And yet the Space Exploration Initiative, despite clear direction from the top, foundered. Four years after it was mandated, it did not even have a NASA office dedicated to it. Small and inexpensive lunar robotic missions—that otherwise might well have been approved—were canceled by Congress because of guilt by association with SEI. What went wrong?
One problem was the timescale. SEI extended five or so presidential terms of office into the future (taking the average presidency as one and a half terms). That makes it easy for a president to attempt to commit his successors, but leaves in considerable doubt how reliable such a commitment might be. SEI contrasted dramatically with the Apollo program—which, it might have been conjectured at the time it began, could have triumphed when President Kennedy or his immediate political heir was still in office.
Second, there was concern about whether NASA, which had recently experienced great difficulty in safely lifting a few astronauts 200 miles above the Earth, could send astronauts on an arcing year-long trajectory to a destination 100 million miles away and bring them back alive.
Third, the program was conceived exclusively in nationalist terms. Cooperation with other nations was not fundamental to either design or execution. Vice President Dan Quayle, who had nominal responsibility for space, justified the space station as a demonstration that the United States was “the world’s only superpower.” But since the Soviet Union had an operational space station that was a decade ahead of the United States, Mr. Quayle’s argument proved difficult to follow.
Finally, there was the question of where, in terms of practical politics, the money was supposed to come from. The costs of getting the first humans to Mars had been variously estimated, ranging as high as $500 billion.
Of course, it’s impossible to predict costs before you have a mission design. And the mission design depends on such matters as the size of the crew; the extent to which you take mitigating steps against solar and cosmic radiation hazards, or zero gravity; and what other risks you are willing to accept with the lives of the men and women on board. If every crew member has one essential specialty, what happens if one of them falls ill? The larger the crew, the more reliable the backups. You would almost certainly not send a full-time oral surgeon, but what happens if you need root canal work and you’re a hundred million miles from the nearest dentist? Or could it be done by an endodontist on Earth, using telepresence?
Wernher von Braun was the Nazi-American engineer who, more than anyone else, actually took us into space. His 1952 book Das Marsprojekt envisioned a first mission with 10 interplanetary spacecraft, 70 crew members, and 3 “landing boats.” Redundancy was uppermost in his mind. The logistical requirements, he wrote, “are no greater than those for a minor military operation extending over a limited theater of war.” He meant to “explode once and for all the theory of the solitary space rocket and its little band of bold interplanetary adventurers,” and appealed to Columbus’ three ships without which “history tends to prove that he might never have returned to Spanish shores.” Modern Mars mission designs have ignored this advice. They are much less ambitious than yon Braun’s, typically calling for one or two spacecraft crewed by three to eight astronauts, with another robotic cargo ship or two. The solitary rocket and the little band of adventurers are still with us.
Other uncertainties affecting mission design and cost include whether you pre-emplace supplies from Earth and launch humans to Mars only after the supplies are safely landed; whether you can use Martian materials to generate oxygen to breathe, water to drink, and rocket propellants to get home; whether you land using the thin Martian atmosphere for aerobraking; the degree of redundancy in equipment thought prudent; the extent to which you use closed ecological systems or just depend on the food, water, and waste disposal facilities you’ve brought from Earth; the design of roving vehicles for the crew to explore the Martian landscape; and how much equipment you’re willing to carry to test our ability to live off the land in later voyages.
Until such questions are decided, it’s absurd to accept any figure for the cost of the program. On the other hand, it was equally clear that SEI would be extremely expensive. For all these reasons, the program was a nonstarter. It was stillborn.
There was no effective attempt by the Bush Administration to spend political capital to get SEI going.
The lesson to me seems clear: There may be no way to Send humans to Mars in the comparatively near future—despite the fact that it is entirely within our technological capability. Governments do not spend these vast sums just for science, or merely to explore. They need another purpose, and it must make real political sense.
It may be impossible to go just yet, but when it is possible, the mission, I think, must be international from the start, with costs and responsibilities equitably shared and the expertise of many nations tapped; the price must be reasonable; the time from approval to launch must fit within practical political timescales; and the space agencies concerned must demonstrate their ability to muster pioneering exploratory missions with human crews safely, on time, and on budget. If it were possible to imagine such a mission for less than $100 billion, and for a time from approval to launch less than 15 years, maybe it would be feasible. (In terms of cost, this would represent only a fraction of the annual civilian space budgets of the present spacefaring nations.) With aerobraking and manufacturing fuel and oxygen for the return trip out of Martian air, it’s now beginning to look as if such a budget and such a timescale might actually be realistic.
The cheaper and quicker the mission is, necessarily the more risk we must be willing to take with the lives of the astronauts and cosmonauts aboard. But as is illustrated, among countless examples, by the samurai of medieval Japan, there are always competent volunteers for highly dangerous missions in what is perceived as a great cause. No budget, no timeline can be really reliable when we attempt to do something on so grand a scale, something that has never been done before. The more leeway we ask, the greater is the cost and the longer it takes to get there. Finding the right compromise between political feasibility and mission success may be tricky.
It’s not enough to go to Mars because some of us have dreamt of doing so since childhood, or because it seems to us the obvious long-term exploratory goal for the human species. If we’re talking about spending this much money, we must justify the expense.
There are now other matters—clear, crying national needs—that cannot be addressed without major expenditures; at the same time, the discretionary federal budget has become painfully constrained. Disposal of chemical and radioactive poisons, energy efficiency, alternatives to fossil fuels, declining rates of technological innovation, the collapsing urban infrastructure, the AIDS epidemic, a witches’ brew of cancers, homelessness, malnutrition, infant mortality, education, jobs, health care—there is a painfully long list. Ignoring them will endanger the well-being of the nation. A similar dilemma faces all the spacefaring nations.
Nearly every one of these matters could cost hundreds of billions of dollars or more to address. Fixing infrastructure will cost several trillion dollars. Alternatives to the fossil-fuel economy clearly represent a multitrillion-dollar investment worldwide, if we can do it. These projects, we are sometimes told, are beyond our ability to pay. How then can we afford to go to Mars?