November/December
2000
Editorial: One
Small Step... Looking Back at Ourselves So We Can Move Forward
By Catherine Clyne
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Recently, I had a conversation with a friend who
expressed annoyance with the National Aeronautics and Space Association
(NASA)
in general, and specifically, its recent mission to accurately map
the surface of the Earth from space via radar topography. There simply
are
no limits to how detailed our knowledge “must” be, she complained.
Nothing can remain unexplained or unexplored. We have to squeeze the
secrets of our world out of the elements. In other words, we feel we
must dominate the universe we live in by understanding its very minutia.
After all, knowledge is power.
Although I agree with the thrust of this view, I see a more optimistic
side. I was born in the midst of the heady days of the “space age”
when the U.S. basked in its triumph over the Soviet Union in the race
to the moon. With the 1969 Apollo 11 mission and astronauts Neil Armstrong
and Edwin Aldrin, men set foot on the moon for the first time in history.
The world breathlessly experienced their every move, glued as they were
to their television sets, held captive in anticipation and awe. Imaginations
galloped with the words uttered by Armstrong: “one small step for
man, one giant leap for mankind.” They watched them plant an American
flag into the surface of the moon, forever scenting that spot with an
“I’ve been here!” But the gesture of erecting a flag
on the moon seemed absurd in the light of the enormous blue globe radiating
in the distance—us. If you imagine it now—30-plus years later—a
lone flag perpetually suspended in a lunar landscape with no one to
represent its meaning to, a timid humility creeps up. (It’s even
more humbling knowing the flag was blown over by the exhaust from their
take-off). The revelation that humans are simply not the center of
the
universe becomes an undeniable discomfort, like a stray eyelash in
the eye.
The astronauts also documented Aldrin’s moon-boot creating a footprint
in the soil: a lunar baby-step. It’s likely that the impression
remains and will for millions of years, perhaps not as a monument to
human ingenuity; maybe it’s more a lonely reminder that galaxies
continue, oblivious to whether or not humans walked on the moon.
Another “first” happened with the Apollo 11 mission. It was
the first time we could actually look back at ourselves and see how
beautiful and amazing the Earth is. Those first images of the “earthrise” on
the lunar horizon still give me goosebumps. Who can remember a time
when we did not imagine this world as a large blue and white ball?
Such
images are ubiquitous now, and space exploration is embarrassingly
low-tech (just think of space station Mir) and ho-hum when compared
with the
latest high-tech sci-fi films and video games.
One Giant Leap
There are other “firsts” going on, but they don’t
inspire pride. Images from space now show us the bald truth: we can
see vast scars of land devastated by rampant deforestation. Images tell
us that the ozone layer, which protects the Earth from the sun’s
harmful rays and other radiation, is deteriorating rapidly over the
polar regions; glaciers that have been solid ice for millions of years
are now melting. Meteorologists observe that the last decade was the
Earth’s warmest. In spite of the hard scientific evidence, some
people in power still dismiss global warming as a “theory”
in need of further studying. While nay-sayers may be profiting now from
industries that accelerate global warming, how long are they going to
keep it up? What’s it going to take to make them finally concede
to something they know is true? It’s folly, like having a picnic
on top of an atomic bomb that’s dropping to the Earth. For now,
it’s a nice place to eat lunch, but sooner or later, the bomb will
hit ground zero and that’ll be the end of it.
We’re leaving a different kind of footprint and it’s no baby-step.
Almost biblical in proportion, we’re covering the Earth with our
footsteps, leaving irreversible devastation in our wake. Like Godzilla,
we’re stomping through, trampling the Earth to smithereens, oblivious
to our impact or the consequences. It’s a disconnect. If we don’t
get a grip on what we’re doing, the next time a human’s foot
reaches the moon, she might be staring back at a dull gray globe.
Imagining Hope
So where can one look for hope in such hopelessness? Maybe to space...but
from a different angle.
In 1996, the NASA expedition to Mars generated new interest in what
lies beyond our noses. Images of the planet’s surface were relayed
back and a small robotic “rover”—appropriately named
“Sojourner”—labored over rocky dusty red stuff, taking
random shots of whatever happened to be in range. People constantly
checked the NASA website for the newest pictures and scrambled to process
what they were seeing. It didn’t take long for the shoving matches
to begin over the “naming” of rocks, craters and mountains
(“Wedge”, “Yogi”, and “Twin Peaks” were
a few) and whatever else was around. What created a great deal of broo-ha-ha
and really captured peoples’ attention was a tiny portion of a
panoramic view of the surface of Mars, the so-called “face”—a
cluster of shadows created by impressions that some imagine form a human
face. (Uh-huh: and the red rocks of Arizona are actually a series of
Martian sculptures, but we just don’t know it).
Whether or not you believe in sculptures of faces on Mars, the inspiration
and imagination is what delights and gives me hope. Who hasn’t
divined shapes of passing clouds—cat, dog, UFO? There’s a
pulse out there, a creativity and awe that is stirred when we graze
against something so much bigger than ourselves. The roaring debates
and conspiracy theories inspired by some random images of Martian rock
formations are a refreshing reminder that we humans are extremely curious
creatures and we have imaginations that run wild—still.
So what if we name Martian boulders and no one cares but us chickens?
The Martian landscape is none the wiser (for now at least). And who
cares that a man’s footprint on the moon is utterly inconsequential
to the goings-on of the galaxies? No matter how much we try, we can’t
squeeze the universe in our fists and impose ourselves as masters. But
we can imagine and label to help us feel connected in some way. And
imagination is the key to inspire us to stop destroying this planet.
Now if we could only figure out how to get people revved up to do just
that, we’d be in good shape.
Catherine Clyne
