Wednesday, July 31, 2019

Eternal Recurrence and Nihilism: How Can We Add Weight to Our Decisions?

[E]ternal recurrence means that every time you choose an action you must be willing to choose it for all eternity. And it is the same for every action not made, every stillborn thought, every choice avoided. And all unlived life will remain bulging inside you, unlived through all eternity. And the unheeded choice of your conscience will cry out to you forever. 
(“Nietzsche” in Irvin Yalom’s When Nietzsche Wept)

Nietzsche was a nihilist. He rejected the truth of normative and evaluative statements. That said, the exact kind of nihilism he favoured is a matter of some dispute (a dispute I touched upon in a previous article). Furthermore, despite his commitment to nihilism, a lot of Nietzsche’s philosophy was dedicated to moving beyond it. He wanted to show how life is still possible in the shadow of nihilism. Indeed, on one reading, it is possible to argue that Nietzsche saw nihilism as a great opportunity for humankind. Instead of passively accepting the values that are foisted upon us by cultural tradition, we can now actively create our own value systems. This could bring new hope to our lives.

Key to this was the doctrine of eternal recurrence. This doctrine showed how to add weight to our decisions in a nihilistic world. According to this doctrine, whenever you make a decision, you should imagine that you will have to make that decision over and over again (i.e. that there will be infinite replays of the decision). You should then choose whichever option you would be willing to choose across all of those replays. In other words, don’t go with one option for the sake of it and hope that you’ll get a chance to choose another option at a later replaying; pick the option that stands up to scrutiny over and over again.

Nietzsche may have believed that eternal recurrence was a real thing, and that our lives really do replay themselves an infinite number of times. But that’s not strictly speaking necessary to the usefuless of eternal recurrence as a decision heuristic. We can analyse it as a purely imaginative doctrine. The question then becomes: would it really make a difference if we imagined infinite replays of the same decision? Would such imagining help us to overcome nihilism?

Nadeem Hussain, in his article ‘Eternal Recurrence and Nihilism: Adding Weight to the Unbearable Lightness of Action’ argues that it could. In the remainder of this article, I want to review what he has to say. I think Hussain’s argument is fascinating, in particular because it shows how Nietzsche’s doctrine of eternal recurrence has some direct analogues in modern moral theory and psychology.

That said, before I get into the meat of Hussain’s argument, it is worth repeating something he himself says, namely: that despite its importance in his philosophical project, Nietzsche doesn’t actually say a whole lot about the doctrine of eternal recurrence. He doesn’t offer a detailed explanation of how it is supposed to be applied to day-to-day decision-making, nor a detailed justification of its use. So interpreters like Hussain have to read between the lines and construct an understanding of the doctrine that does justice to what Nietzsche seemed to be saying. In other words, don’t fool yourself into thinking that what follows is pure, unadulterated Nietzsche; it’s Hussain’s take on Nietzsche.

1. Why do we need to add weight to our decisions?
Let’s start by considering exactly why the doctrine of eternal recurrence is needed. Hussain takes the view — which he defends at greater length elsewhere — that Nietzsche is a thoroughgoing nihilist about normative and evaluative judgments. In other words, he thinks that all statements of the form ‘X is good’ or ‘X is obligatory’ are false (or, more properly, not capable of being true or false). This means that, at best, these statements are expressions of, perhaps widespread, feelings or attitudes. We can call this view ‘theoretical nihilism’.

This creates a problem for Nietzsche because of the claims he makes about human psychology. Like Schopenhauer before him, Nietzsche thinks that the will is an overwhelming psychological force in human life. People constantly want to do things; they are restless and try to change the world around them. Nietzsche’s twist on Schopenhauer is that he thinks the will always seeks out forms of resistance and tries to overcome them. This means that the will is, to use his phrase, a ‘will to power’. Related to this, Nietzsche thinks we are in the constant habit of making normative and evaluative judgments to fuel the will. We tend to think that certain things are good and certain things are bad. These normative and evaluative judgments play a key role in our psychological economies. What’s more, these normative and evaluative judgments tend to take an unconditional form: we don’t question them or doubt them when they are operative. They dominate our minds and make us think that whatever course of action we have chosen is necessary right now. Any disruption to this psychological economy, would be existentially threatening to creatures like us.

(I would also add — with the caveat that I am not a Nietzschean scholar and I get the impression that what I am about to say would be sacrilegious in the eyes of some Nietzscheans — that despite all the protestations to the contrary, there is an implicit evaluative judgment underlying Nietzsche’s thinking about the role of the will to power in human life. He seems to value it and think it should be given an outlet for its insatiable appetite. Indeed, he seems to go so far as to claim that it would be self-denying and inhumane to deny it its role.)

The problem with theoretical nihilism is that it seems to undercut the evaluative judgments that provide the fuel for the will. It rips asunder our psychological economy and turns us into ‘wantons’: people who are not committed to anything and get carried away by the whims of the moment. If our belief that ‘X is good’ is just an expression of opinion, and not grounded in some deeper metaphysical truth about the value of X, it is difficult to see why we should sustain our commitment to X. Maybe we should value something else? Or maybe we should just give up valuing altogether and let other people decide what we should do? This latter possibility is referred to as ‘passive nihilism’ by Nietzsche. It involves the passive acceptance of evaluative beliefs foisted upon us by others and not the active choosing of our own value systems. Nietzsche seems to prefer active nihilism over passive nihilism. But this is puzzling. How can you be an active nihilist if you accept theoretical nihilism? How can you remain committed to any project or plan if you know, deep down, that they aren’t really worthwhile?

One solution, favoured by Hussain, is to act ‘as if’ your projects and plans have value. More precisely, Hussain argues that one way to avoid complete motivational collapse is to sustain ‘honest illusions’ about the value of your projects and plans. But it is hard to see how honest illusions by themselves can address the problem. If the illusions are honest — i.e. if you are not deluding yourself into thinking that theoretical nihilism is false — won’t your projects and plans continue to feel hollow? This is where the doctrine of eternal recurrence comes to the rescue.

2. How Eternal Recurrence Adds Weight to Our Decisions
The idea of eternal recurrence adds weight to our illusions of value. It acts as a motivation amplifier. It takes advantage of the fact that we are naturally evaluative beings. We make evaluative judgments all the time. Our commitment to theoretical nihilism might call those judgments into question but it doesn’t change the fact that evaluations bubble up into our minds unbidden all the time. The important thing is to work with these natural evaluations and turn them into something with a bit more oomph.

You do this, according to Nietzsche, by taking a step back. So suppose you are deciding which course to study at university. You have the choice of computer engineering or biology. You have an interest in both, but you are not sure what to do. Instead of getting bound up with your occurrent feelings and emotions about the choice, you should instead get some psychological distance. This is what the imaginative exercise underlying the doctrine of eternal recurrence enables you to do. Instead of looking at the choice as being one that is being made at a particular moment in time, look on it as a series of choices that will repeat themselves across multiple (ultimately infinite) possible worlds. In other words, imagine that you will face the same decision over and over again. Furthermore, imagine that there is a constraint on how you get to decide across all those possible worlds: whatever you choose right now, in this world, will be the choice you have make in all those other possible worlds. So if you are stuck with the choice you make now across an eternity of replays, you need to make sure that the decision is one that you would be happy with across eternity.

I think that the movie Groundhog Day is, in some ways, a meditation on this Nietzschean exercise. In the movie, the main character (played with sardonic world-weariness by Bill Murray) is forced to live the same day over and over again. At first, this causes him great anxiety, then, when he gets used to it, he takes advantage of it to satisfy his hedonistic desires. He finds this hollow and unsatisfying so, finally, he tries to do good. In the end, he constructs a perfect day of perfect choices — ones that he can be happy playing out over and over again. In other words, he arrives at a set of decisions that can be endorsed under the strictures of eternal recurrence. Admittedly, the movie is not perfect illustration of eternal recurrence. Ultimately Bill Murray’s character gets to escape the fate of living out the same day over and over again, and, furthermore, the idea of doing good is contrary to theoretical nihilism. Nevertheless, for all its imperfections, I think it is a useful analogy.

