A growing number of scholars are urging the space community to integrate arts and humanities perspectives into debates about exploration, satellite governance, and humanity's long-term presence beyond Earth. In a recent letter, Professor Abbie Garrington of Durham University highlighted the absence of humanistic inquiry in current discussions, pointing to an interview with physicist Laura Grego that raised critical questions about the militarization of space, the privatization of orbital infrastructure, and the cultural significance of cosmic endeavors.
Grego, a physicist who has studied space security for decades, warned in the interview that most people remain unaware of the extent to which satellites and space systems have become entangled with nuclear weapons and global surveillance networks. She described the current era as one in which humanity has effectively set up a doomsday system without broad public deliberation. Garrington argues that such warnings demand not only technical analysis but also ethical, legal, and historical reflection—fields that the arts and humanities are uniquely equipped to provide.
The letter also references the Artemis mission, NASA's program to return humans to the Moon and eventually reach Mars. While the mission inspires public imagination, Garrington notes that the vast majority of people are relegated to the role of spectators, with no meaningful voice in decisions about major space missions that carry profound implications for resource allocation, environmental stewardship, and cultural heritage. The Artemis program, for example, raises questions about who speaks for Earth when artifacts or human remains are left on the lunar surface, and whether international frameworks like the Outer Space Treaty adequately address commercial mining or territorial claims.
Garrington's intervention comes at a time when space activities are expanding rapidly, driven by private companies such as SpaceX, Blue Origin, and others. The proliferation of satellite mega-constellations has sparked debates about light pollution, orbital debris, and the commercial appropriation of the night sky. Grego specifically questioned Elon Musk's potential appropriation of space through the Starlink network, which now comprises thousands of satellites and plans for tens of thousands more. These developments, Garrington argues, require perspectives that go beyond engineering and business—perspectives rooted in philosophy, sociology, art history, and literature, all of which can help society grapple with what it means to become a spacefaring civilization.
The call for arts and humanities involvement is not new, but it has gained urgency as space activity intensifies. Earlier this year, the European Space Agency launched a program to fund artists-in-residence, and NASA has occasionally included humanities scholars in mission planning. Yet Garrington and others contend that such efforts remain marginal. Without sustained input from the humanities, decisions about space exploration risk being made solely on the basis of technological feasibility or economic return, ignoring deeper questions about justice, identity, and long-term survival.
The letter also touches on the environmental dimensions of space activity. Rockets emit soot and greenhouse gases into the upper atmosphere, and the growing number of satellite re-entries deposits metals and chemicals in regions that scientists are only beginning to study. Garrington notes that the stewardship of Earth for future generations—a theme Grebo emphasized—must include the stewardship of near-space environments. The humanities can contribute to these discussions by exploring how different cultures conceptualize the sky, by examining the history of Earth-observation data as a tool for environmental justice, and by articulating the ethical responsibilities that come with the ability to alter the space environment.
In the broader context of civilizational decision-making, Garrington's letter raises the issue of democratic participation in space policy. Major space missions are typically planned by government agencies and private corporations with little public consultation, even though they involve public funding, shared orbital resources, and long-term consequences for all inhabitants of Earth. The arts and humanities, she argues, can help democratize these debates by making them accessible, by framing questions in ways that resonate with diverse publics, and by ensuring that technical solutions are evaluated not only for efficiency but for their alignment with human values.
The response to Garrington's letter from within the scientific community has been mixed. Some researchers acknowledge the value of interdisciplinary approaches, while others maintain that space exploration is primarily an engineering challenge that requires technical expertise above all. Regardless of the outcome, the letter has reopened a conversation that many believe is long overdue: how to ensure that the expansion of humanity into space is guided not solely by profit or power, but by wisdom, creativity, and a sense of shared destiny.
As space activities continue to accelerate, the voices of artists, historians, philosophers, and other humanists may become as essential as those of engineers and physicists. Garrington's call serves as a reminder that the great questions of the space age are not just about rockets and satellites—they are about what kind of future humanity wants to build, and who gets to decide.
