Who could have guessed that an object nearly three billion miles from earth could be the center of such passionate controversy? Since its discovery in 1930, Pluto was recognized as the ninth planet in our solar system.
This all changed on August 24, 2006. The International Astronomical Union (IAU) codified its definition of a planet, and this excluded Pluto from the brotherhood of planets. In the twinkling of an eye, Pluto became a dwarf planet—reducing our solar system to eight full-grown planets.
Pluto’s new status caused furious debate in scholarly circles, politics, the public square, and even elementary schools. Neil deGrasse Tyson documents the transformation of Pluto in his book The Pluto Files.
Beginning with Percival Lowell’s quest to find “Planet X” in the early 1900s, Pluto has been one of the most beloved astronomical entities in the sky. This became obvious in 2001 when Tyson and his colleagues with the Rose Center for Earth and Space excluded Pluto from an exhibit of our solar system. The New York Times wrote an article with the scandalous front-page headline “Pluto’s Not a Planet? Only in New York.”
The ensuing controversy led to the demotion of Pluto in 2006, and it continues to this very day. Although the IAU classification of Pluto as a dwarf planet remains in tact, the State of New Mexico refuses to acknowledge the change in Pluto’s designation. The state government declared, “Now, therefore, be it resolved by the legislature of the State of New Mexico that, as Pluto passes overhead through New Mexico's excellent night skies, it be declared a planet and that March 13, 2007 be declared ‘Pluto Planet Day’ at the legislature.”
The hullabaloo over Pluto illustrates the power of storytelling. Humanity has the ability to look at the same set of facts and draw varying conclusions. No one has the final say in storytelling, and our narratives remain eternally open to fresh interpretations.
One day Pluto was a planet; the next it wasn’t. Nothing changed but our story, and our stories of Pluto changed as we did over the course of seventy tears.
Pluto existed before 1930, yet its lore influenced only a small group of researchers prior to then. Once we became aware of it, we welcomed it as the ninth planet of our solar system. For several decades we saw it as “one of us.” Maybe it acts a little quirky, has an unusual orbit, and is extremely cold. All of these oddities are endearing—like an eccentric family member.
We loved Pluto so much that in 2006 NASA launched the New Horizons space probe to study Pluto and the surrounding Kuiper belt of trans-Neptunian objects.
Science and the popular imagination were not alone in embracing Pluto. Astrologers have included Pluto in their charts. Before its discovery, it existed, but even star readers remained oblivious. Today, things are different. How can the planets be in alignment if we casually discard Pluto?
Our stories about this ball of ice have shaped the way we interact with one another and with the skies. However, our Pluto narratives have not impacted Pluto itself. We haven’t altered its orbit through our discovery of it. We didn’t change its rotation when we classified Pluto as a planet. Its chemical composition did not transform when we demoted it to dwarf planet status.
Everything we’ve done to and about Pluto is nothing more than tell a story. Pluto is a canvas on which we project something about ourselves. Our narratives about Pluto as a planet, a dwarf planet, a subject for a book, a political football, an astrological force, or a beloved and lonely friend say more about the storytellers than about Pluto.
Discovered toward the end of the tumultuous Modern Age, Pluto took on the mixed characteristics of that time period. It was scientifically studied and classified. At the same time, Pluto was welcomed by us earth dwellers as a planet during a time of deep existential anxiety. People felt themselves to be misunderstood outsiders who longed to be accepted. Pluto fit that mold. It was distant, far out, and unusual—just as so many people felt about themselves and their transforming world.
However the postmodern impulse for deconstruction and declassification entered the astronomical world by the early twenty-first century. Pluto deconstructed became Pluto the dwarf planet. However, the postmodern urge for community decried the exclusion of Pluto from the planet family. To lose Pluto would be to lose something about ourselves.
Today we may be awash in a sea of uncertainty concerning Pluto. Nevertheless, our uncertainty, controversy, and indecision communicate a message about us—not about Pluto. Nothing we say or don’t say about what was (or is) the ninth planet changes it in itself. It continues to revolve around the sun, jutting in and out of Neptune’s orbit as it is circled by its three moons, Charon, Nix, and Hydra.
The fact that we have noticed Pluto, named it, and debated its status so vigorously suggests something about us. We have our reasons for looking into the night sky, calling celestial objects by the names of Greco-Roman deities, and writing books (and essays) about it. Why look up? Why not describe it as nothing more than a distant iceball in space?
Needless to say, the ending of Pluto’s story has not yet been written. As long as people are interested in astronomical objects, Pluto will serve as a mirror reflecting our ever-changing stories.
Pluto’s story illustrates the human creative capacity. Sometimes consciously, sometimes not, we project our stories onto objects exterior to ourselves. Those objects, then, reflect our stories back onto ourselves—like sun light reflected from the moon onto earth. This process creates a feedback loop, and we can discover much about ourselves if we inquire into the loop. The way we read the reflected story is a window into our emotions, thoughts, and suppositions.
As we inquire into our stories, we can discover our perceptions of reality. Once we become aware of our stories, we can consciously exercise our power to refine, transform, and rewrite those stories in ways that can improve our lives, faith, and world.
This is especially important when it comes to our reading of sacred texts. Hans Kung has demonstrated the changing paradigms in Christianity over the past two millennia. Elaine Pagels has shown the variety of ways people read the New Testament in the earliest centuries of Christianity. Even the Apostle Paul’s letters indicate the competing narratives found in the apostolic communities.
In each of these milieus, the Biblical texts have been read with specific assumptions. From Origen to Thomas Aquinas to Luther to John Wesley to Hal Lindsey, each era brought unique suppositions to the same Biblical writings. Subsequently, each person in their own age saw something different in the Bible.
The texts themselves haven’t changed, but the way we look at them has. Few people today read the Bible as Origen did—with rich Alexandrian, Neo-platonic allegories. Dispensational premillennialism could not have been invented without the intense materialism of the nineteenth century.
Today, new readings of the Biblical story are emerging. Scholarship in archaeology, material culture, and anthropology is making discoveries that have changed the landscape of our understanding of the ancient world. Philologists are finding more nuances in literature and the way ancient people used words. Historians are creating a fuller picture of life in Jesus’ day.
This increased knowledge-base contributes to a popular sentiment for discovering a newer yet truer way of reading the message of Christ, the Gospels, and the New Testament. These new ways of reading the Bible reflect our growing awareness of human interconnection, longing for intimacy, and a concern for the earth.
Earlier readings of the story envisioned a special class of people living separate from the rest of humanity until God sent Christ to destroy the world and send most people to an eternal doom. Emerging narratives—like the Transmillennial view—recognize the historically contextual setting of New Testament eschatology, the integral connectedness of a globalized humanity, and the sacredness of the planet.
As in the case of Pluto, the emerging stories face controversy because they differ from the previous hegemonic models. Nevertheless, the ways we read the Biblical story will continue to transform because we continue to transform. This is the blessing of change that we experience through the power and gift of storytelling. You don’t have to blindly accept anyone else’s reading of the text. Neither do you have to assume that anyone is reading the texts in bad faith. We all have the ability to read the story for ourselves, to find and create meaning, and to shape our world.
As you exercise your skill as a storyteller, be aware that your story says something about you. Look into that story, and discover how your story is shaping your life and world. As you engage with others, you will help create new readings that will shape the evolving human story.
Kevin Beck is COO of Presence International and author of This Book Will Change Your World. He is married to Alisa, and they live in Colorado Springs with their three electrifying children.
URL:
http://www.presence.tv/cms/cov_evolving-pluto.php
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