You may still be wondering: how exactly does eternal recurrence add weight that is otherwise lacking. There are two things worth saying here. First, as Hussain points out, imagining the decisions playing out over and over again allows for small differences between preferences to aggregate into larger differences. So, for example, computer engineering and biology might seem roughly equal to you in the here and now, but maybe you have a very slight preference for biology. This slight preference may not be enough for you to discount the possibility of studying computer engineering right now, but over repeated plays the small difference will aggregate into something much larger. Consequently, the decision to study biology over computer engineering acquires weight that it previously lacked.

The other point, which Hussain makes in a couple of different ways, is that the idea underlying eternal recurrence is not that dissimilar to other proposed decision heuristics. For example, moral constructivists often claim that we can build objective normative and evaluative truths out of our tendency to form normative and evaluative beliefs. We can do this by following certain decision heuristics. When confronted with an evaluative belief like ‘X is good’ they might try to determine whether X is really good by imagining what an ‘ideal observer’ would think of X. The ideal observer is a hypothetical person who is perfectly rational and has full information about the nature of X and its relation to the world. Would that person endorse the belief that X is good? If they would, then X is indeed good; if not, then it is not. Hussain argues that what these moral constructivists are doing is very similar to what Nietzsche is trying to do with the doctrine of eternal recurrence. The one important difference, of course, is that Nietzsche is not trying to use the heuristic to construct objective normative and evaluative truths. He is just trying to add weight to our choices that might otherwise be lacking. In some ways, this makes his decision heuristic less of a hard sell.

Similarly, Hussain points out that the account of willpower favoured by some psychologists has a lot of overlap with the doctrine of eternal recurrence. George Ainslie (and others) have argued that our tendency to succumb to weakness of the will is caused by the fact that we radically (hyperbolically) discount the value of certain future options. This radical discounting can lead to the phenomenon of ‘preference reversal’. For example, we may value not-smoking much more than smoking, but at certain crucial moments our desire to smoke the next cigarette will exceed our desire to quit due to the way in which we discount future value (illustrated below).

How can we avoid succumbing to weakness of the will? One suggestion is that instead of focusing on the value of smoking vis-a-vis not-smoking in a particular moment we focus on the value of smoking vis-a-vis not-smoking across a large set of decision points. So imagine you must repeatedly face the choice of smoking/not-smoking. What’s the value to you of not-smoking across all those repeated decisions points and how does it compare to the value of smoking? If you really do value not-smoking over smoking then thinking about the choice in these terms could make the critical difference both because it creates some distance between you and your current decision and because focuses on the aggregate outcomes of all those decisions, not just one particular decision. This is very like the eternal recurrence idea.

3. Conclusion

That’s it, that’s Hussain’s interpretation of eternal recurrence. As mentioned at the outset, I find it interesting, particularly the links he draws between eternal recurrence and other related decision heuristics. I do, however, have some lingering doubts. For instance, I am not sure exactly how the imaginative exercise is supposed to work in practice. Obviously, I cannot imagine an infinite number of possible replays of the decision I am about to make. So would five be enough? Or thirty-five? Can I really imagine that many replays or will I tend to lose interest after two or three?

More importantly, although eternal recurrence may add weight to values that are otherwise light, I cannot see how it can add weight to nothing at all. So if I value nothing (or have no clear intuitions or beliefs about what I value), imagining multiple replays of a decision isn’t going to do much good, is it? Hussain alludes to this problem early on in his article, noting that honest illusions may not really address the problem of theoretical nihilism unless you have an underlying desire to sustain those honest illusions. He repeats the point later in the article when he notes that eternal recurrence is a game and for it to work you have to have the desire to play the game. But where does this desire come from? How can that desire have sufficient weight to guide all our decision-making? Is it not as questionable and contingent as any other desire as a result of theoretical nihilism? In short, couldn’t theoretical nihilism lead to a total collapse of the will (i.e. the loss of the will to will) and if so wouldn’t that render the doctrine of eternal recurrence moot? I guess one Nietzschean answer is that it is impossible for the will to completely collapse since we have the strong psychological habit of valuing things. Eternal recurrence is about amplifying those inevitable natural values into something more impressive. But I’m not sure if that is true. Certainly, there are days when I feel apathetic about everything and if that mood sustained itself over a long period of time I’d find it difficult to care about playing the eternal recurrence game.

Monday, July 29, 2019

Nietzschean Nihilism and the Highest Values

"We believe in nothing, Lebowski. Nothing. And tomorrow we come back and we cut off your chonson."
(The Big Lebowski) 

I have been spending my summer vacation reading about nihilism (why? what have you been doing?). Before this reading adventure, I thought I had a pretty good grasp of what nihilism was all about, namely: the rejection of normative and evaluative facts. But through my reading, I have come to realise that ‘nihilism’ is a confusing term. I think this is partly Nietzsche’s fault. As the philosopher most responsible for introducing the term into modern thought, it doesn’t help that Nietzsche spoke about several different forms of nihilism, not all of them meaning quite the same thing (active, passive, radical, Christian, European etc).

In this post, I want to look at one interpretation of Nietzschean nihilism. This interpretation comes from an article by Paul Katsafanas entitled ‘Fugitive Pleasure and the Meaningful Life: Nietzsche on Nihilism and Higher Values’. In this article, Katsafanas readily concedes that Nietzsche endorsed different forms of nihilism but thinks there was, nevertheless, a central form of Nietzschean nihilism (call it ’N-nihilism’) that preoccupied his thinking.

It is this core form of N-nihilism that I want to learn more about. I will do this by writing up an exposition of Katsafanas’s interpretation. My hope is that this will not only help me to understand what N-nihilism is all about, but will also help others who are interested in the topic.

1. Schopenhauer versus Nietzsche
I’m not an authority on Nietzsche. In fact, I find it difficult to read Nietzsche. His aphoristic and esoteric style just doesn’t appeal to me. I'm just too literal and analytical. I do, however, like reading Schopenhauer and Nietzsche was heavily influenced by Schopenhauer’s views on pessimism. I’ve written about these at length before. To summarise, Schopenhauer argued that the will was the most prevalent feature of human psychology (indeed, Schopenhauer went further and argued that the will was a fundamental metaphysical principle). He claimed that the will was insatiable: people constantly desire and long for things to be different. They want food when they are hungry; they want comfort when they are sad; they want, they want, they want.

This is the cause of much suffering. The will is motivated by some occurrent experience of suffering (some lack or deprivation that needs to be addressed). When the will is satisfied there is momentary contentment, but this soon passes away. The will moves on to something else: some new experience of suffering that needs to be addressed. Schopenhauer concluded from this that all happiness is really only neutral in nature, and not genuinely positive: it is about filling a hole and not about ascending to new heights. This is what led him to believe that all life is suffering and this is why he is known as the philosopher of pessimism.

As Katsafanas points out, Schopenhauer’s pessimism is founded on a simple ethic of pleasure and pain. We want pleasure and we avoid pain. The tragedy of life is that we spend most of our time in pain and then take pleasure in the elimination of pain. This gives us a distorted view of how bad (how painful) our lives really are. Schopenhauer lifted the veil and revealed the pessimistic truth.

Nietzsche, though inspired by Schopenhauer, took quite a different view. He didn’t think the simple ethic of pleasure and pain accounted for human action. On the contrary, he argued that humans often seek out pain. Religious ascetics — people who fast and flagellate themselves as acts of Godly devotion — were one of his go-to examples of this. There are many others. Think about your own life. How many times have you endured pain and suffering in order to achieve a goal? Probably quite often. So why do you and other people do this? The answer, according to Nietzsche, is that you find the pain meaningful, i.e. you think it serves some higher purpose. It is only when the higher purpose seems to be absent that the pain is viewed as a major problem.

