• Choose a category
• All
• Classic-Fiction

Out of nowhere: “There is so much left in the resolution to common sense that I would propose to drop the entire resolution and leave Footnote One.”

That was just about the best comment of the morning. The astronomer was right: The resolution that came up with a definition was so poorly written and vague that it would have been clearer to simply say what Footnote 1 said: The planets are Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune. Everything else was just an attempt to explain why—and a poor attempt at that.

The commenting went on for another hour before, mercifully, someone called for a vote. Those in favor of Resolution 5A, which would create eight planets and an unspecified number of dwarf planets, were asked to hold a yellow voting card in the air. The room was filled with the color of the sun. There was no need to count. Resolution 5A passed with overwhelming support. Pluto was, correctly, no longer to be classified with the other eight planets. It was a moment that I never thought I would see in my lifetime.

The press in Pasadena were aghast and astounded and excited. They were ready to hit the “send” button to upload their stories.

“No no no, wait!” I told them. There was still Resolution 5B! This was where the conspiracy would happen! This was where the secret committee would subvert the will of the astronomical community! “Wait and watch!” I told them.

We watched. And then the most amazing thing happened. In the still-too-early fog of a not-enough-coffee morning in Pasadena, with the press watching astronomers half a world away, awaiting the secret sign to the pro-Pluto brotherhood to emerge to protect the god of the dead, I saw, instead, the moderator of the meeting stand up and make a few simple statements that put everything in precisely the right place. Where were the conspirators? Where were the daggers? Maybe I was in need of sleep.

Here is what she said:

5B involves inserting one word. Surely not a serious matter. However. For the benefit of non-astronomers present [but, really, isn’t she doing this for the astronomers?], I want to do a bit of teaching, which demonstrates that resolutions are non-linear, and small changes have big effects. Excuse me while I dive under the table. [She pulls out a large beach ball, to represent planets, and a stuffed dog—Pluto!—to represent, well, Pluto.]

At the moment, right now, having passed resolution 5A, we have planets, the eight that are named [points to beach ball], we have dwarf planets [points to stuffed Pluto], and we have small astronomical bodies that are non-spherical. If we reject everything else this afternoon that is what will stand. If, however, we add the word “classical” to this group [beach ball], then we have adjective planets [beach ball], different adjective planets [stuffed dog], and it could be argued that what we are doing is creating an umbrella category called planets under which the classical planets and the dwarf planets fit. And if we do this then that [pulls out umbrella, puts beach ball and stuffed Pluto under it; audience erupts into applause] pertains.

“Who is that?” someone in the press asked me.

The speaker was Jocelyn Bell, who was widely considered to have deserved a Nobel Prize in 1974 for her discovery of pulsars. I didn’t need to speak; I just smiled. No conspiracy was going to happen on her watch. Although I wasn’t sure what the outcome would be, astronomers were going to decide based on knowing exactly what they were voting for.

Only two comments were allowed. The first, in favor of the pro-Pluto resolution, was from the member of the once-secret committee who had called and told me that the committee’s original definition, now dead, had been assured of passing. Wearing a tie with planets on it, standing in front of the auditorium, he looked tense, angry, and maybe a little sad. He made his case:

Using the words “classical planets” is a compromise which allows more than one kind