Buddhist Ecological Protection of Space: A Guide for Sustainable Off-Earth Travel 1666922404, 9781666922400

Table of contents :
Contents
Foreword • Bonnie Cooper
Acknowledgments
Introduction
1 Space Debris and Environmental Justice
2 The Rabbit in the Moon
3 Seeking Microbes
4 Mars as an Ecological Lifeboat
Conclusion
Appendix A: Field Sites
Appendix B: Glossary
Notes
Bibliography
Index
About the Author

Citation preview

Buddhist Ecological Protection of Space

Buddhist Ecological Protection of Space A Guide for Sustainable Off-Earth Travel

Daniel Capper Foreword by Bonnie Cooper

LEXINGTON BOOKS

Lanham • Boulder • New York • London

Published by Lexington Books An imprint of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 www​.rowman​.com 86-90 Paul Street, London EC2A 4NE Copyright © 2023 by The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Capper, Daniel, 1962– author. Title: Buddhist ecological protection of space : a guide for sustainable off-earth travel / Daniel Capper ; foreword by Bonnie Cooper. Description: Lanham : Lexington Books, [2023] | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Summary: “This book provides essential guidance that we need to act as responsible ecological citizens while we expand our reach beyond Earth. The author not only examines the science and morals behind ecological pitfall scenarios, but he also provides groundbreaking policy responses founded upon ethics from Buddhists and American ethnographers alike”—Provided by publisher. Identifiers: LCCN 2022034700 (print) | LCCN 2022034701 (ebook) | ISBN 9781666922400 (cloth) | ISBN 9781666922417 (epub) Subjects: LCSH: Environmental protection—Religious aspects—Buddhism. Outer space—Environmental aspects. Classification: LCC BQ4570.E58 C37 2023 (print) | LCC BQ4570.E58 (ebook) | DDC 294.3/927—dc23/eng/20220723 LC record available at https://lccn​.loc​.gov​/2022034700 LC ebook record available at https://lccn​.loc​.gov​/2022034701 ∞ ™ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992.

Contents

Forewordvii Acknowledgmentsix Introduction 1 1 Space Debris and Environmental Justice

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2 The Rabbit in the Moon

39

3 Seeking Microbes

61

4 Mars as an Ecological Lifeboat

81

Conclusion 101 Appendix A: Field Sites

107

Appendix B: Glossary

113

Notes 117 Bibliography 135 Index 149 About the Author

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v

Foreword

Where does our environment end? Is it 100 miles above the Earth’s surface or 1 million miles? In this book, Daniel Capper demonstrates that our environment extends outward to include all that we are capable of influencing and advocates the application of Buddhist philosophy as a framework to guide our future actions as we advance into space. Although I began reading it with skepticism, this book has opened my eyes to a new way of looking at space exploration in a Buddhist context. Dr. Capper shows us that our scientific interest, our ethical concerns, and our quest for new opportunities are mutually supportive within a Buddhist framework. I’ve spent my career as a lunar scientist advocating the use of the moon’s resources, both for the benefit of humans and to conserve the Earth’s biosphere. I have worked closely with NASA scientists and managers, whom I’ve found quite forward-thinking regarding conservation and rational use of other planetary bodies, even though religious philosophy wasn’t on the agenda. For example, in the 1970s NASA scientist Donald J. Kessler was among the first to publicize the inherent danger of orbital debris. NASA has funded and supported this research ever since. NASA also recognized the threat of back contamination of Earth before the first lunar samples were returned. The concern was that bacteria from other planetary surfaces could be harmful to life on Earth. Both samples and astronauts were quarantined for a while after the return of Apollo 11. For another example, environmental conservation, even in non-living environments, is already a part of NASA’s planetary exploration ethic, in alignment with Dr. Capper’s ideas about conservation and responsible use of planetary assets. NASA’s practical view is that new scientific instruments are continuously developed that can improve our knowledge of asteroids, moons, vii

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and planets, but only if the material is still available in its original (“pristine”) condition at its original (“in-situ”) location. The author points out that commercial space exploration has now become possible and with it are opportunities for humans to find and use resources in outer space. How will these efforts be governed? The Moon Treaty,1 mentioned in this book, was never signed by the United States and therefore remains a set of guidelines only. As described in a book that I co-wrote,2 private companies cannot justify the financial investment involved in producing resources on the moon if they have no certain legal claim to profits. Dr. Capper points out the need for a functioning legal system that protects commercial enterprises, other human interests, and the lunar environment. Because this legal framework doesn’t currently exist, he is concerned about the ungoverned extraction of space resources, which is a possibility under these conditions. One of the connections the author makes between Buddhism and environmental protection is through the Buddhist teaching of “Dependent Origination”: the basic principle is that everything happens because of preexisting causes. Everything we do has a result, including what we do to our environment. Thus, we have reason to care for our environment, not because we are sentimental but because any harm that we cause can ultimately harm us or our children. Dr. Capper presents the case that Buddhism is the philosophy that is most in accord with science. A Buddhist lama once paraphrased the teaching on this point: “Don’t believe anything just because a Buddha said it; check it out for yourself.” Buddhism urges the practitioner to think independently. That aligns well with the skeptical and independent nature of all the scientists I know. The author effectively shows that many of us in the Western world have been taught to think that religion and science are inherently in opposition. As a result, questions of religion are often omitted from discussions of space exploration and environmental science. It is refreshing to discover an author who has both the insight and the courage to propose an alternative idea that satisfies logic as well as inclination. This book does that. Bonnie Cooper Bay St. Louis, Mississippi

Acknowledgments

I first must thank the many helpful people from the ethnographic field. Without them, this book would not exist. It is their creative, caring, and insightful voices that provide the exciting and innovative responses to space environmental dilemmas. For the sake of ethnographic anonymity, I will not name names but still wish to extend my sincere gratitude. The cover photo appears courtesy of Getty Images. The public domain photos of the moon used to create figures in chapter 2 appear courtesy of the National Aeronautics and Space Administration. In terms of the text, Buddhist studies scholar Dr. Laurie Cozad offered quite useful feedback on an early version of the manuscript. Lunar expert Dr. Ian Crawford invaluably helped to deepen and extend my understanding of commercial issues pertaining to our moon. Felicitously, the esteemed lunar scientist Dr. Bonnie Cooper not only supplied useful feedback on the book but also wrote a nice foreword that dynamically highlights the Buddhism and science dialogues found throughout this work. In addition, Trevor Crowell, my editor at Lexington Books, supported the project from its start and usefully provided helpful guidance. Michelle Weathersby provided effective editorial feedback on the manuscript. The voices of intelligent colleagues at conferences and in peer review naturally shape the material here, too. Of course, the mistakes that remain in the presentation are mine alone.

ix

Introduction

For a moment, please imagine that you are a planetary scientist deep underground in a cavern on Mars. Having endured the six-month trip from Earth, you finally can pursue the research that brought you to the Red Planet: looking for on-the-ground evidence of present microbial life. With the lamps on your helmet lighting your way past dark volcanic stones, you climb carefully amid the rough terrain that consists of outcroppings and jumbled ground rocks. As you descend through the shaft of the cave, the life-killing radiation of the surface of the planet disappears; further, you find temperatures rising enough to melt some of Mars’s abundant water ice stores, leaving apparent moisture. Then, like lightning, you make the scientific discovery of a lifetime. You locate a little pool of moisture whose multihued color and anomalous texture unmistakably reveal that it is the abode of a group of living microbial forms. Called chemolithotrophs by biologists, these microorganisms survive by harvesting mineral energy rather than by synthesizing sunlight. Hurray for you! You have found tiny life on Mars! Excitedly you cheer with delight at one of the greatest of scientific advances. Start writing your speech for the lecture circuit, because soon everyone will want to hear of your research! But then your elation turns to concerned questions, since you do not know how to respond to this life ethically and you do not want to become famous for morally regrettable actions. Are you obligated to protect this life? Are you required actively to care for its habitat? Is it acceptable to take a few of these small beings home so that you can peer into their genetics with a microscope, even if this means killing living beings? These ethical issues can appear quite vexing at first. 1

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Introduction

After pondering these questions for a moment, you relax. You remember that you read this book and so know that a grounded and viable ethical solution in this situation consists of harming the life that you found as little as possible, damaging the habitat of that life as minimally as you can, but also studying that life to advance human science as long as you do so as nondestructively as feasible. Now armed with this dynamic moral compass, you gladly return to your celebration of a giant scientific find. A handy Martian moral code like the one just described could emerge from many ethical backgrounds and perhaps be effective, but in this book Buddhism, especially in its American flavors, supplies this behavioral framework. As I will describe throughout this book, Buddhism’s famed emphasis on ahimsa, or nonharm toward life, finds many intriguing applications offEarth—in this case, as a substantial moral tool for the search for solar system life. Further, the Buddha’s words distinctively inject into this extraterrestrial behavioral code some measures of respect for the habitats of life as well as for easing human suffering. To these teachings of the Buddha, present-day American Buddhists from the research field also contribute their own constructive voices to and approval for this moral approach toward unknown life, thus adding potent, fascinating, and time-spanning recontextualization to historical philosophical positions. As a result, values that originally arose in ancient Nepal and India find employment appropriately as a part of twenty-first-century Red Planet scientific spelunking. This tripartite ethic for searching for life on Mars thus fuses traditional Buddhist wisdom with innovative ecospiritual voices from the contemporary United States to produce an unprecedented, yet beneficial, ethical solution for an off-Earth environmental dilemma. Having been honed and time-tested for more than 2,500 years, such Buddhist ethics provide us with a solid, respected foundation toward developing proper approaches to extraterrestrial ecologies. As I will explicate more fully throughout the rest of the book, Buddhist environmental principles such as nonharm or the interconnectedness of the universe, which undergird the tripartite ethic for the search for life, profitably respond to numerous ecological problems incited by space travel. Buddhist sources, for instance, help to propel the establishment on our moon of nimble, multipurpose nature reserves which at once support environmental protection, preservation for science, as well as future industry. Further, and in a pioneering way, in this book Buddhists argue against some traditional currents by morally protecting environments that lack life. Yet here I make no claims that Buddhist ethics are the best; instead, I argue that in off-Earth environments Buddhist ethics can offer excellent moral and pragmatic benefits when set in conversation with other modalities of ethical argumentation. While I try to allow my reader to appreciate in a critical

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manner the secular benefits that may emerge from a womb of Buddhist values, I make no effort to convert my reader to Buddhism, for this activity would distract from my priority, which is generating practical environmental ethics that anyone can adopt and that are suitable for the many wonders of our solar system. In this way this book reflects the words of the Dalai Lama, the leader of Tibetan Buddhists, who said that today, “Environmental ethics are more important than religion.”1 Through rich Buddhism and science dialogues, over the rest of the presentation I offer a variety of environmental ethical solutions to space ecological trouble spots throughout our solar system. By following these moral guidelines that are grounded in sophisticated philosophical theory but also in moral voices from the living field, humanity can realize greater sustainability throughout the cosmos as well as at home on Earth. In order to maximize our sustainability, though, let us now more clearly understand some environmental ethical realities in space. ENVIRONMENTAL TENSIONS IN OUR SOLAR SYSTEM Encountering conceivable life on Mars like I just discussed does not represent the only event with a significant ethical horizon within today’s spacefaring. Besides this potential problem of finding tiny living beings elsewhere, in this book I richly explore other moral dilemmas within space environmental ethics engendered by our increasing human presence beyond Earth, including the ethics of dealing with the already-existent space debris that orbits our world, the permissibility of moon mining that is being developed by commercial entities, the desirability of establishing environmental and historical reserves in our solar system, and the suitability of changing the ecology of Mars planetwide as has been proposed frequently. Current real-life moral quandaries in space like these provide the focus of this book, which investigates these issues by utilizing the lens of critical environmental ethics.2 Today many private space companies such as SpaceX and Blue Origin join numerous potent national space programs as major drivers of a dramatic expansion of human presences in off-Earth locations. In order to direct this increased traffic in ecologically responsible ways, we need clear-sighted perspectives regarding not just environmental problems in space but also their solutions. This book supplies precisely this kind of insight and thereby guides our outreach as a critical manual for sustainable space travel. Perhaps the controversies involved here may be further illuminated by describing another real-life space ethical scenario: the already problematic reality in orbit around Earth of space debris, otherwise known as space junk. Decades of rocket launches and deployments of satellites, many of which

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Introduction

now are defunct, have left millions of pieces of debris, varying in size from tiny screws to large rocket stages, in high-speed orbits around our planet.3 As I discuss more in chapter 1, this space debris has threatened astronauts in the International Space Station in reality rather than just in the fiction of the popular film Gravity, and humans persist on a trajectory to realize what some call the Kessler Syndrome, in which orbital debris makes space flight too dangerous and humanity thereby becomes grounded.4 But the danger of the space debris junkyard orbiting above our heads does not remain simply in space, since some large pieces imperil the ground, too, by not burning up completely upon reentry into Earth’s atmosphere. Out of sheer luck, for example, the old U.S. space station Skylab missed hitting homes on its crash-landing in Australia.5 Alternatively, some nonvaporized debris materials descend into the sea and thereby threaten marine life with hazardous chemicals. While other bits of space debris do manage to completely vaporize, in so doing they leave behind trails of harmful molecules in the air that we all breathe when they are not introducing greenhouse gases into the upper atmosphere. Despite the environmental problems presented by space debris, though, not much has been done to fix the array of orbiting garbage, in part because we lack moral guidance for this situation. Instead, we face questions. Is it ethical to have created this debris in the first place? Do we humans have a moral responsibility to clean up the mess? If we develop a dependable cleanup technology, are there ethical best practices in the custodial effort? These questions demand greater resolution, and, following the cues that are provided by U.S. residents in the ethnographic field, I will describe how Buddhists together strongly insist that humans are morally responsible for space debris and its cleanup. This insight supplies extra motivational push toward enacting real solutions. Buddhists from the field also inventively weave together a values combination that supports some current space policy recommendations and energizes technological solutions such as orbiting recycling centers. The environmental justice tensions that I have discussed so far, from searching for microbial life to managing space debris, often have been ignored despite humanity’s ever-expanding reach (even if only through robots at times) through the solar system. As a part of this spread of Homo sapiens through extraterrestrial places, the national space programs of several countries as well as private efforts seek to have humans physically present on Mars as soon as possible. Witnessing these aspirations, and in contemplation of humanity’s generally dismal environmental record, we may wish to protect everywhere that humans go, whether that be to Mars, our moon, or Neptune’s moon Triton. Indeed, protecting places before they become ecologically compromised marks a key virtue of proactive space environmentalism, since, unlike places on Earth, we still can ensure that Mars, our moon, and other treasures remain relatively pristine. In anticipation of such possibilities, in

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this book I offer critical environmental ethics analyses relevant to contemporary space travel scenarios. Environmental ethicist Holmes Rolston insists that “a principal thing to get transformed in space is our earthbound value system,” and the narrative of this book arises with this aim.6 Buddhist ethics, as we will see, have much to offer in terms of upgrading our ethical dynamics in space. In every chapter of this book, one finds Buddhists from the ethnographic field who intertwine the value of nonharm with concepts of a universe that is vastly interconnected across space and time, thereafter wielding the environmental ethics combination of nonharmin-interconnection to novel and productive ends. By this book’s conclusion you may appreciate just how potent and flexible the innovative ethic of nonharm-in-interconnection is in diverse solar system circumstances. As a part of the journey, you will find another moral contribution, which stresses the environmental nonseparation of Earth and space. THE ENVIRONMENTAL NONSEPARATION OF EARTH AND SPACE As the dinosaurs learned the hard way from a space projectile, the Earth’s environment does not end with its atmosphere, and the boundary of our planetary ecology in fact extends, in theory, at least 13.7 billion light years. Unfortunately, however, many of us do not think this way. Too frequently the word “environment” refers strictly to Earth, including streams and hills but not moons or asteroids. We thereby mentally separate Earth and space. We may join international standards in accepting that “space” begins at the Kármán Line at 100 kilometers of altitude, but we often forget that this is just a conventional agreement, not a physical barrier. We see this false dichotomy between Earth and space occur in scholarship. For example, the authors of the book The Environment: A History of the Idea nicely probe how space travel historically has shaped our concepts of Earth’s environment, thereby hinting at the nonseparation that I am discussing. Yet, in turn, these scholars do not produce significant examples of a coherent concept of an “environment” that includes space ecologies along with earthly ones, thereby leaving themselves ecologically unable to discuss fully the last day of Tyrannosaurus Rex.7 Despite this failure, planets, moons, asteroids, comets, and other objects in our solar system form a vast but interlinked ecosystem, so that lessons from Mars also become tutorials for Earth. This dynamic manifests in the insightful work of space policy analyst Linda Billings, who emphasizes how the search for extraterrestrial life has reshaped our comprehension of Earth’s biosphere.8

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Introduction

This book therefore seeks to recognize and respect the environmental nonseparation of Earth and space. As a result, together we will find vividly that the examination of space ethics in this book additionally offers plenty of advances for critical environmental ethics as applied to our home planet, not just to space.9 Space ethicist James S. J. Schwartz stated, “Planetary research and terrestrial research are complementary,” and this book intentionally instructs us about the Earth as it does about off-Earth locations.10 Buddhists in this study, for example, indirectly minister to Earth by caring for lifeless lunar and Martian ecologies. As chapter 4 explores, this off-Earth concern can help us to struggle with nonliving dimensions of earthly global warming and therefore is a welcome environmental justice advance. We can better understand what this gain signifies, however, if I more fully clarify what the phrase “environmental justice” denotes. THE MEANING OF ENVIRONMENTAL JUSTICE Environmental justice initiatives generally seek to rectify troublesome events in which marginalized or poor humans together with their ecosystems face disproportionately negative ecological outcomes when compared to more prosperous realities. Some less developed nations face worse global warming outcomes than some more developed countries, for instance, despite the smaller contribution of greenhouse gases from less well-to-do people. Within this book, finding environmental justice for such scenarios involves understanding outcomes in terms of environmental sociologist David Naguib Pellow’s concept of “socioecological inequality,” which underlines that “humans, ecosystems, and nonhumans are intertwined in the production of inequality and violence.”11 The notion of socioecological inequality recognizes that gross inequities can result in regrettable and avoidable suffering not just interdependently across human classes, races, and genders but also distinctively across species and ecosystems. In perceiving and responding to the many occasions in which degradations of both powerless humans and voiceless nonhumans conjoin, socioecological inequality specifically and significantly embraces nonhumans along with humans within its justice scope. Realizing environmental justice by avoiding, ending, or ameliorating unethical socioecological inequality, as I seek to do here, mandates that no space practice is environmentally just unless it cares for dispossessed humans without space programs as well as for rich people who own or maintain space institutions. In addition, outcomes for nonhumans need to be fairly considered along with those for human entities. A truly just environmental solution will respond with appropriate concern for nonhuman realities, if the needs of nonhumans call for such, rather than with misplaced human chauvinism.

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As a brief example of realizing environmental justice by neutralizing unethical socioecological inequality, consider that affluent commercial entities soon may mine resources from our moon and in so doing possibly destroy the moon’s integrity or deprive other humans of various lunar resources, including a lovely nighttime view. In this scenario some innocent human victims, through no fault of their own, lack the capital to start moon mining by themselves and thus have no voice in what amounts to a might-makesright scenario. Is having executives of space corporations decide the moon’s fate for everyone the most just arrangement for all humans and nonhumans alike? The moon remains the cultural inheritance of all humans; do not we all, therefore, get a say in our moon’s future? Does not the moon deserve a better fate than mere thoughtless jackhammering at the command of the wealthy? What is the best environmental justice response to threats of socioecological inequality regarding marginalized humans and powerless lunar landscapes? Can we mine the moon responsibly? This book responds to these questions in chapter 2 not by proposing mining bans but by calling for the establishment of circumspect international lunar nature reserves. Every chapter of this book, moreover, treats other space environmental issues similarly to those raised by moon mining in the sense of purposefully seeking to offer some voice to the human and nonhuman poor or oppressed who are connected in various ways, willingly or not, with space travel. This ecological justice spotlight on nondominant space actors harmonizes with some of the goals of the United Nations Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (UNCOPUOS), which informs us, “Preserving the use of outer space for current and future generations . . . shall be carried out for the benefit and in the interests of all countries, irrespective of their degree of economic or scientific development, and shall be the province of all humankind.”12 As central as the notion of environmental justice is to this book, still a defining characteristic of this study is its implementation specifically of Buddhist environmental ethics rather than those of secular philosophies or Abrahamic faiths. Hence, we must inspect more deliberately the role of Buddhism in this book’s arguments. A BUDDHIST APPROACH Following my training in religious studies, in this book I explore space ethics issues through the medium of Buddhist, and especially American Buddhist, environmental ethics. This method may require some commentary. Located at a secular state university, I am a scientist of religion whose job is to probe religions as objectively as, say, a geologist investigates

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Introduction

different types of minerals. It is not my task to promote Buddhism as a religion, which is a good thing, since I would do poorly at it. I instead utilize Buddhist thought and action as a framework for creating effective environmental ethics for space, all the while attending critically to the tradition’s limitations as well. For example, as I mention more fully in chapter 4, providing proper environmental protection for Mars as well as combating climate change on Earth involves ethically protecting stones and other mineral formations in ways that escape the provisions of some traditional Buddhist morals. Despite the religion’s demonstrable moral concern for life forms, conventional forms of Buddhism offer little environmental protection for lifeless ecologies like those presumably manifesting among the stones on the surface of Mars.13 Therefore, in light of our relatively new understanding (since the 1970s) of the abiotic, or nonliving, character of Mars’s rocks, Buddhist environmental ethics must learn to adapt to some novel scientific realities that inspire environmental respect for lifeless beings if morals from Buddhism are to inform our actions within twenty-first-century research. Interestingly, as chapter 4 reveals, the contemporary American Buddhists that provide this study’s ethnographic data inventively extend precisely the updated protection of stones that previously was lacking, thus providing an original bonus not just to Buddhist ethics but also to the environmental humanities as a whole. Prompted by a revised comprehension of the nature of Mars, voices from the field in turn innovatively reshape a new Buddhist appreciation for nonliving realities. Reflecting this dynamic but in larger scale, throughout this book a two-way religion and science dialogue appears in which space science ethics learn from Buddhism, but, in turn, space sciences additionally instruct Buddhism in terms of the empirical pragmatics of environmental protection. This dialogue reflects the dictum of Albert Einstein regarding science and religious ethics that “Science without religion is lame, religion without science is blind.”14 Rather than promoting Buddhism, therefore, through rigorous and critical analysis I provide an informed focus that arises from the world of American Buddhist values. In this examination I offer a specialized approach specifically by taking, but never favoring, an environmental ethics path delineated by American Buddhism. Throughout the narrative I also add important texture at times by appreciating the perspectives of other religions of the world, including turning to my own work in comparative religious environmental ethics.15 Of course, I encourage similar future space ethics contributions from other, diverse, religious and nonreligious sources in order to stimulate pluralist ethical discussions for the benefit of us all. Indeed, even in this introductory chapter non-Buddhist approaches allow me to place my specialized focus on Buddhist ethics in larger context, as I do now.

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BUDDHIST ETHICS IN CONTEXT Obviously, I cannot bring space sciences into dialogue with Buddhist ethics as I have delineated without giving my reader a sense of how Buddhist ethics fit with other forms of ethical argumentation. In this light, several conversations within space ethics began in 1980 when astronomer Carl Sagan issued an undeveloped secular ethic: “If there is life on Mars . . . Mars then belongs to the Martians, even if the Martians are only microbes.”16 Since then, numerous excellent pieces on space ethics have appeared, with most of these treatments arising from the world of Western philosophical ethics such as utilitarianism and Kantianism. The Abrahamic religions of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam have provided some ethical models as well.17 Whether philosophical or religious, though, these Western approaches remain interlinked in terms of sharing some attitudes toward the nonhuman environment, like values drawn from the Bible and Aristotle’s concept of a Great Chain of Being.18 As one will see throughout this book, though, Buddhist environmental efforts derive from alternative cultural traditions, which can lead to results that diverge from Western forms, leaving Buddhism with plenty of u­ seful new insights to add to space ethics discussions. As environmental ethics scholar John J. Holder wrote, Buddhism “has some important ideas to contribute to the current conversations on environmental ethics—especially among the scientific community where naturalism (not theism) is a common conceptual framework.”19 Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, for example, each enshrine a passage from Genesis 1:20-31 in the Bible, with these teachings granting dominion or stewardship of the nonhuman environment to humans. God owns the natural world in this perspective, but humans remain the empowered managers of the natural world in God’s stead. Thus, in Abrahamic religious worlds, humans generally enjoy fairly unfettered power over nonhuman nature.20 As a result of this empowerment of humans, an anthropocentric hierarchy emerges in which superior humanity embodies the pinnacle of creation while all other entities remain inferior. To these biblical ideas of humanity’s ascendancy and relative environmental omnipotence cling varying philosophical versions of the Great Chain of Being, originally from the philosopher Aristotle, and its understanding of a layered universe with humans at the top, animals hierarchically lower than humans, plants even lower, and stones and water at the bottom of the cosmos in importance. This Great Chain of Being concept has been a philosophical part of Western cultures for so long that I and many of my readers often tacitly take it for granted as a presumption. Versions of the philosophical concept of a Great Chain of Being as well as biblical notions of human superiority together have influenced Western

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Introduction

religions as well as Western secular philosophies, thereby creating some characteristic features of environmental relationships in Western cultural histories that bear ramifications for space ethics. For instance, biblical and Aristotelian attitudes join to privilege humanity while, perhaps, offering a small measure of respect for animals as sentient beings.21 These same attitudes, however, almost entirely exclude ethical respect for plants, mineral formations, bodies of water, and other entities at the bottom of the Great Chain of Being.22 In terms of space ethics, such Western cultural attitudes a priori exclude all currently known space environments beyond Earth from substantial value in themselves, for at the time of this writing recognized space environments appear lifeless and thus lacking in ethical standing in the eyes of both biblical writers and of Aristotelians. In this way, Western philosophical and religious environmental ethics remain limited by their life-favoring presumptions, thus skewing space ethical deliberations.23 Further, and going beyond lifeless landscapes, if we discover extant microbial life on Mars, in large measure the ancient biblical doctrine of stewardship will have restricted in advance the ethical respect that those microorganisms theoretically can enjoy. Buddhist ethics, which arise from different cultural presumptions, provide sometimes quite powerful alternatives to Western approaches. Buddhism does not innately reverence the Bible, does not grant human beings stewardship over nature like the Bible does, and historically has not been influenced much by the Great Chain of Being. Instead, and being environmentally salient, unlike most biblical religions and Western philosophies, Buddhism posits a natural environment that consists of beings that reincarnate between human, animal, god, ghost, and hell realms. A human birth is considered the best of these, since only humans, not even gods, can realize the religious goal of nirvana. This outlook leaves Buddhism with its own homegrown senses of human ascendance in the universe.24 However, since humans and animals are reborn as each other in Buddhist viewpoints, this human superiority is relative, not final, and there exists a sense of kinship between humans and animals that is not found in biblical religions or the Great Chain of Being. In Buddhist theory, animals and humans remain more peerlike and less hierarchical in relationship, leaving the tradition to encourage its followers zealously to extend lovingkindness, compassion, and nonharm to animals, as chapters 1 and 3 of this book vibrantly demonstrate.25 Because of such features, Buddhism represents one of the more animal-friendly religions in existence, since it in fact seeks to protect all sentient beings.26 Therefore, if you find microbes on Mars as I portrayed at the beginning of this chapter, and if microbes should be treated like nonhuman animals (I will examine this controversy in chapter 3), Buddhism offers a moral standing for microorganisms that is different from results found using Western ethics.

