I have always been enthusiastic about space exploration. But at the same time, I have always been pessimistic about it.
There is a certain frustration that comes from living in a small country that is highly dependent on a larger one. Canada relies on the U.S. economically and culturally. You could say we are over-dependent.
Our astronomers can access European telescopes as well as American ones. But we have no rocket program. Our space research wholly depends upon U.S. launch capabilities and stations. Perhaps one day we will partner with Europe, or even China. But for decades, it was the U.S. or nothing.
This was frustrating, even as far back as the 1980s, because NASA was rapidly shrinking. Even before the Berlin Wall fell. Even before the Challenger disaster, which accelerated the decay.
NASA had no strong mandate. Americans mostly didn't care about space exploration. Once they have "beaten" the Soviets, they only cared about money and pop culture. Science was fine in classrooms and labs. Why spend all that money to do it in space?
Well, I have no idea what they were thinking. But it was widely popular, across the political spectrum, to complain that space-focused science and technology was a pointless waste of time and "taxpayer money". Despite being barely a rounding error on the national budget (to say nothing of how government spending actually works—i.e. not like households).
At the same time, the world of speculative space fiction was mostly uninterested in the realities of space travel. The reigning "science fiction" franchises were a space western with sword-weilding wizards, and a future techno-socialist paradise where all human needs were met—at least until they got attacked by cyborg space zombies.
Now, there were always serious science fiction authors, like Kim Stanley Robinson, who respected and addressed the real issues of human space travel. And their general opinion was mostly skeptical. Humans evolved on Earth. Anyplace else is going to kill us. Maybe quickly, maybe slowly, by any and every means.
For a reasonable and non-superstitious person, mostly free of extreme compulsions or obsessions—wealth, status, power, danger, sensory pleasure, if not outright chemical dependency—space exploration seems like a fairly healthy outlet for various human tendencies, like curiosity and ambition. But is it? Like so many things, it depends.
If it's not—either because it is literally impossible, or merely radically impractical, and thus a hopeless or irrational investment of energy and attention—then what is the alternative?
I have to be careful not to produce a false dichotomy. There are many ways in which humanity might invest its surplus resources, without descending into pathology. By which I mean, causing unusually great, even if only indirect, harms, including those resulting from neglect.
For example, the extreme pursuit of industrial wealth leads to many indirect harms, both causal—including toxic pollution and greenhouse gas buildup—and non-causal. An example of the latter: ignoring the essential need for natural beauty and wilderness. So many of us are crammed into cities and suburbs, with meagre access to nature, so we can work at well-paying jobs in profitable industries.
Unfortunately, to return to my previous point, we are to some extent cursed by our ambition and desire for "greatness". If not, we could have long ago built a peaceful utopia, overflowing with opportunities of a more pastoral or contemplative nature. Instead, we seek mastery, control, and domination. And, sadly, space exploration is not free of this pathology.
Humans want power. We are driven, to a great degree, by our innate terror of death, in all its forms. So we seek power and control as a means of avoiding, and symbolically defeating, death, in various guises. The fear of a disaster destroying our planet of origin is mostly hallucinatory, though of course not zero.
Being a multi-planetary species is not only an exciting creative and engineering challenge. If it were, there would be no reason to worry. It is also a wish to become immortal. And there's good reason to believe this is mostly projection by individuals, not a true hope for our species long-term survival. Desires to be immortal are intrinsically unhealthy, because the goal cannot be achieved.
The fear of death inspires many to unreasonable, irrational, even destructive extremes. Or to denial and avoidance, which is the root of so many other unhealthy behaviours, including excessive absorption in fantasies of magical space adventures, but more likely the abuse of drugs and alcohol, sex addiction, violence for sport, and more.
Still, what are the alternatives? Other branches of science and mathematics, the arts, technological inventions, traditional occupations, and meditation. Various forms of mindfulness and appreciation for what we have, instead of the relentless craving for, and pursuit of, certainty, and other unreachable goals.
But we are not a very healthy civilization. Though many would deny that. But then, denial is their essential problem. Reality is unpleasant and uncomfortable. They lack the wherewithal and gravitas to face it directly. They must invent ways to escape it, or engage in fantasy battles to keep it at bay.
Most people don't want to explore—they either want to live according to some traditional plan, or they want to struggle with and defeat their demons. Even as those demons originate within them. What they don't want is to truly see, understand, or explore themselves. They do not wish to know the depths and reaches of their own souls (or minds). As such, they are, and will continue to be, unable to recognize their own pathological drives, and the risks they represent, to themselves and others.
This is especially problematic, if their ambitions have led them to places of power. Then, their pathological choices risk harm to millions or billions of people, to say nothing of the dangers to Earth's complex ecosystems.
When it comes to facing reality, most people can only take small doses. A very few will volunteer to endure more, but no one can observe and understand all. Instead, we all put a few fragments together, trying to find a pattern, but never the full picture.
Our pictures are always different and contradictory. So we will always disagree. And suffer the consequences of mistaking them for truth.
If only we could recognize this failing, and commit to a new project of building a more consistent understanding, one that acknowledges our limits. But that would require mutual respect and trust. Whereas we seem cursed with mistrust and disrespect for alternative understandings.