by Ed Finn
Myrna’s world—as bleak as it might seem—is one worth living in, it seems to me. If we are going to commercialize space, we should do so for people like Myrna. We should want people who bake bread for others, who take pride in doing so, and who make a living in the process. We should want people who create spaces for communal meals, deliver food to those who are too wrapped up in their own affairs to remember to eat, and create the microeconomies necessary for these things to happen.
To bloom in space, humanity will require the grounding “soil” of the local coffee shop, the local bar—but as the stories in this collection suggest, we’re going to have to work hard to create space economies that have commercial establishments in them. To create commercial establishments, you have to create all kinds of things: the kind of people who need commercial establishments, the kind of people that run them, and the material and financial markets that support both. That will not be easy. It will require visions of the future and of people’s lives and roles in those futures that differ markedly from those being pedaled in the current imaginings of space policy and the commercialization of space.
But Myrna is more than just an entrepreneur. She’s that pesky reminder that the future is for everyone: that we owe it to everyone to imagine them as part of the futures we envision, to imagine them as fully human, and to remember that their humanness is found in community. The diversity and health of the kind of enterprises that people like Myrna run seems to me a plausible indicator of the diversity and health of community—its thriving, if you will. She is an integral part of the community’s soul. If there’s a pub, or a diner, and people flock to it for the chance to catch up with their friends, to sing and dance, to share their sorrows and stresses—just to be a little less lonely and strung out—isn’t that a good thing?
Creating a human future in space where people live, work, and play, have families, raise their kids, run businesses, write novels and poetry, celebrate their gods, and dance amidst the stars—where they thrive—seems like a goal worthy of human striving and human enterprise. We will need Myrna and many others just like her—social entrepreneurs of the best kind—to make that happen. Let’s make sure we write them, and all of humanity, into our future plans.
[1] “Deep Space Communications,” Office of the Chief Scientist and Chief Technologist, NASA, https://scienceandtechnology.jpl.nasa.gov/research/research-topics-list/communications-computing-software/deep-space-communications. [back]
[2] Elon Musk, “Making Humans an Interplanetary Species,” New Space 5, no. 2 (2017). [back]
High Hedonistic and Low Fatalistic
by Linda T. Elkins-Tanton
Snowman in Oryx and Crake. Case in Neuromancer. Theon Greyjoy in Game of Thrones, for goodness’ sake. Why is it so easy to write about disaster, and so hard to write about hope?
Hopeful and optimistic stories can seem like fairy tales, and talking about them can be squirmily uncomfortable, as if one suddenly found oneself hawking snake oil. Writing about darkness and death can carry such realness, such gravitas. The Center for Science and the Imagination’s anthology Hieroglyph: Stories and Visions for a Better Future began to address the need for visions of the future that are intellectually and emotionally credible without reveling in catastrophe, and we’ve continued that work in this volume. We’re not doling out saccharine promises and we’re not covering the old stained sofa with chintz. We are trying to offer new, ambitious but achievable visions of a near future.
There are many possible futures for our society, for humankind, and for the Earth. We need compelling examples of futures we actually want, to inspire us in how to move forward. Humans in space is a part of all the good futures we are likely to be able to attain. In the long run, the arc of civilization and our irrepressible curiosity will inevitably impel us to explore the solar system and the stars beyond. But first we have to believe such futures are possible. And to act upon our hopes, we need to believe that, individually, we can make a difference.
To make that individual connection possible, we need futures that are not just abstract, zoomed-out images of white guys from Central Casting saving the world for everyone else. We need images of people like us taking action to realize those futures. To build a future for everyone, we need to include everyone: we need heroes that reflect the full diversity of human experience.
We need female protagonists who are not reduced to sex objects. More characters like Dr. Louise Banks, Amy Adams’ character from the film Arrival, who repeatedly ignores hierarchy and peer pressure to make the right decisions. We need strong protagonists of color, of all gender and sexual identities, drawn from all walks of life and communities of faith. We need every kind of person to be able to envision themselves in the future.
In this way, the question of representation is really about participation: inviting everyone to imagine themselves in these futures. This parallels one of my gripes about the way science is often taught in high school and college, as a series of facts that needs to be memorized. If everything is already known (look at the thickness of that book! What else could be left unknown?), then what place in science is there for the student? If science was taught as a series of questions—which is truly what it is—then finding the next unanswered question would be easy, and there would be openings for anyone who is interested to participate.
This is a passion in my life, a set of concepts that have swept over all I do and colored every meeting and conversation. Drive education through the questions of the learner. Invite every person to participate in every endeavor. Recently I taught a class about Charles Darwin and the voyage of the Beagle. The students were fascinated by the fact that Darwin was not a great student, no genius, and had been brought along on the trip as a gentleman companion for the captain, so the captain would have someone to talk to. (That didn't work out well—Darwin was incapacitated with seasickness almost the entire time he was on board.)
Darwin had a great skill, though, and that was observation. He looked carefully at his world and he thought about it. Several students in the class were so inspired by this idea that they emailed me about it afterward. They could do that! They could use Darwin as an inspiration in their own lives, and look more closely at our amazing, mysterious universe in order to think more deeply about it.