As he put it:

Man, the bravest of animals and the one most accustomed to suffering, does not negate suffering, he wants it, he even seeks it out, provided one shows him a meaning for it, a to-this-end of suffering. The meaninglessness of suffering, not suffering itself, was the curse thus far stretched over humanity. 
(On the Genealogy of Morality, III: 28)

This led Nietzsche to the conclusion that it is the presence of meaning and purpose, and not the avoidance of pain, that is central to human life. Indeed, a life could be intensely pleasurable and yet be perceived as tragic because it lacked purpose. Katsafanas’s main claim is that N-nihilism is directly connected to this realisation.

2. N-Nihilism as the Absence of Higher Values
This is where things get a bit tricky. As noted in the introduction, Nietzsche says different things about nihilism and not all of them are consistent. Still, most interpreters (Katsafanas cites several) have taken Nietzsche’s central form of nihilism to be a type of basic evaluative nihilism. This involves the rejection or denial of the existence of values.

But Katsafanas doesn’t like this interpretation because it makes it difficult to understand other things that Nietzsche says. For example, Nietzsche’s discussion of nihilism largely focuses on a particular historical moment (late 19th Century Europe where traditional ideologies were under threat) and not on some general metaphysical truth (which Nietzsche was sceptical of anyway). Furthermore, Nietzsche doesn’t seem to think it is possible to deny or reject values per se. He sees valuing as a basic psychological drive or fact: people value things and this is apparent in how they act. It would be practically impossible to reject or deny all values.

Instead, N-nihilism has to be associated with the denial or rejection of certain kinds of value. Quoting from Nietzsche’s work, Katsafanas argues that it is the denial or rejection of higher values (or the highest values) that is the root of N-nihilism:

[N]ihilism is the conviction of the absolute untenability [Unhaltbarkeit] of existence as far as the highest values one acknowledges are concerned. 
(Kritische Studienausgabe, 12:10 - quoted in Katsafanas 2015)

This, of course, just raises the question: what is a higher value? One interpretation of the concept is that a higher value has two properties: (i) it is intrinsic and foundational to the justification of other values and (ii) it sits atop a hierarchy of value. So, for example, classical utilitarians would see pleasure as the highest value. It is foundational to how they justify other values. On utilitarianism, you can value ice-cream but only because of the pleasure it brings; if it doesn’t bring pleasure you cannot value it. It is also the chief value, i.e. the thing that is most important. All other putative values (freedom, justice etc) can be sacrificed for its attainment. Furthermore, it’s not just classical utilitarians who adopt this view of higher values; this understanding of highest values is common to many philosophical schools of thought.

Although it might be tempting to equate Nietzsche’s understanding of highest values with this view, Katsafanas argues that it would be a mistake. This is because Nietzsche’s generally rejects the idea that values can be ordered into neat, logical hierarchies. His famous work on morality — On the Genealogy of Morality — looks at how different societies are organised around different clusters of values, some of which are perceived as more important than others — as axiological centres of gravity — but do not form a simple logical hierarchy. On the contrary, Nietzsche sees human cultural history as involving conflict between different clusters of values, and evolutions to new axiological centres of gravity. For example, Homeric Greece was organised around a cluster of heroic values: courage in battle, physical strength and dexterity, righteous anger and so forth. Christian Europe was organised around a different cluster of values, something Nietzsche called the ’slave’ morality. The loss of central values doesn’t lead to the collapse of some value hierarchy, but does create tension and difficulty as society has to shift to some new axiological equilibrium.

So what, then, was Nietzsche’s understanding of highest values? Rather than belabour the point, we can just give Katsafanas’s answer to that question. He claims, reading across Nietzsche’s work, that there are six properties associated with the highest values. They are:

Demandingness: The highest values are demanding in that they require strict compliance. You cannot weigh the highest values against other lower values. They cannot be traded in or compromised against lower values. They are, in a sense, non-negotiable.

Tragic Conflict: When the highest values come into conflict, this conflict is experienced as tragic. This is largely because it forces people to choose between values they otherwise perceive as being non-negotiable.

Strong Emotion: The highest values tend to elicit strong emotional reactions, e.g. feelings of reverence, love, awe when they are protected and feelings of resentment and hatred when they are not.

Importance: The highest values have a weight that lower values tend to lack. In particular, they tend to terminate inquiries into why you might be engaging in a particular action. For example, in Homeric Greece, if you said you were doing something in order to secure glory on the battlefield, nobody would question what you were doing.

Exclusionary: The highest values tend to crowd out other values. You use them to criticise or delegitimise other values.

Community-building: Because of their importance and weight, the highest values have the capacity to bind communities together around common projects and aims.

Now, I have to say I’m not sure how distinctive these six properties are — for example, I see a lot of similarity between the first, second, fourth and fifth properties — but they are nevertheless what Katsafanas thinks Nietzsche means when he refers to ‘highest values’. Consequently, N-nihilism is interpreted as the denial or rejection of values with these six properties.

3. The Tragedy of N-Nihilism
This clarifies what N-nihilism is, but you may also want to know why N-nihilism is problematic and why Nietzsche was concerned about it (if, in fact, he was). Here’s my rough take on it. Nietzsche thought that Europe was going through a nihilistic moment in the late 19th Century. The delegitimisation of old value systems and the questioning of old faiths was creating something of a crisis of meaning. No value system seemed secure or beyond criticism. Many seemed to rest on shaky epistemological and metaphysical foundations (something Nietzsche fully endorsed with his 'perspectivalism'). This was causing people to question their commitment to the highest values and thus to lapse into N-nihilism.

Nietzsche did not engage in obvious forms of moralising, but he did perceive something tragic in this lapse into N-nihilism (and, indeed, others have argued that his philosophy is largely geared towards solving the problem of nihilism). For example, he starts his most famous work (Thus Spake Zarathustra) with the parable of the ‘last man’ who was supposed to embody nihilism. The last man was idle and uncommitted. He had values and pursued goals, but they were mere forms of entertainment and leisure, not true higher values:

The earth has become small, and on it hops the last man, who makes everything small. His race is as ineradicable as the flea-beetle; the last man lives longest. ‘We have invented happiness,’ say the last men, and they blink. They have left the regions where it was hard to live, for one needs warmth. . . . Becoming sick and harboring suspicion are sinful to them: one proceeds carefully. . . . One still works, for work is a form of entertainment. But one is careful lest the entertainment be too harrowing. One no longer becomes poor or rich: both require too much exertion. Who still wants to rule? Who obey? Both require too much exertion. No shepherd and one herd! 
(Zarathustra, Prologue)

In other words, once the lapse into N-nihilism was complete people would still value things like pleasure, comfort, health and security, but there would be something missing in all this. Higher values would no longer have their animating power. Individuals would not live meaningful lives committed to higher values; communities built around higher values would cease to exist.

And why is this a problem? Katsafanas admits that it is not easy to answer that question. Because Nietzsche avoided overt moralising, some do not interpret him as criticising or rejecting the lifestyle of the last man. Still, there is some inconsistency between the lifestyle of the last man and other aspects of Nietzsche’s philosophy, in particular his ‘will to power’.

Like Schopenhauer, Nietzsche thought the will was central to human psychology, but unlike Schopenhauer he thought the will was directed mainly at overcoming resistance and not at achieving goals per se. In other words, the will is driven to seek out worthy foes, obstacles to the achievement of goals, and it directs its energies to overcoming those obstacles. It is concerned with the means and not with the ends.

And it is not just that. The will doesn't just overcome adversaries and obstacles; it actually needs adversaries and needs obstacles: it is, after all, restless and insatiable. If it doesn’t have those worthy adversaries, it becomes listless and directed at whatever is available. This undermines the central motivating force in human life and leads to an unsatisfying form of life.

