By Michael T. Kuester
In this post, Michael T. Kuester explores the philosophy of life in space behind his short story, “Casual Brutality” in our [July/August] edition
In space, as the saying goes, no one can hear you scream.
But even if they could . . . would they care?
Space exploration is a lifelong passion of mine. I firmly believe that it is our destiny as a species, our birthright, to fan out across the stars. That belief has informed most of my novel writing, centering on bold explorers and intrepid colonists. But while my novels tend to be a distillation of my hopes and beliefs, my short fiction tends to express my fears. I allow myself to consider how grim our future could be.
For my story, “Casual Brutality”, I allowed myself to ask the uncomfortable question, What if becoming a spacefaring species ends up being a mistake?
Look, I’m a scientist, not a philosopher. But when writing science fiction, an author must consider how our society today might evolve over decades. Or centuries. Or millennia. Even a cursory read through the history of our species leads to one, inescapable conclusion: history has patterns. Similar reactions to the same problems across vastly disparate periods of time, as one generation of humans after another faces the same issues and makes eerily similar mistakes.
From Star Trek to Babylon 5 to the works of Arthur C. Clarke and myself, much of science fiction has been rooted in the concept of human unity. To quote astronaut Sunita Williams, “I think that when we really leave the planet—we all go as humans, not as people from one country or another. We are humans; we work together.” And that sounds great. I believe it. Capt. Williams believes it. But how certain are we that our problems, and our divisions, will not follow us when we leave Earth?
On the face of it, it’s easy to just assume we’ll all pull together in the end. Space is undoubtedly the most inhospitable environment known to man. Mars, likely to be the first celestial body fully colonized by man, isn’t much more comfortable to our species. More than likely, the conquest of space will require the combined efforts and resources of every nation and individual on our tiny world. How else will we be able to survive out there?
But history suggests the first instinct of our species in a hostile environment isn’t to band together. From the earliest Neolithic communities to Sumer to the ancient Mesoamerican peoples, time and again when faced with sudden environmental collapses human civilizations have crumbled. Cities fell and were abandoned, or simply evaporated, as everyone hoarded what they could grab a hold of and scattered.
Even in the worst of times, our planet is fairly comfortable for us. Food may be scarce for some, but there’s no global shortage of water. Or air. Space, on the other hand, is a void. And it’s vast; the distances between celestial bodies within our own tiny solar system are measured in millions of kilometers. To paraphrase the great Carl Sagan, a single spacecraft, even a large one, is but a lonely speck. Enveloped in the vast, cosmic dark. Put a bubble of precious water and air out so far from anyone else, and you’ve produced a scenario that encourages the worst instincts of humanity.
It could be argued that empathy is one of the most unique defining traits of our species. The ability to understand the feelings and motivations of others, and sympathize. To feel it all together. But unfortunately our empathy has limits. It’s easy to feel sympathy for people on the other side of the world when we see images and videos of children crying because they’re hungry, mothers wailing over coffins. Those scenes touch something deep within us, something that transcends the basic imperative for survival that drives most other forms of life. But without faces, without voices, even our fellow humans become names. They become numbers. And faceless headlines starting with Five Thousand Dead lack emotional resonance. It’s just too easy to ignore the suffering of a number, however large.
Alone in space, isolated, unable to see the faces of our fellow humans, it may be easy to ignore their feelings, or their suffering. We’re already seeing it, thanks to the very invention that’s allowing you to read this post: the internet. Studies have shown that internet use erodes empathy. In-person interaction, it turns out, is crucial to empathic processing. Without it, everyone else becomes names and avatars, easy to dismiss.
In “Casual Brutality”, Darragh Larsen is a loss investigator: a law enforcement officer called upon when a civilian transport is reported missing on the long haul between Earth and Mars. As he pursues a band of pirates murdering migrants in order to steal their water and air, he comes to believe that life in space is making this possible. The pirates barely see their victims, if at all. That emotional distance permits them to massacre with impunity; it’s easy to kill a number. Or many of them.
What’s worse, Larsen finds it harder and harder to connect with the victims himself. He surveys scenes of carnage, bodies scattered through space behind the spacecraft ferrying them to their new lives, and struggles to feel something. Perhaps seeing so much death has left him desensitized. Or perhaps he finds it increasingly difficult to empathize with his fellow humans. Over time, Darragh begins to worry that he, too, is losing his humanity to the void.
Despite the nature of this story, I personally still believe spreading into space will be a net positive for our species. From climate change to starvation to war, there are few if any problems our species is currently facing that wouldn’t be alleviated if a large number of us simply left. As a TED Talk speaker said once, “The Earth is full”. Humanity may have been born on Earth, but we were never meant to die here. And as the only species on Earth capable of leaving, it is incumbent upon us to preserve the planet by doing so.
Still, I cannot help but wonder if the problems we’re facing now will, in fact, follow us beyond Earth’s orbit. Or if the inherent isolation of life in space will only amplify them. One thing is certain: in the harsh vacuum of space, all we’ll have is each other. If we do not work together, we will most surely die together. Will we learn to put our differences aside, and create the future Gene Roddenberry envisioned in Star Trek? Or Will future generations regard the authors of The Expanse as prophets? Time alone will tell.
For now, all science fiction writers can do is allow ourselves to venture into those dark possible futures, in hopes that they will never come to pass.
The Astounding Analog Companion 