Recently I screened the National Geographic Channel’s series, Mars.
It was a fascinating extrapolation—in both documentary non-fiction and dramatized fiction—of what the first colonization of Mars might be like, which Mars projects will happen in about sixteen years. The series gave great heed not only to our human desire to explore but also to our human instinct to expand. And rightly so. There is something galling about the idea that in our vast universe of billions of other suns and planets humanity would be relegated to this thin smear of atmosphere that we live under on this one small planet orbiting a middling star within a minor spiral of our Galaxy. Which leads to the possibly romantic idea that we must leave our birthplace, must break out of the membrane of our atmosphere, and must make our mark in the wider existence of the universe.
But, Mars also made it clear that, pragmatically, a trip to Mars, its exploration, and permanent habitation, may be close to impossible. Indeed, all of Outer Space, everything beyond the protective atmosphere we huddle under (and Earth’s magnetic field that fends off life-destroying radiation) is completely inhospitable to human life as it has developed here on Earth. We have not evolved to live anywhere but here, and trying to live anywhere but here involve risks well beyond any humanity has faced before. But, still, we will try, fool’s errand though it may be.
The National Geographic Channel should be congratulated for producing this look at both the romance and realities of Earth conquering Mars (assuming it does). However, I did find something somewhat amiss in one of the episodes entitled, “Darkest Days.” Its theme was the problems of the long-term isolation that our travelers to, explorers of, and residents on Mars will be subject to. They will be quite violently flung off their home planet, endure a seven or eight-month trip through deep space, and either stay on Mars for an extended period of time or permanently, depending on the mission. They will be isolated from everything they might love about Earth: stunning and fun beaches, majestic and recreational mountains, fruitful plains, starkly beautiful deserts, busy and noisy cities (yes, there are plenty of humans who like busy and noisy cities, despite the propaganda from the country crowd), not to mention all the billions of people who share this planet with us, most of whom we will never meet, but all of whom we know are there. Mars explorers and colonists will be isolated from all this and be thrust into close quarters with only a few fellow humans in what will essentially be high-tech caves.
The non-fiction portions of this episode documented how we are studying the psychological effects of such disconnection and isolation by looking at scientists stationed in Antarctica as a real life example of what it may be like to live through extended stays on Mars. They also showed simulated Mars habitation experiments where volunteers live in isolation for long periods of time in mock Mars missions. The fiction portions portrayed the effect of such isolation in a melodramatic way by having a months-long massive dust storm hit the Mars colonists just as their nuclear power source has been shut down for an upgrade and being unable to restart it until after the storm. And, as they are caught in the forced night of the dust storm, solar power is of no use to them. They can only rely on stored power in batteries—until the batteries are depleted. If that happens before restoring their other sources of power, then not just isolation, but extinction, will be faced. This makes for great tension and suspense in a drama, but such an extreme example is not really what NASA and other agencies are studying. Just good old, mundane, day-to-day isolation is their concern.
But it was during one of the dramatic portions that I saw something rather absurd. It was a scene in the common room of the Mars habitat where a group of the residents, who had been living, literally, under a cloud for months, are sitting around trying their best not to be bored. Some are playing chess, one is reading (probably not for the first time) a copy of a special issue of the National Geographic on Mars, and a French scientist is fingering her well-thumbed paperback copy of Le Petit Prince, which her grandfather used to read to her. She says, “I hope this thing (the dust storm) ends before I have the whole thing memorized.”
Surely these people should have access to more options than this for diversion and amusement during long periods of isolation. Were only one magazine and one thin book packed for the trip? Forgetting the melodrama of the fiction, where power was being rationed, so “superfluous” use would not be allowed, and going back to the point of the non-fiction concerned with the problems of “normal” isolation, may I make the humble suggestion that in planning for the exploration and habitation of Mars, national space agencies and commercial ventures alike should give serious consideration to sending with the humans, in nicely nano and delightfully digital forms, much of the creative output of humanity—literature, cinema and television, the visual arts, and music. For when you take our explorers and pioneers away from humanity it would be best if you do not take humanity away from our explorers and pioneers. And the best of humanity has always been “encoded” in our art.
With the advances in computing and miniaturization and storage that are bound to happen in the next sixteen years, how much space would it take to have on the habitat’s computers a digital library of the world’s greatest literature in all appropriate languages? Also popular fiction. It could be a super Alexandrian Library on a few microchips, or whatever they will have then. Each member of the crew could download what they want to read on their own tablets, or whatever they’ll have then. They could also have a digital library of all the world’s great cinema. And popcorn movies. And television, the whole short history of television could reside among ones and zeros. Can you think of a better environment for binge watching? A rotating gallery of the world’s great paintings and drawings could be displayed on super thin monitors that could be hung here and there throughout the habitat. Need I mention music? How could anyone hope to survive isolation and confinement without music? All of this could be available for individual consumption, which will be incredibly normal for adults in sixteen years who will have grown up with their personal digital devices as their best friends. But the planners should not overlook the communal experience of sharing art. Video and music are the most natural for a communal sharing, of course, but is there any reason why you couldn’t have a book club on Mars?
What good is art to these isolated and confined people? Art is elevating, sublime, or just plain amusing. Art has the ability to engage the mind, to take one out of oneself for a while, to refresh and renew the spirit. Art expands horizons—even when you have none. Can you think of a better antidote to isolation, outside of suspended animation?
Speaking of animation, I once produced a compilation film program, The Top Ten Funniest Hollywood Cartoons of All Time, for the Just For Laughs Comedy Festival in Montreal. We filled a large classic movie theater with humans and battered them over their heads (in a nice way) with hilarity from talking animals. The laughter was thunderous, the joy was palpable, the sense of shared delight was obvious. Let’s assume our Mars explorers are stuck in their habitat for months due to a dust storm (with no melodramatic power rationing). Things are becoming a bit tense with frayed nerves sparking. I can pretty much guarantee that if you gather the crew together and screen for them these cartoons (you can find a list of them HERE) the communal laughter will ring throughout the habitat, the hilarity will lighten the hearts and minds of the people, and the joy will lift their spirits. And then things will be just that much better on the fourth planet from the sun. If the silly can do that, think what the sublime could do.
Art won’t protect our explorers from the harsh conditions of space and an alien planet. But it could protect our explorers from themselves. “Only connect,” novelist E.M. Forster said, meaning humans of all types should be connected together in shared humanity. For the human exploration of space, we should amend that to, “Only stay connected.”
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