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Buddhist approaches create room for perspectives in which microbes are regarded more as colleagues of humans in the struggle for existence and less as opportunities for human domination. I would betray my own critical methods if I said that these alternative Buddhist approaches are better than those from other sources, but this claim is not needed anyway. Here I highlight that, because of the cultural conditioning that I have described, Buddhist ethics deserve a seat at the table as one of our many space ethics advisors due to their efficacious alternative perspective. To this point Western philosophical and religious ethics have dominated moral approaches in astrobiology, but astrobiology benefits by hearing the enriching voices of Buddhists as well. This book offers Buddhist ethics the ability to enter into space ethics conversations, and some intriguingly novel outcomes thereby spring forth from Buddhist contributions. However, there exists another reason why Buddhism deserves a seat in space ethics deliberations, this time concerning its relative friendliness with science like that practiced in space. BUDDHISM AND SCIENCE Understanding the generally congenial relationship between Buddhism and science requires a brief peek at the Buddhist path. The Buddha taught a unique religious code during his lifetime around 500 BCE in what is today Nepal and India. Eschewing notions of a monotheistic creator deity like one finds with Abrahamic religions, the Buddha purveyed a nontheistic form of spirituality. Considering concerns with gods and the creation of the universe to be spiritually distracting, the Buddha taught that our universe is eternal, limitless, and cyclic. To be sure, the Buddha reflected his time and place in believing in a variety of invisible spirits. Yet, to him, these deities were as in need of the experience of nirvana, or the Buddhist enlightenment experience in which suffering is said to cease, as human beings. The Buddha thereby taught his followers never to rely on gods or spirits and always to rely on themselves as humans in order to resolve their very human existential problems.27 The main shortcoming faced by human beings, according to the Buddha, is known as dukkha in the scriptural Pāli language, which means something similar to suffering, imperfection, or unsatisfactoriness. We humans crave happiness that will not fade, taught the Buddha, but this happiness remains elusive in the face of inexorable realities such as sickness, old age, and death. Since we want lasting happiness despite a guarantee of suffering, the Buddha said, we need to alter our minds regarding how we experience the world. Rather than engaging in reality from a self-centered, first-person perspective,

12

Introduction

the Buddha emphasized, one should identify instead much more broadly with the infinite web of interconnections that embraces all things in the material universe. In the perspective of the Buddha, we never are separate in time or space from anything else in the universe despite our perceptual inclinations to the contrary. The Buddha taught that we are interconnected in some way with everything else phenomenal. Buddhist scriptures classically utilize a tripod to demonstrate this idea. Imagine that three sticks are placed in relatively vertical positions so that their mutual leaning on each other creates a tripod. Take just one stick away and the tripod collapses. Thus, even while standing at the beginning, the tripod is not independent in time or space but arises from the precise time and space placement of sticks. The tripod arises as an inherently interconnected reality. For their parts, the sticks are not fully independent either, since together they shape a tripod at one moment. They, too, therefore exist only within a web of connections. Further, if we ask where the sticks came from, theoretically we can trace interconnections across time and space between the tripod, the sticks, and absolutely everything else in the material universe all the way back to the Big Bang. In other words, rather than existing or acting independently in time and space, the tripod, like all physical things, arises from various external causes and creates a variety of external effects. Thus, all phenomenal existents in Buddhist philosophical perspective are paṭicca-samuppāda in the scriptural language of Pāli (or arise in interconnected dependence on each other). I will follow a common path in referring to this interconnected universe concept in English as dependent arising. If I describe this dependent arising perspective of the Buddha temporally in terms of today’s astronomy, rather than in terms of a tripod, I offer that, despite a seeming time gap, we are not separate from the Big Bang 13.7 billion years ago, since ultimately it brought us here, nor by extension are we separate from anything anywhere that has happened since the Big Bang. We Milky Way residents are not separate from our neighboring Andromeda galaxy, for instance, since we and that galaxy similarly are children of the Big Bang. In turn, the Big Bang is not temporally separate from us, since we represent the outcomes of its activities. Moreover, and looking in this instance spatially rather than temporally, the Andromeda galaxy technically tugs on us gravitationally as I write these words, even if you and I do not feel the force from 2.5 million light years away.28 Like with this gravitational pull, in the Buddha’s perspective we are interconnected with everything else across vast cosmic distances. I can continue adding Buddhism-and-astronomy examples in which the Andromeda galaxy, Big Bang, or other physical cosmic entities are not separate from us in terms of either spatial or temporal points of view regardless of our ordinary

Introduction

13

perceptions to the contrary. The Buddhist universe thereby manifests completely interconnected across time and space. Given situations of dependent arising like our nonseparation from the Andromeda galaxy, why not, then, encouraged the Buddha, experience reality from the point of view of the interconnected whole rather than just from the first-person singular? The more one manages deeply to experience the universe as a vast web of connections, urged the Buddha, the more suffering disappears and lasting happiness explodes forth in the goal experience of nirvana, in which felt distress is said to be blown out of the psyche forever. In calling for an awareness of being a part of a phenomenal interconnected whole, Buddhism manifests great concern for attending to one’s empirical experiences of reality. One realizes nirvana by gaining deeper insight into the workings of one’s own interconnected empirical experiences. This empirical focus, in turn, has helped Buddhism in recent decades to enjoy comradeship in conversation with science as a result of science’s grounding in empiricism.29 For just one example, the Fourteenth Dalai Lama, the leader of Tibetan Buddhists, states, “One fundamental attitude shared by Buddhism and science is the commitment to keep searching for reality by empirical means and to be willing to discard accepted or long-held positions if our search finds that the truth is different.”30 Hence, the Dalai Lama repeatedly has convened meetings with scientists to discuss the nature of consciousness, the effects of climate change, or humanity’s place in scientific astronomy’s universe.31 Granted, this Buddhism and science companionship does have some tensions, such as concerns about how evolution and karma work together, the appropriateness of killing of animals in scientific experiments, or disagreements about the origin of consciousness.32 Nevertheless, because Buddhism does not assert resistance toward science like one may find from other religious forms, Buddhism can provide space sciences with powerful collaboration, as space scholars Traphagan and Traphagan have noted.33 One should not be surprised that a Pew Research Center poll indicated that Buddhists are more likely to accept the parameters of a scientific theory like that of evolution than are followers of any other American religion.34 Through the rest of this book, my reader will find that Buddhism’s relative friendship with science proves useful in avoiding some otherwise potentially sticky issues in religion and science dialogue. SECULARIZED SPACE ETHICAL CONTRIBUTIONS Buddhism’s authority as a solid foundation for ethics supplies another reason why exploring Buddhism in space ethics enriches our astrobiological

14

Introduction

initiatives. Ethics, even secular ethics like those practiced in a scientific experiment, must always be built on some cultural moral presumptions that carry substance, respectability, and durability. For 2,500 years, Buddhist ethics have exhibited these traits with success, thereby providing firm moral ground for argumentation. If a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, Buddhist ethics provide us with a capable and well-regarded first link. However, while I employ Buddhist ethical notions as an authoritative foundation, my goal in this book is to engage space sciences in dialogue and, as such, I must by design follow secular paths. The proper pursuit of space science involves values that are not religiously partisan, but, instead, in the words of the philosopher Charles Taylor, are secular in the sense that “the considerations we act on are internal to the ‘rationality’ of each sphere.”35 Because of this need for secularity in the practice of science, the ethical first step in this book is a religious one toward Buddhism, as I have described, but the principles involved lose their religious dimensions and become secularized by the time they finish their dialogue with science. Thankfully, one of the most important of Buddhist concepts within this book, the notion that we already have seen of an interconnected, dependent arising universe, requires little secularization despite its being a basic doctrine of the religion. In the Buddhist world dependent arising is a simple fact, not a holy thing in itself. It nevertheless is an ecologically powerful concept that plays a major environmental ethics role in every chapter in this book. We get a better sense of what I mean by a secularizing dynamic if we turn instead to the ethical value of nonharm, or ahimsa, toward living beings, which appears within the tripartite ethic for the search for life that we saw previously. Emerging in some form within all religious traditions arising from India, in this book ahimsa derives from Buddhist sources. Ahimsa, the “absence of the desire to kill or harm,” encourages refraining from hurting any living being in any way, for to all animate beings “no one is dearer than self.”36 Despite its origin in religion, this prominent value of nonharm supplies a useful secularized value in dialogue with many others in space ethics discussions in this book. I believe that my reader will see the helpfulness for space ethics of a secularized version of nonharm for protecting environments for ecological or scientific reasons, regardless of whether my reader personally adopts Buddhist values. If a critical conversation determines that originally Buddhist values like nonharm provide benefit in themselves to space science ethics, then pragmatically it will not matter that the source of those values is religious. Hence, through the crucible of critical analysis I will transform originally Buddhist values into ones upon which theoretically anyone in a

Introduction

15

secular setting can agree. In addition, I critically hold Buddhism accountable if it does not offer viable ethical tools. Through its moral contributions Buddhism provides useful new approaches in the world of space ethics while, in turn, the Buddhist environmental ethical tradition itself enjoys some enrichment and development. But, in understanding these dynamics regarding Buddhism, we also contend with some historical limits to utilizing Buddhist environmental ethics in space, as I now will examine. AMERICAN BUDDHIST STUDIES IN CONTEXT Throughout this book I consult scriptures from the three major sects of Buddhism—Theravāda, Mahāyāna, and Vajrayāna—as a qualitative fountainhead for ethical deliberations. However, and unsurprisingly, 2,000-yearold texts have little to say directly about how to act when practicing science on Saturn’s moon Titan. Therefore, along with extensive scriptural support, the Buddhist environmental ethical arguments found in this book primarily arise from the helpful voices of some contemporary American Buddhists, who renovate the tradition by remaining practical experts in applying Buddhist ethics to everyday twenty-first-century life. In turning to living Buddhist voices to teach us about how Buddhism may be applied to current and future space realities, I never ask Buddhists questions about space policy issues, because these Buddhists, while being generally intelligent and educated, overall have minimal expertise in professional space policy. Instead, I seek to understand the considered moral values that Buddhists, already savvy in navigating the twenty-first century with Buddhist ideals, choose to bring to space ethics situations as well as their reasons for applying those values. Expressed both quantitatively through a space ecology survey and qualitatively through narrative comments, these present-day Buddhist perspectives help Buddhist values to avoid theoretical confinement in ancient India and to enjoy relevance within the twenty-firstcentury space age. In terms of the geographical field of my informants, Buddhism first reached American shores in the mid-nineteenth century primarily through emigration from China and Japan, and today you can find Buddhist centers in every state in the United States.37 California and New York supply two concentrated “Buddhist Belts,” but Buddhist centers additionally inhabit the “Bible Belt” of the southeastern United States, the field focus of this study. In this region Buddhist centers tend to be fewer in number as well as smaller in population sizes than in other regions of the country.38 I mention for interested readers that a description of the demographics of my field subjects appears in appendix A.

16

Introduction

Compared to other religions and even compared to other forms of Buddhism, American Buddhism long has been known for an environmentalist sensibility.39 Energetically combining their spiritual and ecological preservationist impulses in word and action, American followers of the Buddha generally manifest as an “ecocentric” sangha, or environmentalist group of religious practitioners, according to the scholar of American Buddhism Richard Seager.40 This environmentalist sensibility made my fieldwork among American Buddhists easier, since many Buddhists were genuinely pleased to participate in a project about environmental ethics. Between March and June 2019, I undertook quantitative and qualitative ethnographic fieldwork intentionally across a diversity of Buddhist forms. In the field I obtained statistically significant samples from all three of Buddhism’s major branches of Theravāda (classically found in places like Sri Lanka, Thailand, or Burma), Mahāyāna (the Buddhism stemming from East Asian locations like China, Japan, Vietnam, or Korea), and Vajrayāna (in Asia commonly encountered in Tibet, Bhutan, Mongolia, or Japan), for a total sample size of 121 American Buddhists. Within the Buddhist world, the most fundamental scriptural ethics derive from the Vinaya, or rules for monastics. Each of the three great schools of Buddhism possesses its own slightly different Vinaya version, but in terms of the monastic rules consulted in the writing of this book, the various versions remain in agreement in terms of their narrative injunctions. Moreover, this book’s quantitative data arise without significant differences across Buddhist schools. Because of this nonsectarian unity in the qualitative ethical sources as well as in the quantitative data, in this book I generally will treat American Buddhism as a whole, rather than as a sectarian manifestation, although I will attend to differences across sects when relevant. So that we may discern specifically Buddhist voices from more generally American ones, I further gathered a control data set from seventy-eight randomly selected university students from a variety of religions. These control sample members live within the same region as the Buddhist centers in the study. Because part of my method includes some quantitative analysis, I state for readers who are not statistically inclined that I follow common and uncontroversial methods for understanding numerical data and their relationships. This book’s innovations are ethical, not mathematical. In an alternative rhetorical voice for the statistically oriented, I mention that throughout the presentation I test mathematical independence between Buddhist and control groups as well as across Buddhist groups using pairwise two-tailed Fisher’s exact statistical tests. I do not employ chi-squared tests for the sake of uniformity and in light of the presence of some zeros in the data.

Introduction

17

PLAN OF THE BOOK In chapter 1, I bring American Buddhist voices to bear on an often-overlooked but nonetheless already problematic environmental dysfunction involving the presence of space debris around Earth. What I find is that American Buddhists, armed with notions of an interconnected universe as well as the ideal of nonharm, morally help to provide beneficial momentum toward policy changes regarding space debris. Voices from the field implicitly stress ideas like establishing orbiting recycling centers while they also care for innocent human and nonhuman victims of space debris in distinctive ways. Chapter 2 then probes efforts to establish mining on our moon in the near future. Rather than prohibit mining, American Buddhists instead express moral support for the establishment of multipurpose ecological and historical reserves at strategic locations on our moon, thus creating room for both commercial desires and ecological protection. After delineating lunar land reserves in chapter 2, in chapter 3 I provide moral direction for the search for possible extant microbial life on Mars. As I mentioned, Buddhists supply effective ethical guidance for developing a morality that affirms default nonharm to potential microbes, default nonharm to microbial habitats, but also limited and respectful scientific study of microorganisms to benefit humanity. Chapter 4 thereafter engages contentious arguments about the moral permissibility of terraforming, or manipulating ecologies planetwide, with a focus on controversies surrounding Mars. In the course of this chapter we will find American Buddhists spurring inventive advances in environmental ethics methodologies regarding lifeless locales and thereby enriching environmental moral thinking. Finally, the concluding chapter traces important steps in understanding space ethics from a Buddhist point of view, in orienting religion to space ethics perspectives, and in probing some of the dynamic interactions of religion, science, and space travel in current American culture that are relevant to this book’s data. Because of the multidisciplinary character of the presentation, I also define and clarify some necessary terms in the glossary that makes up appendix B. CONCLUSION In this book I trace Buddhist environmental ethical relationships with a variety of space entities. Reflecting this reality as well as the pre-Buddhist nature religiosity of ancient South Asia, the Candāba Jātaka story in the Theravāda Buddhist scriptures contains a quite remarkable passage that enjoins space nature mysticism. In this short tale, an ancient Hindu forest sage counsels his

18

Introduction

spiritual disciples that the way to Radiant Realms, or heaven, emerges from meditating on our moon and our sun and thereby enjoying ecstatic experiences of “moonlight and sunlight.”41 Perhaps this religious adoration of bright celestial entities inspires my reader, as it does me, to begin contemplating the meaning of the luminous objects of our sky such as our moon, our sun, streaking meteors, and—falling space garbage? Let us now turn to the problematic issue of space debris.

Chapter 1

Space Debris and Environmental Justice

The 2013 popular film Gravity dramatized the destruction of the International Space Station (ISS) by some of the space debris, or discarded materials from previous space journeys, that orbit our planet. Without a doubt, the film took some factual liberties to make the movie experience more thrilling for a general audience. Yet the movie still pointed to the very real threats faced by the ISS from high-speed extraterrestrial garbage. Since pieces of space debris in orbit can travel at around 10 kilometers (6.2 miles) per second, a space debris shard as small as a centimeter wide creates the explosive power of a hand grenade on impact. As space security analyst James Clay Moltz states, “A collision between any sizable piece of orbital debris and a spacecraft would likely cause catastrophic damage and, for manned missions, almost certain death.”1 So, for instance, in 1983 the space shuttle Challenger was hit by a mere 0.22mm fleck of paint, which cracked the windshield and nearly depressurized the shuttle,2 and more than eighty space shuttle windows had to be replaced over time due to debris impacts.3 While the ISS possesses stronger armor against the smallest fragments than did the space shuttle, still on average more than once a year the ISS maneuvers to avoid a potential collision with large, threatening shrapnel.4 Repeatedly, in fact, ISS astronauts have not had the time for maneuvers and instead packed into their lifeboat spacecraft and hoped that their lives did not come to resemble the art of Gravity. However, you do not have to be an astronaut in space to be endangered by space debris, as Lottie Williams of Tulsa, Oklahoma, can attest. In January 1992, Williams was hit by a portion of a Delta II rocket when a stage failed to completely vaporize in our atmosphere on reentry. Fortunately, Williams lived to tell the tale,5 but justice issues remain. Given that plunges of space debris are avoidable, since Lottie Williams had nothing to do with that rocket and had not given her consent to having space debris rain down on her, how is 19

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Lottie’s experience just or fair? In the pages to come, we will enter into more environmental justice difficulties like this one that arise from space debris. Beyond Lottie Williams, the reality of space debris affects every one of us in terms of the air we breathe and the ecology we inhabit, as the sad tale of Cosmos 954 reveals. Cosmos 954, which was a Soviet military satellite gone awry, reentered Earth’s atmosphere in 1978 and only partially vaporized. What reached the ground included 50 kilograms of enriched uranium-235 scattered over 124,000 square kilometers of northwestern Canada as small, solidified drops.6 This radioactive load threatened water and food supplies for the indigenous Inuit and Ojibwa people who lived near the crash site, thus creating another instance of the type of environmental justice issue faced by Lottie Williams, in which innocent people suffer from someone else’s spacecraft. But some of the uranium from Cosmos 954 did not make it to the ground and vaporized into the atmosphere that you, I, and many other living things breathe. Thus, we all had a chance, without our consent, to bring minute amounts of this uranium into our lungs. And, of course, we got to inhale more than just vaporized uranium, since any of Cosmos 954’s vaporized plastics, metals, paints, hazardous chemicals, and so on, also enjoyed opportunities to enter our nostrils. Making things worse, any parts that vaporized into greenhouse gases potentially contributed to the problem of global warming. Even if greenhouse gases appear in minute amounts with each debris burn, an average of one debris object falls per day, about 600 tons fall every year, and 66 percent of all cataloged debris objects have burned in our atmosphere,7 so that even trace amounts eventually add up. When space stations reenter Earth’s atmosphere, as the Skylab, Salyut, Mir, and Tiangong stations all have done, they significantly increase the space debris load that can negatively affect our air. Burning these stations in the atmosphere opens the door to our breathing in vaporized life support systems, refuse piles, and toilet devices. The good news is that vaporization sterilizes astronaut excrement from toilets before our lungs can be transformed into vicarious space septic systems. The bad news is that the effects of atmospheric spaceship burnings on our environment remain unknown, so we cannot comprehend just how much vaporized toxic chemistry we each have inhaled over the years. By extension, we do not understand the health outcomes of these inhalations for individual human and nonhuman animal respirators. Moreover, our home planet is ill from global warming, and we are ignorant regarding how spacecraft vaporizations may worsen our planet’s sickness. Many of us think of vaporizing spaceships in the atmosphere as a magic eraser process that eliminates problems, when in fact the practice advertises large-scale human carelessness regarding Earth’s delicate ecosystems.

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With these examples I merely am describing the tip of an iceberg of negative outcomes deriving from the human-created environmental debacle of space debris. For decades we have gone to space too recklessly in terms of ecological responsibility and now we pay the price. As I will discuss more fully below, we currently do not have tested, affordable, and deployable technological solutions for cleanup. Likewise, although we now are more energetic about space debris policies than we used to be, still space debris strategies remain a jumble in terms of important issues such as who is responsible and who should pay for cleanup. I offer that in the face of space debris misfortunes, we remain relatively rudderless in terms of both technology and policy because we lack the more primordial ethical compass that we need. Hence, in this chapter, while still covering some technology and policy vistas of space debris, I will focus on moral grounding for guiding us as we deal with the tough but not an impossible issue of how to manage the debris we have created and that will form in the future. Of course, as in the rest of this book, the moral grounding that I discuss here comes from the voices of American Buddhists in the ethnographic field. These Buddhists overwhelmingly insist that humans must take responsibility for cleaning up their space debris. This is beneficial. Not only can the insistence of these voices influence both technological and policy dimensions, but it also institutes the moral “principle of responsibility” requested by space ethicists Paul F. Uhlir and William P. Bishop,8 thereby adding a positive element to the erstwhile space debris calamity. Buddhists from the field also offer an ethic that weaves the idea that all phenomenal things are interconnected together with the Buddhist value of ahimsa, or nonharm. In so doing, these field subjects uniquely open the door to a space debris response that is more holistic than previous formulations precisely because it invests effort into accounting not just for the fates of innocent human victims but also for nonhuman animals and their habitats. As I will describe more, this Buddhist ecological holism in terms of values dovetails nicely with some of the space policy solutions that have been proposed for space debris while it points to possible ameliorative technological solutions like orbiting recycling centers. The Buddhists in this chapter stand out for their holistic and informative space debris morals. Yet the values that they provide for managing space debris converge beautifully with value formulations of other studies,9 thus highlighting the solid ground on which these voices from the field stand. Space ethicist James S. J. Schwartz, for instance, eloquently has argued for the power of the value of fairness, when derived from the philosophical ethical theory of John Rawls, for resolving space debris issues.10 Buddhists here employ alternative concepts such as “interconnectedness” and “nonharm”

22

Chapter 1

rather than “fairness,” but in spirit these field subjects do not seem to be too far out of step with Schwartz’s formulation. Moreover, Jacques Arnould, ethics advisor to the French space program, urges us to battle space debris within the conceptual polity of what he calls “Greater Earth.” Encapsulating the Earth-moon system within a mammoth imaginary sphere, Greater Earth for Arnould is a place for international cooperation, economic activity, and ethical action.11 Buddhists in this chapter provide greater definition to Arnould’s ideas of how we may battle space debris within Greater Earth. In fascinating addition, if one joins this chapter with the next one, which concerns environmental protection for our moon, Buddhists in this study seem tacitly to embrace Arnould’s Greater Earth concept. In the next section I will highlight some of the technological and policy roadblocks impeding proper space debris management. Afterward I will explore a host of specific environmental justice dilemmas that space debris sponsors. Turning from problems to their remedies, Buddhists then inject principles such as responsibility, interconnection, and nonharm into conversations, thus innovatively providing space justice solutions for humans and nonhumans alike. In the final section of this chapter, we will transform our foundation in values into secular space policies and technological fixes that emphasize human responsibility and international cooperation. But first we must ask: What exactly is space debris? ORBITING JUNKYARD Space debris, often also called space junk, comes in many forms, from as large as a rocket stage to as small as a tiny screw. The Inter-Agency Space Debris Coordination Committee (IADC), which globally provides respected space debris oversight, defines space debris as “all human made objects including fragments and elements thereof, in Earth orbit or re-entering the atmosphere, that are non-functional.”12 Most of the material currently orbiting Earth fits this definition. Space debris includes, for instance, the spent fuel stages that we all have seen rockets eject. Space debris also involves congealed aluminum oxide slag from solid rocket engines. Intentionally placed trash, such as lens caps from cameras or refuse released from a space station, count as debris, as do unintentional elements like parts lost in the construction of the ISS. There currently are more than 20,000 large chunks of this debris in orbit. Since tracking objects less than 10 centimeters in size is difficult, it is estimated that there are more than 100,000 human-fabricated particles in orbit between 1 and 10 centimeters in size, with tens of millions of fabricated particles that are smaller than 1 centimeter.13

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Some of this rubbish involving fragments of space vessels arises as direct effects of satellite collisions, such as the 2,200 scraps large enough to be cataloged that derived from Iridium 33’s satellite smashup with Cosmos 2251 in 2009.14 Alternatively, other shards emerge from knock-on effects from cascading collisions, because pieces from one satellite may create many more particles when they impact another space machine. These cascading effects are worrisome, as research has shown that if we launched no more rockets for 200 years, the debris field around our planet nonetheless will continue to increase due to cascading collision results.15 Already launches are planned so as to miss known patches of debris, while satellite insurance policies become more expensive because of debris encounter risks. Many people, in fact, fear that our situation will evolve into what is called the Kessler Syndrome, in which the critical density of debris around our planet makes space travel inadvisable or impossible.16 The silver lining here, though, is that the increasing danger of the debris situation has prompted some wise space professionals to be more attentive to debris issues over time. But the rise of new small satellites threatens to tip the space debris scales forever for the worse. Using microelectronics to engage in circumscribed activities, recently developed small satellites may be released as clusters into low Earth orbit (LEO) relatively cheaply. Exploiting the inexpensive nature of these breadbox-sized space appliances, SpaceX is in the process of launching a planned constellation of 12,000 small communications satellites. Norway currently is creating a Steam network of 4,257 satellites, while France wants to launch the MCSAT constellation of 4,000 space machines. Canada wants to launch a constellation with 794 members, Boeing a constellation of 2,956 small satellites, and One Web wants to deploy a constellation of 900 small communications boxes.17 These constellations produce forms of light pollution and challenge ground-based astronomy by fouling both optical and radio views of the sky. Such constellations also may be pointless in the end, since it may be that some of the human populations that these satellites are intended to serve with communications do not need or cannot afford the services provided by the small satellite constellations.18 Additionally, space scholar Kiran Krishnan Nair rightly advises that the rise of small satellite constellations may be catastrophic in terms of generating space debris. Nair says, “Unless measures of Active Debris Removal (ADR) and Remediation are undertaken, the already congested useful belts in LEO [low Earth orbit] can be expected to become unusable by all humanity in the future. . . . The threat to the environment of space due to mega-constellations is expected to be both serious and also irreversible to an extent.”19 Nair’s concerns are well taken, since currently we lack a space debris elimination technology (called active debris removal) that is proven, affordable,

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Chapter 1

and deployable. Efforts to create such a technology continue, as various people champion the use of nets, electrodynamic tethers, ion beam propellers, laser propellers, sails to create atmospheric drag, and other ideas.20 Most of these scenarios involve pushing satellites into far-flung orbits or deorbiting spacecraft to vaporize in the atmosphere, though. As we will see below, both of these debris removal paths incite problems. Also, active debris removal campaigns generally remain underfunded and untested. The active debris removal program called RemoveDebris has, to its credit, tested in space technologies for capturing debris with nets and harpoons with some success.21 Nonetheless, at present we have no reliable broom for sweeping the dirt that we have left in space. Along with this lack of technological solutions to the problem of space debris, our policies remain incoherent as well. Granted, advances have been made in this arena. The Convention on International Liability for Damage Caused by Space Objects of 1972 governs some space debris outcomes, and through it Canada was able to collect damage payments for the Cosmos 954 disaster. Likewise, in 1993 the IADC sprouted, as a handful of nations became worried about debris and began to cooperate in terms of knowledge and solutions. By 2003, the IADC helpfully began to guide United Nations policies, and today numerous national laws and policies owe their shape to informed and useful IADC guidelines. Yet, despite these respectable efforts, crucial elements of the space debris response puzzle remain poorly defined. Part of the problem is that much of space law and policy is voluntary in character, lacking real teeth for enforcement. Further, even authoritative documents like the Outer Space Treaty possess loopholes and vague language that can be exploited, as we find with squabbles about responsibility. Articles VI, VII, and VIII of the Outer Space Treaty, for instance, insist that the country that launched a spacecraft owns that vehicle and also is responsible for it. But what if two countries launch a spacecraft together—who is responsible? Can one country dispose of a retired satellite from another country, given these ownership provisions? What about private interests that are increasingly visible in space? And who will pay for the disposal of debris? Poorer countries often argue that richer countries should pay to clean up debris, since the affluent largely are the parties that created it. In turn, rich countries stress the importance of equal financial cooperation. When we take this lack of clarity in space policy realms and combine it with a paucity of technological responses, we see that humans have created a terrible environmental problem with space debris and still do not know how to mop up the nasty ecological milk that they have spilled. But not everything that orbits and goes defunct is junk. Some valuable orbiting objects reflect our cultures and embody our histories. Having come to a grim technological and policy outlook regarding debris, let us

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appreciate some celebratory dimensions of this situation in terms of heritage preservation. LEAVE HERITAGE ALONE While discussing what space debris is, we must also be more mindful than the IADC definition of debris about what counts alternatively as heritage. A significant portion of the debris field consists of obsolete satellites whose service lives have ended. With nowhere else to go, they keep whirring around our globe at tremendous speeds. This means that orbiting stuff represents a refuse midden that contains a great deal of the history of space travel, and, as with middens elsewhere, archaeologists can learn much from what people discard. Space archaeologist Alice Gorman highlights the Vanguard I satellite in this regard.22 Launched in 1958 and now the oldest human-fabricated artifact in space, in its day Vanguard I exhibited scientific prowess in demonstrating that Earth is not a perfect sphere. Because “spacecraft can be regarded as archaeological artifacts, the material record of a particular phase in human social and technological development,” according to Gorman, Vanguard I meets all four criteria of aesthetic, scientific, historical, and social significance required by the Burra Charter, which is Australia’s primary heritage management guide.23 Vanguard I is not trash, Gorman asserts, as instead it is palpable history that we should treasure as an orbiting mini-museum. As we clean up debris, we therefore must remain mindful of our historical accomplishments and creations. In recognition of Vanguard I’s heritage object status, as well as that of some other important orbiting spacecraft, in this book I amend the IADC definition of space debris to read, “All human made objects including fragments and elements thereof, in Earth orbit or reentering the atmosphere, that are nonfunctional and do not possess compelling heritage value.” Although it is important to respect space heritage in this way, even ardent history lovers admit that much of the debris field above our heads does not qualify for heritage protection status and, in fact, poses significant ecological dangers. Before we move on to talking about potential cures for our dire space debris situation, let us more fully comprehend the contours of these environmental woes. ENVIRONMENTAL JUSTICE CHALLENGES Geosynchronous orbit, or GEO, as it is known in space literatures, provides a popular location for setting up a satellite. Placed about 36,000 kilometers

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Chapter 1

(22,000 miles) from Earth, a satellite in this region orbits at the same angular speed as the Earth turns, so that the satellite remains reliably placed over one spot relative to the Earth’s surface. If you would like your satellite to hover over Rome, for example, GEO is the place to do so, making this orbital belt popular for communications, guidance, and military satellites. Because of their distance from Earth, satellites in GEO cannot be disposed of by burning them in Earth’s atmosphere. Instead, the IADC recommends moving satellites in retirement into more distant reorbits, closer to our moon, with these “graveyard orbits” thereby removing derelict machines from the paths of those that remain active. Many, but not all, current satellite operators comply with this rule. This practice of graveyard orbiting needs to be better understood in context. On one hand, instituting graveyard orbits is better than complacently watching collisions, so the IADC should be commended for instituting this disposal regime. Nonetheless, at the end of the day, this reorbiting is a stopgap, not a real solution. It is like sweeping dirt under a carpet without using a carpet—things become clean by declaration, not genuine action. Two centuries from now those graveyard orbital tracks may be prime space real estate, and our descendants may curse us for leaving so much unorganized junk in their way. Even if this last scenario proves untrue, Buddhists in this chapter insist that humans must be responsible for cleaning up their space junk rather than just nudging it farther away. Values espoused by this study’s field subjects thereby render this reorbiting practice not fully moral, as I will discuss more below. Most space debris, however, is not in geosynchronous orbit but in low Earth orbit, also known as LEO. Being closer to Earth, LEO orbits can be better than GEO ones for remote sensing, fast communications, surveys with finer details, and the like, making LEO orbits, such as that of the ISS, quite popular. Unfortunately, because of its traffic and the collisions it has witnessed, the LEO region contains a much higher density of orbiting garbage than does the GEO one. The good news, or so it seems, is that from LEO space hardware can be deorbited into and hence vaporized by Earth’s atmosphere, in many cases thus seeming to eliminate that debris. Because of this opportunity to vaporize, the IADC asks operators fully to deorbit LEO satellites within twenty-five years of their retirement, and today many operators comply. Again, as with graveyard orbits, such a policy perhaps is better than doing nothing. Of interest, and highlighting the nonseparation of Earth and space in terms of the word “environment,” Earth’s climate change appears to impede these deorbiting processes. The greenhouse effect relatively cools the very top layers of the stratosphere because sunlight reflected from Earth’s surface fails to reach the highest altitudes. As a result of this relative cooling, the upper

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atmosphere contracts, thus inhibiting the ability of atmospheric drag to draw space debris into deorbits.24 When the deorbiting process is not derailed by climate change, though, space literatures verbally almost completely sanitize the process of deorbiting, as again and again we find that vaporizing spacecraft in the atmosphere is presumed to be trouble-free. Out of sight, out of mind. As we know from the previous examples regarding breathing uranium or astronaut excrement, however, spacecraft do not magically disappear, and burning spacecraft in the atmosphere is not the innocent process that it is portrayed to be. Instead, vaporized spacecraft integrate their contents with the same atmosphere that lets humans and other animals breathe. Vaporizing spacecraft in our atmosphere therefore can potentially lead directly to health problems. There are perhaps 1,000 kilograms of radioactive uranium in LEO,25 for example, which pose medical risks to humans and other animals if inhaled. Multiplying our ecological problems, spacecraft burn up in the atmosphere that allows our planet to regulate its temperature, and vaporized elements that act as greenhouse gases can accelerate the process of global warming. Numerous spacecraft parts can vaporize into greenhouse gas molecules such as carbon dioxide, methane, and nitrous oxide. Such potential atmospheric effects of vaporized spacecraft greenhouse gases sadly have not been studied. Nonetheless, given the catalog of things vaporized with each spacecraft, including various metals, toxic fluids, fluorinated carbons used in electronics, plastics made from hydrocarbons, and so on, it is reasonable to presume that negative climate change effects may be worsened, at least marginally, by spreading the noxious remains of vaporized spacecraft in an awful location: the upper atmosphere. A related concern involves the rockets that get debris into orbit in the first place. Negative climate change effects are energized by rocket exhaust, particularly the aluminum oxide (Al2O3) released by solid rockets as well as the black carbon soot spread by hydrocarbon rocket engines such as those that run on kerosene.26 Rocket exhaust also threatens our planet’s protective ozone layer. In the words of one study, “As the space industry grows . . . ozone depletion from rockets could become significant.”27 Although space travel’s threats of ozone depletion are real and deserve more research, here I restrict my atmospheric effects gaze to troublesome greenhouse gas outcomes. Granted, the still limited arena of space flight means that it must contribute to global warming less than do things like airplane travel or manufacturing. Further, space travel’s impact on global warming remains understudied and therefore poorly understood despite a few good investigations. But given the materials and practices involved, the contribution of space travel to global warming is greater than zero, so we must

