Why We Choose to Go to Space: Human Continuity
Troy Morris, Director of Operations
8 minute read
Over an unofficial series of grand perspective columns, I’ve discussed what types of people seek Ascension to Space, how Human Imagination drives our activities overhead, and explored the Human Survival entwined with space. But in these society-level discoveries, I’ve yet to tackle a common theme of certain space proponents: the survival of our species. Often referred to as space colonization, this view on survival is a macro view of humanity continuing on, rather than the more practical survival of individuals.
As an admitted and frequent fan of science fiction in every medium, ranging from works of hard science fiction (The Andromeda Strain to Europa Report), to works of more fiction than science (The Time Machine to Firefly), and even the epics of space operas (including recently introducing my wife to the Star Wars original trilogy films), it would be easy to assume that the idea of an unrestrained, space-faring civilization appeals to my ideals as well as dreams. This lifelong interest in the theme has caused a critical perspective to bold claims of technology and progress, regardless of how noble the interests might appear.
This internal criticism is not necessarily as a nay-sayer or pessimist, but as a cautionary realist taking stock of the surveyable information. First in my view, before the questions of “who would go, what would it exist as, when should the mission begin, where would they go, and why shouldn’t they stay,” is the logistical consideration of, “how would it happen?” On this technological question, progress is ongoing for starships, longer habitation outside of Earth, manufacturing of materials beyond our terrestrial systems, and automation to assist our pursuit of off-world existence. This ‘how’ is important to take stock of, not as the only question, but as the frame through which to consider the other inquiries. In our ever-changing world, earlier answers are considered in their context of when it became possible, not just when it was imagined. Consider that in just a short span of time within the same country, comparing the first astronauts in the Mercury missions, who were a rather homogeneous selection of American test pilots, with the various backgrounds and perspectives of the newest Artemis astronauts shows a great progression. The framing of ‘how’ pins in the other portions of informative data.
Assuming the technical concerns are sufficiently answered in the near future, who are the explorers and settlers humanity should send? Are these individuals selected on their merit or expertise, like in critical engineering, medicine, or food sustainability; or should it be young families, to provide the next generation as humanity still travels to or is establishing our extraterrestrial foothold; or perhaps as a reward for distinguished efforts, like established business executives, renowned scientists, or celebrated artists; or as a penal system due to the dangers and low-likelihood of return; or as an equal lottery, open to all able to make the trip and willing to take the risks? Each of these groups offer advantages and suffer from disadvantages, and no matter how those disadvantages might be mitigated, the groups still carry unchangeable imagery of humanity for who is sent.
In the limited examples for endured human settlement or exploration, such as the ISS, Arctic research stations, and earlier voyages in the Age of Sail, the bulk of the personnel are included for their expertise, as these skills are required to reach or survive the daunting challenges of the mission. But the vast distances of the cosmos might present scenarios in which an Earth-born engineer cannot live long enough to maintain the mission-critical systems: does this task fall to the engineer’s offspring (as many early trades first did) or to an interested mechanic (should one be present)? No mission has yet achieved the longevity necessary for sustained human occupation in such inhospitable locales. Nor does the problem get easier simply for having families (imagine your local PTA with no chance to leave the meeting, ever), successful personnel (stock option experience hardly helps if a solar array needs repair), or the prisoners perceived as “expendable” (concerns of motivations and expertise abound). All of these options are also tied to their imagery. As humanity set its footholds across the planets, was it led for technical development and discovery; families in technologically advanced villages akin to our beginnings; an escape only available to the rich and powerful; an attempt to push off multiple problems in a calculated solution; or an open opportunity that carriers a chance for any of the above?
In a situation where the crew is actually being selected for such a mission, the ‘who’ might be answered in what takes them to their destination. Families would be a favorite of generational ships, while massive stations could support a mix of skilled people and wealthy sponsors. Rugged outposts would likely entail the poor and prisoners as pioneers, risking their existence for a better future while they clear the way for others to follow. Colonies, once established, would likely shift to a more familiar mixture of pioneers, early entrepreneurs, law enforcement, and struggling families. However, these interplanetary colonies would still maintain a dependence on Earth for materials and resources for a longer span than terrestrial equivalents due to the risks carried by a scrappy bunch of explorers.
While this imagery of rugged individualism might strike to independents, we are unlikely to see Firefly Browncoats soon. This is due to continuing developments of technology by large organizations, and the sad fact that the show was canceled almost two decades ago. Around that same time, NASA Administrator Michael Griffin stated that the spaceflight programs are designed where, “the goal isn’t just scientific exploration… it’s also about extending the range of human habitat out from Earth into the solar system as we go forward in time.” So it seems the question of, “when should the mission begin,” has already been answered, and humanity is working towards that completion.
