leave people with much scope for critical inquiry – though such an activity may not be of interest. It is troublesome, I suppose, in an age when it is increasingly vital to have a grasp of scientific ideas and developments in order to be an effective participant in a democratic society. The category into which we file one particular lump of rock orbiting the sun every 250 years doesn’t have such importance.
The way people have been anthropomorphizing the issue strikes me as really odd. People stepping up to ‘defend’ Pluto from cruel astronomers who are ‘demoting’ it suggests that there is some emotional motivation behind the classification. Of course, there is no reason why it is ‘better’ or ‘worse’ for a lump of rock to be one thing or another, in and of itself. It may change of behaviour towards the object in question – think of discussions about whether humans are ‘animals’ or not – but it is quite nonsensical to think of the lump itself having a preference. Owen Gingerich, the head of the committee that came up with the new definition, had a much more comprehensible comment: “We are an expensive science, and if we don’t have public support, we are not going to be able to do our work.” Ah, the politics of science.