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account for it. And when we begin this accounting task, we run head-on into some thorny environmental justice issues. Most of the space machines that vaporize in our atmosphere were sent by rich countries or companies, not poor ones. Hence, if the vaporized satellites of the wealthy contribute to global warming, we seem to relive the regrettably common outcome in which rich people engender global warming but poor people bear the brunt of negative effects.28 Besides this planetwide dynamic that harms some people disproportionately, there also exist unresolved environmental justice issues concerning individual health and what space ethicist Brian Patrick Green has called “societal informed consent.”29 None of us gave our consent to breathe vaporized space toxic waste. As a result, as I write we all are nonconsenting field subjects in a giant, tacit, and informal study, unintentionally run by those who are rich enough to launch rockets, to determine the potential ill effects of vaporizing spacecraft in our atmosphere. So much for following Belmont Report recommendations for informed consent in research! Worse, redress for wrongs from vaporized spacecraft likely never will occur. In the hypothetical situation that breathing vaporized materials from Cosmos 954 helped to give me cancer, I legally will never be able to trace the path of blame solidly back to Cosmos 954’s operators. Thus, I will never receive proper restitution and instead will simply bear stark injustice. Of course, as Lottie Williams knows, some spacecraft do not vaporize completely and instead crash land on Earth’s surface. Such objects obviously create environmental justice perils of their own. Williams did not own or work for space technology companies, had no real personal connection with the rocket that dropped debris upon her, and did not consent to live in a space debris field. Williams, in addition, is not alone in an environmental injustice situation like this, since similar arguments can be made by many other people, such as those who live in the paths of launches. For example, apparently debris sometimes falls on houses and farms as much as 700 kilometers downrange from the Chinese Xichang Satellite Launch Center in Chengdu, and victims of these showering rocket parts likewise experience injustice like Williams did.30 This is why, as Dr. Arnould advises, any space debris solution must account for environmental injustice borne by the poor and dispossessed.31 In space industry literatures, one commonly finds such dangerous plummets of materials dismissed as being less common than a lightning strike. However, the analogy at play here misleads, resulting in the camouflaging of injustice blemishes. Lightning strikes cannot be stopped, so one cannot assign blame or liability when it comes to specific lightning events. But space junk falls are entirely preventable. They never happened before the birth of the space age in 1957 because they are directly human caused. In theory, we can

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stop space junk from ever crashing intact again. Thus, distracting claims that dismiss being hit with debris by comparison with lightning strikes involve evasive language that enables the powerful to avoid taking responsibility for preventable negative outcomes. Unfortunately, just like with comparisons with lightning strikes, misleading and distracting claims additionally get made regarding ocean disposals of space hardware, which we are told ad nauseum are “harmless.” Yet littering the ocean with space hardware never can be innocuous. Fishes, dolphins, squids, and other marine beings may be injured or killed by a high-speed aquatic crash in itself. Then, after the splashdown, the space hardware corrodes and decays in a salt water environment for which it was not constructed, while toxic wastes and hazardous chemicals contaminate the ocean floor. While we lamentably lack studies specifically of sunken spacecraft, we know that accidents involving submarines can leave the sea floor and environment polluted with toxic fuels and oils, phenol-formaldehyde from resins used in insulation, various polymers, and chromium, manganese, and nickel oxides.32 Radioactivity from uranium devices can spread across the sea floor and even into the air while plutonium from nuclear devices has been found in ocean algae.33 When you consider what actually happens under water when we toss our space hardware into the sea, the common descriptor “harmless” for space debris descents appears more and more like an outright lie. Additionally, because such pollution of our oceans involves nonhuman animals, no space debris solution can be robust without taking into account the fates of nonhumans along with humans. We have not cleaned up our space debris mess appropriately as long as fish pay the price for our actions. Responding to such injustices against nonhumans, respected environmental scholar David Naguib Pellow effectively employs the concept of “socioecological inequality” to assert that our concepts of environmental justice must include elements of justice for nonhuman animals and ecosystems, not just justice for humans. For Pellow, socioecological inequality “underscores that humans, ecosystems, and nonhumans are intertwined in the production of inequality and violence.” Initiating environmental justice thereby involves entering and ameliorating “hierarchical relationships among humans, ecosystems, and nonhuman animals that produce harms across each sphere.”34 As such, the concept of socioecological inequality supplies a coherent platform for examining environmental justice outcomes for nonhuman animals as well as for ecosystems, since even environmental justice merely for humans depends upon these other elements. Pellow’s notion of socioecological inequality manifestly applies to nonhuman victims of space debris injustices. Therefore, in clearly realizing justice for aquatic animals, we must account for disposals of space debris in bodies of water. We fail animals in our environment as we betray our moral selves

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when we say that space hardware falls into the ocean without injury and then are convinced by our own false words. We also fail ourselves cognitively, given that animal studies expert Paul Waldau asserts that attending purely to humans while excluding relevant nonhumans engenders errors not just in ethical reflection but also in critical thinking.35 This section has taught us that, in terms of moral values, viable ethical paths for dealing with space junk must include demands for human responsibility, thus ending the practice of simply pushing our rubbish away for another generation to tackle. Space debris ethics also must protect humans in space, like the astronauts in the ISS who dodge debris for a literal living.36 Possible negative effects on all humans on the ground must be considered when it comes to breathing vaporized spacecraft parts, the marginal increase to global warming that vaporized spacecraft may incite, or getting hit by intact debris. Proper justice includes focusing upon poor humans to ensure that they do not suffer from the actions of the rich. Finally, we also must include nonhuman animals in our moral calculations regarding wholesome responses to the space debris problem. Interestingly, Buddhists in this study help to delineate just such a values path for dealing with space debris environmental justice issues. Respondents from the field insist that humans must be responsible for cleaning up their space debris. Field subjects additionally emphasize the principle of nonharm blended with a recognition of the interconnection of all things, thus allowing the flexible extension of environmental justice outcomes. And, because this is an inherent strength of Buddhism’s environmental ethics, Buddhists do so in ways that energetically embrace justice for all animals, whether human or not. These features enable Buddhism to supply a potent ethic for managing space debris that capably supports some leading policy suggestions for resolving our space junk dilemmas. Now let us turn to these Buddhist voices so that we may more actively appreciate these dimensions. AMERICAN BUDDHIST REQUESTS FOR RESPONSIBILITY The Buddhist informants that I encountered in the field are personal experts in how to bring spiritual values to life in the twenty-first century. Being generally well educated, field subjects have much to offer in terms of ethical reflection. However, these same astute informants generally are not professionals when it comes to space technologies and policies, so I avoided asking direct questions regarding policy issues in preference for moral themes. I never asked, “Which debris removal method should we use?” Instead I queried, “What values should we follow in solving space

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debris problems?” With many thanks to my shrewd informants, the results are riveting. As a part of a quantitative and qualitative space ethics survey, Buddhist and control group members in the ethnographic field encountered these three prompts: 1. Humans have a moral responsibility to clean up their space junk. (responses on a five-point scale from strongly agree to strongly disagree) 2. I think that Buddhist principles should be utilized to guide solutions to the problem of space junk. (responses on a five-point scale) 3. If we do use Buddhist principles regarding the problem of space junk, those principles should be? (choices offered but alternative responses welcomed) The first of these prompts concerns humanity’s taking responsibility for the debris tragedy that it has created. This is not a small thing, for a sensed need to take responsibility can close some loopholes in space debris behavioral outcomes while it crucially helps us to see issues more clearly. If humans truly must be responsible for their space debris, then we cannot regard graveyard orbits (in which nothing really is cleaned) or vaporizing debris in the atmosphere (in which innocent living beings potentially inhale the toxic vapors of the rich) as complete solutions. With a clear perception of human responsibility, we genuinely appreciate that these stopgap measures are in fact mere stopgaps and better solutions are needed. A coherent sense of responsibility can prevent troublesome complacency on our part. As the field data indicates, Buddhists insist on just such a sense of personal responsibility. Overwhelmingly (95 percent), Buddhists hold human beings accountable for space debris cleanup, and only 2.5 percent of Buddhists who were surveyed opposed such a sense of responsibility. Numerically, these Buddhists stood out from the control group, even though 90 percent of the control group similarly holds humans to be accountable. This strong values result significantly aids the shaping of our possible space policy responses to space debris removal, as I will explain more below, and thus represents a substantial contribution to space studies. Narrative comments from Buddhists added some vital verbal support to these numeric outcomes. As one field subject stated, “We are the source of this space junk, clean up is on us. This affects future generations.” Another survey respondent declared, “We must not let our polluting tendencies move with us into space.” A follower of Vietnamese Thien Buddhism further summarized these sympathies cogently: “We created the space junk, so . . .”

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INTERCONNECTION AND NONHARM In addition to a sense of responsibility, as we have seen, an appropriate ethic for managing space debris must recognize a broad network of impacts. In response to this requirement, and as my reader may guess from the introduction to this book, Buddhism, with its environmental ethical principle of dependent arising, can flex to care for the diverse members of this network. Let us look more closely at how this can happen. The principle of dependent arising, or pratītya-samutpāda in the Sanskrit language of some Buddhist scriptures, delineates a universe that is interconnected on every level throughout time and space. Every existent arises dependently on one or more causes, rendering any sense of independence illusory. In this perspective it is not that individuality does not exist, but individuality only exists within a larger conceptual perspective in which seemingly independent things emerge only in dependence upon other conditioned things. Everything in the phenomenal universe emerges from at least one cause, so all things are contingent, nothing is independent. The late Vietnamese Buddhist leader Thich Nhat Hanh, so influential in Western Buddhist circles, utilized a sheet of paper to illustrate this concept of dependent arising. We may think of a sheet of paper as an independent object. But when one looks more closely, one actually discovers deep, universal webs of interconnection. One sees the tree that became paper. One perceives the logger of that tree. One encounters the grandmother of that logger, for without her, that tree may still be standing. In the sheet of paper, one additionally perceives the sun and the rain that aided the tree’s growth process. Of course, to witness the roles of the sun and the rain in this way is also to recognize their ultimate origin in the Big Bang. We can keep tracing such connections for a very long time if we wish. For Nhat Hanh, the upshot of such analyses is that a sheet of paper is in no way an independent thing despite appearances, for in it one encounters the entire universe across vast reaches of both time and space.37 Since Buddhist ethics ground themselves in this dependent arising relational understanding from step one, they are well placed to deal with the diversity of actors and potential environmental justice victims within the webs of space debris dynamics. Indeed, as we see throughout this book, versatile Buddhist concepts of dependent arising may be deployed in numerous solar system ecological contexts. It is thus no surprise that, at 84 percent, Buddhists reached for this environmental ethical tool to manage space debris about as much as they reached for any other implement in their moral kit (after nonharm, compassion was third at 66 percent). Intriguingly, perhaps anticipating the troubles caused by adding vaporized spaceships to our atmosphere, an insightful Mahāyāna Buddhist even suggested in comments on

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interconnection, “We also need to think about the negative effects of bringing too much junk from space to Earth.” Another notable element of these ethics from the field involves the prominent appearance of the Buddhist value of nonharm, or ahimsa. Chosen for use by 84 percent of subjects, this outcome remains salient for environmental ethics discourse because the Buddhist concept of dependent arising, while a useful tool in moral contexts, is not an ethical value in itself. In Buddhism, the notion of an interconnected universe is neither good nor bad; it just is. Impressively to the ethics scholar in the field, though, Buddhists in this study do not just rely upon a sense of interconnection; instead, they make that interconnectedness ethically relevant by injecting moral notions of nonharm. In the perspectives of these Buddhists, we should extend nonharm precisely because of and within our networks of interconnection. This value of nonharm represents one of the most famous of Buddhist morals and exists at the tradition’s foundations. Not only are Buddhist monks and nuns specifically enjoined to follow rules of nonharm to sentient beings as well as to their habitats, but nonharm also marks the First Precept incumbent upon all Buddhists, whether ordained or not. What is intended is refraining from harming any sentient being in any way, whether through physical, emotional, or verbal violence. The scriptural Dhammapāda portrays nonharm memorably: “As a bee gathers nectar and moves on without harming the flower, its color, or its fragrance, just so should a sage walk through a village.”38 The Buddha himself exemplified nonharm on numerous occasions, such as when he healed an injured swan, skillfully freed an ox from the clutches of a butcher’s eager customers, or through the power of his gentleness pacified and tamed the otherwise violent elephant Nālāgiri.39 Although difficult to embody in practice at a 100 percent level,40 this nonharm toward others remains a primary preoccupation of Buddhist lives everywhere. Buddhist teachings encourage us to extend nonharm to our human friends and families, of course. But nonharm also should be directed toward one’s worst human enemy. Moreover, nonharm governs ideal human interactions with nonhuman animals. In Buddhist metaphysics, any sentient being may be reborn as any other sentient being, so that I may be human in this lifetime, but I could have been a mosquito in my previous lifetime and may be a goat when I am again reborn. Within this worldview humanity enjoys a degree of superiority, since only human beings can realize the ultimate religious goal of nirvana. But this superiority is temporary, not final, as beings move around on the wheel of reincarnation. In fact, because human and nonhuman animals may be reborn as each other, there is a greater sense in Buddhist worlds than in some other religious or philosophical realms that human and nonhuman animals remain basically peers.41 As Buddhist spiritual teachers relentlessly

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remind us, we must always be kind to nonhuman animals, who may have been our nurturing mothers in previous lifetimes. The present-day Buddhist monk Matthieu Ricard exemplifies this animalconcerned sentiment in his book, A Plea for the Animals. Ricard teaches that we must treat nonhuman animals with nonharm because of a “moral imperative for extending our altruism to all sentient beings, without any quantitative or qualitative limitations.” Since “nothing occurred in the evolutionary process that would justify our claim to a right of total supremacy over the animals,” to Ricard we forever live in communities of relative equality with nonhumans. Hence, for Ricard, “There is no need to choose between the well-being of humans and the well-being of animals. We live in an essentially interdependent world where the fate of each being, of whatever kind, is intimately linked to that of all the others.” This respectful, peerlike attitude toward nonhumans does not mean humanizing them, however, according to Ricard. Instead, “Reaching out in this way is more about taking a responsible attitude toward all that is around us.”42 Because of the more egalitarian relationships between human and nonhuman animals that are encoded into the Buddhist tradition that Ricard represents, Buddhist environmental ethics can offer sea and land animals some of the protections that space debris environmental justice standards require. Buddhists in this study themselves assert this voice, since about 84 percent of survey respondents express the need to extend animal-inclusive nonharm. We see this movement in the comments of some field subjects. One Buddhist, for instance, remarked that “We have a moral responsibility to take care of space, as it affects the suffering and wellbeing of us humans and other species.” A follower of the Géluk lineage of Tibetan Buddhism stressed the importance of “reducing suffering of all sentient beings by minimizing catastrophic events from space junk.” A robust space debris ethic requires a dimension that cares for nonhuman beings, and Buddhists in this study, with their guidelines concerning nonharm, provide just such an environmental ethical tool. In responses to the space ethics survey such as these, Buddhists from the field supply a significant values base for orienting us on the issue of managing space debris. Field subjects insist that humans must be responsible for their space garbage, not just push trash onto the agendas of generations living later. They embrace the diverse web of actors and potential space debris accident victims through notions of dependent arising. Informants then in turn intentionally extend nonharm behaviors throughout this web of connections. Importantly and originally, they potently care for nonhumans as they concern themselves with various humans, too. Hence, the values of these Buddhists, if enacted in the form of universal space policies, could support a regime of wholesome and multifaceted environmental justice as we try to engage successful space debris solutions.

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But how do such values become manifest in discreet and universal space policies? As it turns out, these Buddhist values fit in well as moral foundations for some space policy voices that already exist. These values therefore can energize some space policy perspectives right away, as I now explain. SOME SPACE DEBRIS POLICIES Space security scholar James Clay Moltz emphasizes that the policy path forward for dealing with space debris involves continued international cooperation on the issue. As Moltz portrays it, we would be in far worse debris shape today if space powers had not voluntarily renounced some military activities in order to protect the space commons. Moltz tells us that at the dawn of the space age in 1957, space powers did foolish things like testing nuclear weapons in space, only to realize that they had fouled the Earth’s protective Van Allen belts with radiation. Fortunately, space powers quickly learned from such events to limit military activities in space so as to protect the extraterrestrial commons area for other activities, Moltz says.43 However, Moltz emphasizes that this self-restraint to realize “environmental security” did not happen so much out of fidelity to treaties or the ethical enlightenment of world leaders; rather, behavioral checks manifested because of a cooperative recognition of the coincidence of overlapping national self-interests.44 In other words, according to Moltz, we would suffer far more from space debris today were it not for self-interested international cooperation, and the path forward is for diverse parties to continue to work together to protect their shared “environmental security” interests in space.45 While the Buddhists in this study offer no direct space policy solution on their own, their stress on the principle of interconnection combined with the extension of nonharm would appear to lead to some outcomes that are favored by Moltz. These Buddhists seem to lend values support for Moltz’s otherwise purely pragmatic suggestion in favor of greater international cooperation. Values from these Buddhists additionally can helpfully inform the space policy solutions forwarded by space law scholar Peter Stubbe. Stubbe argues that, on the basis of Article IX injunctions of the Outer Space Treaty, which forbid “harmful contamination” and “harmful activity,” “The pollution of space with space debris constitutes a violation of international law.”46 As a matter of law, foot-dragging on the issue of cleaning up debris must end for Stubbe, as must the creation of new debris without first having established a legitimate disposal regime. Such a regime begins for Stubbe with the United Nations, which can exert various powers including creating a permanent Space Sustainability Convention.47 Under this convention, the UN would be empowered to impose fines on space debris polluters, who thereby fund

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research, development, and deployment of remediating active debris removal processes. In Stubbe’s eyes, the Space Sustainability Convention also can provide a centralized international source for debris information to replace the current global overreliance on the data provided by the U.S. Strategic Command. Stubbe’s arguments spotlight some nonnegotiable dimensions of these suggestions, since for Stubbe actively removing debris and diligently avoiding creating more debris are requirements, not options. However, Stubbe deliberates from a legal, rather than ethical, perspective, leaving many values implicit within his presentation. Helpfully, Buddhists in this study supply Stubbe’s incisive views with some explicit moral grounding. Buddhist insistence that humans must be responsible for cleaning space debris runs parallel with Stubbe’s similar admonitions from legal necessity. In addition, as with Moltz’s views, Stubbe emphasizes the role of international cooperation which recognizes mutual interest in not harming ourselves by fouling space environments.48 Buddhists in this study, of course, also support international cooperation to reduce suffering through their conjoined principles of interconnection with others as well as nonharm in interconnection. These Buddhists thus coincidently make explicit the types of values that Stubbe leaves implicit and thereby affirm and strengthen space policy solutions like Stubbe’s. These Buddhists also align with folding something like the Space Sustainability Rating being developed by the World Economic Forum into something like Stubbe’s Space Sustainability Convention. The germinal Space Sustainability Rating ideally will create clear environmental standards as well as provide oversight, since it will score operators of spacecraft on the ecological sustainability of their missions. In so doing, the Space Sustainability Rating intends to make space sustainability outcomes more transparent and thereby encourage positive ecological actions.49 Turning from policy solutions to technological ones, if I combine Buddhist insistence on taking responsibility for the junk we have created with extending nonharm to diverse potential victims of environmental injustice, I see that a serious, not half-hearted, response to space debris is required. Merely taking a tether and using it to whip satellites into Earth’s atmosphere or out to graveyard orbits will not suffice, since vaporizing machines or sending them to graveyards, as we know, are not ecologically innocent actions. Instead, to meet the values espoused by these Buddhists, it seems that we must have at least one orbiting debris recycling center and dedicated vessels that serve as garbage trucks. Whether using tethers, nets, or harpoons, in this scenario debris will not be spatially scattered, instead it will be disposed of by centralized recycling. With these recycling centers, later generations do not have to clean up our hardware graveyards, nor do any of us have to possibly

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breathe vaporized uranium or astronaut excrement. We can finally lift off from Earth relatively cleanly. This recycling center suggestion, by the way, perhaps is not too different from the Space Service Facility (with its tug vehicles) that the European Space Agency has discussed or the proposed Phoenix satellite recycling program considered by NASA in conjunction with the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency (DARPA).50 However, both of these latter campaigns are too small to meet the ethics found in this chapter. We will need full recycling centers, not just a recycling robot or two. On Earth, we often invest notable sums of money in proper garbage management because we do not want to live in a sea of trash; space requires a similar robust investment in waste management. Given the expense, perhaps we can start small in terms of adding a recycling wing to space stations. In the end, though, the expense is not decisive as an influencing factor, because one should do the right thing regardless of price. Buddhist philosophy additionally can contribute a nontechnological solution to space debris: restraint. Codes of ethics for monastics and lay persons alike counsel moderation in actions, and indeed a common nickname for the Buddhist tradition is “the Middle Way.” From this point of view, we can manage space debris by launching spaceships only for need rather than want. If we already have a communications satellite constellation consisting of thousands of members, do we really need another? Does each nation need its own global positioning system, or could we share more? Space debris will be easier to bear if we self-consciously limit our appetites and ambitions for space as a part of avoiding as much as possible the greed, and its associated debris, that space scholar Martin Elvis tells us fuels much of current space travel.51 CONCLUSION Including this value of restraint, Buddhists in this study provide morals that support some current space policy perspectives about space debris while they hint at muscular cleanup technologies. As such, these voices from the field provide several original boosts to space studies and environmental studies alike in terms of proper human space travel behavior. Through their innovative and creative ethical theorizing on the space ethics survey, Buddhist respondents additionally supply the ideals of responsibility, respecting connections, and acting with nonharm that, crucially, exemplify a larger perspective which ecologically does not separate Earth from space. In enlarging their notion of the environment to include space realities, these Buddhists seem to anticipate the words of space scholar Lisa Parks, who claimed, “Satellites require expanded thinking about what the ‘environment’

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is.”52 Not being finished on this count, in the next chapter Buddhists similarly extend the concept of “the environment” to embrace our moon before they include Mars in it as well in later chapters. Buddhists in this chapter are not the first to emphasize this environmental nonseparation of Earth and space, though. Other anonymous Buddhists did so in composing the tenth-century Japanese Buddhist fictional short story, Taketori Monogatari, one of the oldest known fables of encounters with intelligent extraterrestrial beings. In this tale, Kaguya-hime (who later became the namesake for a 2007 Japanese mission to the moon) is a wise humanoid who travels from her native place, our moon, to Earth in order to clear up her karma. Demonstrating through her behavior that lunar beings are more advanced than Earthlings, she drives men everywhere insane with sexual desire. Buddhist monks who have taken vows of celibacy, for instance, nevertheless scandalously swoon in her midst. Even the emperor of Japan, badly lovestruck but rejected by Kaguya-hime, ignores his royal duties so that he may constantly send affectionate poetry to the lunar visitor.53 The fictional emperor in this story fell into dysfunctional confusion because of his passion for a moon being. But what about impassioned concern for preserving the moon itself? In the next chapter, American Buddhists teach us how one can properly respect our lunar neighbor.

Chapter 2

The Rabbit in the Moon

A Tibetan Buddhist temple and animal sanctuary that I will call Running Stream Reserve represents one of the more distinctive locations that I visited while pursuing fieldwork for this book. As a self-conscious part of its Buddhist identity, Running Stream houses a relatively large reserve for a variety of nonhuman animals. A shelter for lost companion animals, for instance, complements a trust for caring for animals whose caretakers have died. The reserve’s wetlands also are maintained in order to provide homes to a variety of wild birds, fish, and other nonhuman animals. The community engages in this nurturance of nature as a part of what it sees as its embodiment of the Buddhist values of loving-kindness, compassion, and nonharm. Nature reserves like that found at Running Stream can place themselves within a long Buddhist history of respectfully establishing such ecological preservation spots. As I will explain more fully, such reserves possess tremendous value for our moon’s future, like they do at Running Stream, since reserves can engender more responsible and sustainable results from current initiatives to mine our moon. Perhaps surprising to my reader, the threat of lunar mining is immediate and dire. Enthusiastic national space programs including those of Japan, China, Russia, India, the United States, and the European Space Agency, along with a growing private sector, are preparing technologies and financial structures in order to stay long term on the moon for scientific and commercial reasons. Within this effort, the practice of lunar mining dominates some commercial agendas. This mining, as we will see, can threaten our view of the moon while it further incites several other environmental justice woes. This chapter will reveal that lunar mining, done without attention to the applicable environmental justice issues regarding who decides what will happen, why, and to what outcome, can be quite problematically destructive of lunar 39

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ecologies, science, history, and cultural meanings, along with jeopardizing positive lifestyles for humans. In this chapter I will respond to near-future mining threats to our moon’s integrity by presenting an environmental values and policy proposal to establish multipurpose ecological lunar reserves, not unlike that at Running Stream or those proposed for the planet Mars.1 The International Union for Conservation of Nature (IUCN), an influential advisory body to the United Nations, recommends creating land reserves to preserve abiotic (or nonliving) geologies that “have significant value for intrinsic, scientific, educational, cultural, spiritual, aesthetic, ecological, or ecosystem reasons,”2 and at least six places on our moon fit this description and therefore deserve our protection: the Rabbit/Human in the Moon, Hertzsprung Crater, Von Kármán Crater, Southern Peary and Florey Craters, the center of the far side near Daedalus Crater, and the Malapert Peaks and Craters region. The multiuse character of these reserves means that they can respond positively at once to commercial, scientific, ecological, and future recreational outcomes. In providing values in support of these land reserves, field informants rather usefully aid our reaching a significant environmental justice goal, because the moon belongs to all of us as a cultural inheritance. Yet, by law in terms of the 1967 Outer Space Treaty, the moon actually is owned by none of us. This means that a lunar mining executive in the United States has no more right than a tenant farmer in Bolivia to determine our moon’s future, prompting space archaeologist Alice Gorman to spotlight the unfairness of a process by which the farmer loses her treasured views of the moon for the sake of a mining company’s profit.3 As we will see, the international management of the reserves proposed here helps to supply all humans, like the farmer in Bolivia, with a justified theoretical voice in our moon’s destiny. In addition, while fleshing out the contours of these reserves, I will provide dynamic field data that indicate a general American Buddhist moral approval for these land reserve proposals. This grassroots Buddhist morality fascinatingly represents a paradigm-shifting environmental ethics voice that exhibits the environmental nonseparation of Earth and space by stretching the region of influence for ecological values from the Earth to the moon. In the end, in this chapter Buddhists will sculpt a flexible and dynamic ethic for land reserves that allow lunar industry, science, recreation, and other activities as long as they are pursued with an ecological conscience that respects lunar ecologies while resisting undue harm to them. Because of the current expansion of space exploration into broad international as well as private sectors, we must consider scientists and vacationers two centuries from now, who will enjoy or deride the decisions that we must make before too much commercial hardware and too many humans reach the moon on a lasting basis. We should seize the environmental moment

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beneficially. As space policy expert Christopher J. Newman stated, “A policy of sustainability could be an enduring legacy of this new era of lunar exploration.”4 So that we may envision more clearly this need for present-day action, though, I need to describe better the quite real ecological harms that may imperil our moon. ERASING THE PERSON IN THE MOON WITH MINING Mining represents one of the foremost of motivations for both national and commercial spacefarers to encamp on the moon more permanently, and a variety of entities are involved in a kind of gold rush. Initiatives include that of the European Space Agency’s Moon Village campaign as well as NASA’s Project Artemis. Project Artemis ultimately intends to place humans on Mars, a goal that provides the subject of chapter 3. As a stepping-stone for getting to Mars, however, NASA also participates with other entities in government/private joint ventures to develop resources on the moon for Earth use, for moon use, and for use in reaching destinations like Mars that are beyond the Earthmoon system.5 With almost no atmosphere and a gravity only one-sixth that of Earth, our moon requires less trouble and expense than the Earth in terms of coming from and going into space. Additionally, a proposed Gateway orbiting lunar space station can make lunar transport even easier.6 Utilizing the moon within this scenario demands a robust use of local resources gained from the moon as well as a likely continuous human presence in terms of at least robots on the lunar surface. Hoping to make money from this arrangement, various commercial entities currently cultivate the technology needed for extracting a range of raw materials from the regolith (assorted surface rocks and sands) of our moon. Moon miners may covet resources like rare metals, especially from the platinum group, thorium, or titanium, although more careful Earth recycling may diminish the demand for lunar metals.7 However, quests to mine the energy source helium-3 from the moon guide many other resource extraction agendas, and in this chapter I highlight this mining effort. Helium-3 potentially represents a safe and environmentally clean source of nuclear power. If fused with itself to create electrical power, helium-3 in theory produces no neutrons, which means that there is little radioactive nuclear waste.8 On a planet Earth that is desperate to slow the energy use of fossil fuels or dirty nuclear options, helium-3 from the moon dramatically could change the ecological and economic footprint of humanity at home by providing immense power for a minimized terrestrial environmental price. One of several current limitations to helium-3 power, however, is a lack of access. The magnetic field of Earth that shields you and me functions by

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deflecting helium-3, which comes to us in the solar wind. Therefore, there exists very little helium-3 on Earth. The moon, however, lacks a magnetic field, so that helium-3 lands on and binds with the lunar surface. With proper manipulation and the large-scale creation of infrastructure, helium-3 can be sifted from processed lunar regolith, shipped to Earth, and used in fusion reactors. Companies that can master this process potentially stand to win bountiful riches. But, of course, there exist ecological drawbacks to helium-3 mining, just as all mining faces environmental challenges. For instance, helium-3 does not exist in concentrated, easily gained deposits; instead, it appears as a minor component spread thinly among lunar surface minerals. According to lunar geographer Ian A. Crawford, “By any objective standard, the 3He isotope is actually very rare in lunar soils,” having only parts per billion concentrations.9 This situation means that considerable lunar real estate must be destroyed even for modest helium-3 acquisition, making helium-3 mining an equipment-heavy and energy-intensive venture with a large overall environmental footprint.10 Former Apollo astronaut and helium-3 mining writer Harrison Schmitt gives us a sense of this potential devastation. Schmitt states that the city of Dallas in the United States could be provided with a year’s 1,000-megawatt power with “two square kilometers of large portions of the lunar surface, to a depth of three meters, [which] contains 100 kg of helium-3.”11 The helium-3 must then be processed out of the mineral before it can be collected and shipped, since Schmitt relates that only 100 kilograms of helium-3 results from grinding “10 million tonnes of regolith.”12 If we project these numbers in terms of an active helium-3 industry, at the time of this writing worldwide there already are at least 385 cities at least the size of and with the energy needs or greater of Schmitt’s example of Dallas.13 Of course, there also exist innumerable smaller human municipalities. With at least 2 square kilometers per city processed to a depth of 3 meters per year, the area mined really adds up, consisting of at least 770 square kilometers destroyed just for at least Dallas-sized municipalities and just for one year’s worth of energy. Making things worse, because there are no geologic plate tectonics or atmospheric weathering processes on our moon, the moon cannot heal itself, so that this damage remains theoretically forever.14 To regain land integrity, moon mining sites must be remediated directly by humans, and the helium-3 mining agenda that destroys 2 square kilometers 3 meters deep per year for Dallas alone will have an enormous remediation cost to go with its gigantic production environmental footprint. One must be concerned about whether mining companies will invest to clean up after themselves. More concerning, of course, the successful implementation of helium-3

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power on Earth means that this devastating processing of lunar geology will continue for decades. Because of these conditions, the helium-3 mining industry retains the ability to create widespread and lasting damage to the moon’s surface. Adding human insult to lunar injury, “Strip-mining the moon for helium-3 would produce large scars on the Moon that would be clearly visible from Earth,” as astrophysicist Martin Elvis emphasizes.15 On Earth, mining has resulted in the leveling of entire mountains; if the Apennine Mountains of the moon were eliminated by mining, the man in the moon familiar to Westerners would lose a part of his nose, and we all would notice this difference on our evening strolls. Mining our moon does not occur solely 400,000 kilometers (250,000 miles) away because we can view its effects from our homes. Luckily, helium-3 mining may not happen as I have described. As lunar scientist Ian Crawford indicates, deposits of helium-3 on our moon require a great deal of processing. When combined with the resources necessary to ship helium-3 to Earth, this processing will dramatically reduce the efficiency of helium-3 as an energy source regardless of its claimed performance. Because of this practical overhead, Crawford helpfully states alternatively that solar energy that is collected in panels on the moon and then beamed to Earth can be as efficient as helium-3 while having the additional advantage of being renewable.16 Even this solution, though, provides significant scarring risks to the lunar landscape. Thus, although the moon’s commercial future may be quite different in detail from the admittedly speculative picture that I have painted so far, burgeoning human needs and an expanded human presence on the moon mean that we still must protect our moon’s ecologies. Destruction of the moon that can be seen from Earth obviously would represent a great environmental loss. But there exists damage for science, too, and this harm impacts our ethics as well as our knowledge. Space ethicist James S. J. Schwartz cogently has argued that our current moral priority in space should be preserving ecologies for science rather than scouring them for economic gain, and the scientifically nonstrategic devastation of potential data caused by lunar mining violates this human ethical duty.17 Even worse than this scientific loss, demolishing the moon’s visible features represents a human cultural disaster for each of us. Countering this calamity means treasuring some human creations, as we now see. PRESERVING HISTORY AND CULTURE Across cultures and eras the moon has appeared as an object of awe, veneration, or admiration, including among some Buddhists. Buddhist books, for instance, repeatedly praise our moon for being “stainless” like an ideal person,

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embodying goodness itself, or manifesting “splendor.”18 The Buddha, in fact, displayed his own personal esteem for the moon by protecting the lunar deity Candima from the eclipsing depredations of the sky spirit Rahu.19 In a similarly appreciative vein but describing our lunar orb in terms of beauty, a moon-smitten writer of the pre-Buddhist Chinese classic Songs of the South (Chu ci), which eventually left its mark on many East Asian Buddhist ethnoastronomies, adoringly asked, “What is the peculiar virtue of the moon?”20 In this chapter, I respond to this question by exploring two peculiar lunar virtues, our moon’s possession of a permanent near side (with a counterpart far side) as well as the lunar lack of axial tilt. I will return to the virtue of axial tilt later and for now focus on our moon’s first peculiar virtue, which arises from our seeing just one side of it from Earth. Because of gravity, the moon shows but one face to Earth, or, as astronomers say, it is “tidally locked” with Earth. For this reason, before 1959 no human had glimpsed the far side of the moon. As a result, the writers of the Buddhist texts who gushed about the sublime character of the moon did so while intoxicated solely by its near side. Given this fact, although the moon’s far side may have a thicker physical crust, its near side, so laden with “a huge mass of our emotional wealth,” as British writer C. S. Lewis averred, remains encrusted with much more cultural and historical value in terms of human interactions.21 These cultural elements may be thought of as blossoming both from deep time on a human scale and from recent history. In terms of deep time, scholar of religion Mircea Eliade tells us that the moon was so respected, and perhaps even religiously so, in some Paleolithic cultures that the moon manifested at times prominently in Ice Age cave paintings, such as at Lascaux.22 Throughout the numerous eras since then, religions have employed the moon in symbolic conjunction with themes such as regeneration, fertility, vegetation, water, and fate.23 Further, because all forms of astronomy rely upon some system of coordinates for locating things, the ancient Indians and Chinese, among other cultures, built enduring and substantial ethnoastronomical systems by relying primarily on spatial guidance from the moon’s monthly traverse of the sky.24 Because of such ethnoastronomical influences, over time the moon has enjoyed vivid cultural value, since it has delineated ideal times for sacred rituals, weddings, baby naming ceremonies, and other significant social events. Our moon thus occupies “centrality in the human imagination,” according to historian Bernd Brunner, so that when we examine the moon, “We are also studying an aspect of ourselves.”25 As a part of our moon’s exhibition of just one side to Earth, the moon’s actual surface features help to cement the moon’s place in human cultures. The moon’s vibrant visual patterns separate our moon from locales such as Jupiter, which enjoys many cultural resonances but is just a dot of light to the naked eye.