I would like every person on Earth to feel they have the capacity to think of something new and wonderful, that they have the agency to make a positive difference in their world, and that they have the knowledge to make progress solving open questions and problems. What could we accomplish if a larger proportion of us thought clearly about, and worked to create a positive future for, our species?
That big question begs a more immediate one: how do we teach these skills? Surely not by enforcing passive listening and valuing only memorization and formulaic execution of exercises that are already well understood. We need to practice the skills of exploration in the classroom. We need to present open questions and practice answering them.
To make a difference you don’t need inherent genius. You need practice and drive and grit, not genetics. Being a strong leader requires, in the words of the psychological profile, “high hedonistic and low fatalistic.”[1] Low fatalistic is the confidence that one’s actions can change the future—that the future is determined by our choices. High hedonistic describes those who believe in “the pursuit of happiness” and, in some cases, the drive to find ways to make things better. If there is no hope, there is no purpose in movement. And the greatest work is done with the energy that comes from hope and belief in the impact the work will have.
At Arizona State University, we try to teach and model these lessons. We could teach science and engineering, planets and stars and earthquakes and volcanoes, all day long, year in and year out, but without team-building, a vision for the future, and leadership, that knowledge is emptier and drier. Scientists are commonly taught that these competencies are “soft skills,” intrinsically less important than technical field expertise, and that o
ur emotional response to our work is irrelevant (and even embarrassing). But every endeavor depends on human interaction, on trust, generosity, shared stories, and optimism. If we know how to work together better, ask and answer bigger questions, and build a positive future story, our efforts will go so much further. So we run workshops on teams and negotiation and interviews. We talk about implicit bias and equity. We work toward greater justice in the classroom and among our colleagues.
For years I have been convinced that civil behavior in teams—listening to each other’s ideas, conscious invitation to quiet members of the team to speak, and mannerly disagreement—makes for a good working environment, better research, and better outcomes. But these behaviors are not often spoken about or valued in academia and other research environments.
My commitment to these ideas has recently been validated by NASA’s decision to approve a project that has been deeply informed by them. In January 2017, our NASA mission concept, Psyche, was selected for flight, after five years of preparation. The Psyche mission will explore a unique metal asteroid orbiting the Sun between Mars and Jupiter, promising to give us unique insights into the building blocks of our solar system. One of the reasons we were selected is the high functioning of our team. Teams that listen to each other and treat each other as respected experts are more likely to discover and solve the flaws that might otherwise put a mission at risk. They are more likely to attract and keep the best talent. And they are much more likely to be, and stay, diverse. As a reward for our team culture and what it has enabled us to accomplish, we are now on our way to sending a robotic spacecraft to visit a metal world—the first metal body humankind has ever explored.
The future will always be a story, so we need stories that give everyone a voice. Our beliefs about what will happen next shape the way we behave now. The future we envision creates the present we are in. Let’s envision better.
[1] Uta Sailer, Patricia Rosenberg, Ali Al Nima, Amelie Gamble, Tommy Gärling, Trevor Archer, and Danilo Garcia, “A Happier and Less Sinister Past, a More Hedonistic and Less Fatalistic Present and a More Structured Future: Time Perspective and Well-Being,” PeerJ 2, no. e303 (2014). [back]
About the Contributors
Authors
Madeline Ashby is a science fiction writer and futurist living in Toronto. She is the author of the Machine Dynasty series. Her most recent novel, Company Town, was a finalist in CBC Books’ Canada Reads competition. She has developed science fiction prototypes for organizations like the Institute for the Future, SciFutures, Intel Labs, Nesta, Data & Society, the Atlantic Council, and others. She also teaches at OCAD University and the Dubai Future Academy. You can find her on Twitter @MadelineAshby or at madelineashby.com.
Steven Barnes was born in Los Angeles, and attended Pepperdine University. He has published over 30 novels and written for The Twilight Zone, Outer Limits, Stargate SG-1, and others. He is married to British Fantasy Award-winning novelist Tananarive Due, and lives in Southern California.
Jim Bell is an astronomer and planetary scientist, and a professor in the School of Earth and Space Exploration at Arizona State University. Jim studies the geology and composition of planetary surfaces, and has been actively involved for more than 25 years in NASA robotic space missions to Mars, the Moon, and a variety of asteroids. He has also authored six popular science books, including Postcards from Mars and The Interstellar Age.
Lawrence Dritsas began his studies in the United States and has interdisciplinary training in the humanities and natural sciences. He volunteered as a secondary school biology teacher with the U.S. Peace Corps in Malawi in the late 1990s. His PhD thesis (at the University of Edinburgh) focused on David Livingstone’s Zambesi Expedition (1858–64). His research follows multiple paths as he pursues historical geographies of scientific knowledge, museum collections, and science fiction.
Linda T. Elkins-Tanton is the director of the School of Earth and Space Exploration at Arizona State University and the principal investigator of the NASA Psyche mission. She believes everyone should ask natural next questions and pursue solutions to challenges while living in a civil, supportive society.
