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cosmolinguistI don't mourn Neil Armstrong; I didn't know him. And while I know well it's sad to lose even old men, he did have a long life and will forever be associated with one of the most amazing things humans have ever achieved, something many envy and shamefully few have done.
I rejoice that we have fashioned from the ugly fact of his death some beauty: we refresh our dreams, rekindle our affections, renew our desires to explore.
Contemplating the huge amounts of skill, effort, organization, money, time and determination from huge numbers of people; considering all the things that could have gone wrong and didn't, makes my heart swell with equal parts pride, bewilderment, love for my species, terror, and anger at the poor future we've given manned spaceflight.
However flawed the motives, however romanticized the stories, turning the Moon from a light in the sky to a place, where people can visit and walk around, is an incredible thing. All those people involved in it, in any way, deserve a better legacy than the end of manned spaceflight in America last year. Aspo8crg said on Twitter: Only twelve men ever walked on the Moon, only eight are left. Can we go back before they all die?
I don't want to live in a world I share with no one who has walked on the Moon. Not only is space exploration directly useful to, rather than detracting from, our attempts to fix Earthly problems, but as the outpouring on Twitter tonight demonstrates, thinking about space is something we love to do, and it's good for us. It makes us realize how small we are, that the differences between humans are not so great as they might seem, that working together seems not only eminently sensible but practically mandatory, and that our concerted effort can achieve incredible things.
I know there's always a flurry of concentration on what a famous person has meant to the world when one dies; we hear about art or politics or a million other things with the same fervor when a beloved artist or great statesman (or whatever) leaves this world, whatever their age. But for now I can hope with all my little heart that these conversations will go on, that we will remember the Universe is always this amazing, that Mars will keep our curiosity piqued, that the people sharing pictures from a Facebook page called "I fucking love science" will vote that way and that we as a species will do some of the great things we are capable of, including space exploration.
Yes, it's a giant leap beyond sensible expectations... but hey, you know we've taken giant steps before.
I rejoice that we have fashioned from the ugly fact of his death some beauty: we refresh our dreams, rekindle our affections, renew our desires to explore.
Contemplating the huge amounts of skill, effort, organization, money, time and determination from huge numbers of people; considering all the things that could have gone wrong and didn't, makes my heart swell with equal parts pride, bewilderment, love for my species, terror, and anger at the poor future we've given manned spaceflight.
However flawed the motives, however romanticized the stories, turning the Moon from a light in the sky to a place, where people can visit and walk around, is an incredible thing. All those people involved in it, in any way, deserve a better legacy than the end of manned spaceflight in America last year. As
po8crg said on Twitter: Only twelve men ever walked on the Moon, only eight are left. Can we go back before they all die?I don't want to live in a world I share with no one who has walked on the Moon. Not only is space exploration directly useful to, rather than detracting from, our attempts to fix Earthly problems, but as the outpouring on Twitter tonight demonstrates, thinking about space is something we love to do, and it's good for us. It makes us realize how small we are, that the differences between humans are not so great as they might seem, that working together seems not only eminently sensible but practically mandatory, and that our concerted effort can achieve incredible things.
I know there's always a flurry of concentration on what a famous person has meant to the world when one dies; we hear about art or politics or a million other things with the same fervor when a beloved artist or great statesman (or whatever) leaves this world, whatever their age. But for now I can hope with all my little heart that these conversations will go on, that we will remember the Universe is always this amazing, that Mars will keep our curiosity piqued, that the people sharing pictures from a Facebook page called "I fucking love science" will vote that way and that we as a species will do some of the great things we are capable of, including space exploration.
Yes, it's a giant leap beyond sensible expectations... but hey, you know we've taken giant steps before.
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Date: 2012-08-25 11:40 pm (UTC):::raises glass:::
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Date: 2012-08-26 12:23 am (UTC)::clinks::
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Date: 2012-08-26 08:19 am (UTC)It's wonderful to hear (Jack Schmitt was so sweet) and it tugs my heartstrings...but partly because practically everybody talking about Where They Were Then is someone who was a child when Armstrong took his small step. Because it was so long ago.