You can imagine, then, how the argument might go. Our highest values provide the will to power with a worthy adversary: they give it projects that involve struggle and resistance. What’s more, they provide projects that people give themselves to fully. They have to since the values at stake are non-negotiable and exclusionary. If we no longer have these highest values — if all values are perceived as contingent and questionable — then the will loses its worthy adversaries. This breaks down the sense of meaning in individual life and the sense of community. As Katsafanas puts it:

We’ve seen that nihilism is the loss of higher values. Higher values mandate strict compliance and recruit strong emotions, thus presenting struggle as meaningful. Loss of higher values gradually erodes commitment to struggle by presenting it as unjustifiable. So the last man has only fragile commitments to projects and can’t remain committed to difficult endeavors. This frustrates will to power. In short, there’s an essential tendency in our actions that favors adopting higher values and that is heightened and promoted by these higher values; moreover, absent these higher values its expression looks futile, and it lacks opportunity for expression. 
(Katsafanas 2015, 413)

This, then, is the tragedy of N-nihilism.

Friday, July 12, 2019

Automation, Space and Utopia: Making the Utopian Case for Space

[This is the extended text version of a lecture I delivered at the University of Otago, Dunedin on the 11th July 2019. As I explained to the audience, the lecture is a riff off my forthcoming book Automation and Utopia. That book is primarily about the impact of automating technologies on human social life, but does have one chapter that discusses space exploration. This lecture is a longer exploration of some of the themes raised in that chapter.]

When astronauts from Apollo 11 first set foot on the moon in July 1969, they left a message for future visitors. On a plaque appended to the ladder they used to descend to the surface, they inscribed the following words:

Here men from the planet Earth first set foot on the Moon in July 1969 AD. We came in peace for all mankind.

The message remains there to this day, at 0.67408°N and 23.47297°E on the Sea of Tranquility.

The message is, in many ways, a noble one. The use of the word 'mankind' may raise an eyebrow or two nowadays, but overall the intention seems to be to highlight a common sense of human purpose and meaning, one that transcends the petty squabbles that pockmark our terrestrial history. What's more, I'm sure many of the people involved in the Apollo missions sincerely believed that message.

But it is, of course, a lie -- or at least a half truth. We did not set foot on the moon for noble or utopian reasons. We set foot on the moon because of those very petty terrestrial squabbles that the message proclaims to leave behind. The Apollo mission was a signal of American power, a way to beat the Soviets in the Cold War. When the victory was complete, the Apollo programme was disbanded, and subsequent 'manned'1 space missions have been far more limited in their aspirations.

The lesson of the Apollo programme thus seems to be an ambivalent one. Its utopian packaging hides a more cynical political core. It is no surprise then that subsequent proclamations of a human return to the Moon or a voyage to Mars have been greeted with suspicion. In this lecture, I want to reconsider this lesson of ambivalence and try to rehabilitate the utopian case for human space exploration.

I do so in four stages. First, I fast forward from the Apollo missions to the contemporary space race and examine its motivations through the lens of two of its most prominent spokespeople: Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk. Second, I distill from this discussion two basic arguments one can make in favour of human space exploration: (i) a necessitarian argument and (ii) a utopian argument. I argue that although space advocates often lean on the necessitarian argument, it faces some severe limitations and hence the utopian argument is the one we ought to be focusing on. Third, I try to make a compelling utopian argument. And fourth, and finally, I defend this argument from six objections.

1. The New Space Race: Musk versus Bezos
It would be wrong to suggest that contemporary space exploration is being led by the private sector. There is still a great deal of governmental and national investment in space exploration, noticeably among emerging superpowers such as China and India. Nevertheless, certain private actors have been doing a lot of public cheerleading about it and I want to speak about the visions of two of them: Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos.

Musk has, perhaps, been the most public and the most prominent voice in the contemporary space race. Through his company SpaceX, he has made it his life's mission to build a human colony on Mars and so to create the infrastructure needed to make humanity a 'multiplanetary species'. Musk speaks about this project with passionate zeal and has inspired legions of equally passionate fans. Bezos has, until quite recently, been more taciturn, but the passion for space burns deep within him. Long before Amazon was a twinkle in his eye, Bezos was a devout 'space nerd' and spoke, during his valedictorian speech to his high school, of his desire to build human colonies in space. At present, through his company Blue Origin, he says he wants to build a 'road to space', one that will enable future generations to innovate in space like he and his contemporaries innovated on the internet. Unlike Musk, Bezos is not so keen on planetary colonization. He wants to build largescale orbiting space colonies, along the lines of what you can find in Neill Blomkamp's movie Elysium or in Arthur C Clarke's Rendezvous with Rama book series.

Both men are inspired by earlier pioneers. In Musk's case, the influence of Werner van Braun's Das Marprojekt and Robert Zubrin's The Case for Mars can be readily discerned. Von Braun's work, originally written in 1946, is an impressively forward-looking piece of technical scientific speculation (whatever you might think of Von Braun's compromised association with the Nazis). Written before humans had launched anything successfully into space, it describes in detail how we could build an interplanetary spaceship (in orbit) and use this to travel to Mars. Zubrin's work is more recent (first published in 1996) and goes into detail on the technical and practical feasibility of building an actual colony on Mars. It's this book that probably served as the more proximate inspiration for Musk's work, though Musk and Zubrin have a slightly contentious relationship (the latter often criticising specific elements of the former's plans for Mars colonization).

In Bezos's case, the intellectual influence is much clearer and more direct. While at Princeton, Bezos was a student of Gerald O'Neill, the physicist and author of the ground-breaking book The High Frontier. First published in the 1970s, this book describes in vivid and fascinating detail how we could build orbiting space colonies. The book contains schematic blueprints for several such colonies. They all follow a common format. They consist of long hollow tubes (or spheres), on the inner surface of which we recreate a planetary surface. The tubes are then placed at optimal and human-friendly orbits around the sun, and set spin at a constant rate to recreate the effects of gravity. Inside, we can control the environment and the weather conditions and live pleasant, and recognisably human lives. This is preferred to the colonization of other planetary surfaces, which are often harsh and inhospitable to humans. In a public speech on May 9th 2019, Bezos has stated very clearly that his long-term goal is to make it possible for us to create such 'O'Neill colonies' in space. Some images from O'Neill's book and Bezos's talk are provided below. If they look familiar, they should. O'Neill's work has inspired many science fiction authors and movie directors, including the aforementioned Arthur C Clarke and Neil Blomkamp.

Screenshot from Jeff Bezo's talk at Blue Origin on 9 May 2019 

Original artwork from O'Neill's The High Frontier

Both Musk and Bezos are obsessed with the technical details of human space exploration. This is for obvious reasons: both men have engineering backgrounds and have made their fortunes out of their ability to build things. Furthermore, both are aware that we have been speculating about human space exploration for centuries, but unless it becomes technically possible there is little to be gained from this speculation. Although both disagree on the long-term visions, they are following similar technical pathways. For example, both agree that reducing the cost of spaceflight through reuseable rockets is the key first step to a human future in space. And both have made considerable technical progress towards this goal, Musk with the various Falcon rockets (images below) and Bezos with the New Shepard sub-orbital rocket and the forthcoming New Glenn orbital rocket. Both also aim to create a range of landing vehicles to get onto the surface of other planets and robotic rovers and similar devices for exploring and building on those surfaces.

The technical details of both projects are important but peripheral to the present discussion. I am not so much concerned with how Bezos and Musk plan to execute their visions, but rather with why they want to do it in the first place. Surprisingly enough, neither articulates this at any great length, but their views are reasonably clear.

Musk has said that building a colony on Mars is a human insurance policy -- a way of ensuring that humanity can continue in the aftermath of some existential catastrophe on Earth. Musk, as you may know, is something of a connoisseur of existential risks, voicing very publicly his concerns about climate change and artificial superintelligence. He thinks that if we want humanity to survive in the long-run, then we must become a multiplanetary species. Musk doesn't conceive of his Mars project in purely negative terms. He also thinks that the colonization of Mars will be a great adventure and inspiration for humanity, often expressing this view in the form of a rhetorical question (well it would be, wouldn't it?). Still, Musk is underwhelming when it comes to the justifications for his project. For example, his 2016 presentation on the case for making humanity a multiplanetary species is -- to be blunt -- cringeworthy and difficult to watch.

