The New West

The L.A. riots put an exclamation point on our lack of a common vision. It is clear -- demonstrated by our internal strife, our hatred of politics, politicians, and each other -- that there is no longer a shared dream among the diverse interests constituting the United States.

We need a new soul. If we don't build another soon, extremists will be happy to provide one -- pre-fabricated, like a ready-made suit fresh off the rack, guaranteed not to fit. No good. We need a central, unifying theme; not one that tears us apart.

If we allow it, the defense establishment will cobble one together in short order, using the enemy of the year as the cohesive spur. No good. We need something new; something to be for, rather than against.

Politicians flounder, seeking the right promises to make, a magic button to push. For nearly twenty years, since Richard Nixon dismantled the Apollo program and put us on the road to mediocrity, they've overlooked a great motivator. For twenty years we have overlooked the value of a new frontier -- space -- to give us purpose and vitality. Democrats have long since abandoned the vision of Apollo that gave them and the country their greatest glory, while Republicans, although providing wonderful lip-service to space exploration, have consistently bungled the program. When do we wake up?

It's time to ask the navigator's question: "Where are we, and where are we going?" At the moment, the country is sailing straight for the shoals. It needs purpose, a unifying discipline, the equivalent of a new religion, in order to change direction for clearer, deeper waters.

On a planet where resources decline while population increases, modern life has become a zero-sum game -- hence the proliferation of people who try to slice the economic pie to their own advantage, the commonweal be damned! (Laywers, pork barrel politicians, and other common criminals come to mind.) Nevertheless, there are many of us with forward vision: hard-working, productive, good people with an eye on the future, much as you and I. (Yes, and even a few lawyers and politicians.) We want a future of common interests; a world where we don't act like hyenas snarling over scraps of carrion. We are at least able to entertain the possibility of a future which includes more than one planet, more than one basket for all the eggs. We would welcome a positive-sum universe where resources stay ahead of population and people are motivated toward productive ends.

As a navigator of the Voyager spacecraft encounters with Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune, I have directly experienced the motivation of new worlds. It is exhilarating! But not everyone shares that enthusiasm. Some ask, "Can we afford a new vision? Instead of outer space, shouldn't we spend our money right here on earth -- on rebuilding inner cities, on housing, on education and a plethora of down-to-earth needs?"

Do we need attention on social and environmental issues? Yes! Civilization is like the house we live in -- entropy peels the paint and rots the floorboards. Eventually, the house falls down. Racial turmoil, a failed health system, crime, an ailing economy, pollution, and a hundred other things need tending. But these are not motivators -- they are maintenance.

We need goals that inspire, that absorb our fascination and energy and devotion. We want a sense of wonder and awe -- even playfulness. Maintenance doesn't do that. Patching the roof keeps you dry, and even gives you a sense of accomplishment, but it is not the Golden Fleece or Holy Grail of your life; it is just something you have to do. Maintenance does not motivate!

For the first part of the nation's existence, there was no question of what motivated us. For better or worse, it was our expansion into the American West. There was room to grow -- a frontier -- and this suffused the country with optimism and energy. A boundless future (so it seemed) drove the country's thoughts and actions and defined its essence. Some called it Manifest Destiny, but most gave it no name. It was implicit: we were a frontier nation. We thought of ourselves as risk-takers and explorers. We looked outward.

This positive self image carried us through the nineteenth century into the twentieth, when suddenly our future became bounded, our destiny less manifest. We ran out of frontier.

We desperately need a dream, a positive rather than negative one, driven by hope rather than fear and hatred -- but we cannot return to the past. There is no frontier left on Earth.

The only possible frontier -- the one we have yet to adequately recognize -- is the one stretching directly overhead. We have toyed with it: we have gone to the moon and sent probes to the planets, but have never seriously considered that if there is to be any long-term future, not only for the United States but the world, we must begin to expand into that new West, the unbounded one.

There is much to do. We must drastically reduce the costs of entry into space, and build an infrastructure to keep us there. We must establish long term goals that include outposts on the moon and self-sustaining settlements on Mars and beyond. Most importantly, however, we must recognize the future.

Without the motivation of a new world, the long term picture is bleak. Lacking an outward vision, we will settle eventually into an endless struggle for survival, driven by the pressures of an exploding population.

Give us something to live for, a future, and we'll paint the house and repair the floorboards and patch the roof, out of pride and exuberance. Give us a West, and we'll not only go to the new world, but transform the old one as well. It's all in how we view ourselves, it's all in the paradigm of a new age. Will we make the transition, or are we too locked into the game of being against to undertake the journey of being for?