Emma Frow is an assistant professor at Arizona State University, with a joint appointment in the School for the Future of Innovation in Society and the School of Biological and Health Systems Engineering. Her research focuses on standard-setting and governance of contemporary biotechnologies, with a particular emphasis on bioengineering and synthetic biology.
Eileen Gunn is the author of two story collections: Stable Strategies and Others and Questionable Practices. Her fiction has received the Nebula Award in the U.S. and the Sense of Gender Award in Japan, and been nominated for the Hugo, Philip K. Dick, and World Fantasy awards and short-listed for the James Tiptree, Jr. award. Gunn served on the board of directors of the Clarion West Writers Workshop for 22 years and currently serves on the board of the Locus Foundation.
Roland Lehoucq is an astrophysicist working at French Alternative Energies and Atomic Energy Commission (CEA) and specializing in cosmology. He is very active in science popularization, notably by forging links between science and science fiction, and is the author of 18 books. He is also the president of Utopiales, an annual international science fiction festival held in Nantes, France.
Andrew D. Maynard is the director of the Risk Innovation Lab at Arizona State University, a professor in the School for the Future of Innovation in Society, and a well-known science communicator. His work focuses on responsible and beneficial technological innovation, and spans artificial intelligence and autonomous vehicles, to nanotechnology and gene editing. Andrew is a member of the World Economic Forum Global Future Councils, and has participated on numerous National Academies of Sciences committees. He is currently working on The Moviegoer’s Guide to The Future.
Clark A. Miller is a professor and the associate director of the School for the Future of Innovation in Society at Arizona State University. He works in the field of science and technology policy, focusing on the design of knowledge systems and the governance of large-scale transitions in the relationships between technology and society.
Ramez Naam is a computer scientist, futurist, and the multi-award winning author of five books, including the Philip K. Dick-awarded Nexus trilogy. He lives in Seattle. Follow him on Twitter @ramez.
Deji Bryce Olukotun is the author of two novels, Nigerians in Space and After the Flare, and his fiction has appeared in four different book collections. He works in technology activism on issues such as cybersecurity and online censorship, and he is a Future Tense Fellow at the New America Foundation. He lives in Brooklyn, New York.
Kim Stanley Robinson is a New York Times bestseller and winner of the Hugo, Nebula, and Locus awards. He is the author of more than 20 books, including the bestselling Mars trilogy and the critically acclaimed Green Earth, 2312, and Aurora. His work has been translated into 24 languages. His most recent novel, New York 2140, imagines 22nd-century New York City flooded by sea levels as a SuperVenice with a vibrant culture built around canals rather than paved streets. In 2008, he was named a “Hero of the Environment” by Time magazine, and he works with the Sierra Nevada Research Institute.
Steve Ruff is an associate research professor in the School of Earth and Space Exploration at Arizona State University. He has been roving Mars since 2004 with Spirit and Opportunity and exploring from the perspective of orbiting spacecraft since 1988.
Carter Scholz’s last book, Gypsy, was reprinted in three science fiction best-of-the-year anthologies, nominated for the Sturgeon Award, and tapped by Buzzfeed as one of the best 24 science fiction books of 2015. “Vanguard 2.0,” which appears in this collection, is a prequel to Gypsy.
Karl Schroeder is a futurist and award-winning author. With a degree in Strategic Foresight and 10 published novels, Karl divides his time between consulting, speaking, and writing. In addition to publishing science fiction, he has pioneered a new mode of writing that blends fiction and rigorous f
utures research; his influential short novels Crisis in Zefra (2005) and Crisis in Urlia (2011), for instance, are innovative “scenario fictions” commissioned by the Canadian government.
Vandana Singh’s science fiction stories have been published and reprinted in numerous venues, including The Best American Science Fiction and Fantasy 2016. She is a particle physicist by training, and a professor at a small and lively state university near Boston, where she is currently working on an interdisciplinary approach to climate change. Her second collection of fiction, Ambiguity Machines and Other Stories, is out from Small Beer Press in February 2018. Her website is vandana-writes.com.
William K. Storey is a professor at Millsaps College in Jackson, Mississippi, where he was the 2013 Carnegie-CASE professor of the year. He researches and writes about the history of technology and empire-building. He is currently working on a study about Cecil Rhodes’s vision for mining, farming, railroads, and telegraphy in Southern Africa.
Sara Imari Walker is an assistant professor in the School of Earth and Space Exploration and deputy director of the Beyond Center for Fundamental Concepts in Science, both at Arizona State University. Her research is on the origins and nature of life, with a focus on quantifying life as an informational system.
G. (“Gregg”) Pascal Zachary is the author of Endless Frontier (1997), a biography of Vannevar Bush, and The Diversity Advantage (2003), on culture and innovation. He has been a professor of practice at Arizona State University since 2010. He writes a column on innovation for IEEE’s Spectrum magazine and is general editor of ASU’s “Rightful Place of Science” book series.