Bezos is much slicker and more articulate (as you might expect).2 His argument is an updating of the one made by O'Neill in The High Frontier. Like Musk, he is concerned about the long-term prospects for humanity. He argues that Earth is the 'best planet' in the solar system and that we need to protect it. Indeed, Bezos has coopted the language of Musk's critics and repeatedly emphasises the fact that there is no 'planet B'. But Bezos argues that we cannot protect Earth if we continue on our current trajectory. Our present way of life demands a lot of energy use. Indeed, increased energy use per capita is the hallmark of the civilisational progress we have made over the past three hundred years (in this, Bezos echoes the arguments made by Ian Morris in his book Why the West Rules for Now and The Measure of Civilization). The problem is that the Earth has a limited carrying capacity. So this progress cannot continue on Earth. We must migrate to space, and take full advantage of its abundant solar energy and other natural resources, to sustain our existence.

To be clear, Bezos does not make his argument in a purely negative tone. Far from it. His goal is not simply to conserve what we currently have but, rather, to ensure that it continues to grow and develop. He imagines a future in which trillions of humans populate space colonies and maintain a culture of 'dynamism and growth'. He says that such a large population could house a 1000 Einsteins and 1000 Mozarts. What wonders would they create to benefit us all? The question answers itself.

Although Musk and Bezos catch a lot of flack for their views, there is, I believe, something inspiring about they are doing. Still, it would be remiss of me not to highlight the cynical interpretation of what they are doing. Just as the Apollo programme was criticised for hiding its political motivations in some utopian packaging, so too are they criticised for hiding their personal ambition behind a smokescreen of inspiration. Critics argue that manned space exploration, of the sort desired by Musk and Bezos, is an indulgence we cannot afford -- a vanity project for two extremely wealthy men. They argue that projects of this sort detract attention away from what needs to be done here on earth, on initiatives that could alleviate the suffering of millions and help to avert climate catastrophe. They also question the desire to maintain a culture of growth and dynamism. This culture, they point out, is the root cause of our current problems. We need to focus instead on building a steady-state economy and making do with a 'zero growth' society. As such, they see what Musk and Bezos are doing as symptoms of the disease we need to fix. Even more cynically-minded critics, will argue that Musk and Bezos are in it for their own gain. Space colonies are an escape hatch for the 1% (or should that be 0.01%?), an insurance policy for themselves and their Silicon Valley friends, and a way of perpetuating inequality and suffering here on Earth.3

Is this right? Can we avoid the cynical interpretation of these projects? That's the question I want to answer in the remainder of my remarks.

2. Two Arguments for Manned Space Exploration
Bezos and Musk are not lone voices in the wilderness. There are many others constructing and evaluating arguments for manned space exploration. Indeed, there has been surge of interest in this topic in the recent philosophical literature 4. Still, for all their theoretical sophistication and nuance, these arguments come in two main forms, both of which are adopted by Musk and Bezos.

The first is the 'Necessitarian Argument'. According to this argument, humans must explore space, it is not something that is merely optional or desirable. There are a variety of stated reasons for this. Sometimes the focus is on escaping existential catastrophes like climate change or nuclear war or meteor strike or, in the very long term, the supernova that will envelop the Earth. Sometimes the focus is more on the duty to ensure the long-term survival of the human race (as well as other lifeforms).5 The philosopher Keith Abney, for example, has argued that if anything counts as a moral duty the duty to ensure human survival counts as a moral duty. This duty seems to necessarily entail future human space exploration.

The logic here is impeccable. We know for certain that our planet will be rendered uninhabitable by the Sun in a few billion years and will ultimately be engulfed by the Sun in 7.5 billion years. Before then, we can be reasonably confident that something terrible will happen to our planet (human-induced or otherwise) and that we will not be able to survive as a result. So if we want to survive over the long-run then it really does look like we must get off planet. Musk is right about this.

But this necessitarian argument has some serious limitations. For one thing, it is only truly compelling in the very long-run. The risks to which it ultimately appeals are nebulous and distant. Who knows what things will be like in 7.5 billion years? Will there even be a human race? Probably not. Since we have several billion years left to run down the clock, there is little reason to prioritise human space exploration right now. Indeed, doing so right now comes with a significant opportunity cost, as critics are keen to point out. It means we have to divert scarce resources from other projects which are both more urgent and more morally compelling. For instance, whatever you might think of billionaire philanthropy (and many people think little of it nowadays), I'm sure most of you would agree that Bill Gates's investment in vaccination and anti-malaria treatments in the developing world is a more compelling and morally necessary investment than Bezos's investment in a new moon lander.6 In addition to this, the claim that space exploration is somehow morally necessary in the short term seems quite cavalier and irresponsible in light of the risks that this poses to the astronauts and pioneers that will lead this initiative. Elon Musk would have a very hard time convincing me or anyone else that they have a moral obligation to be part of the first mission to Mars, given the risk this undoubtedly poses to human health and well-being. Participation in such a mission would have to be morally optional, not a matter of moral obligation.

Consequently, I think the necessitarian argument faces an uphill battle. It fails to be compelling or persuasive, at least in the short term. Nevertheless, I understand why people try to make it: if it worked, it would make the strongest possible case for human space exploration. It just doesn't work.

The other argument is the 'Utopian Argument'. According to this argument, human space exploration is desirable because it helps us to realise important human goods. In other words, if we go into space, we can live lives of meaning and purpose, and build a better future for ourselves and our offspring. The goods associated with space exploration include things like scientific discovery, knowledge, spiritual enlightenment, communalism, progress, dynamism and growth (the things Bezos emphasises in his case for space). This argument is weaker than the necessitarian argument. It does not claim that space exploration is obligatory or compulsory, merely that it is desirable -- an option that we should seriously consider exercising.

And yet, despite this, I find the utopian argument more appealing. It is a more hopeful and optimistic argument. It does not try to scare us with apocalyptic prognostications, nor bully us into accepting its conclusions. Rather, it invites us to consider what it means to be human and what is most conducive to our flourishing. Could it be that space exploration is exactly what we need to flourish? It is a tantalising thought and one that I will spend the remainder of this lecture developing.

3. Making the Utopian Argument
Before I get into the meat of the utopian argument, I need to confront an unwelcome fact. 'Utopia' is a dirty word. Very few people admit to being utopians nowadays. Indeed, even though I would argue that Bezos makes a utopian case for human space exploration, he disavows that terminology. Why is this?

The reason is that utopian political and social movements have acquired an unwelcome reputation. In some quarters they are viewed as naive and faintly ridiculous. A good example of this can be found in David Bramwell's satirical travelogue The No 9 Bus to Utopia which recounts his adventures visiting 'intentional communities' around the globe. Each of these communities espouses a certain vision of the good life (ranging from highly regimented, eco-friendly living to the more libertine world of wild sex parties and unchecked hedonism). Each of them comes off as kooky and unattractive. In other quarters, utopians are viewed as dangerous and malign. A good example of this can be found in Karl Popper's various essays on utopian political movements. Writing in the mid-20th century, Popper argued that fascism and communism were utopian political movements. They were both built around a 'blueprint' for the ideal society. The goal was to implement this blueprint. The problem, for Popper, was that not only were these blueprints flawed, they were also used as an excuse for violence. Those who could not be converted to the utopian cause had to be suppressed or eliminated. Their sacrifice was justified because once the blueprint was implemented all would be well. Popper argued that all utopian movements had this inherent tendency to justify great violence, irrespective of the blueprints they espoused. He argued that humans should consequently reject utopianism and instead focus on eliminating 'concrete evils' from society.