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Thus, unlike with faceless Jupiter, Japanese Shingon Buddhism teaches that on our moon the visual patterns form not just any shape but specifically the holy Sanskrit language syllable “A” and therefore should receive a focus in meditation practice.26 Perceiving lunar patterns differently, the Roman writer Plutarch beheld a feminine human face in the moon, thereby providing gender contrast to today’s common Western “man” in the moon image.27 Alternatively, some cultures encounter a toad on the moon.28 Significantly exhibiting more diversity, in Central America both the historical Mayans and the Aztecs culturally understood that there was not a human or toad in the moon, but rather a rabbit (see figure 2.1).29​ Of interest to comparative folklore, cultures across Asia also perceived a rabbit in the moon, and Buddhism from India was among the greatest of propellant forces of this cultural emergence. However, Buddhists in India did not start the idea of the rabbit in the moon, since it appears that Indian oral folklore long before the Buddha included this notion. Mainstream and popular non-Buddhist South Asian texts like the Bhagavad Gītā and the Pañcatantra portrayed the moon as śaśi, “that which contains the rabbit,” or śaśāṅka, “rabbit marked.”30 But the most famous Indic literary expression of this perception of a rabbit in the moon comes to us from a story that appears in virtually every set of Buddhist scriptures and thus eventually can reach almost every Buddhist.

Figure 2.1  The Rabbit in the Moon (Source: Daniel Capper; original photo courtesy of NASA)

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It seems that there once was a rabbit that was widely famous for his wisdom, compassion, and spiritual attainment. Seeking to test the ethical mettle of this rabbit, the king of all spirits Shakra disguised himself as a beleaguered human traveler and presented himself to the rabbit while complaining of hunger.31 Thus, the rabbit was challenged to provide compassionate hospitality for the starved visitor. The rabbit, however, was crestfallen at this task, for all that he could offer was the grass that he ate himself, not a meal fit for a human. The rabbit therefore encouraged the disguised spirit to kindle a fire, and when the flames rose high enough, the rabbit jumped in, making himself into a roast for Shakra’s meal. Shakra was so impressed by the rabbit’s self-sacrificing character that he pulled the paragon of giving, magically unharmed, from the flames. Then, wanting the heroic rabbit to serve as a positive exemplar for others, Shakra painted the rabbit’s silhouette on the face of the moon so that the wise bunny forever after could inspire similar generosity.32 Through the medium of the Buddhist scriptures, this story of the generous rabbit traveled from India to China, where it combined with a story about a Jade Hare in the moon from the compendium of ancient Chinese folklore that I mentioned previously, Songs of the South.33 The Jade Hare, or Yutu, grinds the herbs that the ancient gods take to realize immortality while also supplying companionship for the moon goddess Chang’e.34 As China transmitted Buddhism to East Asian locations such as Japan, Korea, and Vietnam in the first millennium CE, the complex image of the now-mingled Indian rabbit/ Chinese hare in the moon found new homes. Given this history, we can appreciate that one of the great Buddhist dynamics with the moon involves a cultural treasuring of this rabbit, whose beneficence remains worthy of emulation. Adding to this heritage, the enduring value of the region of the rabbit also finds support from the “Declaration of the Rights of the Moon” of the Australian Earth Laws Alliance in terms of its request to be “mindful of the immeasurable value the Moon holds as a repository of deep time and connection among all beings who have ever lived on Earth.”35 Since the region of the rabbit in the moon is cherished by human cultures, the rabbit represents an outstanding candidate site for preservation via land reserve. Hence, in this chapter’s plan, the area of the rabbit in the moon/human in the moon receives an advantageous, multipurpose reserve that defends its place in human cultures, such as those of East Asian Buddhists, now and into the future. SPACE AGE CULTURE Beyond the cultural connections to the moon that run deep on human time scales, the rabbit in the moon also enjoys more recent cultural value in terms

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of landmark human visits. In 1959, for instance, the Soviet Union made history by crashing the Luna 2 probe into the moon’s Mare Imbrium region, marking humanity’s first direct contact with a world beyond Earth. In 1966, Luna 9 made the first soft landing and successfully returned our first photographic images taken from the moon’s surface. Further, the Apollo program marked the sending of humans themselves to the moon, having landed astronauts on the lunar surface six times between 1969 and 1972. All of these missions have left human-fabricated artifacts on our moon that now serve as essential monuments to human culture, history, and achievement. These monuments should be memorialized, just as on Earth today we enshrine various important historical locations. The first human footprints on our moon presumably exist today as they were left by Armstrong and Aldrin in 1969; is it not desirable to safeguard these historic relics, rather than perhaps watch them be destroyed by a regrettable incident, let us say, with a mining vehicle? The historical astronautic sites that I have mentioned fortunately exist within the image of the rabbit in the moon, so by establishing a land reserve that ecologically defends this lunar attribute, we also celebrate our recent cultural and scientific history. In fact, it is not difficult to design a reserve in the region of the rabbit in the moon whose recreational areas are placed intentionally near to historical landmarks, so that future lunar tourists readily can engage in historical sightseeing. Moreover, our method of preservation (to be explained) will maintain the Apollo sites as much as possible as they were when astronauts roamed them. Reflecting this maintenance, preserving the rabbit in the moon with the land reserves proposed here facilitates the adoption of the far-sighted Apollo archaeological preservation campaigns of Drs. P. J. Capelotti, Lisa Westwood, Beth O’Leary, and Milford Wayne Donaldson.36 As I will continue to argue, we can appropriately safeguard lunar ecological gems like the region of the rabbit in the moon by implementing land reserves which segregate valued nonhumans from the human business-asusual world through multipurpose environmental planning. The Buddhist tradition provides both values and history in support of such a strategy, as we saw with Running Stream Reserve at the start of this chapter. Now let us examine this model more fully. BUDDHIST NATURE RESERVES The story of Running Stream Reserve highlights that Buddhist nature reserves which seek positive ecological ends currently flourish in today’s United States. Yet the history of Buddhist nature reserves is as old as is the

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tradition itself. The Commentary on the Majjhima Nikāya tells us that even in the time of the Buddha, a follower of the tradition named Vassakāra initiated a reserve to care for monkeys with park rangers.37 In the contemporary world, the Sarvodaya Shramadana movement in Sri Lanka has created a variety of ecologically and culturally protected plots of varying sizes.38 Moreover, Bhutan’s government has sponsored environmental reserves in order to reach a constitutionally mandated 60 percent of forest cover specifically as an expression of perceived Buddhist best policy.39 Poignantly for Buddhist motivations, some Tibetans, like the Wild Yak Brigade’s Sönam Dargyé and Trashi Dorjé, have risked political peril and even their lives in campaigns to forge and maintain ecological reserves.40 Hence, one way of pursuing environmental responsibility in a place like our moon involves setting aside lands for special treatment, and throughout the history of the tradition Buddhists have followed such approaches. While these Buddhist precedents teach the importance of initiating nature reserves in order to preserve valuable places, they do not tell us how to do so in terms of ecological best practices. Buddhist precedents also, historically speaking, do not teach the need to establish reserves on lifeless, non-Earth worlds. I respond to these missing elements by relying on environmental science and Earth experience to instruct us in terms of land reserve best practices. To this scientific foundation American Buddhists then enthusiastically extend relevant values beyond Earth in support of nature reserves on other solar system bodies. I now turn to some environmental theory in order to delineate the science behind the reserves that I propose. ALDO LEOPOLD’S BASELINE ECOLOGIES In establishing reserves that guide human behaviors, we enjoy benefits by following the multiuse environmental and scientific preservation strategies of a professor at the University of Wisconsin and a giant in ecology, Aldo Leopold (1887–1948). Leopold sought to find new ways to establish control data for environmental science research, and, as a result, he encouraged the preservation of uninhabited spaces as scientific time capsules with known protection origination dates. By employing in this way “a picture of how healthy land maintains itself,” according to Leopold, we can delimit specific uninhabited spots that remain defended from nonscientific human intrusions and thereby forever after provide historical freely developing ecological samples, or “most perfect norm” controls for comparison.41 For instance, setting aside an ecosystem today and then leaving it to develop untouched by humans for a century can supply enormously valuable environmental scientific data. Because in this chapter I invoke Leopold’s scientific method but without also accepting

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his presumption that land can exist as an organism, I call reserves that follow these principles “baseline ecologies,” which consist of supplying ecological science with relatively human-free ongoing historical control samples.42 Recognizing that “all wilderness areas, no matter how small or imperfect, have a large value to land science,” Leopold’s method restricts an uninhabited area from undue human influence and thereby provides a baseline ecology with a clear, explicit preservation initiation date from which researchers can work.43 It remains crucial to understand that no effort is placed into forcing this area to be as we found it or how we want it to be, for such activities would disturb the natural succession that scientifically we seek to understand. Such reserves instead remain explicitly unmolested, so that forever after they provide time-stamped ecological scientific data from the moment of inception of the reserves. Such an approach relies on successfully tested ecological principles, according to environmental scientist Andrew Balmford, in which “nature and not people will determine . . . changes over time.”44 On our moon, such reserves will provide enormously rich and useful longitudinal environmental data for planetary science regarding human effects on lunar environments as well as concerning the evolution of those environments in themselves. By separating ecologies from launch locations, we can even reduce negative impacts on science from lunar rocketry.45 If we act today, therefore, we can sustain many areas of our moon into the distant future as much as possible as if humans and their manifold desires had never arrived. As an extra perk, these reserves retain tremendous potential ecological, scientific, and cultural value, because multidimensional benefits emerge from areas that are zoned for various purposes, as I now delineate. MULTIZONED FOR MANY USES A constructive advantage of following the baseline ecology method is that it usefully can reach cultural or social goals beyond its scientific origins. We can initiate versatile baseline ecology reserves in line with already existing international structures and recognized best practices and in so doing create effective multiuse environments. UNESCO’s Man and the Biosphere (MAB) program provides us with a respected model for doing this because it successfully has overseen the emergence of 669 biosphere reserves in 120 countries since 1976.46 In creating protected plots, the MAB program meets various resource needs by dividing enshrined areas into separate regions of preservation, recreation, and sustainable human industry. If the multipurpose MAB method is applied to the ecosphere reserves that I propose (on our moon we should speak of “ecospheres” rather than MAB “biospheres”), then we can safeguard ecological and historical areas but still allow commerce.

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Following the MAB example, one area of our lunar multiuse reserves, the core Preserve, will remain a true Leopoldian baseline ecology and forever after will supply potent scientific data. The only human presence in this area will be for no-footprint scientific study. Another area, the Sustainable Reserve, will allow sustainable science and industry while yet resembling a true baseline ecology. The lunar environmental impact statements rightly requested by ethicist William R. Kramer can be used to determine eligibility for a place in a Sustainable Reserve.47 Finally, given that a park is a place for human recreation but not necessarily for scientific preservation, a third, park area will offer leisure opportunities in settings almost as if humans had never arrived. Multipurpose reserves like those proposed here respond to one of the stumbling blocks to industrializing the moon at present, which is the issue of owning property or resource rights on the moon. Commercial interests often prefer to own their assets, but at this time space law (in terms of the Outer Space Treaty) does not recognize property rights for extraterrestrial real estate. The Moon Treaty of 1970 controversially eliminates private property rights on the lunar surface, but the Moon Treaty has not been ratified by any major spacefaring nations, leaving legal confusion. Within this context, I spotlight that the zoned plan that I offer here avoids trouble with property issues in several ways. It is true that these planned reserves remain international territories that are owned by no one, as I discuss more fully below. But in this strategy most of the moon’s surface is not marked by these international zones, and any space commercial property law that develops in the future will be applicable in most lunar places without concern for the reserves described here. In addition, industry still can occur within the sustainable reserve areas of the proposed ecosphere reserves as long as activities are pursued within responsible guidelines. Portrayed in another light, surprisingly quickly lunar commercial sites could experience overcrowding that harms everyone involved,48 and the zoned reserves found here can help to ease such clashes. Part of this design involves protecting future human recreation on our moon. If the idea of vacationing on our moon seems remote to my reader, please understand that companies such as SpaceX and Blue Origin are working hard as I write to construct the infrastructure to sell just this type of space tourism experience. By projecting growth in this commercial sector, we realize that in creating Leopoldian baseline ecologies at a variety of locations on our moon, we can provide future vacationers with higher-quality, more primeval settings for their joyful getaways. The benefits that arise from this multiuse planning, though, mean that we should make some haste in initiating these reserves. We generate bountiful cultural and environmental gains by creating ecosphere reserves specifically

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before humans arrive in person in spots to be shielded, for then we gain crucial control samples without a human presence involved. Scientists far into the future will want to comprehend the human impact on the moon, and establishing baseline ecology reserves without a human presence supplies superb scientific snapshots for before and after comparisons. In other words, we should not wait until humans are on the moon again to create these reserves, because we practice better science starting today if we commence these reserves today. As Elvis et al. state, “Now is an appropriate time to begin developing a governance framework [for the moon]. . . . Efforts at managing forthcoming disputes are most likely to succeed if they are undertaken before vested interests gain too firm a foothold.”49 By moving quickly, we can initiate much-needed protection not just for the visible near side but also for the moon’s far side, as I now describe.

FAR SIDE RESERVES We can augment our cultural protection of the near side by adding another ecosphere reserve, this time embracing the far side’s Von Kármán Crater. This location houses the Chinese probe Chang’e-4, named for the previously mentioned moon goddess, as well as its rover Yutu, or Jade Hare. The Chang’e-4 mission marks humanity’s difficult first-ever soft landing on the moon’s far side and thereby deserves enshrinement along with the other historic astronautic sites that I have mentioned. In addition to the von Kármán crater, other far side spots of value should be cherished with protective reserves. For instance, the center of the far side of the moon near the Daedalus Crater represents a geographically special place, since it is protected by the moon itself from the human radio noise that constantly streams from Earth’s proximity. This location therefore is one of the best positions in the inner solar system for placing a powerful radio observatory. Rather than squander the scientific opportunity provided by this peerless area, instead we should protect it with a science-oriented preserve, a Far Side Research Ecosphere Reserve, that emphasizes radio-quiet science. In this plan, radio usage near this reserve will be restricted so as to retain the region’s distinctive character. Such limitations will allow radio observatory emplacements to thrive, such as the FarView project pursued by the International Academy of Astronautics.50 If we orient the Daedalus Crater toward radio-quiet science, some other far side scientific, commercial, and recreational activities can unfold in another protected location at the Hertzsprung Crater. The region surrounding the Hertzsprung Crater remains geologically primitive, embodying an early

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period of the moon’s history, and furthermore can produce unmatched far side equatorial recreational experiences. Thus, for scientific, environmental, cultural, and recreational reasons, it makes sense also to guard the preciousness of the Hertzsprung Crater by cherishing it with an ecosphere reserve. Figure 2.2 delineates this and other far side reserves. These reserves on the far side of the moon return our attention to the moon’s general cultural imbalance, in which the near side of the moon remains forever buried in human cultural projections that do not reach much into the unseen far side. This imbalance means that we should expect the near side of our moon to receive greater environmental protection reflecting its greater cultural value, as it does in this proposal. In fact, the cultural dichotomy of moon geography engenders a general environmental principle of this plan: We should minimize harm to the moon as much as possible, but if the moon absolutely must be harmed in a destructive way, we move that destruction first to the far side of the moon. In its dynamics, this proposal thereby targets the near side for greater cultural preservation while leaving the far side more available in terms of responding to future economic realities. Just as the moon’s showing one face to Earth stirs multifaceted environmental ethical responses like these, so does the moon’s second peculiar virtue—that is, its almost complete lack of tilt on its nearly vertical axis. I now turn to the ethical responses that this situation incites.

Figure 2.2  Far Side Reserves (Source: Daniel Capper; original photo courtesy of NASA)

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A VERTICAL AXIS SPARKS SOUTH POLE MINING Our moon rotates relatively vertically in relation to our sun, having a tilt on its axis of less than 2 degrees, unlike the Earth’s season-bringing obliquity of 23 degrees.51 This means, for two examples, that the bottom of the deep Shackleton Crater at the moon’s south pole never has seen overhead sunlight, for our sun reaches it only sideways from the horizon. Yet just kilometers away from Shackleton rise the peaks of the Malapert Massif, extraordinary giant mountains whose illuminated slopes rarely witness darkness. The vertical nature of the moon’s rotation helps to make these two polar landmarks, sunless craters and sunny peaks, stand out in distinctiveness and rarity in comparison with other locations not just on our moon but also throughout our solar system. The majestic, one-of-a-kind character of these special moon polar locations invites strategically placed zones for environmental preservation. Such zones usefully can direct responsible lunar commerce. The combination of dark craters and sunny summits energizes a current commercial rush to the lunar south pole for a variety of reasons. Helium-3 mining, for instance, likely cannot exist without some type of continuous human presence on the moon, and humans need water to survive. Water additionally can be used to create breathable oxygen. Also, water can be processed to create the rocket fuel necessary to come and go from the moon. Our moon’s south pole, as it turns out, can provide some of this water. The south pole of the moon rests on the edge of the large Shackleton Crater. Being at the pole on a world with little axial tilt, this crater never experiences direct sun at its deep bottom. Because of this condition, the sun does not evaporate the water ice there through the process of sublimation, so that water ice in some abundance can be found in Shackleton Crater as well as in many other craters near both poles. Because of the commercial attractiveness of these frozen resources, various countries and firms already are developing the infrastructure needed to mine water for the use of humans and their rockets on the future moon. Water mining at the south pole attracts other industries to the area as well. For instance, proposals have been made to place communications equipment on Mons Malapert, the supreme south pole mountain that rises 8,000 meters (26,000 feet) above the depressed surface floor beneath it.52 Malapert attracts communications companies because in having humans continuously on the moon, it seems best to have line-of-sight, rather than satellite-mediated, communication with Earth. Line-of-sight communication can be gained anywhere on the near side of the moon, but high spots at the poles offer the advantage of additional relay via line-of-sight towers to the far side of the

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moon. Malapert’s location and altitude thus make it a popular choice to host communications installations. Related to communications towers, the south pole further remains coveted as a place to generate solar power around the clock as much as possible. At its equator our moon experiences darkness roughly for two weeks at a time, but, at many high-altitude places at both poles, sunlight is available between 70 and 90 percent of the time. Because of Malapert Massif’s alpine slopes, sunny perhaps for 85 percent of the time, some people wish to industrialize its highlands by installing solar power-producing hardware on the remarkable mountain range.53 Importantly, the south pole of the moon additionally provides opportunities for fantastic telescopic or naked eye astronomy, as the proposed Ultimately Large Telescope intends to exploit. Canyons and crater bottoms that do not witness direct sunlight and lack an atmosphere provide freedom from several forms of telescopic interference and therefore enable unobstructed views across our galaxy, perspectives whose clarity and grandeur likely greatly surpass what our atmosphere-clad earthly eyes can imagine.54 As Apollo astronaut Jim Irwin described the sky view from the moon even from outside of one of these dark craters, unlike on Earth, our sun is seen “in all its power and glory,” and the “vast array of stars,” “far more than can be seen from Earth,” shine with a “dazzling brilliance.”55 Hence, with reason, some people have proposed placing telescopes in craters on or near the great mountain Mons Malapert.56 SPECTACULAR NATURAL SPOTS THREATENED Many of these lunar mining and industrialization goals remain understandable. However, as proposed they tend not to take environmental planning fully into account, nor do they always thoroughly respect the unique and amazing ecological phenomena found on our moon at places like the south pole. The entire Malapert Massif system that houses Mons Malapert, for instance, arises as a geologically diverse set of peaks and craters that stretch from Cabeus Crater to Scott Crater more than 100 kilometers from the actual south pole. The fantastic views of the sky provided by Malapert alert us to the extraordinary human as well as ecological merits of the place. By itself, the Malapert sky can draw future tourists, who will have much greater appreciation for the aesthetic and scientific advantages of exquisite astronomical views than will mining robots or communication towers. Additionally, Malapert’s altitude (which rivals that of the Andes Mountains) will give humans, rather than industrial robots, unbelievably gorgeous vistas across

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the moon’s surface. The primal geology of these highlands further will attract lunar scientists, who will wish the matchless peaks, which are distinctive within our solar system, to be unmarred. Malapert is not just an ecological gem but also a human treasure. We thus should seek to preserve the Malapert region as much as possible as it is today both for our sakes and for the sake of Malapert itself, just as we already do so on Earth for high peaks in the Andes, Himalayas, and other outstanding locations. In 100 years, humans likely will not be able to save this multifaceted alpine treasure in pristine form; they need us to do so today in recognition, in the words of space ethicist Tony Milligan, of Malapert’s “uniqueness as a source of special standing, a standing which would make it worth conserving, and not simply for the purposes of scientific enquiry.”57 By preserving the Malapert area as an ecosphere reserve, we terrifically benefit human science and culture alike by maintaining for future generations the marvelous and irreplaceable features of the magnificent Malapert highlands. Figure 2.3 gives a sense of this reserve. Like at Malapert, but with an alternative local geological and astronomical spice, experiences of wonder and awe regarding the features of the moon are found additionally at the north pole’s Peary and Florey crater system. Although this chapter’s strategy leaves the northernmost Peary Crater area open for north pole industrial development, for reasons similar to those for the Malapert peaks and craters region, the southern floor and rim of Peary crater, along with the adjacent Florey Crater, should be designated the Peary and Florey Crater Ecosphere Reserve, as seen in figure 2.4 This super spot will supply moon-style camping and other human recreation beneath a canopy of sky that must be astounding even to gods. The intentionally multipurpose activities of this novel plan provide superior alternatives to prior proposals when it comes to dealing with contested polar resources. For instance, a line-of-sight communication network with Earth supplies a worthy goal, but this can be accomplished in the south by placing equipment not on the prized mountain Malapert but, instead, on an alternative highland rim of a crater like Shackleton that is much closer to the actual south pole.58 Turning to electrical power, although no spot on our moon provides completely uninterrupted local solar power, nearly twenty-four hours an Earth day solar power may be generated at several high points near southern Shackleton or northern Peary. Both of these regions further include large stores of nearby water ice and thereby provide geographic alternatives to marring the invaluable Malapert with mining.59 Because of these discretionary features at both poles, turning the Malapert Massif or southern Peary into delimited reserves rather than industrial zones does not inhibit industry, communications, or power-producing abilities, for these activities easily may be enjoined elsewhere. The same argument goes for telescopes, which can thrive

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Figure 2.3  Malapert Ecosphere Reserve (Source: Daniel Capper; original photo courtesy of NASA)

at plenty of excellent locations away from places like the Malapert Massif. Alternatively, telescopes can appear within the Sustainable Reserve areas of our Malapert Ecosphere Reserve if operated with ecological responsibility. The desirability of protecting Malapert with a multipurpose reserve seems obvious. But do Buddhist values approve of transplanting from the Earth to our moon the ecological preservation strategy of creating nature reserves? As it turns out, American Buddhists assert values that support not just nature reserves but specifically extraterrestrial ones, as I now explain. IMPETUS FROM AMERICAN BUDDHISTS Because my generally well-educated informants are connoisseurs concerning how to embody living Buddhist ethical values, in the field I focused on moral questions regarding our moon. Given this moral thrust, in my survey the prompts relevant to this chapter were: 1. Our moon and other extraterrestrial places should be valued and protected from undue harm, even if no living beings exist there. (responses on a five-point scale from strongly agree to strongly disagree)

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Figure 2.4  Peary and Florey Reserve (Source: Daniel Capper; original photo courtesy of NASA)

2. I think that Buddhist principles should be utilized to guide the possible mining and settlement of the moon. (responses on a five-point scale) 3. If we do use Buddhist principles regarding the possible mining and settlement of the moon, those principles should be? (choices offered but alternative responses welcomed) Establishing nature reserves at Malapert or elsewhere on the moon requires a desire to save the moon from harm, even if the local ecosystems lack living beings. This abiotic dimension can be a substantial obstacle to proper ecological action. Some critics, for instance, describe the lifeless lunar surface using the astronaut Buzz Aldrin’s words “magnificent desolation” in a pejorative way and thereby see nothing preventing a nonliving moon’s destruction.60 Hence, the absence of life remains quite salient morally. Nonetheless, when we turn to the data in responding to the prompts that I described, support for ecologically defending even a lifeless moon is exactly what we find. An overwhelming 88 percent of American Buddhists in this study agree or strongly agree that the moon should be protected even if the lunar globe lacks life. Only 3 percent of Buddhists

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oppose defending a lifeless moon. A statistical test revealed that Buddhists remain distinctive from the wider public on this issue, although large numbers of non-Buddhists (72 percent) also chose to safeguard an abiotic moon. American Buddhists thereby assert here an innovative ethic in support of environmentally caring for even a lifeless moon. Turning to results from the next two survey prompts helps us to understand what this grassroots ethic of the protection of the lunar surface means. When reminded by the survey itself about the lifeless nature of our moon and then asked whether Buddhist values should be applied in such a nonliving place, Buddhists were eager to assert the relevance and potency of Buddhist ethics even among just lifeless stones. About 90 percent of Buddhists agreed or strongly agreed that Buddhist ethics should be utilized on the moon and only about 4 percent felt that Buddhist ethics do not apply to such an abiotic location. Hence, Buddhist enthusiasm for ecologically guarding the moon and its rocks without life bursts forth from among these Buddhists. When asked about what specific values should be utilized on our moon, these American Buddhists produced a grassroots environmental ethic that started with elements of compassion (66 percent) and loving-kindness (60 percent). Buddhists then injected more vibrant and visible emphases on the importance of ahimsa, or nonharm, in tandem with strong notions of human connectedness with the environment. For instance, more than 87 percent of field subjects chose to employ the philosophical notion of dependent arising, or the fundamental Buddhist principle, discussed previously, that all phenomenal existents interconnect across time and space. It would seem that in this informal grassroots ethic for our moon, interconnection substitutes for respect for life as a basis for moral valuation. That is, traditional Buddhist ethics value life over nonlife,61 but these Buddhists appear to change the rules by highlighting the foundational theme of connection over lack of connection instead. Not only that, but these Buddhists also energetically assert their interconnections specifically off-Earth with the moon. In so doing, of course, survey respondents brilliantly express the important concept of the environmental nonseparation of Earth and space. The other important component of this inventive Buddhist ethic, however, is the role of nonharm. American Buddhists again creatively reinterpret their tradition in light of twenty-first-century realities, since 83 percent of informants extend sensibilities of nonharm not just to living beings, as prescribed by the traditional scriptures, but also, uniquely, to the integrities of abiotic landscapes of the moon. In this way, American Buddhists informally weave together notions of interconnection with valuations of nonharm to create a new environmental ethical outlook that is appropriate for our moon now and into the future.

