One night in 1986 I stepped into the bed of my pickup (where I’d be safe from any critters) and pointed my World War II-era binoculars to a spot in the sky that promised a view of Halley’s Comet. That floating fuzzball sent my heart soaring. It was, in every way, as predicted. And, I remember how I struggled to comprehend how scientists were able to pinpoint its arrival and its path with such precision. Seeing this four billion-year-old comet that had formed right alongside the Sun and planets so long ago left me awestruck.
It seemed to me that if we could predict when and where this ancient 9-mile by 5-mile chunk of ice and dust would speed past us there was absolutely nothing that could not be explained or plotted. Everything was ordered, like the seasons and like all of the rites of passage that gave shape and color to our lives.
I came to believe in the beneficence of order, of structure and routine especially when, as a social worker, I learned how much disorder affected the lives of children, and how societal dysfunction imperiled all of us.
So, a lifelong philosophy was born. I would find purpose and design in everything because at least for me, the alternative—chaos—didn’t jibe with the genius of science, with hope-filled imagination and with the interconnectedness of compassion. OK, you can call me idealistic.
Still, it worked out for me in many ways. That I have found endless clues that life on Earth and events far off in space mimic each other has helped to sustain me. It all started that night with Halley’s Comet and it has continued with countless other phenomena and too-numerous-to-recall moments— both happy and sad—that have fit snugly into a pattern. Until now.
This past July, the Asteroid Terrestrial-Impact Last Alert System (ATLAS) network of telescopes discovered an object that blew up my theory about chaos and order. Subsequent observations confirmed that a never-seen-before comet had come from outside our solar system. It was not, therefore, like Halley’s Comet and all the others that have been catalogued over the centuries. This one didn’t orbit the sun in a well-established manner. In fact, no one knows where it originated or where it will end up.
The only thing we do know is that once it leaves our solar system, it will not come back. It is the third known object that has entered our neighborhood from interstellar space, hence the name: Comet 3I (interstellar)/ATLAS.
Incredibly, 3I/ATLAS has been tracked so well that we have learned much about it. It will reach its closest distance to Earth on December 19 where, even from there, it will pose no threat to us. We know that it is probably about 7 billion years old, meaning it was on the move billions of years before the Sun emitted its first light. We’ve watched it pass Mars, disappear behind the Sun and expect it to zoom past Jupiter on its way to other parts of our galaxy. It is much smaller than Halley but faster, hustling along at 130,000 mph. At that speed, if things were a bit different and it was on a collision course with us, and if we could not alter that course with any of our advanced technology, the damage to our planet would be unfathomable. It is just luck after-all, just randomness, that has allowed Comet 3I/ATLAS to not destroy us. That’s chaos.
That is why my philosophy has changed. I suppose it should have always been obvious to me that chaos is, indeed, inherent. And, because it is, so much of everyday life is geared to try to thwart it, to push back against it.
Most interesting, though, is its innocence. It’s just nature. It’s just a rogue comet hurtling along without any realization of the power it possesses, like a lightning bolt striking an innocent looking for shelter.
Understanding and accepting this isn’t depressing at all. It’s liberating. It helps me to zero in on the question of a lifetime. In the midst of all of the obvious chaos in the heavens and on Earth, does it matter what we do when we fully come to grips with something so overwhelming?
That we keep asking the question provides the answer, for as long as we continue to ask, at the very least, we must still believe that we just might belong, that our role in all of it has meaning, even when chaos weighs heavily against us.
Harold Meckler can be contacted at byaakov54@gmail.com