I have a lot of sympathy for Popper's view, but I still endorse a utopian outlook. This not because I think Popper's critique is wrong 7 but because I think there is a version of utopianism that is immune from his critique. Popper conflates utopianism with the view that there is a single, ideal blueprint that society ought to implement to realise the best of all possible worlds. It is true that classic utopian texts such as Plato's Republic and More's Utopia have this form, but very few modern utopianists endorse this understanding. H.G. Wells, for example, favoured a form of utopianism that was dynamic and adaptive, changing its vision of the good society in response to the latest technological and social trends. And Oscar Wilde, famously, argued that a utopian society was always 'on the horizon'. In other words, we never arrive at the ideal society we always just try get better and better.

The philosopher Christopher Yorke, in homage to Wilde, refers to this as the 'horizonal' model of utopianism. This is the version of utopianism I endorse. According to it, the key insight of utopian thinking lies not in coming up with carefully prescribed plans for the ideal society, but rather in (a) recognising that human society could be much better than it currently is and (b) figuring out how to make this possibility a reality. As such, utopianism is best thought of as an anti-conservative philosophy of social reform, one that is committed to continual exploration of the horizons of possibility.

There is still the danger that this horizonal understanding of utopianism could be used to support violence and suppression of dissent. But we can safeguard against this in two ways. First, we can recognise that there is unlikely to be a single radically better future for humanity. There is much more likely to be a plurality of radically better futures. We should respect that plurality and not commit ourselves to taking any one trajectory through the set of possible futures. Second, we can build 'anti-violence' conditions into our definition of utopianism. This is something that Christopher Yorke does in his work, arguing that since there is no final end state toward which humanity must aim, there is no end state that can justify the means of violence. Instead, all utopian projects must respect and protect the rights of individuals not to be harmed in their wake. 8

With this revised understanding of utopianism in mind, it is possible to make the utopian argument for human space exploration. We do this by arguing that human space exploration is conducive to continual improvement of the human condition, and is hence consistent with the aim of horizonal utopianism. There are three ways in which to make this argument.

The first is to appeal directly to the link between space exploration and expanding horizons. If the purpose of horizonal utopianism is to keep the frontiers of human possibility open, then it seems like committing to the project of space exploration is an obvious way to do this. After all, we have few horizons left to explore here on earth. Humanity has conquered the four corners of the globe9. We have set up human societies and outposts in the harshest environments and we have made it possible for humans to live and, in most cases, thrive in those environments. There are, to paraphrase Alexander the Great, no lands left for us to conquer. If we continue with our Earthbound existence, we must make our peace with a fixed horizon10. If we expand into space, the horizon opens up once more. In fact, space provides us with a near infinite frontier of possibility. The ideal playground for the horizonal utopianist.

Of course this isn't quite true. There are still some geographical horizons left to explore on Earth -- the deep ocean, for example, remains relatively free from human occupation -- and there are other metaphorical horizons that we could continue to explore with an Earthbound existence -- for example, we could explore 'virtual' environments, or new forms of biological existence through genetic engineering and bioenhancement. But even if space exploration is not the only way to ensure a continued horizon of possibility, it is at least one way in which to do this and hence is consistent with the ethos of horizonal utopianism.

Note how this first argument does not appeal to any particular conception of the good life. It does not claim that the lives we will live in space will be radically better than the lives we live on Earth. The second argument makes up for this omission by arguing that not only does human space exploration allow for a continued horizon of possibility, it also allows for a better existence by helping to realise certain human goods. I mentioned several of these already when I introduced the utopian argument earlier and, indeed, there are many different ways of making this second argument, each one varying depending on the good to which you appeal. For example, you could argue that human space exploration is utopian because it enables a radically better form of human freedom, perhaps because it allows pioneering space colonies to determine their own fates free from the interference of Earthbound governments. In this sense, human space exploration could be deemed utopian for the same reason that classic American frontierism was thought to be utopian. I'll return to this idea a little later on, for now I want to make a different argument that appeals to a different set of goods.

To be precise, I want to argue that human space exploration is utopian because it allows for the continued realisation of intellectual goods (such as scientific discovery, artistic creation, philosophical insight). This argument has been made eloquently and relentlessly by the astrophysicist Ian Crawford. Crawford makes two key points. The first is that even if an Earthbound existence does not necessarily lead to intellectual stagnation, it will be more likely to do so than a space-oriented one. Unless we have new experiences or encounter new phenomena, our intellectual lives will tend to be relatively monotonous and uninventive. We might refine ideas and theories, but not truly innovate. A good analogy here might be the stagnation we currently see in the movie industry: instead of coming up with genuinely new ideas we have to make do with endless, formulaic sequels and movie franchises. If we stay put on Earth, then we will tend to have the same experiences and encounter the same phenomena over and over again. The second point is that space exploration will allow us to avoid intellectual stagnation. Through space exploration we will make new discoveries about the universe and our place within it; we will encounter new phenomena and react to them in interesting and unexpected ways. This will enable us to innovate in three distinct ways: (i) it will enable us to develop our scientific theories of how the universe works; (ii) it will enable (and indeed force) us to develop new models of ethical and political thought to cope with the challenges of extra-terrestrial existence and (iii) it will give us the raw material to develop new forms of artistic expression and invention.11

You might wonder whether this argument (and the previous one) are essentially the same as Jeff Bezos's 'dynamism and growth' argument. There are certainly similarities between them, but there are also important differences. Bezos's argument appeals to the continued growth and expansion of the human race and the human economy. He envisages a future in which there are trillions of humans gobbling up the energy of the sun in the interests of growth and innovation. I do not. Keeping the horizons of possibility open, and enabling continued intellectual innovation does not require or entail continued growth in the human population or in human energy capture. That may happen, but it doesn't have to happen. In other words, the utopian arguments I am putting forward are, at least in principle, compatible with sustainable or steady-state models of economic development.

This brings me to the third argument. This one is a little bit more technical and philosophical. Earlier, I mentioned that horizonal utopianists should embrace a plurality of better futures. In other words, they shouldn't insist on one single best possible future but rather tolerate and, if possible, enable different pathways to a better future. This is a point that Robert Nozick made much of when he discussed utopianism in his 1974 book Anarchy, State and Utopia. For some reason, the first two thirds of this book, in which Nozick criticises Rawlsian egalitarianism and endorses minimal state libertarianism, are much more widely read than the last third in which he discusses utopianism. This is a shame since Nozick's analysis of utopianism is both insightful and original. In rough outline, Nozick argues that there is no single utopian society because different people weight and prioritise different goods. Consequently, classic, blueprint utopianism is doomed to failure. Instead, Nozick argues that the ideal society will be one that allows each individual to pick and choose the form of social life that they most prefer. In other words, the ideal society won't be a single society at all but, rather, a society-generating mechanism that allows people to create communities that prioritise and favour the values that they prioritise and favour. Nozick refers to this society-generating mechanism as the 'meta-utopia'.

There are different ways in which we might build a meta-utopia. Nozick himself argues, unsurprisingly, that a constitutional order that endorses minimal state libertarianism is most consistent with the meta-utopian ideal. But this faces some obvious limitations, particularly if applied to humans living on the planet Earth. Since there is a limited territory in which people can create and implement their preferred communities, there is likely to be ongoing conflict and tension, which will actually require a lot of state intervention to police and control. For this reason, in my forthcoming book, I argue that virtual reality might provide the ideal environment in which to implement a meta-utopia.

But space could also provide such an environment. Indeed, this is effectively what Gerald O'Neill envisaged in his book The High Frontier. He argued that each O'Neill colony would be its own self-contained community, following and implemented its own preferred conception of the ideal society, officially under the control of a single agency that grants licences to build and create these colonies. Since it is, at least in principle, possible to create a vast number of O'Neill colonies (even if we limit ourselves to this solar system) we have here a way of realising Nozick's vision of the meta-utopia. What's more, this vision is fully compatible with the horizonal model of utopianism because it allows for continued innovation in modes of social existence.

4. Objections and Replies
This utopian argument for human space exploration is unlikely to be persuasive in and of itself. It only becomes persuasive if it can offer credible replies to the many potential objections one might have to it. I will close this lecture by considering six such objections.