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MINING WITH LIMITS What do these American Buddhist moral views mean for campaigns to mine our moon? As it turns out, along with the emergence of this intriguing grassroots ethic, on the whole proponents of mining get much of what they want from these data. Aside from a couple of marginal voices, there exists little here within Buddhist viewpoints that specifically forbids the mining of the moon outright if doing so benefits humanity. Nonetheless, the Buddhist perspectives found here counsel that mining and other efforts on the moon should be guided by a sense of ethical responsibility, an awareness of human moral interconnection with the moon, and a conscience defined by the value of nonharm. While not stopping mining, these informants also assert that our moon should experience the least amount of harm required in order to meet the needs of humans. American Buddhist morals from the field support an ethic in which the environmental harm of the moon always should be minimized regardless of whether life exists there. As an additional ecological principle, Buddhist values point to moving damage first and worst to the far side of the moon (i.e., if the moon absolutely must be harmed). When additionally combined with the two-millennia-long Buddhist example of initiating reserves to protect places of special ecological value, these data suggest moral support for establishing multiuse nature reserves on our moon as I have portrayed. On the near side, by guarding the areas of the rabbit in the moon with ecological and historical reserves, we not only perform better science and more wholesomely memorialize history but also sustain our cultural enjoyment of the night sky as seen from Earth. By using reserves to shield important ecological and cultural landmarks, we ensure that our descendants many generations from now can enjoy the experiences that we do, in addition to engaging in perhaps a few new and exciting encounters as tourists in primeval Malapert highlands or Hertzsprung Crater settings. Now we need to explore how to initiate such beneficial lunar nature reserves in the form of specific space policies. SPACE POLICIES FOR THE MOON’S PECULIAR VIRTUES As I describe in more detail in technical articles, initiating lunar reserves today can be done easily, inexpensively, as well as fully in concert with existing international structures and laws.62 Put briefly, already I have indicated how UNESCO’s Man and the Environment program provides tested templates and expertise inspiring the reserves. But, because UNESCO operates in a world of property law unlike the propertyless legal world of the 1967 Outer

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Space Treaty, these reserves should be overseen by the UN’s Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (UNCOPUOS) instead. Through the auspices of UNCOPUOS, reserves like these can be established not only on our moon, as I have described, but also at any place in our solar system which requires respectful multiuse safeguarding. Although explicit international law can be difficult to establish on an issue like land reserves on our moon, these reserves fruitfully still can appear through the so-called “soft-law” international agreements under the umbrella of the Outer Space Treaty.63 In the end, the more countries that support these reserves, the better, for broad international management helps to engender the positive environmental justice outcome in which all humans have a theoretical voice in the fate of their lunar cultural inheritance. CONCLUSION Along with supporting lunar nature reserves, in this chapter the voices of American Buddhists have provided an impetus for Buddhist environmental ethics to enrich themselves in terms of extending innovative ecological value to the lifeless landscapes of our moon. To this point in history Buddhists largely have neglected this type of environmental respect for nonliving environments, but voices from the field in this study creatively generate new ecological outlooks. The environmental perspectives of the American Zen Buddhist teacher David R. Loy also clearly evidence similar transformations in ecological morality. In his book Ecodharma, Loy asserts that “perhaps the biggest danger for Buddhism today is the conviction that premodern versions of Buddhist teaching and practice remain sufficient.”64 Instead, and sounding like environmentalist Aldo Leopold, Loy argues that we need to find “a different kind of relationship” with nonhuman nature in which human beings consider themselves more as a part of “an interdependent community.”65 In this chapter, American Buddhists, through their respect for our moon, illuminate a new path for realizing the type of moral reevaluation that Loy requests. As the next chapter reveals, some Buddhists from the field also intriguingly understand their “interdependent community,” as Loy put it, to include potential living microbes on Mars. Let us now travel to the lovely Red Planet to find out more about this dynamic.

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Seeking Microbes

I once visited Cherry Park, whose name is a pseudonym for a relatively large Vietnamese Mahāyāna Buddhist monastery and retreat center in the United States, in order to engage in some ethnographic fieldwork. One day during my tenure there, many members of the community were gathered in a circle for a religious discussion. Everyone sat on cushions on the floor following Vietnamese Buddhist custom. At one point in the conversation, a spider came crawling into the small empty circle on the floor that separated the gathered humans. In other locations, some of the community may have screamed in horror at the close presence of the arachnid. Further, if that spider had been elsewhere than in this Buddhist center, it may have been met with an aggressive killing swat. Instead, the community watched with concern as a young monk grabbed a nearby sheet of paper and gently coaxed the spider onto it. Then, moving slowly and deliberately so as not to harm the little creature, the monk took the paper with the spider outdoors. Placing the paper carefully on the ground, patiently the Buddhist waited for the spider to amble into the grass before the monk returned indoors. Thus did this monk, and the community who looked on in support, engage the ethics of ahimsa, or nonharm to living beings, as prescribed by the Buddhist scriptures. As exemplified by this monk, Buddhists energetically can follow ethical norms like nonharm that may result in the genuine protection and care of animate entities. Notably, even the spiders that some humans abhor can benefit from this behavior. As a religion Buddhism is famous for such attitudes of nonharm like the gentleness displayed by the spider-protecting monk. Nonharm toward life is, in fact, an ethical strength of the tradition, as we learned during the discussion of space debris in chapter 1. As such, this Buddhist ethical strength of nonharm toward living beings anchors this chapter about the search for finding 61

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microscopic life in our solar system. While Buddhist environmental ethical weaknesses in protecting lifeless entities appeared minimally within chapter 2 and receive direct focus in chapter 4, in this chapter Buddhism’s relative environmental ethical potency in terms of protecting life drives a crucial and dynamic contribution to the astrobiological search for extraterrestrial microbial life in our solar system. When it comes to discovering life on other planets, the leader of Tibetan Buddhists, the Dalai Lama, tells us that wondering whether life exists in other worlds is one of the “natural curiosities in the human mind.”1 Hence, it is no surprise that humans have sought to find life beyond Earth since before the age of rocketry, and today large sums of money are spent on searching places like Mars for signs of microscopic life. Answering the question “Are we alone?” in fact “is one of the basic reasons for exploring space” in the first place, according to space scholar Daniel Deudney.2 Finding tiny living beings in our solar system, should it happen, will represent one of the greatest of scientific discoveries in history. The potential scientific, medical, and cultural value to humans of such a find remains tremendous.3 Precisely because of the enormity of this possible moment, though, we need the ethics that direct the search for life to be rock-solid before we discover it. Searching for miniscule life elsewhere deserves a powerful guiding ethic, and Buddhists in this chapter, in part because of the value of nonharm, provide the type of moral advisement that is needed. In this chapter, we find American Buddhists, in combination with scriptural provisions, providing a vigorous, coherent, and ready to use ethic for the search for microbial solar system life. This ethical code consists of default nonharm to living nonhuman beings as well as default nonharm to the habitats upon which other living beings depend. These provisions help us to protect not just other living beings but also the conditions which give those beings life. Crucially, however, this ethic also permits the limited, as-respectful-aspossible sampling of living beings in order to propel science that is oriented toward human benefit, thereby opening the door to potentially salubrious future medical innovations. As a result, and as I will describe more fully, this sophisticated ethical code supplies a significant and innovative step forward for space ethics research. Through this code I furnish positive environmental justice outcomes for as many microbes as possible as well for humanity’s conscience in the context of a possible historic moment. Interestingly, this three-part moral compact additionally retains positive ethical ramifications for earthly bioethics as well as for our understanding of contemporary American culture, given the conflicted Buddhist responses that we will discover in light of the acceptability of sacrificing microbes for science. Buddhist bioethical attitudes toward microbes remain unclear, and although the data found here do not eliminate all unclarity, they do provide

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a vibrant window into on-the-ground grassroots bioethical theorizing. First, though, in order to explore these research and environmental ethics, we need to appreciate the science behind the search for exotic solar system life. SEARCHING FOR SOLAR SYSTEM LIFE At present we cannot define the word life or make life in a laboratory, so in at least six different ways we currently pursue the discovery of new life to facilitate a deeper understanding. One of these searches involves finding planets beyond our solar system and peering into their atmospheres to detect the chemical fingerprints of life. A related search requires listening for radio waves, gravity waves, or some other communication from intelligent beings outside of our solar system.4 Two more searches for life unfold right here on Earth. One of these quests seeks unknown species in a variety of locations, including in the Earth’s crust under our feet.5 Other searches learn about life by trying to synthesize it in a scientific laboratory.6 As we will see, these searches benefit from advances in ethics deriving from campaigns to discover life on other planets in terms of learning to more beneficially safeguard life or, alternatively, more precisely delineating the values that surround how and why scientific sampling can occur. Additionally, two searches for life take place in the solar system beyond Earth, in which astrobiologists suspect or cannot rule out the presence of small life in places like Jupiter’s moon Europa, Saturn’s moons Titan and Enceladus, Neptune’s moon Triton, and especially Mars. These campaigns seek microorganisms in the form of dead fossils or perhaps as flourishing living beings. Such searches specifically on Mars are the focus of this chapter. During Mars’s Noachian phase 3.5 billion years ago, the planet was much warmer and wetter than it is today, leading to surmises that the Red Planet may have developed life during that time.7 Evidence of this former life may appear in clay formation phyllosilicates, relic lakebeds, or in former hot springs.8 If this evidence exists, today we may be able to find fossil life, and the Curiosity rover for years has undertaken studies relevant to finding such relics of living things. Moreover, the Perseverance Mars 2020, Rosalind Franklin ExoMars, and Chinese Huoxing-1 rovers each are designed as nextgeneration Martian fossil hunters, so hopes remain high for their missions. Although extant life, not fossil life, provides a primary orientation for this chapter, below I will return to these scenarios surrounding finding fossil life since the search for extant life affects them. Beyond searching for fossil life on Mars, quests continue to encounter possible living microbes. The Viking probes of the 1970s looked for extant life

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but (with some controversy) appear to have failed to uncover any.9 Future missions, especially those staffed by humans rather than just by robots, also plan to seek extant life. Perhaps, for instance, life flourishes under the Martian poles, in dynamic sandy surface changes called recurring slope linnea, or sheltered from the radiation of the surface in an underground cave.10 We know that life can persist with incredible hardiness in terms of cold, desiccation, and radiation resistance, like the little animals called tardigrades that survived extreme space conditions while unprotected in Earth orbit.11 Because of the tenacity of life, it is feasible that Mars developed small life long ago and that life continues to thrive beneath the apparently barren surface. One commonly discussed opportunity for life to exist on Mars, for example, lay deep underground in a vacant lava tube. Volcanoes, which exist on Mars, once spewed lava that moved through long, geologically submerged channels before flowing onto the surface. When eruptions concluded, empty tunnels remained, and today these tunnels may reach very far into the planetary crust. Within these shielded cave environments the micrometeorites and radiation that pummel the surface of Mars disappear, leaving life as we know it a possible location for thriving. In addition, because of the subsurface locations of lava tubes, they may be warmer than the surface and thereby be the right temperature for liquid water, which otherwise is abundant on Mars in the form of water ice.12 With possible liquid water and the protection from hostile elements, lava tubes therefore may supply the perfect place for life on Mars, should it exist, to flourish, since life blossoms in lava tubes here on Earth.13 We know from satellite images that such lava tubes exist on Mars. Exploring them to look for life will be difficult, though, given their likely treacherous terrains. In response, one finds increasing calls for humans to inspect lava tubes in person rather than by rover. These tubes also inspire the development of innovative new rovers, such as the hopping microbot robots discussed by astrobiologists Penelope J. Boston and Steven Dubowsky, which, unlike traditional rovers, can leap over various obstacles.14 JUSTICE FOR MARS In light of seeking extant life on Mars, let me return to the scenario that began this book, in which you are a planetary scientist who is searching for life in a Martian lava tube. Guided by your helpful hopping microbot, your helmet lamps illuminate your way as you descend deeper into the rocky cavernous structure, moving carefully in your limited-flexibility spacesuit. Dark volcanic rocks surround you everywhere, and you have to watch out for the pesky ones underfoot. As you go, you leave the reach of the radiation of the surface

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and even find some water from melted ice as you move in the direction of the planet’s warmer core. Eventually you come across an unusual, moist, and colorful slime. The slime is a living community of microbes, called chemolithotrophs by microbiologists, kept alive by minerals and some liquid water in the lava tube. You have discovered extant life on Mars! Fantastic! The scientific discovery of a lifetime belongs to you! Now, however, you must answer questions: What are your ethical responsibilities to the life that you have discovered? Does microbial life beyond Earth enjoy ethical value, and, if so, what type of value? Further, how much effort do you need to exert in protecting the habitat of that life form as well as that life itself? Moreover, does that life operate genetically using DNA like that found on Earth or via a different genetic mechanism? Can you take some of those little beings home and study them under a microscope to find out? Finally, does what you are learning on Mars impact Earth-based science? Unfortunately, if you turn to the current space ethics literature to answer your questions, you may actually become more confused, because the moral place of microbial life remains undefined despite the best efforts of talented space ethicists. Space thinker William R. Kramer states correctly that we need to “resolve our policies regarding extraterrestrial ethical issues prior to their [microbes’] discovery, before we know whether or not they exist; prior to learning of their possible commercial value and before we can assess their capacity for suffering”; however, to date such resolution does not exist.15 This lack of clarity regarding the moral place of microorganisms stems in part from whether Martian microbes enjoy what ethicists call intrinsic value, or ethical value in themselves and beyond their use value to humans. A great deal of the present ethical literature regarding tiny life in the solar system revolves around this concept of intrinsic value. The philosopher Alan Marshall, for instance, grants microbes on Mars intrinsic value and, on this basis, speaks against any intrusive encounter, including scientific ones, with Martian life.16 Alternatively, astrobiologist Charles Cockell wishes to extend intrinsic value to microbes on the Red Planet in addition to the instrumental value that he grants them, but he tells us that individual microbes cannot possess intrinsic value, nor do microbes that cause harm to humans.17 Most negatively, ethicist Kelly C. Smith denies that microbes anywhere, much less on Mars, can enjoy intrinsic value, thus in theory limiting the protection that microbes can receive.18 Perhaps because of this theoretical muddle, in one essay space ethicists Margaret S. Race and Richard O. Randolph avoid arguments over the intrinsic value of microbes by applying the Christian Golden Rule: “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”19 In parallel with the Christianity of Race and Randolph, Buddhism likewise can slice through arguments consisting of intrinsic value approaches because the intrinsic value concept generally does not represent a viable

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Buddhist environmental ethical notion.20 Buddhism, stressing the anicca or impermanence of the universe, denies an essential or intrinsic existence to anything in the cosmos. If nothing intrinsically exists, but everything arises instead only in dependence upon causes as we find with the Buddhist concept of dependent arising, how can anything be said to possess intrinsic value? I suppose that a Buddhist philosophically could argue that a feature like the Grand Canyon could appear to possess intrinsic value in relative reality, or saṁvṛti-satya in Sanskrit. “Relative reality” denotes the philosophical perspective in which things appear, illusorily from a Buddhist point of view, to be separate and independent. But should the conditions of relative reality shift, so would this supposed “intrinsic” value, rendering it, in the end, relative value rather than intrinsic value. Instead of appealing to the concept of intrinsic value that, to this point, has not succeeded as a decisive tool for morally engaging possible microbes on Mars, Buddhist ethics instead manifest a theoretically robust respect for life in terms of the nonharm sensibility featured in the story of the monk and the spider that commenced this chapter. In a mode of argumentation that ethicists call deontology, Buddhism provides clear rule-oriented guidelines that demand care for living beings. Thus, instead of appealing to contested concepts of intrinsic value, in this chapter I will rely on Buddhism’s environmental ethical strength in morally respecting living beings via deontological rule-based guidelines considered authoritative by Buddhists. In concert with the rule-based provisions that are found in Buddhist scriptures, American Buddhists respond to the scientific and ethical questions generated by the search for extraterrestrial life in remarkable ways. They do so by providing a cogent and sophisticated tripartite ethic of default nonharm to living beings, default nonharm to the habitats on which living beings depend, yet also limited abrogation of these default precepts allowed for restricted collection of tiny beings for the purposes of scientific study. This ethic at once extends environmental respect and value to life and various ecologies throughout the solar system while still permitting learning through responsible and sustainable science, and in so doing it represents one of the more important environmental ethical contributions of this book. Felicitously, though, this ethic additionally maintains applicability to Earth bioethics. On Earth, we persist unsure how to value even the most common microbes in our everyday lives, but the ethic of this chapter, arising from Mars, can help to clarify our Earthbound valuations. The first step in bringing this ethic into existence, though, requires turning to the Buddhist scriptures for some direction.

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SCRIPTURAL FOUNDATIONS The rule-based deontological Buddhist ethical guidelines relevant to the search for extraterrestrial life rely upon precepts that appear in the Buddhist scriptures. The four scriptural precepts that provide the backbone of this chapter’s ethic appear similarly in the Vinaya texts, the works that delineate rules for monastics, from across Buddhist traditions, so for clarity and ease I will refer to them consistently in their forms drawn from the Pāli language Theravāda Tipiṭika scriptures. All four precepts reside within the section of monastic Pācitiyya rules, meaning they are injunctions that must be confessed if broken and result in forfeiture of wrongfully acquired goods. The first of these rules, Pācitiyya 142 in the code for nuns and the similar Pācitiyya 61 in the code for monks, embodies one of the most visible and influential of strictures in Buddhism, asserting as it does, “Should any bhikkhunī [nun] intentionally deprive an animal of life, it is to be confessed.”21 This monastic precept enjoins the central practice of ahimsa, or nonharm, which strongly discourages the killing of nonhuman animals. This precept requiring nonharm grounds Buddhism so much that, besides this appearance in the monastic code, it also supplies the first of five precepts incumbent on all lay Buddhists. When the Buddhist cared for the spider in the story that began this chapter, he followed this precept. Emphases on nonharm appear repeatedly throughout the scriptures of all three Buddhist great sects of Theravāda, Mahāyāna, and Vajrayāna, such as is memorably found in the Dhammapāda: All tremble at violence; Life is dear for all. Seeing others as being like yourself, Do not kill or cause others to be killed. If, desiring happiness, You use violence, To harm living beings who desire happiness, You won’t find happiness. If, desiring happiness, You do not use violence, To harm living beings who desire happiness, You will find happiness.22

Nonharm like this from the scriptures does not manifest perfectly in Buddhist practical realities, of course, especially when humans slaughter nonhuman animals as food.23 Moreover, if one counts plants as living beings, then living beings become sacrificed for almost every Buddhist meal, whether

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vegetarian or not. Nonetheless, this Buddhist emphasis on extending nonharm to other living beings remains a relative ecological strength of the tradition.24 In Buddhist circles in the United States, themes that emphasize the nonharm preservation of living beings remain common. From among leaders of American Buddhism, for instance, copious calls for nonharm appear in the book, Landscapes of Wonder, by Bhikkhu Nyanasobhano. Nyanasobhano, a Theravāda Buddhist monk, claims that because human and nonhuman animals lead such similar lives, animals are “morally significant beings in their own rights” and actually can teach spiritual lessons to perceptive humans.25 The American Zen Buddhist teacher Philip Kapleau Roshi, in his To Cherish All Life, agrees with this assessment of Nyanasobhano’s, since animals, who according to Kapleau possess “innate dignity and wholeness (holiness),” also “can teach us much about our own animal nature . . . provided we respect their uniqueness and do not patronize or exploit them.”26 These strong sentiments notwithstanding, though, in practical terms the precept of nonharm, especially when applied to microbes, challenges even the most diligent monastic. Each day Buddhists intentionally kill tiny beings in their kitchens and bathrooms as well as eliminate microorganisms in their bodies with antibiotic medications.27 Even if vegetarians, they unavoidably still destroy tiny insects that live in plants. Buddhism, in fact, invites such activities to a point, since it favors human lives, which are able to realize nirvana, more than other life forms.28 In this way Buddhism extends more ethical value to humans than it does to other complex animals or microscopic beings.29 These examples of nonharm in precept yet compromise in practical reality exhibit Buddhist processes in which nonharm toward life is embodied as a default rather than inviolate moral principle. In recognizing the practical challenges to nonharm faced by monastics, one can appreciate that lay people, who also adopt a precept of nonharm, must engage in many more compromises of the ideal of ahimsa than monastics do in order to win a salary at many jobs, build a house, feed one’s family, and raise one’s children. But this lack of lay person perfection in realizing nonharm in action, in this case, benefits space ethics. We cannot demand that space explorers and scientists always be Buddhist monastics or behave as such, but we can expect travelers to live by a code of ethics of stout but not complete nonharm like one discovers among Buddhist lay people. By relativizing the monastic precept about nonharm, we secularize that ethic and thereby make it appropriate for scientists rather than just for nuns and monks. Therefore, the first scripture-based pillar of this chapter’s ethic requires default but not total nonharm to potential living beings that may become found in lava tubes on Mars or elsewhere. If we are to protect living beings in this fashion, though, it additionally makes sense to protect the habitats that provide them with conditions for

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flourishing. Such protection of habitats is, in fact, a relative benefit of the ethic that I explore here, since many space ethics presentations overlook this element.30 In order to defend the residences of life, the second pillar of this ethic for searching for microbial life extends the nonharm sensibility of the first pillar. Yet this second pillar emerges from two other monastic precepts with environmental ethical relevance. For example, Pācitiyya 20 for monks (nuns: Pācitiyya 116) specifies, “Should any bhikkhu [monk] knowingly pour water containing living beings—or have it poured—on grass or on clay, it is to be confessed,” while Pācitiyya 62 (nuns: Pācitiyya 143) states, “Should any bhikkhu knowingly make use of water containing living beings, it is to be confessed.”31 When the scriptures were written in ancient South Asia, there existed no knowledge of microorganisms as we know of them today. Yet a cultural sense still arose that bodies of water could contain life too small to see with the naked eye, thus inciting these monastic rules against harming the habitats of tiny life forms. Therefore, along with the first pillar of nonharm to living organisms, the second pillar of this ethic follows scriptural contours to offer noteworthy protection to the ecologies upon which small life forms depend. Like the first pillar, however, this second principle remains prone to compromises, especially in the hands of lay people. Every day Buddhists utilize water ecologies for food and stone ecologies for construction and other needs, even though these microecologies could house miniscule life forms. The Buddha, in fact, recommended stone for a variety of uses including footpaths, fencing, foot wipers, monastery halls, housing, and even in powdered form to inhibit the rusting of needles.32 As a result of these compromises, it seems fair to expect of scientists, who generally are not monastics, default (but not inviolate) nonharm toward the ecologies upon which life forms depend. Nonharm that remains flexible toward ecologies therefore joins adaptable nonharm to biological beings as this presentation’s chief principles guiding the search for unknown life. The third pillar of our ethic for the search for unknown extraterrestrial life recognizes the importance for science of possibly finding extraterrestrial microbial life. Discovering life elsewhere remains desirable in part to advance our knowledge of genetics. Learning that extraterrestrial microbes possess genetics that operate the same as Earth DNA, or differently from known DNA processes, or are not based on DNA at all, carries substantial repercussions not just for our knowledge of biology but also for potential medical advances for humans.33 Moreover, discovering that life on Mars follows a different chirality, or innate directionality of arrangement of organic molecules, than does Earth life, can be evidence of a second genesis, in which life arose independently on Mars and Earth.34 Fully studying microbes from

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other worlds, should they exist, therefore is not a trivial exercise, so an ethic that enables or prevents such study also is not a minor thing. The pillar of the Buddhist ethic of this chapter that enables such scientific study derives from Pācitiyya 107 in the Pāli Vinaya code for nuns or the parallel Pācitiyya 11 for monks. The Buddha issued this rule in response to some monks who had caused community dissension by the way that they chopped down trees to construct a residence. On this occasion the Buddha required, “The damaging of a living plant is to be confessed.”35 Many monastics have understood this rule to forbid agriculture or the harvesting of plants. Yet, contrarily, the practice of agriculture by Buddhist monastics in many places is not uncommon. The recent Chinese Chan sect master Xuyun, for instance, specifically condoned monastic farming.36 Interestingly, Thai monk Phrakhru Somkit Jaranathammo even teaches environmentalist “dhammic agriculture” by demonstrating Buddhist ecological principles on his own model farm.37 Moreover, every day lay Buddhists can and do engage in the production of plant materials and then offer the results to monastics, because otherwise nuns and monks would starve for a dearth of plant food and shiver for want of wooden housing. Therefore, in practice Pācitiyya 107 spurs a reality in which the harvesting of plants is allowed as long as it is done as respectfully as possible, ideally by lay people, and without excess. This provision constitutes a moral code that scientists on Mars can live by if accorded to microbes along with plants. If we apply this principle to Mars, it means that living beings (if discovered) can be harvested for science, even if they will die, as long as their study is pursued in a limited manner and as respectfully as possible while seeking legitimate scientific ends. If followed in a wholesome way, this moral principle can allow science to advance to the benefit of humanity while also providing other forms of life with a substantial (if not complete) level of moral protection. Taken together, the four scriptural precepts that I have discussed leave us with a tripartite value system to govern the search for extant life on Mars and elsewhere. First, the principle of default nonharm to living beings grants confidence that we are doing what we morally can to protect and care for the life forms that we encounter. The second principle of habitat ecological care realizes a similar end by providing default protection to the residences in which living beings flourish. But rather than rigidly protecting these entities alone, this tripartite ethical package also cultivates effective yet ethically proper science through its delimited sample collection methods that allow some, but not excessive, scientific testing. Given that the values that underlie these principles daily have been tested for about 2,500 years in Buddhist lifeworlds, we can feel optimistic that this package of principles can set us in an appropriate environmental ethical direction.

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However, these moral principles arose on Earth, not Mars. Are they applicable to the Red Planet? Moreover, these principles were designed for the agricultural society of India millennia ago, not for twenty-first-century international space explorers. Are these principles relevant beyond their time? In order to find answers to these questions and further develop this ethic for the search for unknown tiny life, I turn to American Buddhists of many stripes. Their perspectives not only affirm ethical precepts from the scriptures for use on the surface of Mars but also provide some clarity about the place of tiny beings in Buddhist ethics, and this new window helpfully can aid our ethics on Mars as well as on Earth. Now I turn to the voices of these American Buddhists. AMERICAN BUDDHIST BIOETHICS In the field Buddhists encountered four survey prompts that are relevant to the scriptural ethical precepts that I have recounted: 1. I think that Buddhist principles should be utilized to guide our interactions with microbial life beyond Earth. (responses on a five-point scale from strongly agree to strongly disagree) 2. If we do use Buddhist principles to guide our interactions with microbial life beyond Earth, those principles should be? (choices offered but alternative responses welcomed) 3. We should protect from harm the extraterrestrial habitats of life, the ecologies on which life depends, whenever possible. (responses on a five-point scale) 4. If it intends to alleviate human suffering through the advancement of science, it is acceptable to take the lives of a small number of microbes from beyond Earth for the sake of their scientific study. (responses on a five-point scale) Buddhist ethics for dealing with life may first have appeared in India long ago, but, in response to these survey prompts, contemporary American Buddhists in this study remained enthusiastic about applying scriptural principles to current extraterrestrial situations that include discovering tiny life. For instance, 64 percent of American Buddhists strongly agreed that Buddhist principles should be used in the search for extraterrestrial life in tandem with another 25 percent of Buddhists who agreed to utilize these principles, so that overall 89 percent of Buddhists argued for the deployment of Buddhist ethics in places like the lava tubes of Mars. A statistical test result indicates that these Buddhist voices stood out from those of the control group on

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this subject, although a tolerant 36 percent of the non-Buddhist group suggested that Buddhist voices should be a part of the conversation. Thus, these Buddhists strongly assert that Buddhist ethics for life remain appropriate for extraterrestrial usage despite their ultimate pedigree in ancient Nepal and India. Yet these Buddhists did not choose to employ just any value to the search for extraterrestrial life but, in fact, specifically highlighted the important role played by the value of ahimsa, or nonharm, that we saw appear in the Buddhist monastic code. Beyond their third choice of compassion at 73 percent, a notable 84 percent of Buddhists either agreed or strongly agreed to wield nonharm as an operant value in the settings of the solar system searches for extant life. However, only about half (59 percent) of the control sample made the same choice, with the independence between Buddhists and the general public on this point demonstrated by a statistical test. Hence, not only do these American Buddhists interestingly consider the powerful Buddhist environmental ethical tool of nonharm to be applicable to microbes in other worlds, they do so distinctively against the overall American social fabric. The value of nonharm toward living beings that the Buddha treasured in his time and place appears to be in safe hands on Mars with the Buddha’s contemporary followers. I should note that a curious feature of these data indicates that only about 44 percent of these Buddhists want to protect extraterrestrial microbes because of kinship shared with microbes through reincarnation. Although these data need support, it would seem that American Buddhists generally do not believe in mutual reincarnation between earthly humans and microorganisms on other planets. It appears that, to a number of these Buddhists, one’s grandfather can be reborn as many earthly beings from a squirrel to a housefly but apparently not as a Martian microbe. Moreover, as I mentioned, the Pācitiyya 116 and 143 precepts of the Buddhist nuns’ code also protect the habitats on which living beings depend, or making “use of water containing living beings.” American Buddhists overwhelmingly chose to extend this additional ethical sensibility to the search for small life in extraterrestrial settings. To the survey prompt “We should protect from harm the extraterrestrial habitats of life, the ecologies on which life depends, whenever possible,” among American Buddhists in this study, 75 percent strongly agreed and another 21 percent agreed, creating in total a 96 percent approval margin. As a follower of Vietnamese Buddhism stated, “We should consider that we may disrupt the evolution of other life forms (even microbial ones) if we interfere with their environments.” Although 82 percent of members of the control group also supported such care, American Buddhists statistically set themselves apart from the general public in insisting that habitats of living extraterrestrial beings should be respected with

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default nonharm behaviors. Contemporary American Buddhists therefore appear to support the first two scriptural pillars for the search for microbial extraterrestrial life concerning default nonharm toward living beings as well as regarding the habitats in which they flourish. But what about the principle that is intended to enable science? COLLECTING FOR SCIENCE As mentioned, another scriptural precept, Pācitiyya 11, sponsors a scienceoriented ethic which allows the restricted collection and use of resources, even if living beings are killed, as long as the harvesting remains limited in scope, as respectful of other beings as possible, and motivated by the genuine scientific benefit of humanity. As such, this Buddhist precept remains central to an ethic for searching for life for scientific reasons. However, and memorably, this principle involves likely the most challenging survey prompt not just within this chapter but in fact within this entire book. As one informant described it, the survey prompt that opens the door to killing microorganisms for human scientific benefit remains “the most difficult for me to know the answer to.” This prompt emerges from lively debates within current Buddhist bioethics because of moral dilemmas involving practical compromises to the value of nonharm that I mentioned previously. On one hand, as we have seen, even for scientific research Buddhists should not engage in killing living beings, so that there exists significant ongoing Buddhist opposition to practices like vivisection on complex animals.38 Buddhists, however, debate whether the strictures regarding nonharm apply to microbes, just as the ethical value of microorganisms remains unclear in other bioethical systems.39 Generally speaking, sentience designates one as a Buddhist moral actor, and Buddhists remain uncertain whether microorganisms can be described as sentient.40 So, notably, a field study by biology scholars Arri Eisen and Yungdrung Konchok conducted among Tibetan Buddhist monastics in northern India revealed that about a half of the monastics who had viewed microbes under a microscope declared them to be sentient while the other half said they are not.41 Therefore, at present one cannot say definitely that microorganisms enjoy Buddhist ethical value. Related to the unclear moral value of microbes, since its inception Buddhism anthropocentrically has favored humans in terms of value above all other species, as I have mentioned.42 Outside of apocryphal stories, only human beings can join the precious sangha community of ordained monastics or realize the goal experience of enlightenment, leaving human lives to be favored over other lives.43 Thus, a common Buddhist perspective holds that killing a microbe is acceptable if it prolongs and supports a human life,

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and Buddhists act practically on this insight every time they cook their food, clean their kitchens, or wash their clothes. Because of these everyday situations in which microorganisms remain sacrificed for the greater human good, Buddhist ethics equivocate when it comes to nonharm ethics and the killing of tiny beings. Of course, because of similar practical realities, all bioethics, not just Buddhist ones, currently struggle with the moral value of microbes, despite the value of microorganisms to science as well as to biodiversity.44 Since we remain morally confused on our home planet, clarifying Buddhist responses to microbes on Mars can help to resolve our bioethics here on Earth while simultaneously directing searches for novel Martian life forms. The unresolved nature of microbes within Buddhist ethics appeared in the narrative comments of many Buddhists. In the name of protecting tiny life, a Vietnamese Buddhist stressed that “only a SMALL number of microbes” should lose their lives for science, while a Nyingma Vajrayāna Buddhist claimed, “Bacteria are not sentient so far as we know but they may play a role in the universe that is beneficial and unrecognized.” A Zen Buddhist ­informant interjected, “Who are we to assume that our lives are more valuable than the microbe that we do not understand?” while a Vajrayāna Buddhist insisted on respecting the personhoods of small life forms. Another Vajrayāna Buddhist without equivocation even exclaimed, “I do not support the scientific search for microbial life. This is not a ‘sanctity of life’ response.” Conversely, a practitioner of Theravāda insight meditation insisted, “I don’t feel that microbial life is capable of suffering so I don’t feel there is much value in protecting it from harm,” while a Zen practitioner averred without ado, “Microbes don’t count.” Highlighting the moral confusion involved in the question of the ethical acceptability of harvesting microbes for science, even members of the non-Buddhist control group possessed clear qualitative arguments on both sides. Reflecting the values ambiguity involved, one control group informant said, “It’s a hard decision,” while another poignantly offered, “I find it more difficult to argue for microbial life on Earth.” Nonetheless, apparently in agreement with the respondent who asserted, “We should value all life no matter how small or how far away,” several members of the control group claimed things like “It is wrong to make other species suffer for the betterment of humans,” “You should not take living things from their homes,” and “We should only harm these microorganisms if it will save human lives, not for commercial gain.” Other control group members, though, as we will see shortly, alternatively chose to harvest microbes for science without commenting on their choices. When it comes to moral attitudes toward the scientific study of microbes, therefore, both the Buddhist and the control data in this study contribute to our knowledge when it comes to the survey prompt about allowing science,

