I have to be honest and say that it’s been difficult to work up the right level of reverence and enthusiasm about the Artemis 2 mission. You can’t get too far into NASA news without being reminded of the current state of the American government, and all of the ways that SpaceX has wormed its way into an organization that was always supposed to be a public resource owned by the people.
Growing up, I always thought it was outrageous to hear about the later Apollo missions and how the public had mostly lost interest. Now I get it. And they didn’t even have to see formerly-respected journalistic institutions uncritically printing quotes from the world’s biggest dipshits about wanting to build data centers on the Moon.
The thing that did it for me, made me less cynical: seeing the mission plan. As somebody with just barely a layman’s understanding of space travel, I was vaguely thinking of it as being a straight line like on an Indiana Jones map. Here’s the Earth, here’s the Moon, strap in and take off.
But realizing that they had to plot a course that would intercept where the Moon was going to be, and use its gravity so precisely to slingshot around “The Far Side of the Moon” (as evoked via smooth jazz by David McCallum) back to Earth: that’s the kind of thing I always associate with speculative science fiction. Typically as the last desperate gambit the crew has to take on account of running out of fuel and suggesting something so crazy it just might work.
Any time I see a high-profile person online saying something stupid or patently false with no basis in science, there’s some small solace in remembering that they can only make those claims because of the science that they don’t understand and they reject. The smart phone they’re using contains technology far too advanced for them to understand, and broadcasting their nonsense to the world makes use of technology even more advanced.
I think it’s perfectly reasonable that you shouldn’t be allowed to be in a position of power, or to have a billion dollars, unless you can explain correctly and in detail how to launch a satellite into Earth orbit.
Basically: gravity doesn’t care about your feelings.1And at the opposite end of the scale: neither do vaccines. We have centuries’ worth of history of awful people in power trying to impede or overturn the progress of science, and it didn’t work. Especially when people (always in positions of privilege) casually suggest that we’re living in an environment where the truth simply doesn’t matter anymore, it’s nice to have a visible, tangible reminder that it does matter, actually.
The Artemis missions are giving us images of the Earth in its entirety, set against a vast blackness of space, and they’re a reminder of how little the concerns of the surface — borders, money, evil and corrupt men in power — actually matter. It’s a reminder of unity2That hasn’t been made completely trite by a cartoon immigrant mouse and the fact that no matter who we are or where we are in the world, we’re sharing the same planet and the same moon.
Often it’s taken as a reminder of our insignificance, which is probably good in a world where humility and decency seem in short supply. But it’s also a good opportunity to think about what’s really significant, the kind of ambitious, cooperative project that makes those whole-Earth images even possible in the first place.
So instead of awe, wonder, and determined optimism that I usually associate with the space program, I’m feeling more low-key contemplative. Like the simple song “Beautiful Moon” by Kim Deal. Appreciating that some things are just true and steadfast and constant, and I can look at the same moon that every other human being has looked up to for as long as there’ve been human beings. And how fortunate I am to live in an age when a bunch of the smartest human beings can work together to go visit it, and share what they found with the rest of us.
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