(A) The Opportunity Cost Objection
The first objection is our old friend the opportunity cost objection. This objection maintains that it would be irresponsible to waste resources on human space exploration given the many other pressing demands on those scarce resources. We encountered this objection earlier when discussing the views of Bezos and Musk, and I gave it some weight when criticising the necessitarian argument. My point there was that if we are claiming that space exploration is morally necessary than we run into the problem that there are many other things that are morally necessary and there is no reason to think that space exploration is the most morally necessary thing to do. But now that we have switched gears to the utopian argument, I think it is worth reconsidering its merits.

The opportunity cost objection faces two basic problems. First, if we take it seriously, then it seems we must also take seriously the problem of moral demandingness. This is the problem that if we want to live truly morally unobjectionable lives, then we have to accept that a lot of what we currently do is morally questionable. Those of us who live in developed economies and have comfortable jobs undoubtedly appropriate more resources for ourselves than we truly deserve. We should be donating far more of our time and money to good causes. This is true at an individual level, and at a societal level. In fact, if we think about it, an awful lot of what we do is morally indulgent: owning a car, a smartphone, or a centrally heated home, reading books, studying philosophy, attending lectures like this (and so on), all of it is a waste of moral resources. There is so much more we could be doing.

Now, some people do take this style of thinking seriously, but when they do they end somewhere rather unpleasant. As Susan Wolf points out in her widely-discussed essay 'Moral Saints', people who dedicate themselves to living the morally best life, live pretty unpleasant and inhuman lives. They can never relax or take a moment for themselves; they must always push themselves to the limits of what is morally possible. They may live morally praiseworthy lives, but they don't live morally flourishing lives. Given this, it's not clear that we should take the opportunity cost objection too seriously. If we do, we will never be able to dedicate the time and attention we need to making possible for people to live flourishing lives. We will always be trying to avoid moral catastrophe.

Second, even if we do take the opportunity cost objection seriously, it's not clear why investment in human space exploration should attract so much ire. We waste scarce resources on many other highly objectionable projects: militarisation, deforestation, the latest Avengers movie. If we are looking to cut back, and invest resources in better causes, I suggest we take money from those projects first. Indeed, taking money from those projects and investing in space exploration may be the morally preferable thing to do, if space exploration has the utopian potential that I outlined above.

(B) The Impossibility/Impracticality Objection
The second objection is that human space exploration is impossible, or, at the very least, highly impractical. Space is dark and dangerous and humans were not built for it. We evolved to live on one planet. Once we escape the protective atmosphere of our home planet, we become highly vulnerable to solar radiation and other space-based threats to human life. It is for this very reason that many scientists prefer sending machines/robots to space instead of humans. They are much less vulernable to these extra-terrestrial threats and so much more cost effective. Using this logic, some philosophers, such as Keith Abney, have argued that we are only ever morally justified in sending machines to space.

There are three responses to this objection. First, it could be argued that enhancing the existential robustness of the human body is going to be part and parcel of the project of getting us into space. Manfred Clynes and Nathan Kline, in a famous essay in which they coined the term 'cyborg', made this very point before any human being had been successfully launched into space. They argued that the cyborgisation of the humanity was the best long-term approach to getting humans into space. This was because if could we turn ourselves into machines, then we could become better adapted to life in space (though, to be clear, we could not remove all existential vulnerabilities, as is clear from the history of the machines we have sent to space).

Second, there could be technical fixes to space habitats that enable us to live more securely and safely in space. We already have some success in this regard, with several human beings having spent extended periods of time in the International Space Station. We can build upon this by building more human-friendly space habitats. Gerald O'Neill had several proposals for creating radiation shields in his colonies that might work. At the very least, there are possibilities that are worth exploring and it should not be assumed in advance that long term living in space is a practical impossibility.

Third, it may be possible for humans to get many of the benefits of space exploration without leaving the planet. We could do this by exploring space through robotic avatars. In other words, we could allow the robots to brace the harsh environment of space and transmit their experiences to us through virtual reality headsets and haptic suits. We could then remotely control what they are doing, and have a fully immersive experience of space exploration. This would, obviously, be a technologically limited solution. The vastness of space means that teleoperation of robotic avatars is not really feasible beyond near-earth orbit. But, again, this is a possibility worth exploring and one that could help us to realise some of the utopian potential of space.

(C) The Other Horizons Objection
The third objection concedes that human space exploration is consistent with horizonal utopianism but then counters that it isn't the only project that is consistent with horizonal utopianism. We could, as I already mentioned, explore the horizons of biological form through bioenhancement, or explore new forms of life through virtual reality. In fact, so the objection goes, mightn't we be better off exploring these horizons in lieu of space? After all, space exploration is a dangerous game. If we are going to invest time and energy in any utopian projects, shouldn't we invest in the ones that have the highest chance of success?

This objection has some merit. In fact, I end up endorsing a version of it in my forthcoming book Automation and Utopia, but I would make two points in response to it here. First, it's not obvious that we couldn't invest in all these projects at the same time: indeed, spreading ourselves across different projects is arguably more consistent with the ethos of horizonal utopianism. Second, we probably shouldn't think of these projects as substitutes for one another. On the contrary, we should probably think of them as complements to one another. By pursuing one we could improve our chances of pursuing the other. I already made the point that the cyborgisation of the human condition could be part and parcel of the project of space exploration; likewise, improvements in virtual reality technology could be exactly what we need to explore space through robotic avatars.

(D) The Dehumanisation/Fragmentation Objection
The fourth objection is that by expanding into space we will erode our common sense of humanity. This is because we will fragment and splinter into different communities and colonies, and we will form an irreparable rift between the Earthbound and the spacebound. Although she was entirely clear about it, this seems to have been one of Hannah Arendt's major objections to human exploration.12 Arendt worried that moving beyond the earth would result in the loss of a shared history and shared community, and would lead to the de-centering of humankind.

Although expressed in somewhat nebulous language, this objection strikes me as a serious one. We live in an age of political polarisation and fragmentation. Through the wonders of digital technology and algorithmic mediation, we have sorted ourselves into echo chambers and filter bubbles. We are consequently losing a sense of solidarity and common purpose. We see the negative effects of this every day in our political discourse and social interactions. There is reason to worry that space exploration will exacerbate this tendency. This is particularly problematic for me, given that some of the utopian potential I see in space exploration lies in its ability to enable the creation of fragmented and self-contained space colonies (cf. the meta-utopian argument).

Still, there are a few things I would say by way of response. First, at least when viewed in the light of history, Arendt's fear seems to be misplaced. Every past expansion of human settlement could have been rejected on the grounds that it would lead to the fragmentation and de-centering of the relevant human society. For example, the expansion of European settlements from the Renaissance period onwards could have been rejected on the grounds that it would lead to the fracturing of national or European identity and solidarity. And yet this doesn't appear to have happened. On the contrary, as much as you might dislike it, these historical expansions seem to have reinforced a common sense of national and European identity. Second, at least in the short term, there is reason to hope that a concerted effort at human space exploration will be unifying rather than polarising. It will, after all, require a lot of collective effort to make human space exploration and settlement a technical possibility. Many of the people involved in the Apollo missions have said that they found the experience to be incredibly inspiring because they were banding together with like-minded souls and contributing to a common endeavour. Is it impossible for us to recapture some of that spirit? In this light, a project of human space exploration may be exactly what we need to suck us out of our filter bubbles, and avoid the worst excesses of polarisation and fragmentation.

