I wouldn't call this "The Guardian skeptical of the Space Elevator," but rather "A Guardian reporter files a half-tongue-in-cheek philosophical commentary inspired by Space Elevator ambitions."
 
"We have become a society of naysaying wimps"? -- Larry, bear in mind that one of the more remarkable things about the Beagle probes is that they put British space exploration pretty solidly on the map, and put the British into a league they've seemed disinclined to join until recently.  Let Brits speak for themselves, if they want, but I think we're just looking at one voice representative of one segment of one culture.
 
Also remember that pro-space enthusiasm isn't exactly all roses -- it should really be subject to quality measures.  I remember being 13 years old, watching typical American reactions to the first moon landing on TV, and being apalled.  About half those interviewed were exultant that "we beat the Russians."  Huh?  I put some questions to my father on this issue.  "It cost about $50 per taxpayer, and they're happy because we *beat the Russians*?!", I asked.  I was rewarded with the wise, if rather depressing answer -- "Some people pay $50 to see a prizefight, so yes, in a way, it's worth it to them, just for that."  (Remember these are 1969 dollars.)  My concern then was that the moonshots were a prizefight that couldn't be repeated -- you can only have one first human moon landing.  Where would things go from here, I worried, if that was such a huge part of the space program for so many people?  "Yay!  We're not wimps after all" could easily give way to "Why do we need to prove anything else in space?  We RULE."  And sentiment largely did go that way, after all.  With the wrong kind of manned mission to Mars, it's not hard to imagine space enthusiasts in 2060 being just as grumpy and nostalgic as any of us, pining for *real* space program -- like the one in 2030.
 
"Then, one day, you realise that the very best thing about the very best dreams is that they will never, can never, come true; and that's when, perhaps sadly, you finally stop looking for the ladders and begin to get on with this filthy business called life."
 
I guess that's one reaction.  And for most of us, maybe it's a reasonable one.  In some sense, it's true of even of the more intrepid adventurers.
 
One of my all-time favorite Heinlein novels is an underappreciated satirical masterpiece called _Glory Road_.  The premise being that there really is some way to go have E.R. Burroughs-style space adventures, if you're lucky enough to be selected.  But the "filthy business of real life" intrudes even on that premise, and Heinlein's hero finally cashes out, nearly as cynical as he was when opportunity first knocked.  Soon, however, he reawakens, as the boredom of security settles in, to that old truth: the journey is the *only* real reward, and ironically, you never fully realize it at the time.  Luckily for him, the door to more opportunities remains open.  And being an adventurer and a hero had become part of his own "filthy business of life," had become roles that, with all their ups and downs, were ones he could no longer NOT play.
 
For many, however, no door ever presents itself in the first place.  And the fact is, space is and will be, for most of us, at best a vicarious adventure, and pushing for expansion doesn't qualify anyone for non-wimphood in itself.  For many, it's not hard to see it as simply asking to spend other people's money, and risk other people's lives.  At least the prizefight audience is paying for its own tickets, even if they aren't taking any real risks.  We should take care to understand what we're asking of the world.  Not doing that only further endangers the whole enterprise.
 
-michael turner
 
 
----- Original Message -----
Sent: Monday, September 15, 2003 2:48 AM
Subject: The Guardian skeptical of the Space Elevator

 
While I certainly support taking in all factors about the reality of
any project, it seems to me these days we have become a society
of whining nay-saying wimps with our dreams.  No wonder all we
do is talk about sending humans to Mars, and now NASA is getting
rid of their inexpensive program to study breakthrough technologies,
which might have found a way to get us to the stars.
 
Maybe this is why we haven't found any ETI yet - every civilization
reaches a point where the beauracratic red tape and public apathy,
fear, and selfishness brings the whole culture down.
 
 
 
If dreams come true, what's the point of dreaming?
Euan Ferguson
Saturday September 13 2003
The Guardian


It was hard to work out, at first, just why yesterday's news of plans, by scientists, to build a 100,000km escalator into space was so disturbing. It was mad and wild and just about believable - unless I'm being poltroon-thick here, and it was one of those great popular hoodwinks, like spaghetti trees, and Martian invaders, and that marvellously funny feminist one from the Seventies, the myth of the 'female orgasm'! - but, on paper, the idea of carbon nanotechnology being used   to create an extraordinary umbilical cable, reaching to the heavens, to whirl round with us at what I wish I hadn't just learned is actually 1,038 miles an hour because I now feel slightly dizzy, and so serve our satellites by whizzing things up in a kind of cosmic dumb-waiter rather than sending things up in dodgy rockets and secondhand exploding shuttles, was offputtingly credible.

It wasn't the technical details that made me worry, though they did make me think. How long, based on the average functioning time of a 10-metre stretch of escalator on the London Underground, before part of it breaks down, and we're subjected instead to 100,000 km of owing-to-the-engineering signs or, more likely, crapulous ad-agency posters telling us how much better the service will be in 2489? Where on the planet would we tether it, and if the answer happened to be 'the whole of Cromer' and then it all just one day sort of vaguely, um, lifted off into space, precisely how much of a tragedy would that be? How long before it was smacked into at 32,000 feet by a plane from the worst airline in the world? (Hello , Garuda!) 

What really worried me, I suddenly realised, was a memory. Blake's 1793 etching of a child, an enraptured innocent, standing gazing at the foot of a vast ladder to the crescent moon. 'I want! I want!' was Blake's caption, and the picture spoke, still speaks, of extraordinary yearning, heartbreaking yearning. Huge and tearful unrequition, never to be sated, which is the way it should be, the way it was meant to be, but 200 years later we're building the damn ladder and climbing up and the caption will have to read: 'I got! I got!'  

Some dreams are only meant to be dreamt, never realised. Would we really want one day to see, at sea, a genetically modified owl and pussycat, supping and purring and spooning together? A sliding door at the back of the wardrobe; a strange cloaked visitor one autumn day with a staff and a pipe and talk of Quests; an invisible platform at King's Cross station? 

I can understand, we all can, the huge attraction for the impossible: when young, I looked curiously into the backs of wardrobes, and gazed for hours at maps for clues to the real Middle Earth. Then, one day, you realise that the very best thing about the very best dreams is that they will never, can never, come true; and that's when, perhaps sadly, you finally stop looking for the ladders and begin to get on with this filthy business called life.

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