Assuming the completion of these plans, where does humanity set its sights? The nearest neighbor is the first selection for recently planned moon bases by multiple countries, as our moon is relatively reachable, and previously visited by humans as well. Unfortunately for its convenient location, the lunar surface is lacking accessible liquid water, an atmosphere, fertile soil, liveable temperatures, and really any actual components for life. While abundant in other resources and near enough for Earth-based support, the lunar surface is unlikely to be a finish line for space colonization. The second most likely candidate is a planet currently inhabited by robots, with a minimal atmosphere, equal concerns of hydration, and even further from Earth’s support: Mars. This and other inner planets are early contenders due to their location in the solar system, but each carries harsh disadvantages despite the wonders of even science fiction. Instead, some include the moons of the outer planets as contenders, with Europa a popular contender due to the subsurface ocean, potentially teaming with life or at least the components for it. Unfortunately, this ocean is also blasted with radiation, which is generally bad for life. As this paragraph keeps quickly covering, there are drawbacks for all the outer planets, human transport or even communication is over massive units of time. If the physical conditions for humanity are not present in our solar system, and any reasonable expansion beyond our moon presents one-way voyages, the conclusion of searching the intergalactic area for a more physically suited place is a logical answer. This presents its own questions for how do we reach it, do we trust our data, who would take such a trip to never return to Earth, but for now we will address it as a contender, with a large question of this topic entailed in that query of leaving humanity’s only home: why?
Some familiar with this topic start with why, with logistics and technology taking a backseat to the reason for the mission. With an ever-growing list of scenarios threatening to life as we know it, including climate change, nuclear armageddon, rogue technology akin to Terminator, asteroid impact, and additional pandemics or disease beyond the ongoing crisis, it can be understandable to prevent keeping all of humanity’s eggs on one spinning molten core basket. Beyond storing civilization backups in remote locations (which might not prevent anthropogenic cataclysms like war or species-wide problems like disease), there is the benefit of the overview effect. While often cited in the global awareness of returning astronauts, the same effect can be anticipated both as more humans see our home from overhead and as the cradle of humanity is joined by celestial outposts. Understanding the vastness of lifeless space should hopefully impart a collective consciousness, and might be reason enough for humanity moving beyond Earth. This noble pursuit is challenged however by the more likely resource pursuit that’ll drive and support expansion. Much as the pursuit of spices, silk, or the shipping lanes by which to acquire them led to exploration, colonization, and exploitation across our planet, similar aspects might be seen in space. As our modern society is still understanding and seeking to repair many of the damages from the ages of exploration and industrialization, it seems almost foolish to extend an imperfect system into a wider span before fixing some of the continuing issues in it.
This leads to the yet-unstated question for human expansion: should we? From a cursory look at our only home, with broken ecosystems, overharvested resources, bristling weapons, crippling poverty, and new problems in addition to old, it could seem that there are more problems that need to be solved rather than spread our problems across the cosmos. To secure the continuity of our species, humanity must meet these challenges, not instead of pursuing planetary expansion, but in partnership with it. Taking care of our home eases the burdens on Earth, allowing easier assistance to extraterrestrial humans. Rather than treating our planet as a sinking ship with space as the lifeboats, our pale blue dot needs to be recognized as the maintained fertile farmland, able to provide resources in support of further human advancements. As a favorite wooden sign stated in my hometown, “If you EAT, you’re a part of Agriculture,” and the same will be true of human continuity: “if you breathe, eat, or build, you’re a part of Earth.”
Many have discussed, debated, and written on this topic; a continuing conversation as humanity pursues further places with unfathomable advances. While historians research the earliest explorations of humanity's off-world pursuits and philosophers explore the ethical ramifications and considerations of habitation beyond our first home, technologists continue to advance the capabilities that bring us closer to the possibility. This march of progress might make human continuity seem a certainty, but as this column attempts a wide perspective to explore this potential, there’s a larger scale to consider. This yet-larger view was considered rather recently in 2019, with perspectives from across our humble planet collected in “Long-Term Trajectories of Human Civilization.” This work culminates in a Werner Herzog-esque quote which establishes that, “in the very far future, mankind is expected to become extinct in any case, as no civilization — whether human or alien — will ever outlive the limited duration of cosmos itself.”
As no mortal escapes death, they cherish their fleeting moments living between long periods of survival. Therefore, as our civilization, one built over an unending series of former civilizations themselves, faces its mortality, we must seek living for survival over avoidance of the reality. Nuclear disarmament instead of doomsday bunkers, caring for our wilderness rather than simply escaping its fiery fury, and solving our modern problems in place of relocating them over vast, galactic distances. This firm mentality is shared in the climax of one of my favorite films, science fiction or otherwise, WALL-E, with the Captain triumphantly wresting back control of humanity’s fate aboard his ship, the Axiom, with “I don’t want to survive! I want to live!” Human continuity may be most assured with the placement of outposts among the stars, but humanity is most likely to continue by caring for our home on Earth; from the seas to the shores, deep below to overhead. KMI continues toward our share of the responsibility, by working toward keeping space clear for all.
Recommended column to read next: Why We Choose to Go to Space: Human Survival