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as table 3.1 shows. About 25 percent of Buddhists strongly agreed with this prompt while another 31 percent agreed, leaving 56 percent of Buddhists approving of the limited scientific harvesting and study of extraterrestrial microorganisms. Only about 20 percent of Buddhists disagreed or strongly disagreed with harvesting microbes in other worlds for science. Intriguingly, overall little separated quantitative control group responses from Buddhist responses when it came to harvesting microbes for study. As with Buddhists, about 20 percent of the control group opposed reaping microbes for study and 51 percent of the control group, or a slightly smaller proportion than Buddhists, supported the scientific harvesting of microbes. A statistical test failed to indicate independence between the Buddhist and control samples on this point, suggesting that Buddhists do not diverge much from the total U.S. population on this question. This overlap between Buddhist and non-Buddhist Americans in ambivalently yet generally accepting the sacrifices of tiny beings for science appears to teach us about significant perspectives within contemporary American society. In both Buddhist and control groups, about a quarter of respondents remain neutral about the appropriateness of harvesting tiny life for study, reflecting the dilemmatic nature of the question. Yet only about 20 percent in each group explicitly reject the harvesting of microbes for science as beyond the ethical rights of humans. Thus, in this chapter we find a general (54 percent), if contested and ambiguous, moral approval of the harvesting of extraterrestrial beings for scientific study that cuts across all Americans, whether those Americans are Buddhist or not, as one finds in table 3.2. Table 3.1  If it intends to alleviate human suffering through the advancement of science, it is acceptable to take the lives of a small number of microbes from beyond Earth for the sake of their scientific study Fisher’s exact p = 0.2835 Buddhist

Control

Strongly agree Agree Neutral Disagree Strongly disagree Total Strongly agree Agree Neutral Disagree Strongly disagree Total

Frequency

Percent

Cumulative percent

30 38 29 15 9

24.8 31.4 24.0 12.4 7.4

24.8 56.2 80.2 92.6 100.0

121 11 29 22 13 3

100.0 14.1 37.2 28.2 16.7 3.8

14.1 51.3 79.5 96.2 100.0

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100.0

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Table 3.2  If it intends to alleviate human suffering through the advancement of science, it is acceptable to take the lives of a small number of microbes from beyond Earth for the sake of their scientific study All American subjects Strongly agree Agree Neutral Disagree Strongly disagree Total

Frequency

Percent

Cumulative percent

41 67 51 28 12 199

20.6 33.7 25.6 14.1  6.0 100.0

20.6 54.3 79.9 94 100.0

This result contributes to bioethical conversations everywhere because it provides some guidance in terms of the morality of the destructive scientific study of microorganisms. These data indicate that conflicted approval of harvesting microbes for science appears to be a general feature of today’s social currents in the United States, thereby instructing us about American culture. Nonetheless, with some ambiguity, the majority of Americans in this study (both Buddhist and not) leave moral room for the at least somewhat invasive study of microbes beyond Earth, thus crucially opening the door into genetic research, including not just possible beings on Mars but also those on Earth. On the question of harvesting microbes for science, these Buddhists therefore reflect American cultural mores in their attitudes. Despite fitting in with the American mainstream in terms of approving the use of otherworldly microorganisms in science, though, the Buddhists in this study still express endorsement for the third pillar of a tripartite ethic for the search for extraterrestrial microbial life that consists of default nonharm toward any living beings that are discovered, default nonharm toward the ecologies upon which living beings depend, and limited scientific study of organisms in abrogation of these default modes for the sake of the genuine benefit of humanity. Simultaneously, these Buddhists combine mainstream attitudes toward science with more distinctive approaches to things like living entities and their habitats, as we have seen. In this way, these Buddhists both understandably reflect and provocatively change the contemporary American cultures in which they reside. Summarizing these Buddhists responses, in terms of the first two pillars of this chapter’s ethic that require default nonharm of some sort, American Buddhists not only remain quite sanguine about applying scriptural values like nonharm to new situations but also distinguish themselves from the general American public in these views. In this fashion, these Buddhists exemplify what astrobiologist Charles Cockell has called beneficial “telorespect” for microbes in terms of recognizing the interests of microorganisms, no matter how rudimentary these interests may be, and on this basis extending noninstrumental value, or value that is not based on use, to microbes.45 What, then, does this ethic mean for space science, exploration, and policy?

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A TRIPARTITE ETHIC FOR FINDING LIFE This chapter’s ethic for the search for microbial extraterrestrial life grounds itself in the authoritative Pāli scriptural monastic code, including the nuns’ Pācitiyya 107, 116, 142, and 143 precepts. In ethnographic perspective, American Buddhists in this study validate the application of these moral principles specifically for use beyond the confines of Earth in terms of sponsoring default nonharm to living beings (84 percent of Buddhists) as well as to the habitats of living beings (96 percent). Support for the collection of living microbes at 56 percent is more ambiguous as a research result, but still Buddhists on the whole espouse employing the scriptural ethical standard of taking extraterrestrial lives as respectfully as one can. Therefore, these contemporary Buddhists affirm the central thesis of this chapter: the search for microbial extraterrestrial life in the solar system should follow the three guiding principles of default nonharm to living beings, default nonharm toward their habitats, and delimited abrogation of these principles for the sake of humanity’s genuine scientific gain. By focusing upon practical extraterrestrial science applications for these moral principles, these precepts become secularized into a useful space ethic. Despite the ultimate origin of this ethic in the scriptures of Buddhism, any rational moral person in theory can agree with the elements of this secularized ethical code. This sensibility can lead to positive environmental justice outcomes for the microbes and ecologies that are protected from harm as well as for humans, who possibly avoid manifesting ethically regrettable actions on an historic scale. This secularized tripartite ethic, because it is designed for this very purpose, effectively can direct searches for microbes on Mars and elsewhere, whether the microbes sought are dead or alive. Demonstrating this, the Perseverance rover uses a drill tool to sample rocks for possible fossils and biosignatures, allowing it potentially to expose ancient Martian life, which would be a great scientific discovery.46 Yet this rover remains unprepared to examine extant life, so should the Perseverance rover run into what could be living beings, following this ethic the rover should move its drill to another spot out of default nonharm to life and its habitats. When in doubt about whether an entity can be considered living, presuming the “highest moral relevance,” as astrobiologist Charles Cockell asks us to do, means erring on the side that the entity is alive, with similar moral restraint applied to the potential habitats of living beings as well.47 This morality for rovers, in fact, already appears to have been instituted informally by wise rover handlers, but this ethic codifies such behaviors.48 Such a code applies not just to the Perseverance rover, of course, but also to the Rosalind Franklin rover from the ESA, the Chinese Huoxing-1 rover, and other fossil-hunting robots.

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Future missions to Mars, Europa, and other places, though, will be better equipped than current rovers for finding actively living beings in situ. Should these missions encounter life, following the ethic of this chapter, scientists should extend default nonharm to those life forms, default nonharm to the habitats of that life, but also engage in limited, as-respectful-as-possible culling of newly found life as long as the genuine scientific benefit of humanity motivates the action. In addition to this cogent and robust tripartite ethic for searching for extraterrestrial life, the Buddhists in this study supply another valuable knowledge bonus with their perspectives. As I discussed, the morality of invasive research on microbes even just on Earth remains unresolved. However, through both American Buddhist and general public voices, the ethnographic data in this chapter supply us with useful insights regarding the morals of harvesting tiny beings for science, since the majority of both Buddhists and control group members generally (but not without dissension) approve of the gathering of microbes for the sake of scientific study. The microorganisms that are harvested face obvious limits in terms of the amount of moral value that they enjoy, and this delimitation can inform our understanding of the value of microbes in scientific settings alternative to Mars, such as within the laboratory search for the origin of life here on Earth. Recognizing the environmental nonseparation of Earth and space, it helps when space ethics can inform Earth ethics, and in this case, moral attitudes toward beings on Mars can shape attitudes toward tiny entities on our home planet. Of related interest, the Americans in this study, including the religious ones, generally enunciate an ethic for science which enables research into whether tiny life on Mars, should it exist, uses Earthlike DNA or an alternative “second genesis” form of genetics. Both Buddhists and non-Buddhists emerge quite similar in their contested approvals of gathering microbes for science, thereby revealing a theme that seems more generally American than specifically American Buddhist. For instance, through field study a team of anthropologists of science have found that, perhaps more than in any other country, in the United States one finds insistent public models portraying religion and science as in conflict.49 In the data in this present chapter, though, some religious perspectives support scientific study, although admittedly not without ambiguity. Hence, the field data in this chapter also usefully spotlight social currents in the contemporary United States in which religiosity can support scientific endeavors rather than conflicting with them. I will return to what this religious embrace of science means for our understanding of today’s American culture in the conclusion of this book.

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CONCLUSION In this chapter, Martian bioethics inform those of Earth. Another way that space ecology teaches us about Earth environmentalism involves what commonly is called the “overview effect.”50 This happens when someone views the Earth holistically from space and, among other possible outcomes, develops an environmentalist desire to protect our home planet.51 Interestingly, one does not have to be in space to enjoy this effect, since sometimes videos and still photographs can inspire dramatic responses. For example, the Dalai Lama said of his photographic experience, “The image of a blue planet floating in deep space, glowing like the full moon on a clear night, brought home powerfully the recognition that we are indeed all members of a single family sharing one little house. . . . From this perspective one feels the fragility, the vulnerability of our planet.”52 Like the Dalai Lama learned from his overview effect experience, in the next chapter we discover things about Earth from space environmentalism, since in that chapter Mars affords us an opportunity to advance our ethical concepts regarding the ecological roles of rocks. This time focusing on the dynamism of stones in Martian landscapes, in our next step let us return to the exquisite Red Planet.

Chapter 4

Mars as an Ecological Lifeboat

Elon Musk and his company SpaceX are well known for creating reusable rocket stages. But Musk shaped that technology only on the way to a more ambitious goal: settling Mars as a backup planet for humans.1 Because of earthly environmental disasters, Musk feels we need to turn Mars, which to him can become an ecologically altered New Earth, into an escape location for as many humans as possible.2 In order for these settlers on Mars to be happy and healthy, Musk insists that we must overhaul the climate of Mars wholesale to make it more Earthlike through planetwide ecological manipulation, a process which is commonly called terraforming.3 Harnessing the atmospheric greenhouse effect but this time on the Red Planet, terraforming involves freeing gases trapped in Mars’s ices and stones so that those gases can thicken the Martian atmosphere, warm the planet, and provide running water through the melting of ices. Eventually, so goes the plan, plants will transform the predominant carbon dioxide in today’s Martian atmosphere into oxygen, so that humans can breathe the air without equipment, enjoy the climate without even a jacket, and be protected from radiation as on Earth. Undeterred by Mars’s lack of a magnetic field to protect a new atmosphere or a study that indicates that the planetwide ecological manipulation of Mars as I have described it may be physically impossible at present, Musk advocates using nuclear devices to free gas from Red Planet soils.4 Musk, however, is hardly alone in subscribing to a plan to manipulate Mars’s climate so that the planet may be used as an ecological lifeboat. As NASA astrobiologist Christopher P. McKay states, “The scientific community considers planetary ecosynthesis on Mars as a serious topic in space research.”5 Hence, this chapter is not directed specifically at Musk, but instead examines the planetwide ecological manipulation hopes of many people for whom the views of the SpaceX founder are merely representative. 81

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The proposal to alter large-scale our neighboring planet so that it may serve as an ecological lifeboat requires evaluation because many people beyond Musk champion it. This evaluation includes attention to science, so I discuss some of the scientific dimensions of the idea in this chapter. But, since my specialty is in environmental ethics, in this chapter mostly I focus on moral facets of the plan. Space ethicist Tony Milligan usefully spotlights a question at the heart of such Martian climate change proposals: Do human beings have the moral right to engage in such planetwide ecological manipulation in the first place?6 If humans lack the right to overhaul the climate of Mars, arguments for using that planet as an ecological lifeboat fall flat. The purview of this chapter thus involves the moral right (or lack thereof) to renovate the ecology of Mars as has been proposed by Musk and others. Fascinatingly, what we find in this chapter is a clear assertion by American Buddhists that humans lack the right to overhaul the ecology of Mars planetwide in order to fashion that world into a more luxurious lifeboat. The American Buddhist teacher David R. Loy writes, “Fantasies about terraforming Mars reveal less about the potential for an extraterrestrial colony than how estranged we have become from our planetary home,” and many subjects in the field appear to feel similarly.7 Views of survey respondents seem to reflect those of Apollo astronaut Michael Collins, who said, “The more we see of other planets, the better this one looks.”8 In rejecting the right of humans to renovate the Red Planet as proposed, voices from the field, in fact, express an innovative new Buddhist ethical outlook which yokes notions of interconnection, even with rocky places, together with attitudes of nonharm like we saw extended to microbes in chapter 3. Through this ethic American Buddhists delineate novel ecological concern explicitly for nonliving ecologies, thus providing Buddhist environmental ethics, and in fact environmental ethics on the whole, with a vital advance. Indeed, if to Mars’s landscapes we apply ecologist David Naguib Pellow’s concept of “socioecological inequality” (which we encountered in the Introduction), voices from the field appear to support environmental justice outcomes in favor of preserving the integrities of Mars’s ecosystems in themselves.9 Felicitously, even asteroids, moons, and comets similarly can demand their own shares of this respect for integrities due to their compelling emergent or inventive qualities. This care for stony places, while inhibiting attempts to manipulate Mars ecologically, also bears beneficial repercussions for the struggle with climate change on Earth. As I will explain more below, attitudes among Buddhists in this study toward the ecological manipulation of Mars retain useful application for mitigating climate change on Earth by morally directing remediating processes like lithospheric carbon sequestration strategies, which transform

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atmospheric carbon dioxide into stone. In this way, Buddhist rejections of the practice of renovating Mars’s ecology may lead to positive environmental justice outcomes for humans on Earth. Because of these potential beneficial effects for our home planet, in this chapter I exclude Earth geoengineering from my ecological manipulation analysis. Crafting Earth to be more friendly to Earth life remains a morally, ecologically, financially, and practically different affair from making Mars more comfortable for Earthlings. I also indicate that while we may learn about Earth’s climate by terraforming Mars, as has been argued,10 field subjects in this study enable an opposite process in which we learn more about climate on Earth by refraining from Martian planetwide ecological manipulation. Please note that the settlement of Mars in itself is a separate issue that I do not touch here. This presentation concerns specifically plans to overhaul the planet’s climate so that humanity can flee the mess it has created in its home, not settlement without planetwide ecological manipulation. Moreover, I do not treat circumscribed attempts to change Martian microclimates, such as through greenhouses, but rather focus on planetwide engineering. Finally, with great reluctance I sometimes employ the commonly found misnomer “terraforming” to describe planetwide ecological manipulation. Since the prefix “terra-” refers to Earth, it is not appropriate to use the word “terraforming” for off-Earth locations. Yet if I never use the word “terraforming,” I will confuse some readers who are accustomed to employing that word. Although Buddhists in this study oppose the so-called terraforming of Mars, planetwide ecological manipulation is the subject of this chapter because the practice seems to have many supporters. I now turn to the science of planetwide ecological manipulation so that we can more fully appreciate the claims of its proponents. RENOVATING THE CLIMATE OF MARS In his book Terraforming: The Creating of Habitable Worlds, professor of astronomy Martin Beech asserts a strident science-oriented plea to renovate the Martian ecology as a part of ecological flight from Earth. According to Beech, necessity demands that humans change other worlds as much as possible. Because of our own planet’s environmental devastation, Beech says, “We must either adapt ourselves to expect less, or we must adapt to other worlds, and here is humanity’s first big break, for we live in a Solar System full of prime terraforming real estate.” For Beech, our environmental crisis means that not just Mars but also Venus, Jupiter’s moon Europa, and other places must be remade into human residences in order to, in his words, “foster the growth of humanity.” Specifically regarding Mars, Beech relates that we

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cannot make Mars Earthlike nor even can we make its atmosphere breathable. However, Beech claims that, in terms of temperatures, we can make the planet more easily habitable by Earth-native plant life and bioengineered animal life. Interestingly, Beech would be an outlier within the ethnographic perspectives that we encountered in chapter 3, since he asserts that microbes on Mars, should they exist, have no rights and therefore provide no obstacle against planetwide ecological manipulation. Red Planet microorganisms, Beech says, instead should be bioengineered in order to be of human benefit.11 We can achieve the goal of raising Mars’s temperature through so-called terraforming, Beech shares, by darkening the Martian surface so that it absorbs more sun, using mirrors to concentrate sunlight in defined locales, releasing greenhouse chemicals into the atmosphere, and perhaps deploying nuclear devices like Elon Musk requests. Further, Mars’s orbit and tilt can be gravitationally rearranged by near-misses with asteroids that we have hurled at the planet. Perhaps most spectacularly, Beech claims that a comet of 10 kilometers, if smashed into Mars, would release an abundance of greenhouse gases like ammonia or carbon dioxide. Active planetwide ecological manipulation like this will be required as maintenance forever, Beech relates, and making Mars comfortable for humans may take thousands of years. In the meantime, Beech wisely expresses, human beings need to fix their problematic environmental behaviors. Beech nevertheless thinks that by following the path he describes, humanity can escape confinement in an ecological hell on its home planet.12 Some of Beech’s views about the planetwide ecological manipulation of Mars appear as well with a great aficionado of terraforming, aerospace engineer Robert Zubrin. Like Beech, Zubrin recommends releasing greenhouse gases into the Martian atmosphere, detonating nuclear devices, employing gas-emitting bioengineered microbes, and implementing mirrors that concentrate sunshine in order to raise temperatures on the fourth planet from our sun. As a result of such strategies, Zubrin says, water will flow again on the surface of Mars, whose atmosphere will supply defense against radiation, so that Mars will be “a relatively warm and slightly moist planet capable of supporting life.” In about 900 years, Zubrin predicts, the atmosphere will be breathable by humans, making Mars a second Earth.13 Sharing Beech’s anthropocentric focus on human welfare but asserting it much more strongly, Zubrin says that renovating Mars’s ecology is not just desirable but also a firm moral duty. Zubrin declares, “Failure to terraform Mars constitutes failure to live up to our human nature and a betrayal of our responsibility as members of the community of life itself,” so that humans must “make that land grab.”14 With an unrestricted sense of human superiority Zubrin continues, “The humanity that terraforms Mars will have shown that humans are more than just animals, that we are in fact creatures who

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carry a unique spark that is worthy of respect. No one will be able to look at the new Mars without feeling prouder to be human.”15 As such, with Zubrin’s version of the scenario in which humanity flees to a lifeboat on an ecologically manipulated Mars, the destruction of Earth’s environment by humans, arguably a moral blemish for Homo sapiens, on a transformed Mars becomes a human virtue. Zubrin thus joins Musk and Beech, as well as many other people to be fair, in arguing for a terraformed Mars as a part of creating an ecological lifeboat for a weary humanity on a beleaguered planet. To their credit, both Zubrin and Beech take explicit responsibility for morally basing their views on the idea of the central importance of humanity in the bigger scheme of things. But such anthropocentrism, the favoring of humans, is not the only possible moral ecology position, as we learned at least in chapter 3. Hence, despite proponents such as Musk, Zubrin, and Beech, the strategy of the planetwide ecological manipulation of Mars also has detractors. One of the more influential of opponents to the scenario in which Mars is treated as an ecological lifeboat is the scholar Martin Rees, to whose perspectives I now turn. ON NOT RENOVATING ECOLOGIES As we have seen, the plan to renovate Mars into an ecological lifeboat for humans enjoys many proponents. Many other arguments in favor of the planetwide ecological manipulation of Mars have, in fact, been made. For instance, the sun’s eventual expansion that destroys both itself and the Earth means that, sooner or later, humanity must become a multiplanet species to survive, and this insight drives arguments to renovate Mars. But, of course, many other people oppose controversial planetwide ecological manipulations, to which there are many objections. For instance, it may be true that the sun eventually will incinerate the Earth, but we have four billion years to prepare for this event that at any rate will compromise Mars, too, for human habitation. This latter argument against renovating Mars’s climate is embraced by Sir Martin Rees, astronomer royal of Britain, who further invokes several other strong arguments against planetwide ecological manipulation. Rees instructs us that thinking in terms of an ecological lifeboat at all is a bad idea because it is technologically impossible. He does not oppose the lifeboat scenario in this way from a Luddite hesitation to embrace novel technologies, since as a “techno-optimist” he thinks that we all should be “evangelists for new technologies.” Yet Rees feels our technologies have already outrun our moral development, asserting that the gap between how things are

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and how things should be is wider than ever, so he doubts that technology by itself has brought us “institutional moral progress.”16 On this basis, Rees trenchantly critiques the scenario in which Mars serves as an ecological lifeboat, respectfully (if explicitly) rejecting specifically Musk’s lifeboat plan. Echoing the thoughts of many researchers, Rees states, “It’s a dangerous delusion to think that space offers an escape from Earth problems.” Implicitly arguing that technological approaches to planetwide ecological manipulation certainly will fail, Rees insists that we must resolve our environmental problems by fixing the Earth, not by trying and failing to give a makeover to a backup planet. Rees says, “We’ve got to solve these problems [of climate change] here. Coping with climate change may seem daunting, but it’s a doddle compared to terraforming Mars.” Further, it is not just the planetwide ecological manipulation of Mars that Rees finds technologically doomed but also planetwide ecological manipulation anywhere, since “no place in our solar system offers an environment even as clement as the Antarctic or the top of Everest.”17 Instead of failing at terraforming other worlds, Rees says, we need to apply our technologies to fixing our own planet. Although the focus of Rees’s argument specific to planetwide ecological manipulation concerns the technological impossibility of the lifeboat involved, when combined with his moral arguments concerning technology and his focus on ameliorating our home planet, Rees essentially contends that the strategy to utilize Mars as a lifeboat for ecological escape remains flawed for the larger reason that we should not be seeking ecological lifeboats in the first place. Instead, he thinks that we should apply ourselves to preserving the world that serves as the womb of humanity. Later on in this chapter, I will return to this contention of Rees that the Mars-as-lifeboat scenario should be rejected. While Rees questions the existence of a lifeboat, one also can argue against renovating the climate of Mars, and hence the lifeboat scenario, on aesthetic grounds. A number of important space ethicists have spoken against planetwide ecological manipulation on this basis, including planetary geologist Sean McMahon. McMahon argues against overhauling the ecology of Mars because Mars simply is superb as it is. McMahon asserts that Mars possesses a “beauty of an unearthly kind in its pale colours and pure, ancient landforms. On the face of it, the destruction of this beauty would seem to be a terrible loss.” Even if lifeless, McMahon states, the stony landscape of Mars is gorgeous in its geometric, “fractal” appearance. Further, McMahon says, just as we safeguard beautiful rocky places on Earth like the Grand Canyon, so the features of Mars should be protected in order to preserve their aesthetic richness. Terraforming, McMahon states, betrays such protection, resulting as it does in the “destruction of beauty on a planetary scale.” In this light,

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McMahon rejects notions that ecological renovation will make Mars more attractive because, McMahon claims, they involve projecting human fantasies and Earth-biased “unrealistic demands” onto the Red Planet. In McMahon’s eyes, we undervalue the splendor of Mars as it is because we perceive too much with human-oriented, Earthbound conditioning. Granted, McMahon relativizes this argument by saying that as we learn more about Mars in the future, our ethical attitudes may change.18 But, for now, McMahon would like to see us preserve Mars as it is today, rather than in ecologically manipulated mode, because he thinks the place is too pretty on its own to do otherwise. McMahon’s aesthetic argument against the overhaul of Mars’s planetary ecology importantly attends to the features of Mars itself. His perspective thus well complements that of Rees, who invites us to appreciate our relationship with the planet Earth as a part of the lifeboat scenario. Both of these thinkers, as well as the others of their kind, provide strong resistant context for the arguments of figures such as Musk, Beech, and Zubrin, who favor the large-scale ecological renovation of the fourth planet. All of these arguments, though, as necessary and valuable as they are for a complete discussion, rest on a more fundamental one: permissibility. If humans morally cannot remake Mars, and if humanity behaves morally, then the planetwide ecological manipulation of Mars simply cannot occur, thus ending the lifeboat scenario. Intriguingly, in just this way the American Buddhists in this study deny humanity the moral right to engage in planetwide ecological manipulation, thus supplying exactly this type of foundational moral outlook. In so doing, field subjects also provide an innovative new environmental ethic that protects lifeless places through a sense of nonharm combined with a perception of interconnection. Now I turn to these voices from the field. SOME BUDDHIST TEXTUAL RESOURCES ON RENOVATING MARS’S ECOLOGY It gives one little pause to consider that Buddhist scriptures, composed two millennia ago, do not directly discuss the idea of grooming Mars to be an ecological lifeboat. The so-called terraforming scenario simply was not a part of the worlds of the writers of Buddhism’s revered books. We nevertheless can turn to scriptures to discover Buddhist attitudes toward the planet Mars itself as well as to find ethics relevant to examining the morality of manipulating the ecology of Mars. Before examining values involved with planetwide ecological manipulation that derive from the ethnographic field, first I explore the appearance of Mars in some essential Buddhist texts. The Maṅgala Sutta, the Buddhist scripture that bears Mars’s name without directly referencing the planet, focuses on beneficial blessings, not

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military actions. Nonetheless, given historical influences on India from ancient Indo-European cultures that also shaped the West, in some ways the Red Planet in Indic Buddhist literatures profitably may be compared to the god of war known as Ares to the Greeks or Mars to the Romans. In Buddhist worlds, Mars generally remains a presence of mayhem and sometimes even war. After all, the cultural India that gave birth to Buddhism at least at times merged Mars with Skanda, a war god.19 In the Buddhist Kālacakra Tantra, which shares much in common with early Indian astronomical treatises like Sūrya Siddhānta or Abhidharmakośabhāṣyam, Mars appears with Jupiter and Saturn as a group of three “wrathful planets,” although without necessarily implying war.20 The Tibetan Buddhist teacher Jamgön Kongtrul Lodrö Thayé adds the sun to this group in order to describe four “malefic planets.”21 Supplying an alternative flavor, the pre-Buddhist Huainanzi of China, which eventually became a part of East Asian Buddhist ethnoastronomies, describes Venus, not Mars, as the ruler of war.22 In the Huainanzi, Mars still causes chaos and disorder in places that “lack the Way,” or do not properly follow religion, and so still serves as a negative omen.23 From the standpoint of some authoritative Buddhist books, therefore, we fairly may consider Mars an odd selection as a second choice home for humanity. Why move in with the god of chaos who, perhaps, also instigates war? Buddhism, however, also offers environmental ethics for use on Mars to go with the negative suspicions of what was to scripture composers just a wandering red point of light in the night sky. These ethics likewise give pause to the ecological lifeboat plan. In this book, most of these ethics come from the field data that we will study soon, not the scriptures, which remain limited in use for exploring the scenario in which Mars serves as a lifeboat. This situation in which scriptures play little role, far from problematizing ethical arguments, in this context I think instead engenders opportunities for innovation. With their ethic of interconnected nonharm that I will describe, American Buddhists help to shore up weaknesses within Buddhist environmental ethics and thereby enrich their own religious tradition. We better understand this dynamic contribution by turning first to scenarios, such as those found in chapter 3, in which we presuppose that microbial life exists on Mars before planetwide ecological manipulation begins.24 If microbial life exists on Mars, the Buddhist ethics for dealing with that life that we examined in chapter 3 again come into play regarding the largescale alteration of the Martian environment. Some of us may not wish to grant that life moral standing, a position taken by proponents of terraforming such as Beech and Zubrin. After all, in one recent ethnographic study, half of Tibetan Buddhist monastics who were surveyed declined to treat microorganisms as moral agents, and perhaps many of us feel the same.25

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Conversely, as we saw with most Buddhists in chapter 3, we can grant microbial life moral standing and thereby extend nonharm protection to tiny beings. In this case there are some astrobiologists who argue that renovating the climate of Mars may benefit little beings who, perhaps, have been eking out a living deep underground since the water on Mars’s surface dried up billions of years ago.26 But changing the planet so drastically that humans can breathe the atmosphere while wearing ordinary clothing would mean creating temperature, humidity, and atmospheric composition realities that never have prevailed on Mars, potentially killing holdover Martian life. Therefore, protecting Martian life, should it exist, seems best done, at least until we know much more, by not overhauling the planet’s ecology. If Buddhists are to extend nonharm to putative microbes on Mars, then they must preserve microorganism habitats as well, and this is best done, under current scientific realities, by preventing planetwide climate renovations. This environmental ethical picture, based upon the Buddhist scriptures, supplies some direction for assessing planetwide ecological manipulation from a Buddhist point of view. However, due to some weak links in the Buddhist environmental ethical set of tools, Buddhist ethics concerning terraforming lamentably become cloudier if no life is found on Mars. While Buddhism maintains moral strengths in protecting living beings, as I have indicated, it does not similarly value lifeless entities like the presumed surface features of Mars. Although not exclusively anthropocentric, Buddhism remains generally tilted in morally favoring humans, who are living things. Therefore, and as we historically see with other systems of ethics, Buddhist thought and practice usually value living things more than nonliving things, since living things are of the “same nature” as humanity in terms of the capacity to suffer, as the scriptural Laṅkāvatāra Sūtra proclaims.27 Existents like stones that are perceived to be lifeless do not reincarnate similarly to humans, animals, gods, ghosts, and hell beings, so that nonreincarnating entities like rocks on Mars merit little to no traditional Buddhist moral valuation.28 Buddhism, in fact, formalizes this understanding by dividing its perception of the natural world into two realms, the sattvaloka and the bhājanaloka.29 The sattvaloka, or “realm of being,” consists of the realities of rebirth, represented in terms of five or six levels depending on the type of Buddhism, through which living beings pass. This realm attracts strong ethical concern and valuation. Alternatively, rocks, water, and other entities thought to be nonliving comprise the bhājanaloka, or “container realm,” which essentially supplies an inert backdrop for the salient dramas of living beings. The container realm, in a sense, encompasses the forgotten, overlooked furniture of existence. Because living entities appear in the realm of being rather than the container realm, it is the realm of being that centers Buddhist moral concern, as the Fourteenth Dalai Lama of Tibet recently insisted.30 To be fair, there are

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special Buddhist stones, such as Japan’s Fujito Stone at the Daigoji temple in Kyoto, or special collections of stones, such as China’s holy Buddhist mountain Wutaishan. These exceptional appearances, however, do not change the overall low place of stones in the container realm. Because of rocks’ perceived positions in the inert rather than living realm, the Buddha approved of a number of uses of stones that would seem to contravene an ethic of strict nonharm. For instance, the Buddha approved of using stones to construct walkways, foot wipers, fencing, bedding, buildings for humans, and other uses.31 Stones are so lacking in value in the Buddhist scriptures, in fact, that they rarely appear with a moral valence. When they do, we find that respected works like the Bodhicaryāvatāra tell us that we should avoid “breaking up clods of earth . . . without any purpose,” although we are not given guidance as to what constitutes a legitimate “purpose.”32 Despite the dearth of valuation of stones that arises from and reflects the theoretical separation of the realm of being from the container realm, though, Buddhism still possesses some intellectual resources for establishing proper environmental ethical relationships with stones. From Japan’s medieval philosopher Dōgen to Thailand’s twentieth-century teacher Buddhadhāsa, different Buddhists have espoused ecocentric forms of Buddhist thought that appear morally to embrace abiotic realities such as stones, bodies of water, and so on. The late Vietnamese master Thich Nhat Hanh, a spiritual teacher whose work enjoys great respect among many Western Buddhists, supplies an excellent example of what I mean in his study and translation of a Buddhist scripture called the Diamond Sutra (Sanskrit: Vajracchedikā Prajñāpāramitā Sūtra). Declaring this book to be “the most ancient text on deep ecology,” Nhat Hanh uses this text to collapse distinctions between what is animate and what is inanimate.33 Because of the Buddhist doctrine of dependent arising that we have seen, and its notions of a universe that is interconnected across space and time, for Nhat Hanh animate and inanimate beings are inseparable. Thus, preference or discrimination even between animate and inanimate beings misses the mark. As the Diamond Sutra reads in Nhat Hanh’s translation, “If . . . a bodhisattva [a saint] holds on to the idea that a self, a person, a living being, or a life span exists, that person is not an authentic bodhisattva.”34 Nhat Hanh says, “Atoms and stones are consciousness itself. This is why discrimination of living beings against non-living beings should be discarded.” Even water “is a good friend.”35 To Nhat Hanh, a true Buddhist is “one who sees no demarcation between organic and non-organic, self and non-self, living beings and non-living beings.”36 In theory this ecocentric formulation of Nhat Hanh’s can supply outstanding environmental protection for stones. Unfortunately, however, in practice things are not so easy. Research has shown, for instance, that

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ecocentric Buddhist theories like Nhat Hanh’s, or likewise those of Dōgen or Buddhadhāsa, must be compromised on the path to survival.37 Killing microbes while cleaning one’s kitchen provides just one example of how thoroughgoing ecocentrism, no matter in what system, may in material reality be limited as a part of human living.38 Ecocentrism may be theoretically attractive but remains impossible to implement in practice in full. Moreover, by flattening the values of things, ecocentric formulations like Nhat Hanh’s prevent making environmental choices. As I explore more fully in my book, Roaming Free like a Deer: Buddhism and the Natural World, from an ecological point of view a worldview like Nhat Hanh’s that “sees no demarcation between organic and non-organic” fails to enable us to make positive environmental determinations, such as choosing to preserve a dolphin rather than an oil spill or a human rather than a virus.39 More traditional and less ecocentric Buddhist teachings, though, do allow such discriminations, which perhaps is why ecocentric voices like those of Thich Nhat Hanh, Dōgen, or Buddhadhāsa sometimes are marginalized within the greater tradition. Nevertheless, while these mainstream nonecocentric Buddhist ethics may enable helpful environmental choosing, they favor humans while valuing stones almost zero. Given the overall rejection of value for stones found in the Buddhist tradition as I have described, unfortunately to this point Buddhism lacks a fully formed environmental ethical capacity. As environmental ethicist Holmes Rolston asserted, it is “seriously myopic” to value an ecosystem “only for its production of life.”40 Buddhism traditionally does not possess the appropriate theoretical tools to protect abiotic locations like we find on Mars for their educational, cultural, and scientific sakes, or, for that matter, for the aesthetic reasons that McMahon supports.41 This remains a serious problem, for otherwise Buddhism features some valuable environmental ethical tools that may go to waste if the total environment is not protected. The question of the justifiability of the planetwide ecological manipulation of Mars, which inherently involves our morals toward the lifeless regolith of the planet, puts this weakness of Buddhist environmental ethics in the spotlight. As we have seen, especially if no life exists on Mars, the Buddhist scriptures offer little direction in themselves for dealing the scenario in which the Red Planet serves as an ecological lifeboat. However, contemporary Buddhists, better placed historically than the scripture writers to wrestle with questions like the acceptability of the lifeboat scenario, can initiate new directions in Buddhist environmental ethics specifically regarding the protection of the surfaces of other worlds, biotic or not. If we turn to voices from the ethnographic field, as I do now, we find new paths blazed for Buddhist thought and action.

