We may never solve the existential three-body problem — but we move within it, adapt to it, and sometimes glimpse moments of resonance.
Arun Kumar + AI: The Three Body-Problem of Existence
Summary: The three-body problem in physics reveals the chaotic dance of celestial bodies, defying precise prediction of their future trajectories. This essay draws a powerful parallel between that scientific dilemma and the human struggle to reconcile existence, mortality, and meaning.
Imagine you’re watching the night sky, and you see three celestial bodies — perhaps two orbiting each other closely, and a third one weaving around the pair in some complex dance. You wonder: can we predict how they’ll move far into the future?
That question — simple to ask, devilishly hard to answer — is the essence of the three-body problem.
At its core, the three-body problem is a puzzle of physics and mathematics. It asks: given the initial positions, velocities, and masses of three objects interacting only through gravity, can we calculate their future motion?
You might think: surely we can! Newton’s laws would be up for the task, right? And for two objects — like Earth orbiting the Sun — that’s true. In the two-body problem, you get clean, predictable orbits: circles, ellipses, or precise spirals. Everything works like clockwork.
But the moment you add a third body — say, toss in the Moon or another star — the clock breaks.
Suddenly, the system becomes chaotic. The paths twist and loop in unpredictable ways. A planet might slingshot wildly, orbit for a while, then escape — or crash into a star. The key is this: there’s no general formula — no neat equation — that can describe the exact motion of all three over time.
When three bodies tug on each other with gravity, each one’s path depends on the pull from the other two — and that pull keeps changing as their positions shift. Mathematics becomes a feedback loop tangled in time.
Unlike the two-body case, which you can solve on paper, the three-body problem usually requires numerical simulations — computers crunching numbers step by step. Even then, a tiny error in the starting positions can lead to wildly different outcomes. This sensitivity to initial conditions is the hallmark of chaos (and also governs the intractability of weather predictions for longer leads).
Yet, despite this unpredictability, some rare, symmetrical solutions do exist — called Lagrange points — where bodies can stay in stable formations. Today, we park space telescopes at such points.
So, that is the intractable, unsolvable three-body problem of celestial mechanics. But there is another version of it closer to home.
We each live with our own three-body problem: our existence, mortality, and the meaning of our existence.
These three forces, too, pull on us in different directions. Existence calls us to act, to create, to live. Mortality reminds us of impermanence — that time is short, and the clock always ticks, and ultimately, what we create, who we make, is slated for destruction. Meaning — or the longing for it —is an attempt at reconciling the first two: Why do we strive, if we must one day end? What is it all for? Why are we here?
Like its celestial counterpart, this existential triad resists solution. Philosophers have debated over it for millennia. Poets have wept over it. Ordinary people feel its pull in quiet moments of wonder, or grief, or awe, or in moments of transition.
Just as gravity bends the paths of stars, these forces tug at our consciousness. Pursue life too fiercely, and we may forget the limits of time. Dwell too long on death. and meaning begins to come undone. Seek meaning too narrowly, and we risk losing the raw, fleeting beauty of simply being alive.
There is no fixed point that suits all. No universal answer.
Scientists long ago accepted that while we can’t solve the celestial three-body problem in general, we can simulate it, explore its patterns, and find special pockets of stability. Perhaps our own lives need the same approach. We may never solve the existential three-body problem — but we can move within it, adapt to it, and sometimes glimpse moments of resonance and connection, when existence, mortality, and meaning fall briefly into harmony.
These moments may be fleeting — a shared conversation, holding hands, a kiss, an accidental brush of fingers, a sunset, a birth, a death — but they shine with the beauty that transcends daily life.
And like those rare stable Lagrange points in space, perhaps we too can find equilibrium — temporary or lasting — among the forces of existence, mortality, and meaning.
Perhaps Nirvana, if it exists, is discovery of a solution to the three-body problem that confronts us.
Ciao, and thanks for reading.
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