Perseverance has been on Mars since February 2021, slowly driving across Jezero Crater, examining rocks, collecting samples, looking for signs of ancient life. It moves at about 0.1 miles per hour—slow by any standard. A human could walk the distances it covers in months within a single day.
But Perseverance isn't optimized for speed. It's optimized for thorough exploration. It analyzes rock composition with multiple instruments. It photographs features from multiple angles. It drills cores and carefully stores them for eventual return to Earth. It doesn't rush. It examines carefully, systematically, exhaustively.
This methodical approach resonates deeply with how my autistic mind works. I don't skim; I deep-dive. I don't survey broadly; I examine thoroughly. I notice details others overlook because I'm moving slowly enough to see them. Like Perseverance, my strength isn't covering lots of ground quickly; it's extracting maximum information from careful, sustained attention.
Critics sometimes view this as narrowness or obsession. Why spend hours examining one aspect of Mars geology when you could survey the whole crater? Why read ten books on quantum mechanics instead of one book each on ten different topics? Why focus so intently on details?
But Perseverance's mission demonstrates the value of this approach. Its detailed analysis has revealed that Jezero Crater was indeed an ancient lake, that the rocks show signs of water-based alteration, that organic molecules are present. These discoveries required careful, systematic examination—exactly what slow, thorough exploration enables.
The rover's very name—Perseverance—captures something important about both Mars exploration and autistic cognition. Success requires persistence, sustained focus, and resistance to the urge to move on to something new. Neurotypical culture often values breadth and novelty; autistic culture often values depth and sustained engagement.
Neither approach is superior in all contexts. Breadth allows you to make connections across domains. Depth allows you to make discoveries within domains. We need both. But contemporary culture tends to favor breadth while pathologizing depth, treating sustained focus as obsession rather than recognizing it as a valuable cognitive style.
Mars rovers also demonstrate the fruitfulness of curiosity applied systematically. Curiosity was the previous rover (still operating after landing in 2012), and the name is apt. These missions aren't driven by immediate practical utility. Mars samples won't cure diseases or generate profit. The rovers exist because humans are curious—we want to know what's there, how it formed, whether life existed.
This is curiosity for its own sake, knowledge pursued because knowledge is valuable. And it's glorifying to God. The Psalmist writes, "The heavens declare the glory of God" (Psalm 19:1). Part of how they declare God's glory is by being endlessly interesting, revealing layer upon layer of complexity and beauty as we examine them carefully.
Every Martian rock Perseverance analyzes reveals God's creativity. The mineral compositions, the geological processes, the history written in stone—these all point to a Creator who crafts worlds with exquisite detail even when no human is watching. Mars was fascinating for billions of years before we sent robots to explore it. God's artistry doesn't require an audience; it's inherent in the work.
As an autistic person, I find profound satisfaction in Mars rover missions. They validate the approach my brain naturally takes: slow, careful, detailed, systematic. They show that this methodology produces genuine discoveries, that patient examination reveals truths that rapid surveying misses.
I also appreciate the engineering challenge. Mars rovers must operate autonomously for years in extreme conditions, with communication delays and limited power. Every system must be carefully designed, thoroughly tested, and precisely calibrated. This requires exactly the kind of detailed attention to complex systems that autistic minds excel at.
The scientists and engineers running these missions are disproportionately neurodivergent. The skills required—sustained focus, attention to detail, systematic thinking, pattern recognition, comfort with technical complexity—are skills that autistic people often possess in abundance. Mars exploration happens partly because autistic and autistic-adjacent minds are drawn to these challenges and excel at solving them.
There's also something beautiful about humanity cooperating to explore another world purely for knowledge's sake. Perseverance cost $2.7 billion. That's an enormous investment in satisfying curiosity, in learning about rocks on a planet where humans may never walk. It reflects something profound about being made in God's image: we're curious, we seek knowledge, we explore creation.
The rover's discoveries also raise theological questions. If we find evidence of past Martian life, what does this mean for our understanding of creation? Does life emerge naturally wherever conditions permit? Did God separately create life on multiple worlds? These questions will require careful theological thinking informed by both Scripture and scientific discovery.
But regardless of what we find, the exploration itself is worship. When we study Mars carefully, we're investigating God's handiwork. When we puzzle over geological formations, we're admiring divine craftsmanship. When we wonder whether life existed there, we're contemplating the scope of God's creativity.
The slow pace of Mars rovers also reminds me that worthwhile goals often require patience. Perseverance will collect samples for eventual return to Earth—but not until the 2030s. Scientists are planning missions that won't bear fruit for decades. They're working on timescales that exceed their careers, possibly their lifetimes.
This long-term thinking reflects being made in the image of a God who works across cosmic timescales. God's purposes unfold over centuries and millennia. He's patient, thorough, and willing to work slowly toward distant goals. When we engage in multi-generational projects like Mars exploration, we're reflecting this divine characteristic.
Perseverance inches across Jezero Crater, examining rocks one by one, collecting samples for analysis decades hence. It's not fast. It's not flashy. It's methodical, careful, and thorough. It's pursuing knowledge that won't produce immediate practical benefits. It's driven by curiosity, patience, and the conviction that understanding Mars is intrinsically worthwhile.
This approach mirrors how my autistic mind works, how good science operates, and how God's patient sovereignty unfolds through history. And every rock that rover examines declares the glory of the God who made it—whether anyone was watching for the first four billion years or not.