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INNOVATIVE VOICES FROM THE FIELD Responding to their chance to produce improved Buddhist environmental ethics, American Buddhists in this study do not disappoint, for they assert that humans should preserve Martian ecologies, even if abiotic, as a part of denying humans the moral permission to engage in planetwide ecological manipulation. In shaping this ethic, survey participants encountered this proposal: “We transform Mars by injecting gases into the atmosphere, thus thickening the air and warming the planet so that it is more Earthlike for future human, animal, and plant immigrants.” Then participants faced four prompts relevant to the planetwide ecological manipulation of Mars: 1. I think that Buddhist principles should be utilized to guide our actions regarding changing Mars’s ecology as proposed. (responses on a fivepoint scale from strongly agree to strongly disagree) 2. If we do use Buddhist principles regarding changing Mars’s ecology as proposed, those principles should be? (choices offered but alternative responses welcomed) 3. Our moon and other extraterrestrial places should be valued and protected from undue harm, even if no living beings exist there. (responses on a five-point scale from strongly agree to strongly disagree) 4. Human beings have the right to change the ecologies of other planets, as long as no living beings are present. (responses on a five-point scale from strongly agree to strongly disagree) American Buddhists from the ethnographic field responded to these prompts in some intriguing manners because they offer fabulous instances of grassroots moral respect for lifeless spots. In so doing, voices from the field also speak against the wishes of Musk, Beech, Zubrin, and others to manipulate the ecology of Mars. The first prompt, which probes the applicability of Buddhist ethics to Mars, already opens the door to updated environmental thinking. Among Buddhist subjects, 82 percent agreed or strongly agreed that Buddhist principles should be employed on Mars and only 6 percent disagreed or strongly disagreed. Ordinarily this result may seem like unsurprising partisanship, but granting the lack of theoretical guidelines for preserving abiotic places within the Buddhist tradition and given that many field subjects were aware that the surface of Mars may be lifeless, this result in terms of utilizing Buddhism to defend the stones of Mars actually is somewhat astonishing. Yet this outcome marks just the beginning of a cogent new ethic. The second prompt, which recognizes that Buddhists may employ multiple values simultaneously in a given situation, invites discussion about which

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morals Buddhists should wield on Mars relevant to what is called terraforming. As we saw in the chapter about our moon, field subjects in this study appear to adopt a perception of interconnection rather than a concern with life as a bedrock for adjudicating moral choices, thus changing the ways that some informants may do moral calculus, since a decisive 88 percent of Buddhists in this study emphasized precisely this perceived nexus. This outcome is remarkable in terms of how ethics deliberations are handled. I suggest that the voices of Musk, Beech, and Zubrin arise from worldviews that inherently (if dualistically) split the human from the rest of the natural world. Buddhists in this study, alternatively, start from a very different position. They ground their innovative morality not in a binary division between humans and nonhumans but conversely in connection. What appears to be important to field subjects is less species and more the fact of relationship. This Buddhist grassroots ethic spotlights, from the bottom up, linkages between humans and nonhumans in terms of a great cosmic community. Of interest, space scholar Mark Lupisella has argued that space ethics need to stress relationships and interconnections in ways not unlike the theory that appears to drive these field subjects.42 The Buddhist philosophical concept of interconnectedness, of dependent arising, is in itself ethically neutral, however. This neutrality offers no obstacle for these informants, though, since they ethically charge notions of interconnection with moral calls to exhibit the nonharm ethics that have appeared throughout this book. At 82 percent the second most common choice of principle made by Buddhists, nonharm in this context appears not for living beings but for the features of Mars, biotic or not. Instead of a concern with life or death, here field subjects show sensitivity to the valued “integrities” of nonliving features, as framed by space ethicist Tony Milligan, in which abiotic entities are treasured for their “distinctive, unique, or near-unique structure or composition.”43 Crucially, these survey respondents thereby add an abiotic dimension to the combination of dependent arising and nonharm contained within Traphagan and Traphagan’s summary of Buddhist thought that “all things in the world are interrelated and interdependent. As a result, to cause harm to one point in the network implies the causing of harm to all other nodes.”44 Buddhist reactions to the third prompt (“Our moon and other extraterrestrial places should be valued and protected from undue harm, even if no living beings exist there”) clarify that informants wish to preserve specifically lifeless things regardless of the orientations of the scriptures that we have seen. Of Buddhists, 67 percent strongly agreed with the prompt while another 21 percent agreed, marking a most surprising 88 percent of Buddhists sympathetic with protecting abiotic extraterrestrial locations. This result, in which Buddhists explicitly extend innovative environmental care especially

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to lifeless entities, initiates a welcome new moral horizon for Buddhism, like we also saw regarding our moon in chapter 2. Even more noteworthy, on the issue of protecting abiotic locations, the Buddhists here diverge from the non-Buddhist control group, only 27 percent of whom strongly agree with the prompt. Thus, distinctively against the backdrop of the larger American culture, Buddhists in this study delineate an ethic of care for nonliving places that charts an upgraded course for the environmental humanities in terms of establishing bases for ethically valuing abiotic entities. A 2,500-year-old tradition of ethics will not revolutionize itself based on a single study like this one, but nonetheless perhaps these Buddhists take a creative, and most impactful, step toward ethics that can protect abiotic treasures with greater efficacy. The first three prompts, of course, lead to the pivotal fourth prompt: “Human beings have the right to change the ecologies of other planets, as long as no living beings are present.” In response to this prompt, collectively American Buddhists deny humanity the moral right to change other planets large-scale. Of all Buddhists, 52 percent disagree or strongly disagree with the prompt. Those 26 percent of Buddhists who morally allow planetwide ecological manipulation remain outnumbered two-to-one, as table 4.1 exhibits. In terms of narrative comments on this subject, several Buddhists rejected the renovation of Mars’s ecology outright, saying things like “Nature is in perfect order on Mars now,” “I’m really opposed to changing Mars’s climate,” and “Plans to terraform Mars are misguided and immoral, being born of hubris. Remember Icarus.” Much like Rees, one Buddhist stressed, “We should focus on helping Earth.” Other Buddhists, despite the survey’s wording, still mentioned the roles of living beings in their moral thinking in saying, “We can’t Table 4.1  Human beings have the right to change the ecologies of other planets as long as no living beings are present Fisher’s exact p = 0.0798 Buddhist

Control

Strongly agree Agree Neutral Disagree Strongly disagree Total Strongly agree Agree Neutral Disagree Strongly disagree Total

Frequency

Percent

Cumulative percent

13 18 27 32 31

10.7 14.9 22.3 26.4 25.6

10.7 25.6 47.9 74.4 100.0

121 10 19 9 27 13

100.0 12.8 24.4 11.5 34.6 16.7

12.8 37.2 48.7 83.3 100.0

78

100.0

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know that no living beings are present, so we can’t have a right to change an ecology on this reasoning” and “Creating any type of artificial atmosphere on other planets could lead to the disruption of the evolution and development of any known or unknown beings or life forms that already may exist there.” Alternatively, representing the minority in favor of ecological manipulation, one Buddhist said, “Consider compassion for future [human] inhabitants of Mars,” while another stressed with blunt enthusiasm, “Terraforming is cool.” Regardless of reasoning, though, if the fundamental ethical question regarding planetwide ecological manipulation involves permissibility, Buddhists in this research overall do not morally support such permission. This outcome among Buddhists is significant on its own, illuminating as it does the moral boundaries of human nature. Yet of further interest, as with Buddhists, 52 percent of the control sample also denied humans the right to engage in planetwide ecological manipulation. About 37 percent of the control group, though, chose to permit the renovation of Mars’s ecology, a higher ratio than among Buddhists. A Fisher’s statistical test to determine independence between Buddhists and non-Buddhists returns an ambiguous outcome, in which Buddhists appear distinct from non-Buddhists at a 10 percent level of confidence but not at a 5 percent level. Important here is the collective choice by non-Buddhist control sample members to reject the vision of terraformers as beyond the ethical rights of humans. Dealing a moral blow to the quest to renovate planetary ecologies, non-Buddhists offered comments such as “We should respect the planet and not interfere with its natural state,” “We’re not 100% certain that this will work, and it could harm life native to Mars,” and “We should leave the natural world how it is. Humans are born on Earth, we should not change parts of nature outside of Earth to conform to our needs.” Although not without some ambiguity, together all Americans in this study therefore consider the planetwide ecological renovation of Mars to be beyond the moral right of human beings. On the Buddhist side, what we see here remains uncommon. Buddhists extend ethical sensibilities even to distant lifeless realities through a combination of felt connectedness and the value of nonharm. On this basis, field subjects generate groundbreaking ethics for lifeless settings on the way to denying humanity the moral right to manipulate ecologies planetwide. Taken together, what do these outcomes mean? LESSONS FOR EARTH FROM MARS Buddhists in this study represent just one group from one religion and therefore do not provide the final answer to any space ethics question. However,

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when it comes to responding to terraforming scenarios, they still make significant contributions not only to our understanding of practical space travel but also to our environmental ethics. For instance, two-to-one Buddhists assert the fundamental moral perspective that humans have no ethical right to engage in the planetwide ecological manipulation of worlds like Mars. Poignantly, even non-Buddhist Americans in this study overall opine that planetwide ecological manipulation is beyond moral permissibility, thus creating moral challenges for planetary renovation strategies that already face scientific doubts. Along the way of clarifying the morality of environmentally renovating entire planets, these Buddhists also delineate an alternative model for interacting with extraterrestrial environments. Rather than beginning environmental ethical deliberations with a presumed divide between the human and nonhuman natural worlds, as do Musk, Beech, and Zubrin, these Buddhists primarily operate from the standpoint of a sensed interconnectedness with their surroundings even as far away as Mars. From this point of view, humans are more colleagues with and less overlords over features of ecologies beyond Earth, including abiotic phenomena, so that, in the eyes of Buddhists from the field, we must extend ethical responsibility not just to our human neighbor or to a microbe on Mars but even to a flake of extraterrestrial regolith. In extending the boundaries of extraterrestrial concern to lifeless stones in this way, Buddhists develop a version of the “cosmic ethic of environmental protection” that astrobiologist Charles Cockell has requested.45 Additionally, space writer Nishant Alphonse Irudayadason has argued that Buddhist notions of interconnection offer “a philosophical basis for a meaningful astroethical paradigm” by providing a “unique possibility of embracing the totally other in a far more liberated way,”46 and in this case Buddhists exhibit a most “liberated” way of respecting stones a quarter of a billion kilometers away. As a bonus, these Buddhists from the field creatively respond to the cry of physicist Victor Mansfield that “it is more urgent than ever that we find a coherent worldview that can guide our science and our moral actions,” given that field subjects here supply space sciences with such guidance in their combination of grassroots ethical notions of interconnection and nonharm toward Mars.47 Perhaps because of their more relational approach, participants in this study supply the environmental humanities with another advance by taking a first step toward the development of an environmental ethic that features hearty respect for abiotic locations. Space ethicist James S. J. Schwartz rightly has written, “If too much emphasis is placed on life, we may blind ourselves to reasons for preserving other kinds of environments.”48 Ameliorating this reality, in large measure and distinctively against the general American cultural background, Buddhists in this study innovatively direct ethical concern not just to living beings but also, crucially, to nonliving entities. Vigorously, these

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Buddhists express something that to this point commonly has been missing in our environmental ethics: respect and care for abiotic locales. Space ethicist William R. Kramer writes, “In the context of space exploration we are provided a rare moment to craft policies that reconsider what is ethical and what is not,” and these American Buddhists rise to the call inventively and beneficially.49 In so doing, they appear to engender positive environmental justice outcomes in terms of respecting the integrities of the magnificent ecosystems of Mars. This concern for abiotic environments obviously maintains ramifications for Mars, but it also may be extended to other entities of the solar system such as asteroids, moons, and comets. Numerous national and private interests would like to mine stones like asteroids for resources such as metals, which appear in abundance within some asteroids, and robots successfully have practiced collecting material resources from large space rocks.50 Our morals for such situations vary according to extraterrestrial factors like entity composition, location within the solar system, or ecosystem function, along with Earth complexities such as markets, making it difficult to provide just one ethical stance regarding space mining. In a preliminary way, however, the respect for Mars’s abiotic formations evidenced by this study’s informants suggests that we must value the integrities of asteroids and moons as much as we can, even if this position means perhaps refraining from mining. Although the ethic at play here does not necessarily prohibit mining, like chapter 2 taught us, still the treasuring of a lifeless Martian surface would appear to justify preserving outstanding landscapes on other worlds. Remembering environmental ethicist Holmes Rolston’s admonition that “inventiveness in projected nature lies at the root of all value,” asteroids, moons, comets, and other solar system residents always may be valued for their “inventive achievements,” even if abiotic.51 Along with Mars and asteroids, Earth also receives impacts from these data especially in terms of the battle against climate change. First, the values espoused by Buddhists here implicitly support Rees’s contention that we should be focusing on fixing Earth, not seeking backup planets, by denying humans the moral right to overhaul the ecology of Mars. Without grooming Mars to be more comfortable for Earth organisms, Mars becomes much less attractive as a lifeboat. The moral voices of Buddhists here tacitly encourage us not to invest our efforts in ecological escapes and instead focus them on healing our own world. Besides forcing our gaze on enhancing Earth’s ecology rather than on manipulating Mars, these results impact our struggles with climate change in another way, since they give us useful global warming ethics guidance. Climate change on Earth arises from a broken carbon cycle, in which carbon that otherwise would be in the ground has quickly been released to the

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atmosphere instead. One strategy for mitigating climate change, therefore, involves lithospheric carbon sequestration, in which excess atmospheric carbon is precipitated out of the air as mineral formations.52 Rigopoulos et al., for instance, demonstrate the effectiveness of using dunite submerged in seawater to transform atmospheric CO2 into aragonite mineral precipitates.53 To morally guide such lithospheric carbon sequestration and other abiotic carbon sequestration agendas on Earth, we need to delineate guidelines and best practices regarding stony abiotic locations,54 and Buddhists cultivate just such ethical perspectives in this chapter. Such ethics obviously may improve environmental justice outcomes for poor humans on Earth, who often feel the sharpest edge of global warming, by morally supporting the use of appropriate remediating strategies like abiotic carbon sequestration. In this way examining morality toward the rocks of Mars leads us to perspectives for ameliorating some of the environmental injustices connected with climate change on Earth, too, thereby providing a terrific instance of the environmental nonseparation of Earth and space. Along with these lessons, in the end Buddhists from the field add the moral impermissibility of planetwide ecological manipulation to the technological arguments of astronomer Martin Rees, whom we met previously. Rees demands that, in dealing with the ecological mess on Earth, we must keep our eyes on Earth, not lust for redemption in other worlds. Likewise, the Buddha taught that it is better to look within and conquer one’s own psychological enemies than it is to escape to some heaven, and perhaps here Rees teaches a contemporary technological restatement of this ancient wisdom. Rees rejects the lifeboat scenario in saying, “There’s no ‘Planet B’ for ordinary risk-averse people,”55 and American Buddhists in this study seem to concur. CONCLUSION The Buddhists in this chapter distinguish themselves with their original ethic of environmental concern for abiotic locations. Field informants uniquely create and then extend a space environmental morality that arises from weaving notions of nonharm together with concepts of a universe that is interconnected on every level. Subjects used this multifaceted tool to fuel a helpful response to proposals to dramatically renovate the climate of Mars. Of interest, this conjoined ethic of nonharm and interconnection has played a prominent role throughout this book, as Buddhists from the field also chose to apply the ethical model of nonharm-in-interconnection to space problems like properly disposing of orbiting debris, preserving our moon, or interacting with possible microbes on Mars.

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There are numerous other ways in which one can conjoin the value of nonharm with concepts of interconnectedness, like Buddhists in this study indicate in diverse solar system locations. In the concluding section, we will analyze different uses for this ethical combination and what they mean in terms of space studies, environmental ethics, Buddhist studies, and the relationships between religion and science.

Conclusion

I suggest that there may be an unappreciated nexus between Buddhism and space travel within the intriguing phenomenon of dry rock gardens (karesansui) found at many Japanese Zen Buddhist sites. These gardens, typically lacking in living elements like trees or flowers, most commonly consist of white sand and/or gravel adorned with larger, intentionally plain stones. Arising first during Japan’s Heian period (794–1185 CE), these rocky Zen gardens are designed to be “borrowed landscapes” (shakkei) that simulate natural scenes.1 In gardens like the one at Ginkaku-ji in Kyoto, for instance, stones are piled with some realism to resemble nearby mountains. Other gardens, however, mimic imaginary landscapes, such as depictions of Pure Lands. Pure Lands, found in the beliefs of many East Asian Mahāyāna Buddhists, are desirable afterlife heavenlike destinations that ease one’s path to the religious goal of nirvana. Although most dry Zen gardens appeared before the space age and therefore before the availability of photos of other planets’ surfaces, these gardens still may prepare us better to appreciate a variety of space environments. Dry Zen gardens emphasize landscapes that, in their lifeless characters, remain somewhat unusual on Earth but substantially replicate conditions that arise elsewhere in our solar system. These dry gardens further showcase impressive peaks and fantastic valleys that resemble the mountain Olympus Mons and the chasm Valles Marineris on Mars, thereby inviting our aesthetic appreciation of these features. In these ways Buddhist rock gardens enable us to grasp that the places in our solar system without life can be gorgeous, magnificent, and valuable in their own rights. Whether they have visited these rock gardens or not, some survey respondents in this book appear to sense the preciousness of extraterrestrial ecologies, and the insights of these people support a variety of environmental 101

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research gains. Field subjects simultaneously initiate advances for space studies, environmental ethics, our understanding of Earth processes, and, fascinatingly, for the relations between religion and science. In delineating these contributions, I turn first to the world of space studies. Space studies enjoy immediate enrichment from the ethics found in our discussions. The need asserted in this study for no-nonsense international oversight of space debris, including things like orbiting recycling centers, clarifies how we should proceed in remediating the giant debris problem that we have created for ourselves. Along the way, we additionally find support from survey respondents for implementing concepts like protecting a Greater Earth as well as regimens like the Space Sustainability Rating. Also, the proposal for land reserves on our moon, with an implicit call for additional reserves on Mars, at once can guide space industry, science, environmental protection, cultural preservation, and future recreation. Further, rather than perhaps stumble on life elsewhere without moral counsel and thereby commit an ethical blunder on a historical scale, now we know that we can treat small life found elsewhere following a code of default nonharm to living beings, default nonharm toward the habitats in which living beings may reside, yet also limited scientific study done as respectfully as possible. Finally, Buddhists in the field insist that humans do not possess the right to manipulate planetwide the ecologies of other worlds in order to make those locations into what we want them to be. Although in the long term I doubt that informants in this study will enjoy the last word on the ethics of such socalled terraforming, they do provide a crisp, unmistakable negative response to the most fundamental moral question: Is planetwide ecological manipulation permissible? Perhaps the crucial impacts of moral values at play in these extraterrestrial scenarios are why astronaut Michael Collins said, “The best crew for the Apollo mission would be a philosopher, a priest, and a poet.”2 Besides these contributions, views from the ethnographic field help to unravel some extraterrestrial environmental justice knots. Field subjects supplied survey responses that engender space debris justice outcomes for astronauts, humans on the ground, and, notably, nonhuman animals and their earthly ecosystems. Further, the international character of extraterrestrial land reserves prepares the justice outcome in which every human being theoretically gets a say in the fates of extraterrestrial environments. A tripartite ethic additionally ensures a measure of justice for microbes beyond Earth, should they exist, as well as for their habitats. But not just living beings receive positive results from these data since, following the concept of socioecological inequality, justice for the integrities of Mars’s majestic ecosystems emerges significantly from the ethnographic voices of Buddhists, who thereby remain positioned to influence positive environmental justice outcomes related to global warming on Earth, too.

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ETHICAL CONTRIBUTIONS Along with contributions to space studies, the results here also bear ramifications for both Buddhist and non-Buddhist environmental ethics. Crucial among these advancements is the clarification of the environmental nonseparation of Earth and space within ethics discourse, for instance. Anyone who has heard of ocean tides or the seasons knows that Earth and its solar system surroundings constitute one ecosystem. Nonetheless, often we bifurcate reality so that in our ecological thoughts and studies we separate Earth and space. Frequently the word “environment” sadly includes nothing beyond the Earth’s surface. Unfortunately, this mental habit of dualistically dividing our universe represents a cognitive error since, scientifically speaking, there is no boundary between Earth and space. Alternatively, contrary to the troubles unleashed by Earth/space dualisms, we benefit from intellectual insights into both Earth and space environments if we do not impose artificial boundaries between ecologies, as space policy analyst Linda Billings ably demonstrates.3 Worse than suffering cognitive errors arising from separating Earth and space, though, we also lose moral advantages, too, as this book emphasizes. This examination, in fact, can highlight positive environmental outcomes for many places including Earth in ways that a bifurcated methodology cannot. It is acceptable to restrict one’s gaze for a time to an Earth or space environment, of course, as I myself have done in this book. Nevertheless, one forgets that this is an artificial arrangement only at one’s intellectual and moral peril. Environmental philosophers Erin Moore Daly and Robert Frodeman therefore correctly declare, “A Copernican shift in consciousness, from regarding the Earth as the center of the universe to one of it being the home of participants in a cosmic story, is necessary in order to achieve the proper environmental perspective as we venture beyond our home planet.”4 Realizing this perspectival shift, as this book works to do, aligns us with efforts of the United Nations, which requests in General Assembly Resolution 75/92 that our environmental comprehension of space improves our ecological outcomes on Earth,5 and adhering to the environmental nonseparation of Earth and space best enables one to reach this internationally recognized goal. Along with profits gained by not separating Earth and space, more environmental ethics benefits emerge from every chapter of this book, which witnesses field respondents’ uniting the value of nonharm with the principle of vast interconnection in order to fashion a multifaceted nonharm-ininterconnection tool for achieving environmental ethical outcomes. Buddhist environmental ethicists can learn from this result something that too often they forget: Dependent arising, or the interconnectedness of all things, is not a morally valenced tool in itself and therefore cannot provide an appropriate environmental ethic on its own. Instead, for true environmental ethics work

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to get done, dependent arising always must be married to at least one value or virtue. In this study, reliably field subjects choose nonharm as a value to integrate with dependent arising. In every chapter Buddhists thus utilize this combination ethic of nonharm plus interconnection successfully to create environmental outcomes that are applicable at least as far away as Mars and theoretically throughout the known universe. Of course, nonharm-ininterconnection possesses flaws as any ethical formulation does, such as its struggles with protecting lifeless realities. Nonetheless, having proven itself concerning a variety of solar system ethical dilemmas, the moral combination of nonharm and dependent arising appears to represent a viable ethical bundle for enabling sustainable travel through the solar system. A third contribution to environmental ethics additionally arises from the voices of these Buddhists in terms of the development of ethical tools for appropriately managing nonliving realities. Buddhist ethics can be quite effective in caring for nonhuman animals but, historically, remain less effective as well as less interested in concern for abiotic situations.6 Buddhism is not alone here, though, since globally we lack cultural traditions that involve significant respect for lifeless things in general. Some First Nation traditions express some reverence toward various stones, to be sure, but most of the time even indigenous worldviews tend to regard rocks as ethically less meaningful than living things, like scholar of Native American cultures Howard Harrod demonstrates.7 This lack of concern for lifeless realities continues to be distressing. Most solar system ecologies are abiotic as far as we know, so that Buddhist ethics remain limited in performance if they do not pertain to nonliving places. Making things worse, we cannot fight Earth’s climate change without moral concern for abiotic entities such as greenhouse gases or things like stone formations into which we can sequester carbon. As a result, despite its strengths in respecting animals, the Buddhist moral tradition faces marginalization as an environmental ethics tool in the age of space travel and global warming unless it develops robust ethics relevant to abiotic places. Hence, the data derived from informants in the field for this project are intensely interesting for the inventive twenty-first-century viewpoints expressed by ethnographic subjects. These contemporary Buddhists live thousands of years after the scriptures were written and therefore can provide insight into specific space situations in ways that were closed to the historical Buddha. In this light, field subjects were presented with novel ecologies, such as the surface of Mars, to ponder. Informants contemplated extraterrestrial conditions and developed several innovative views, such as preserving our moon as it is and strongly rejecting the permissibility of planetwide ecological manipulation, that supply the contributions to space studies that were

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mentioned above. In so doing, Buddhists from the field fashioned new moral understandings of how to interact with lifeless realms including Earth’s atmosphere, space itself, and the surfaces of worlds like our moon and Mars. These attitudes of moral solicitude toward nonliving existents provide key advances not just to Buddhist environmental ethics but also to ecological ethics in general. While 2,500 years of a history of ethical reasoning will not suddenly disappear in the face of the morals for abiotic ecologies found in this book, voices from the field take an important step in substantially overhauling our environmental ethics so that our values may excel in the future. However, in developing clever environmental ethics suitable for places like the surface of Mars, survey respondents also crucially enhanced Earthdirected environmental ethics, too, as an outcome of the environmental nonseparation of Earth and space. The same ethics that may spare the ecology of the Red Planet from being renovated may usefully be applied to managing Earth’s global temperature by morally directing things like sequestering carbon into stones, as I mentioned. Here a climate lesson from Mars creates potential environmental justice wins for humans and other beings on Earth. Yet there is more good news for our planetary home. In this study, earthly bioethics also advance by adding data found here regarding the permissibility of culling possible microbes on Mars for science. Although survey respondents leave us with conflicted views regarding the suitability of using microbes for scientific experiments, we have so little data at present regarding public bioethical attitudes toward protists that relevant data regarding Buddhist and non-Buddhist moral ambivalence still educates us about the ethical places of microbes within human cultures. RELIGION AND SCIENCE Turning now to the religion and science dimensions of this study, field subjects purveyed terrific contributions to space studies and environmental ethics alike because of the ways they felicitously blended religion, in this case Buddhism, with scientific concepts. Buddhists wove their space ethics together by attending to both religious and scientific factors, thereby realizing a measure of concord between religion and science. Such friendship may seem odd to some readers, since many of us are drenched in images of an eternal warfare between religion and science. But researchers within the field study Secularity and Science interviewed professional scientists from around the world and revealed that this notion of an inherent conflict between religion and science is limited globally, being strongest internationally only in the United States, France, and the United Kingdom.8 The same study indicated that a number of alternative modes of

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religion and science interaction appear if one looks broadly around the world. Scientists in Italy or Japan, for instance, are more likely to espouse models in which religion and science do not conflict but instead rule over exclusive spheres of reality, perhaps reflecting biologist Stephen Jay Gould’s concept of religion and science as “nonoverlapping magisteria.”9 Of undeniable further interest, according to Secularity and Science scientists in India are more likely to feel that the practice of science actively supports the pursuit of religion and vice versa. One should not be surprised to discover a religious shrine as an official part of a science lab in India.10 Like some Indian scientists within Secularity and Science, Buddhists in this book reveal a path of cooperation between science and religion rather than a realm of combat. The remarkable ethical formations that ethnographic subjects expressed account for scientific realities while they emerge as well from personal moral and spiritual sensibilities. Outlooks expressed by these Buddhists thus can be appropriate for use on the surface of our moon while simultaneously they reflect the spiritualized consciences of thoughtful citizens. Scholar of religion and science Ian Barbour speaks of a mode of “integration” in which religion and science mutually enhance each other,11 and Buddhists in this study substantially exhibit such integration between religion and science in the space ethics they espouse. Indeed, the ways that Buddhists from the field blend religion together with science to create space ethics remind one of the extraterrestrial career of NASA astronaut Ellison Onizuka. Onizuka, a Mahāyāna Buddhist from the Jōdo Shinshū school, spent time in space in 1985 aboard the space shuttle and later died in the Challenger shuttle disaster. He was a mission specialist, meaning that he was responsible for performing scientific experiments. While practicing science in space, though, Onizuka understood his space environmental context in Buddhist terms. Referencing a Pure Land afterlife paradise like we saw represented in dry Zen gardens, Onizuka said of his experience in space, “I saw the Pure Land. . . . It is the land of ‘no boundaries.’”12 Onizuka, Zen gardens, and Buddhists from the field in this study show us how Buddhism and space travel can mutually illuminate each other while together they further incite diverse ecological benefits. In the future, may this productive and scintillating dance continue.

