Make Pluto Great Again: Restoring Pluto’s Planet Status by Executive Order

Pluto was a planet, is a planet, and should once again be recognized as a planet. This is not sentimentality masquerading as science. It is a correction long overdue for a demotion steeped in procedural absurdity and definitional incoherence. The International Astronomical Union’s 2006 decision to strip Pluto of planetary status did not reflect a robust consensus of scientific reasoning but rather a last-minute procedural hijack, wherein a handful of astronomers rewrote the cosmos while most of their colleagues were already boarding planes home. In light of William Shatner's recent post on X calling on President Trump to issue an executive order restoring Pluto's planetary status, the case for executive action is now not only scientifically justified but politically urgent. President Trump should act. He should sign that order. It would be a moment of presidential leadership where reason, public interest, and scientific clarity converge.

What happened in Prague in 2006 was not science. It was theater.

Of the roughly 10,000 astronomers who held membership in the IAU, only 424 were present for the decisive vote. That is less than 5 percent. The vote was held on the final day of a 10-day conference, a timing that virtually guaranteed low turnout. The earlier, more inclusive proposal, which would have preserved Pluto’s planetary dignity, was jettisoned after a vocal faction of dynamicists, those preoccupied with orbital mechanics, rallied to push through a restrictive definition that would exclude Pluto. No electronic voting. No proxy ballots. No record of individual votes. No opportunity for broad input from the full community of planetary scientists. Just a show of hands in a nearly empty room.

Owen Gingerich, the Harvard astronomer who chaired the original definition committee, has described the process as hijacked. Alan Stern, the principal investigator of NASA’s New Horizons mission to Pluto, has been more blunt: he called it idiotic. Science, he rightly notes, is not a popularity contest. It is not decided by raising hands in a conference room. And it certainly should not be dictated by a minority cabal of orbital purists who view the planets as a celestial club with velvet ropes.

But even if we set aside the procedural travesty, the substance of the IAU’s planetary definition crumbles under scrutiny. Their definition requires that a planet must (a) orbit the Sun, (b) be massive enough for its own gravity to pull it into a nearly round shape, and (c) have "cleared the neighborhood" around its orbit. It is this third requirement that functions as the noose around Pluto’s neck. But as any honest astronomer will admit, it is a deeply flawed criterion.

Consider Earth. Our planet shares its orbital space with thousands of near-Earth asteroids. Jupiter plays host to its own family of Trojan asteroids, stubbornly trailing and leading it along its solar journey. Neptune, whose orbit overlaps Pluto’s, is hardly the paradigm of cosmic tidiness. By the IAU’s own logic, these planets too have not cleared their neighborhoods. Alan Stern points out that if you took Earth and placed it where Pluto resides, it too would fail the IAU’s test. In Stern’s words, “Any definition that produces a result where Earth is not a planet is immediately indicted as ridiculous.”

More compelling is the proposal by Stern and others for a geophysical definition of planet, one rooted not in orbital context but in intrinsic properties. A planet, by this standard, is a celestial body that is not undergoing nuclear fusion and is large enough for its gravity to shape it into a sphere. This definition includes Pluto. It also includes Earth, Mars, and even some moons. It is based on what the object is, not what it happens to be near. As planetary scientist Philip Metzger observed, the IAU chose to define planets not by their geologic complexity or capacity to host dynamic processes, but by criteria better suited to astrologers than geologists.

Pluto has a heart-shaped glacier. It has a nitrogen atmosphere and active geology. Its surface reveals flowing ices, layered terrain, and seasonal variations. It has five moons. It may even harbor a subsurface ocean. In short, it is a world, with complexity and character that rival any in our solar system. If such a body is not a planet, then the term has lost all scientific usefulness.

Which brings us to the matter of public meaning. Science, for all its rigor, does not exist in a vacuum. When the public asks, "Is Pluto a planet?" they are not inquiring about the eccentricities of orbital resonance. They want to know whether it is a world, like Earth or Mars, or a leftover pebble on the outskirts of the solar system. The IAU, in its bureaucratic opacity, chose to sacrifice clarity and public engagement at the altar of categorical purism.

William Shatner, a cultural emissary of space if ever there was one, understands this. When Pluto's new moon was discovered in 2013, Shatner rallied fans to name it "Vulcan" after Mr. Spock’s mythical homeworld. Vulcan won the public vote handily. The IAU ignored the result. They opted instead for Kerberos and Styx, citing thematic consistency with Pluto's underworld motif and prior astronomical uses of the name "Vulcan" for a non-existent inner planet. But this is precisely the point. The IAU, when confronted with overwhelming public interest, chose again to retreat into procedural technicalities. To the layperson, and many scientists, it smacked of tone-deafness and intellectual snobbery.

Indeed, even within the scientific community, the IAU's decision has never enjoyed durable legitimacy. Over 300 planetary scientists signed a petition rejecting the definition outright. Conferences such as the 2008 "Great Planet Debate" revisited the criteria. NASA officials, including former Administrator Jim Bridenstine, have openly referred to Pluto as a planet. The resistance has not waned. It has matured.

President Trump, who has long understood the power of symbols, should issue an executive order recognizing Pluto as a planet in US educational, governmental, and scientific communications. He should do this not merely to honor William Shatner's call, but to restore clarity, correct an injustice, and demonstrate that scientific classification, like language itself, must serve the public good and not ossify into priestly decree. Such an order would be both symbolic and significant. It would affirm that in the United States, scientific definitions must be rational, transparent, and responsive to empirical and public reasoning.

Critics may argue that presidents ought not interfere with scientific matters. But this misunderstands the nature of classification. Definitions are human constructs. They are not immutable laws of physics. They reflect priorities, assumptions, and perspectives. When a definition fails, when it excludes Earth by implication, when it ignores Pluto’s grandeur, when it dismisses public interest, it deserves to be replaced. Presidents shape such definitions all the time, whether through funding priorities, public messaging, or the standards taught in schools.

Besides, the executive branch already speaks with authority on matters scientific. The White House publishes policy on space exploration, regulates satellite licensing, and oversees NASA. If the IAU may hold a vote of 424 to redefine the heavens, then the President of the United States, elected by over 150 million citizens, may rightly issue a clarification that Pluto is a planet. It need not bind the international community. But it would bind our national imagination, and that is no small thing.

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