(E) The Hobbesian War Objection
The fifth objection is that human space exploration and settlement will set up the ideal conditions for a 'Hobbesian war' in space. This is an argument that has been made forcefully by Phil Torres.13 Taking his inspiration from Thomas Hobbes, Torres argues that fragmented space settlements are likely to develop distinctive ideologies and, in the extreme, may even evolve into separate species. Because of this they will grow suspicious of one another and worry about the possibility of other settlements attacking them and taking away what they have built for themselves. They will consequently be tempted to launch pre-emptive attacks to preserve themselves, which could quickly lead to an all out space war. On Earth, we prevent this collapse into anarchy by creating strong centralised governments that keep the peace (a 'Leviathan' to use the Hobbesian terminology). The problem, according to Torres, is that it will be practically impossible to create and maintain a Leviathan-like order across the vast distances of space. The speed of communication and travel between space settlements will make it very difficult to police and enforce the peace. Torres takes this reasoning to some extreme places, suggesting that in the end space settlements might create some apocalyptic weaponry that make nuclear weapons look like firecrackers. This then leads him to conclude that every minute that we delay human exploration is a good minute.

There are at least three things worth saying in response to this. First, Torres relies on some highly speculative reasoning when considering what will happen in space settlements and what kinds of weapons they will develop and have access to. While this speculation may turn out to be correct, it should be treated with due scepticism and weighed appropriately against more optimistic speculation. Second, several of the assumptions that Torres makes can be challenged. For example, his claim that space settlements will grow suspicious of one another and be motivated to launch preemptive attacks is questionable. Quite the opposite could be the case. Good fences make for good neighbours and it is hard to imagine a better fence that the cold expanse of space. Similarly, Torres claim that it will be impossible to create a Leviathan in space is probably only true if human space settlements are widely separated. If we implement the O'Neill/Bezos vision of orbiting space colonies, the distances will be much more human-friendly and hence much more conducive to policing and enforcing the peace. Third, it's also worth weighing the risks of space settlement against the risks of staying put on Earth. Although I have tried to avoid making this argument throughout this lecture, human existence could be threatened if we stay here on Earth, either due to dwindling resources or climate change, and this could also provide the ideal conditions for conflict and strife. Even if space exploration also carries a risk of conflict, we may be better off running that risk.

(F) The Tyranny Objection
The sixth and final objection is that life in space would be unpleasant because the governments in space settlements will have to be tyrannical and to seriously curb human freedom. This objection has been made, at considerable length, by the astrobiologist Charles Cockell 14. Cockell makes quite a number of interesting arguments but his core argument is this: a tyrannical government is one that interferes with its citizens (e.g. by limiting their behaviour and punishing them if they step out of line). Citizens have certain strategies they can exercise in response to this tyranny: (i) they can acquiesce to the interference, i.e. they can align their preferences with the government's preferences; (ii) they can take the Stoic retreat, i.e. ignore the outside interference and try to achieve inner peace of mind; (iii) they can protest or rebel against the government and (iv) they can physically escape from the clutches of the government. Of these, arguably only the last two are consistent with maintaining human freedom in the face of tyranny. Cockell then argues that in these strategies will not be available to the citizens of tyrannical governments. In fact, of the four strategies, the one that citizens are most likely to exercise is the first: i.e. acquiescence to the demands of tyrannical governments.

Why is this? The problem, as Cockell sees it, is twofold. First, the habitats we establish in space will be fragile and vulnerable things. For example, any damage to the the oxygen supply on a Mars colony could be fatal to all the humans living there. Second, as a result of this, the Mars government will have to police and enforce a very strict set of rules to prevent any damage or sabotage to its life supply system. In fact, it's not just that. They will also probably have to ensure that every member of the colony plays a part in maintaining those life supply systems.15 There is little room for dissidence or rebelliousness. As Cockell puts it, these space societies will tend to be highly collectivist, not individualist. Any individual who finds themselves as odds with the government will have limited scope for expressing their views. They cannot escape the colony because they would die outside its protective enclosure; they cannot protest or rebel because the government will act quickly to stamp out protest and rebellion; and they cannot beat a Stoic retreat because meditative equanimity is a luxury that cannot be afforded when an entire community is living on the knife-edge. So they will be forced to acquiesce. The result is a significant loss of freedom and a dulling of individuality.

I think Cockell is right to explore the unwelcome features of future space governments, but there are several things to be said in response to his critique. First, it is worth noting that at least some people will find the collectivist nature of space colonies uplifting and inspiring. They will like the idea of banding together towards a common set of purposes an advantage, not a disadvantage of such an existence. Second, Cockell paints life in space in the worst possible light. It's not clear that things will be as bad as he supposes. For example, life inside a space habitat may not be as fragile as he claims, nor need it be impossible for someone to escape the colony. A future in which there are thousands of O'Neill colonies in near-Earth orbit may allow for easy transport back and forth between different colonies. Furthermore, the vulnerability to which Cockell appeals is largely a function of our biological form. If we end up exploring space in a non-biological/cyborg form, then this may not be an issue. Finally, as Cockell himself notes, freedom is complex value, not a simple one. None of us is ever perfectly free. Instead, we must trade different dimensions and forms of freedom (e.g. positive and negative) off against each other. It's quite possible that space exploration may help us to maximise some forms of freedom, while forcing us to compromise on others.

5. Conclusion
So where does that leave us? I doubt I have eliminated all the cynicism from your souls, but I hope I have at least encouraged you to take the utopian potential of human space exploration more seriously.

  1. I'll use the word 'manned' spaceflight throughout this lecture in order to distinguish the kind of space exploration in which I am interested from space exploration conducted primarily by robots or machines. I use 'manned' in preference to 'crewed' (which is one non-sexist alternative) because in spoken form 'crewed' is a homonym of 'crude' and so might create a misleading impression among those who are listening ↩︎
  2. All details of Bezos's view come from his May 2019 presentation at Blue Origin, readily available on youtube ↩︎
  3. This is the vision of the future one finds in Neil Blomkamp's Elysium: wealthy elites live in fancy O'Neill colonies while the masses suffer on the planet's surface ↩︎
  4. See for example Milligan, T. (2015). Fear of Freedom: The Legacy of Arendt and Ballard’s Space Skepticism. In The Meaning of Liberty Beyond Earth (pp. 33–45). Cham: Springer, Cham.; and Schwartz, J. S. (2016). Our Moral Obligation to Support Space Exploration. Environmental Ethics, 1–22; Schwartz, J. S. J. (2014). Prioritizing scientific exploration: A comparison of the ethical justifications for space development and for space science. Space Policy, 30(4), 202–208. ↩︎
  5. For examples of this, see the articles by Schwartz 2011, Abney 2017 and Ketcham 2016 ↩︎
  6. This isn't entirely fair to Bezos. Although Bezos was criticised for his relative lack of philanthropy until recent times, he has responded to those criticisms and in fact became the top US philanthropist in 2018, focusing mainly on educational philanthropy. See ↩︎
  7. Although I do think it is flawed for reasons I set out in my forthcoming book Automation and Utopia ↩︎
  8. Yorke says that this means all utopian projects should ensure that no one is made worse off in the process of societal reform, but this could be very difficult to guarantee in practice and indeed may end being dangerously close the conservative position he and other horizonal utopianists seek to avoid. ↩︎
  9. This is an odd idiomatic phrase but I presume the contradiction is a deliberate witticism ↩︎
  10. This is an argument I take from Christopher Yorke. ↩︎
  11. Crawford's argument is good deal more elaborate than this. He identifies specific forms of scientific knowledge we are likely to acquire and develops a theory of artistic innovation based on Karl Poppers 'three worlds' model of human existence. Roughly, Crawford argues that artistic innovation always arises as a result of an interaction between the mind (world 2) and the environment around it (world 1). If the mind has new experiences, it can develop new artistic constructs (world 3). The same basic theory applies to the development of new ethical and political theories ↩︎
  12. I owe this interpretation of Arendt to Tony Milligan ↩︎
  13. Torres, P. (2018). Space colonization and suffering risks_ Reassessing the “maxipok rule.” Futures, 100, 74–85. ↩︎
  14. See his book Extra-Terrestrial Liberty (Edinburgh: Shoving Leopard 2013) ↩︎
  15. Relatedly, Gerald O'Neill, in The High Frontier envisaged a national service equivalent for all members of space colonies ↩︎