For many pages now, we have left the realm of plausible conjecture for the heady intoxication of nearly unconstrained speculation. It is time to return to our own age.
My grandfather, born before radio waves were even a laboratory curiosity, almost lived to see the first artificial satellite beeping down at us from space. There are people who were born before there was such a thing as an airplane, and who in old age saw four ships launched to the stars. For all our failings, despite our limitations and fallibilities, we humans are capable of greatness. This is true of our science and some areas of our technology, of our art, music, literature, altruism, and compassion, and even, on rare occasion, of our statecraft. What new wonders undreamt of in our time will we have wrought in another generation? And another? How far will our nomadic species have wandered by the end of the next century? And the next millennium?
Two billion years ago our ancestors were microbes; a halfbillion years ago, fish; a hundred million years ago, something like mice; ten million years ago, arboreal apes; and a million years ago, proto-humans puzzling out the taming of fire. Our evolutionary lineage is marked by mastery of change. In our time, the pace is quickening.
When we first venture to a near-Earth asteroid, we will have entered a habitat that may engage our species forever. The first voyage of men and women to Mars is the key step in transforming us into a multiplanet species. These events are as momentous as the colonization of the land by our amphibian ancestors and the descent from the trees by our primate ancestors.
Fish with rudimentary lungs and fins slightly adapted for walking must have died in great numbers before establishing a permanent foothold on the land. As the forests slowly receded, our upright apelike forebears often scurried back into the trees, fleeing the predators that stalked the savannahs. The transitions were painful, took millions of years, and were imperceptible to those involved. In our case the transition occupies only a few generations, and with only a handful of lives lost. The pace is so swift that we are still barely able to grasp what is happening.
Once the first children are born off Earth; once we have bases and homesteads on asteroids, comets, moons, and planets; once we’re living off the land and bringing up new generations on other worlds, something will have changed forever in human history. But inhabiting other worlds does not imply abandoning this one, any more than the evolution of amphibians meant the end of fish. For a very long time only a small fraction of us will be out there.
“In modern Western society,” writes the scholar Charles Lindholm,
the erosion of tradition and the collapse of accepted religious belief leaves us without a telos [an end to which we strive], a sanctified notion of humanity’s potential. Bereft of a sacred project, we have only a demystified image of a frail and fallible humanity no longer capable of becoming god-like.
I believe it is healthy—indeed, essential—to keep our frailty and fallibility firmly in mind. I worry about people who aspire to be “god-like.” But as for a long-term goal and a sacred project, there is one before us. On it the very survival of our species depends. If we have been locked and bolted into a prison of the self, here is an escape hatch—something worthy, something vastly larger than ourselves, a crucial act on behalf of humanity. Peopling other worlds unifies nations and ethnic groups, binds the generations, and requires us to be both smart and wise. It liberates our nature and, in part, returns us to our beginnings. Even now, this new telos is within our grasp.
The pioneering psychologist William James called religion a “feeling of being at home in the Universe.” Our tendency has been, as I described in the early chapters of this book, to pretend that the Universe is how we wish our home would be, rather than to revise our notion of what’s homey so it embraces the Universe. If, in considering James’ definition, we mean the real Universe, then we have no true religion yet. That is for another time, when the sting of the Great Demotions is well behind us, when we are acclimatized to other worlds and they to us, when we are spreading outward to the stars.
The Cosmos extends, for all practical purposes, forever. After a brief sedentary hiatus, we are resuming our ancient nomadic way of life. Our remote descendants, safely arrayed on many worlds through the Solar System and beyond, will be unified by their common heritage, by their regard for their home planet, and by the knowledge that, whatever other life may be, the only humans in all the Universe come from Earth.
They will gaze up and strain to find the blue dot in their skies. They will love it no less for its obscurity and fragility. They will marvel at how vulnerable the repository of all our potential once was, how perilous our infancy, how humble our beginnings, how many rivers we had to cross before we found our way.
About the Author
CARL SAGAN was the David Duncan Professor of Astronomy and Space Sciences and Director of the Laboratory for Planetary Studies at Cornell University. He played a leading role in the American space program since its inception. He was a consultant and advisor to NASA since the 1950s, briefed the Apollo astronauts before their flights to the Moon, and was an experimenter on the Mariner, Viking, Voyager, and Galileo expeditions to the planets. He helped solve the mysteries of the high temperature of Venus (answer: massive greenhouse effect), the seasonal changes on Mars (answer: windblown dust), and the reddish haze of Titan (answer: complex organic molecules).
For his work, Dr. Sagan received the NASA medals for Exceptional Scientific Achievement and (twice) for Distinguished Public Service, as well as the NASA Apollo Achievement Award. Asteroid 2709 Sagan is named after him. He was also awarded the John F. Kennedy Astronautics Award of the American Astronautical Society, the Explorers Club 75th Anniversary Award, the Konstantin Tsiolkovsky Medal of the Soviet Cosmonauts Federation, and the Masursky Award of the American Astronomical Society (“for his extraordinary contributions to the development of planetary science …. As a scientist trained in both astronomy and biology, Dr. Sagan has made seminal contributions to the study of planetary atmospheres, planetary surfaces, the history of the Earth, and exobiology. Many of the most productive planetary scientists working today are his present and former students and associates”).
Acknowledgments
Most of the material in this book is new. A number of chapters have evolved from articles first published in Parade magazine, a supplement to the Sunday editions of American newspapers which, with an estimated 80 million readers, may be the most widely read magazine in the world. I am greatly indebted to Walter Anderson, the editor in chief, and David Currier, the executive editor, for their encouragement and editorial wisdom; and to the readers of Parade, whose letters have helped me understand where I have been clear, and where obscure, and how my arguments are received. Portions of other chapters have emerged from articles published in Issues in Science and Technology, Discover, The Planetary Report, Scientific American, and Popular Mechanics.
Aspects of this book have been discussed with a large number of friends and colleagues, whose comments have greatly improved it. Although there are too many to list by name, I would like to express my real gratitude to all of them. I want especially, though, to thank Norman Augustine, Roger Bonnet, Freeman Dyson, Louis Friedman, Everett Gibson, Daniel Goldin, J. Richard Gott III, Andrei Linde, Jon Lomberg, David Morrison, Roald Sagdeev, Steven Soter, Kip Throne, and Frederick Turner for their comments on all or part of the manuscript; Seth Kaufmann, Peter Thomas, and Joshua Grinspoon for their help with tables and graphs; and a brilliant array of astronomical artists, acknowledged at each illustration, who have permitted me to showcase some of their work. Through the generosity of Kathy Hoyt, Al McEwen, and Larry Soderblom, I’ve been able to display some of the exceptional photomosiacs, airbrush maps, and other reductions of NASA images accomplished at the Branch of Astrogeology, U.S. Geological Survey.