Appendix A Field Sites

Gaining familiarity with the demographics of my American Buddhist data set requires some comment. Since the 1970s, academic studies of American Buddhist demographics typically have utilized a “Two Buddhisms” or “Three Buddhisms” model.1 In the last decade, however, these models have witnessed withering scholarly attacks for their comprehending poorly the true contours of American practice,2 obscuring of ethnicity,3 and “unconscious racism.”4 Recognizing the effectiveness of these recent critiques, I take a new path in this book. Jeff Wilson, a scholar of American Buddhism, vibrantly demonstrated how the community of the Rochester Zen Center became split over issues of perceived authenticity. One part of the group wished to keep the center as faithful to on-the-ground models from Japan as possible. Another group argued that Buddhism was in a new home, so that authenticity could be found through adaptation.5 Such conflicts remain common in the universe of American Buddhism. Insightfully, sociologist of American religion Mark Chaves reframes similar conflicts as illuminating useful diagnostic grids. Conservative American religion, Chaves tells us, seeks to remain as faithful to a preexisting model as possible, whereas liberal American religion seeks adaptation to the conditions of contemporary lifeways.6 Following Chaves’s cue, here I will define the wish to remain faithful to on-the-ground Asian forms as conservative American Buddhism and the desire to adapt the tradition to its American home as liberal American Buddhism. Since these orientations manifest in individuals, it remains essential to consider that Buddhist persons in themselves often will embody a variety of attitudes from across the spectrum. Individuals tend not to be strictly conservative or liberal, as instead they embrace a variety of perspectives. 107

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It is not uncommon, for instance, for an American Buddhist to respect Buddhist clerics in a most conservative way while also following a liberal path in terms of food and drink, and there are many other potential examples. Therefore, it remains difficult to apply Chaves’s typology to individuals, so I will not. Buddhist institutions, though, may be categorized within a conservative/ liberal spectrum. Certainly, each center may house diverse individual opinions and official activities from across the spectrum between liberal and conservative. Centers nonetheless benefit from cultivating specific identities for improved recruitment and functioning. Thus, although individual Buddhists cannot be described by the conservative and liberal grid, centers can be. On Sunday mornings, for example, perhaps one conservative monastery hosts a relatively traditional formal dāna ceremony of layperson giving to monastics while the more liberal outpost next door features a mobile phone whose software leads an informal meditation as the sole ritual of the day. Grasping this grid, and turning now to the centers in my study, five of my seven host centers should be described as liberal Buddhist establishments, as adaptation remains a central part of their institutional identities. Two centers further should be described as mixed conservative/liberal centers. For instance, both of these latter centers host traditional formal rites on Sunday mornings but frequently provide liberal programming on Friday evenings. In addition to these seven Buddhist centers, to which I am grateful, I reached out to four more conservative Buddhist centers without receiving an invitation to do fieldwork among them. To be fair, this book, adapting as it does Buddhist ethics to Mars, does not represent a work of conservative Buddhism as I have defined it, leaving me perhaps understandably uninvited by conservative centers. Table A.1  Buddhists by Sect and Denomination Number Theravāda   Thai Mahanikai   Burmese/Thai insight Mahāyāna   Vietnamese Thien   Japanese Sōtō Zen Vajrayāna   Nyingma   Géluk/Nyingma   Géluk Total

44 27 17 40 34 6 37 12 10 15 121

Percent 36.3 22.3 14.0 33.1 28.1 5.0 30.6 9.9 8.3 12.4 100.0

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Hence, of the seven centers in this study, five are liberal institutions, two are mixed communities, and none typify conservative American Buddhism. Such a distribution is not necessarily atypical for the Buddhist world, given this book’s embrace of secular ethics. Richard K. Payne’s book Secularizing Buddhism exhibits how both secularizing and antisecularizing voices are to be found across the globe in today’s Buddhisms.7 In the field, I obtained significant samples from all three of Buddhism’s major branches of Theravāda (44 informants, or N = 44), Mahāyāna (N = 40), and Vajrayāna (N = 37), with a total sample size of 121 Buddhists. All three of these samples are statistically significant on their own. Table A.1 provides a breakdown by lineage. In order to discern genuinely Buddhist perspectives from more generically American ones, I also collected data from a control group of seventy-eight university students. These control group members live in the same region of the United States as the Buddhist centers in this study. Control group members took the same survey as the Buddhist group, except they also anonymously described their religiosity. Within the control group, sixty-four people, or 82 percent, claimed an adherence to Christianity, as befits the Bible Belt location of the research. Two people, or 2.6 percent, declared themselves to be Hindu, with 1.3 percent of the control sample left to each of agnosticism, Buddhism (about right for the general population), Ecumenicism, and Stoicism. Seven control group members (9 percent) asserted no religion at all. In terms of geography, the seven centers I visited were located in Georgia and Louisiana in the United States. Many of these centers are smaller in adherent sizes than similar Buddhist communities in the “Buddhist Belts” of California and the northeastern United States. Both Buddhist and control group subjects responded to the following survey.

ANONYMOUS SURVEY Buddhism and Space Exploration 1. Space junk: Around 100,000 pieces of garbage orbit our planet unattended, including satellite fragments, used rocket stages, and other pieces of hardware. This space junk poses hazards in space and sometimes falls to Earth without burning up completely. Q1. I think that Buddhist principles should be utilized to guide solutions to the problem of space junk. (circle one) strongly disagree  disagree  neutral  agree  strongly agree

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Q2. If we do use Buddhist principles regarding the problem of space junk, those principles should be: (circle all that apply) A. B. C. D. E. F.

the First Precept, on not harming others (ahimsa) the value of loving-kindness the value of compassion the interconnected nature of the universe not sure something else (please specify in comments)

Q3. Humans have a moral responsibility to clean up their space junk. (circle one) strongly disagree  disagree  neutral  agree  strongly agree Comments: 2. Mining and settling the moon: Already some people are planning to mine our moon for various resources. Although robots can be used for mining, practicality likely dictates some kind of related permanent human presence. What do you think about this? Q4. Our moon and other extraterrestrial places should be valued and protected from undue harm, even if no living beings exist there. (circle one) strongly disagree  disagree  neutral  agree  strongly agree Q5. I think that Buddhist principles should be utilized to guide the possible mining and settlement of the moon. (circle one) strongly disagree  disagree  neutral  agree  strongly agree Q6. If we do use Buddhist principles regarding the possible mining and settlement of the moon, those principles should be: (circle all that apply) A. B. C. D. E. F.

the First Precept, on not harming others (ahimsa) the value of loving-kindness the value of compassion the interconnected nature of the universe not sure something else (please specify in comments)

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Comments: 3. Finding microbial life elsewhere: NASA scientists tell us that there exists a strong chance that bacteria-like microbial life will be found underground on Mars, on Jupiter’s moon Europa, or at some other location. Q7. I think that Buddhist principles should be utilized to guide our interactions with microbial life beyond Earth. (circle one) strongly disagree  disagree  neutral  agree  strongly agree Q8. If we do use Buddhist principles to guide our interactions with microbial life beyond Earth, those principles should be: (circle all that apply) A. B. C. D. E. F. G.

the First Precept, on not harming others (ahimsa) the value of loving-kindness the value of compassion the interconnected nature of the universe relatedness to nonhuman species due to reincarnation not sure something else (please specify in comments)

Q9. We should protect from harm the extraterrestrial habitats of life, the ecologies on which life depends, whenever possible. (circle one) strongly disagree  disagree  neutral  agree  strongly agree Q10. If it intends to alleviate human suffering through the advancement of science, it is acceptable to take the lives of a small number of microbes from beyond Earth for the sake of their scientific study. (circle one) strongly disagree  disagree  neutral  agree  strongly agree

Comments:

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4. Changing the ecologies of other planets: It has been suggested that we transform Mars by injecting gases into the atmosphere, thus thickening the air and warming the planet so that it is more Earth-like for future human, animal, and plant immigrants. What do you think about this? Q11. Human beings have the right to change the ecologies of other planets, as long as no living beings are present. (circle one) strongly disagree  disagree  neutral  agree  strongly agree Q12. I think that Buddhist principles should be utilized to guide our actions regarding changing Mars’s ecology as proposed. (circle one) strongly disagree  disagree  neutral  agree  strongly agree Q13. If we do use Buddhist principles regarding changing Mars’s ecology as proposed, those principles should be: (circle all that apply) A. B. C. D. E. F.

the First Precept, on not harming others (ahimsa) the value of loving-kindness the value of compassion the interconnected nature of the universe not sure something else (please specify in comments)

Comments:

Appendix B Glossary

American Buddhism: Buddhism first came to the United States among immigrants from China and Japan in the 1840s. It then grew dramatically in the 1960s due to a fresh wave of immigration from Asia as well as conversions. Now the United States houses centers from all three great branches of Mahāyāna, Theravāda, and Vajrayāna in every state, with concentrations in the northeast and on the West Coast. Various scholars say that American Buddhism is distinctive for its greater emphasis on lay spiritual practice, its increased integration of women, or its support for positive ecological lifestyles. Deontology: This is a form of ethical reflection that stresses rule-based behaviors rather than virtues, consequences, or other tools of normative reflection. “Thou shalt not kill” and “Thou shalt not bear false witness,” for instance, are deontological strictures within the biblical Ten Commandments, since they govern behavior with rule guidelines. As just one example from Buddhism, Buddhist monastics are forbidden by official rules found in the scriptural Vinaya texts, rather than via virtue or consequentialist arguments, to eat a full meal after noon. This monastic lifestyle component thus is governed by deontological ethics. Dependent arising: “Dependent arising” translates paṭicca-samuppāda from the Pāli language or pratītya-samutpāda from Sanskrit. This concept is a bedrock of Buddhist thinking, emphasizing as it does the interconnection of all things across both time and space. In this worldview, everything phenomenal arises from one or more causes and in turn creates one or more effects. Therefore, nothing in the universe exists independently in either time or 113

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space, because everything emerges conditioned by causes and, in addition, conditions other entities through effects. Helium-3: The isotope of helium known as helium-3 is manufactured in our sun and comes to us in the solar wind. Earth’s magnetic field deflects helium-3 from our planet, but our moon, lacking a magnetic field, receives small doses of helium-3, as do asteroids. Helium-3, if fused with itself, in theory creates electrical power with no nuclear waste in the form of leftover neutrons. IADC: Founded in 1993, the Inter-Agency Space Debris Coordination Committee (IADC) is an international group that provides essential global oversight regarding space debris issues. IADC members include representatives from Italy, France, China, Canada, Germany, India, Japan, Korea, Russia, Ukraine, the United Kingdom, the United States, and the European Space Agency. Intrinsic value: Often regarded as the heart of Western ethics, the concept of intrinsic value indicates that something is treasured in its own right and on its own terms rather than being prized for the instrumental services that it can provide to others. If, for instance, I value Niagara Falls simply for the beauty and grandeur of the falls themselves, rather than for extrinsic things like their hydropower potential or some other gain for me, it can be said that I have extended intrinsic value to Niagara Falls. Mahāyāna Buddhism: The second of the three great branches of Buddhism in historical development, Mahāyāna Buddhism emerged from India around the time of Jesus. It then spread to become the dominant form of Buddhism throughout much of East Asia such as Korea, Japan, China, Taiwan, and Vietnam. Mahāyāna Buddhists tend to revere scriptures written in the Sanskrit language rather than the Pāli language of Theravāda Buddhist scriptures. Nonharm: Also commonly known by the Sanskrit and now English-language word ahimsa, the ethic of nonharm discourages injuring entities physically, verbally, or emotionally. Being a central Buddhist ethical commitment, nonharm remains required of ordained monastics and lay persons alike. Classic texts call for extending nonharm to all sentient beings, whereas some Buddhists in this book innovatively treat even nonliving entities with nonharm. Outer Space Treaty: Also known as the Treaty on Principles Governing the Activities of States in the Exploration and Use of Outer Space including the

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Moon and Other Celestial Bodies, the Outer Space Treaty has governed extraterrestrial international interactions in space since 1967. Ratified by more than 100 countries, the Outer Space Treaty at this time represents the most essential and accepted expression of international space law. Notable features of the Outer Space Treaty include encouragements to utilize space peacefully and cooperatively, prohibitions against extending national sovereignties into extraterrestrial realms, and vague, unenforceable proscriptions against harming space environments. Regolith: The assorted surface rocks and sands of abiotic environments are called regolith. “Regolith” as a term usefully may be contrasted with “soil” from Earth, since our planet’s soils include living beings such as bacteria, fungi, and nematodes. The moon’s surface constituents do not feature living beings like these, so the moon’s surface materials are called “regolith,” not “soil.” Space debris: Following both the IADC and space archaeologists, space debris may be defined as “all human made objects including fragments and elements thereof, in Earth orbit or reentering the atmosphere, that are nonfunctional and do not possess compelling heritage value.” This includes millions of pieces of obsolete space trash, from tiny solar panel shards to huge rocket stages. Terraforming: This word is a misnomer when applied to places like Mars, despite common practice, because “terra-” refers to Earth. Recast as “planetwide ecological manipulation,” this concept refers to the practice (right now just in theory) of renovating the climates of other worlds to make them more hospitable to the presences of living beings from Earth. For instance, in his trilogy of science fiction books about Mars, Kim Stanley Robinson describes intentionally utilizing the greenhouse effect in order to warm the Red Planet’s generally frigid temperatures, thus producing running water and other amenities for humans. Theravāda Buddhism: Historically the first type of Buddhism to coalesce into recognizable form, Theravāda Buddhism developed in India alongside Mahāyāna Buddhism. Found all over the world and emphasizing scriptures written in the Pāli language, Theravāda remains most dominant in South Asian locales such as Sri Lanka, Burma, Thailand, Laos, and Cambodia. UNCOPUOS and UNOOSA: These two bodies are essential United Nations organs for governing international space operations. COPUOS (Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space) supports some foundational research

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for space travel, provides respected guidelines for cooperative and nonhostile space exploration, arbitrates space law as much as possible, and oversees environmentally vulnerable “Special Areas” on Mars. UNOOSA, or the United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs, aids COPUOS while it further provides encouragement to all countries to participate in space travel. Vajrayāna Buddhism: The third of the three great sects of Buddhism historically to become self-aware, Vajrayāna has much in common with the Mahāyāna version of Buddhism but also retains its own distinctive sacred texts and specialized practices. Known also as Tantric Buddhism, Vajrayāna exhibits dominance in Central Asian locations such as Tibet and Mongolia. That said, elements of Vajrayāna also can be found in Japan, Korea, China, and Taiwan.

Notes

PREFACE 1. A multilateral treaty proposed in 1979 that would turn jurisdiction of all celestial bodies over to the participant countries. More information on the Moon Treaty is available in chapter 2. 2. The Moon: Resources, Future Development, and Colonization, 1st edition (Wiley-Praxis, 1999); The Moon: Resources, Future Development, and Settlement, 2nd edition (Springer, 2008).

INTRODUCTION 1. Dalai Lama and Franz Alt, Our Only Home: A Climate Appeal to the World (Munich: Benevento Publishing, 2020), 102. 2. Because of the ecological gaze of this presentation, my reader should know from the outset that this book has little to do with UFOs, whose examinations are found in other capable works such as Ted Peters, UFOs-God’s Chariots? Flying Saucers in Politics, Science, and Religion (Atlanta, GA: John Knox Press, 1977); Brenda Denzler, The Lure of the Edge: Scientific Passions, Religious Beliefs, and the Pursuit of UFOs (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001); Whitley Strieber and Jeffrey J. Kripal, The Super Natural: Why the Unexplained Is Real (New York: TarcherPerigee, 2017); D. W. Pasulka, American Cosmic: UFOs, Religion, and Technology (New York: Oxford University Press, 2019). 3. Ioannis Gkolias, “Review of Analytic Modeling of the Long-Term Evolution of Orbital Debris,” in Asteroid and Space Debris Manipulation: Advances from the Stardust Research Network, edited by Massimiliano Vasile and Edmondo Minisci (Reston, VA: American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, 2016), 29. 4. Gkolias, “Review,” 29, 35. 117

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5. Mark Williamson, Space: The Fragile Frontier (Reston, VA: American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, 2006), 74. 6. Holmes Rolston, III, “The Preservation of Natural Value in the Solar System,” in Beyond Spaceship Earth: Environmental Ethics and the Solar System, edited by Eugene C. Hargrove (San Francisco: Sierra Club Books, 1986), 178–179. 7. Paul Warde, Libby Robin, and Sverker Sörlin, The Environment: A History of the Idea (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 2018), 154–158. 8. Linda Billings, “Earth, Life, Space: The Social Construction of the Biosphere and the Expansion of the Concept into Outer Space,” in Social and Conceptual Issues in Astrobiology, edited by Kelly C. Smith and Carlos Mariscal (New York: Oxford University Press, 2020), 240. 9. The idea of utilizing space to learn more about Earth environments is decades old. See Simonetta Di Pippo, “The Contribution of Space for a More Sustainable Earth: Leveraging Space to Achieve the Sustainable Development Goals,” Global Sustainability 2 (2019): e3. https://doi​.org​/10​.1017​/sus​.2018​.17. 10. James S. J. Schwartz, The Value of Science in Space Exploration (New York: Oxford University Press, 2020), 110. 11. David Naguib Pellow, Total Liberation: The Power and Promise of Animal Rights and the Radical Earth Movement (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2014), 7. 12. Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space, “Guidelines for the LongTerm Sustainability of Outer Space Activities,” February 2019, accessed October 24, 2020, https://www​.unoosa​.org​/oosa​/en​/ourwork​/topics​/long​-term​-sustainability​-of​ -outer​-space​-activities​.html. Because my presentation here is in line with guidelines like these from the UNCOPUOS, it also exists in friendly relationship with space ethicist Andreas Losch’s laudable proposal to make off-Earth “planetary sustainability” an eighteenth United Nations Sustainable Development Goal. See Andreas Losch, “Planetary Sustainability: Transitions of an Idea,” International Journal of Astrobiology 18 (2019): 592–594. https://doi​.org​/10​.1017​/S147355041900003X. 13. Daniel Capper, Roaming Free like a Deer: Buddhism and the Natural World (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2022). 14. Max Jammer, Einstein and Religion (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1999), 94. 15. Daniel Capper, Learning Love from a Tiger: Religious Experiences with Nature (Oakland: University of California Press, 2016). 16. Carl Sagan, Cosmos (New York: Ballantine Books, 1980), 138. 17. Richard O. Randolph, “God’s Preferential Option for Life: A Christian Perspective on Astrobiology,” in Exploring the Origin, Extent, and Future of Life: Philosophical, Ethical, and Theological Perspectives, edited by Constance M. Bertka (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 281–302; Norbert M. Samuelson, “Jewish Theology Meets the Alien,” in Astrotheology: Science and Theology Meet Extraterrestrial Life, 208–215; Muzaffar Iqbal, “Islamic Theology Meets ETI,” in Astrotheology: Science and Theology Meet Extraterrestrial Life, 216–227. 18. Arthur O. Lovejoy, The Great Chain of Being: A Study of the History of an Idea (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1976), 28.

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19. John J. Holder, “A Suffering (But Not Irreparable) Nature: Environmental Ethics from the Perspective of Early Buddhism,” Contemporary Buddhism 8, no. 2 (2007): 125. https://doi​.org​/10​.1080​/14639940701636091. 20. Laura Hobgood-Oster, Holy Dogs and Asses: Animals in the Christian Tradition (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 2008), 4, 6; Richard C. Foltz, Animals in Islamic Tradition and Muslim Cultures (Oxford: OneWorld Publications, 2006), 19–21. 21. Capper, Learning Love from a Tiger, 38. 22. Capper, Learning Love from a Tiger, 39. 23. Schwartz, The Value of Science, 124. 24. Paul Waldau, The Specter of Speciesism: Buddhist and Christian Views of Animals (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 124, 154. 25. David E. Cooper and Simon P. James, Buddhism, Virtue, and Environment (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005), 106. 26. Daniel Capper, “Learning Love from a Tiger: Approaches to Nature in an American Buddhist Monastery,” Journal of Contemporary Religion 30, no. 1 (2015): 56. https://doi​.org​/10​.1080​/13537903​.2015​.986976. 27. Bhikkhu Bodhi, trans., The Numerical Discourses of the Buddha (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2012), 279–283. 28. Paul Davies, The Goldilocks Enigma: Why Is the Universe Just Right for Life? (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2006), 20. 29. José Ignatio Cabezón, “Buddhism and Science: On the Nature of the Dialogue,” in Buddhism and Science: Breaking New Ground, edited by B. Alan Wallace (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003), 35–68. 30. Dalai Lama, The Universe in a Single Atom: The Convergence of Science and Spirituality (New York: Broadway Books, 2005), 25. 31. Wendy Hasenkamp and Janna R. White, eds., The Monastery and the Microscope: Conversations with the Dalai Lama on Mind, Mindfulness, and the Nature of Reality (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2017); John Dunne and Daniel Goleman, eds., Ecology, Ethics, and Interdependence: The Dalai Lama in Conversation with Leading Thinkers on Climate Change (Somerville: Wisdom Publications, 2018); Arthur Zajonc, The New Physics and Cosmology: Dialogues with the Dalai Lama (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004). 32. Lama, The Universe, 111–112; Matthieu Ricard and Trinh Xuan Thuan, The Quantum and the Lotus: A Journey to the Frontiers where Science and Buddhism Meet (New York: Three Rivers Press, 2001), 161. 33. John W. Traphagan and Julian W. Traphagan, “SETI in Non-Western Perspective,” in The Impact of Discovering Life Beyond Earth, edited by Steven J. Dick (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 299–307. 34. Pew Research Center, Religion and Science, accessed March 21, 2018, https://www​.pewresearch​.org​/science​/2015​/10​/22​/science​-and​-religion/. 35. Charles Taylor, A Secular Age (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2007), 2. 36. Ian Harris, “Attitudes to Nature,” in Buddhism, edited by Peter Harvey (London: Continuum, 2001), 244; Christopher Key Chapple, Nonviolence to Animals,

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Earth, and Self in Asian Traditions (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993), 10; E. B. Cowell, ed., The Jātaka, vol. 3 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1897), 177. 37. Scott A. Mitchell, Buddhism in America: Global Religion, Local Contexts (London: Bloomsbury, 2016), 6. 38. Jeff Wilson, Dixie Dharma: Inside a Buddhist Temple in the American South (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2012), 3. 39. Daniel Capper, “Animism among Western Buddhists,” Contemporary Buddhism 17 (1): 30–48. https://doi​.org​/10​.1080​/14639947​.2016​.1189130. 40. Tetsunori Koizumi, “The Noble Eightfold Path as a Prescription for Sustainable Living,” in How Much Is Enough? Buddhism, Consumerism, and the Human Environment, edited by Richard K. Payne (Somerville: Wisdom Publications, 2010), 133–145; Richard H. Seager, Buddhism in America (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 215. 41. E. B. Cowell, ed., The Jātaka, vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1895), 292.

CHAPTER 1 1. James Clay Moltz, The Politics of Space Security: Strategic Restraint and the Pursuit of National Interests (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 2019), 53. 2. Justin St. P. Walsh, “Useful Ephemera: The Implications of Self-Destructing Space Technology for the Future Practice of Archaeology,” in Archaeology and Heritage of the Human Movement into Space, edited by Beth Laura O’Leary and P. J. Capelotti (Cham: Springer, 2015), 77. 3. Heiner Klinkrad, Space Debris: Models and Risk Analysis (Chichester: Praxis Publishing, 2006), 27. 4. Klinkrad, Space Debris, 235. 5. Walsh, “Useful Ephemera,” 77. 6. Lisa Parks, “When Satellites Fall: On the Trails of Cosmos 954 and USA 193,” in Down to Earth: Satellite Technologies, Industries, and Cultures, edited by Lisa Parks and James Schwoch (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2012), 223–224. 7. Klinkrad, Space Debris, 3, 289. 8. Paul F. Uhlir and William P. Bishop, “Wilderness and Space,” in Beyond Spaceship Earth: Environmental Ethics and the Solar System, edited by Eugene C. Hargrove (San Francisco: Sierra Club Books, 1986), 203. 9. On convergences in space ethical standpoints, see Brian Patrick Green, “Convergences in the Ethics of Space Exploration,” in Social and Conceptual Issues in Astrobiology, edited by Kelly C. Smith and Carlos Mariscal (New York: Oxford University Press, 2020), 179. 10. James S. J. Schwartz, “Fairness as a Moral Grounding for Space Policy,” in The Meaning of Liberty Beyond Earth, edited by Charles S. Cockell (Cham: Springer, 2014), 70, 78.

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11. Jacques Arnould, Icarus’ Second Chance: The Basis and Perspectives of Space Ethics (New York: SpringWienNewYork, 2011), 129–131. 12. Inter-Agency Space Debris Coordination Committee, IADC Space Debris Mitigation Guidelines IADC-02-01 Rev. 3 (New York: IADC, 2021), accessed June 21, 2021. https://iadc​-home​.org​/documents​_public​/file​_down​/id​/5249. 13. Mark Willliamson, Space: The Fragile Frontier (Reston, VA: American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, 2006), 60. 14. Peter Stubbe, State Accountability for Space Debris: A Legal Study of Responsibility for Polluting the Space Environment and Liability for Damage Caused by Space Debris (Leiden: Brill, 2017), 18. 15. J.-C. Liou and Nicholas L. Johnson, “Instability of the Present LEO Satellite Populations,” Advances in Space Research 41 (2008): 1051. 16. Donald J. Kessler, Nicholas L. Johnson, J.-C. Liou, and Mark Matney, “The Kessler Syndrome: Implications to Future Space Operations,” 33rd Annual American Astronautical Society Guidance and Control Conference, February 10, 2010. 17. Meredith L. Rawls, Heidi B. Thiemann, Victor Chemin, Lucianne Walkowicz, Mike W. Peel, and Yan G. Grange, “Satellite Constellation Internet Affordability and Need,” Research Notes of the American Astronomical Society 4 (2020): 189. https:// iopscience​.iop​.org​/article​/10​.3847​/2515​-5172​/abc48e. 18. Rawls et al., “Satellite,” 189. 19. Kiran Krishnan Nair, Small Satellites and Sustainable Development: Solutions in International Space Law (Cham: Springer, 2019), 67–69. 20. C. Priyant Mark and Surekha Kamath, “Review of Active Space Debris Removal Methods,” Space Policy 47 (2019): 194e206. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/j​ .spacepol​.2018​.12​.005. 21. Guglielmo S. Aglietti, Ben Taylor, Simon Fellowes, Thierry Salmon, Ingo Retat, Alexander Hall, Thomas Chabot, Aurélien Pisseloup, C. Cox, A., Zarkesh, A. Mafficini, N. Vinkoff, K. Bashford, Cesar Bernal, François Chaumette, Alexandre Pollini, and Willem H. Steyn, “The Active Space Debris Removal Mission RemoveDebris. Part 2: In orbit Operations,” Acta Astronautica 168 (2020): 310. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/j​.actaastro​.2019​.09​.001. 22. Alice Gorman, “Heritage of Earth Orbit: Orbital Debris-Its Mitigation and Cultural Heritage,” in Handbook of Space Engineering, Archaeology, and Heritage, edited by Ann Garrison Darrin and Beth Laura O’Leary (Boca Raton, FL: Taylor and Francis Group, 2009), 386–390. 23. Gorman, “Heritage of Earth Orbit,” 386–390. 24. M. K. Brown, H. G. Lewis, A. J. Kavanagh, and I. Cnossen, “Future Decreases in Thermospheric Neutral Density in Low Earth Orbit due to Carbon Dioxide Emissions,” Journal of Geophysical Research: Atmospheres 126 (2021): e2021JD034589. https://doi​.org​/10​.1029​/2021JD034589. 25. Klinkrad, Space Debris, 286. 26. Martin N. Ross and Patti M. Sheaffer, “Radiative Forcing Caused by Rocket Engine Emissions,” Earth’s Future 2 (2014):177. https://doi​.org​/10​.1002​ /2013EF000160.

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27. Martin Ross, Darin Toohey, Manfred Peinemann, and Patrick Ross, “Limits on the Space Launch Market Related to Stratospheric Ozone Depletion,” Astropolitics 7 (2009): 50. https://doi​.org​/10​.1080​/14777620902768867. 28. Lester R. Brown, World on the Edge: How to Prevent Environmental and Economic Collapse (New York: W. W. Norton, 2011), 151–164. 29. Brian Patrick Green, Space Ethics (Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield, 2021), 47. 30. Austin Ramzy, “Suining County, Where What Goes up Often Comes Down,” New York Times, December 4, 2013, accessed October 14, 2018. 31. Arnould, Icarus’ Second Chance, 129. 32. A. P. Vasiliev, Radioactive and Toxic Waste from Decommissioning of Multipurpose Nuclear Submarines and Environmental Safety Assurance in the North-Western Region of Russia (Vienna: International Atomic Energy Agency, 2003). 33. Massimo Zucchetti and Fabrizio Aumento, “Accidents in Nuclear Powered Submarines and Their Effects on Environmental Marine Pollution,” Journal of Environmental Protection and Ecology 7, no. 1 (2006): 176–185. 34. David Naguib Pellow, Total Liberation: The Power and Promise of Animal Rights and the Radical Earth Movement (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2014), 7–8. 35. Paul Waldau, Animal Studies: An Introduction (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013), 44–65. 36. Jacques Arnould and André Debus, “An Ethical Approach to Planetary Protection,” Advances in Space Research 42 (2008): 1089–1095. 37. Thich Nhat Hanh, Being Peace (Berkeley: Parallax Press, 1987), 87–88. 38. Gil Fronsdal, The Dhammapada (Boston: Shambhala, 2006), 13. 39. Walter Henry Nelson, Buddha (New York: Jeremy P. Tharcher, 1996), 30–32; Andy Rotman, trans., Divine Stories (Divyāvadāna Part 1) (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2008), 243–245; I. B. Horner, trans., The Book of the Discipline (Oxford: SuttaCentral, 2014), 2261–2263. 40. Daniel Capper, Learning Love from a Tiger: Religious Experiences with Nature (Oakland: University of California Press, 2016), 206–220. 41. Capper, Learning Love from a Tiger, 207. 42. Matthieu Ricard, A Plea for the Animals: The Moral, Philosophical, and Evolutionary Imperative to Treat All Beings with Compassion (Boulder, CO: Shambhala, 2016), 3–4. 43. Moltz, The Politics of Space Security, 49. 44. Moltz, The Politics of Space Security, 46. 45. Moltz, The Politics of Space Security, 5, 7. 46. Stubbe, State Accountability for Space Debris, 366. 47. Stubbe, State Accountability for Space Debris, 457. 48. Stubbe, State Accountability for Space Debris, 250. 49. European Space Agency, “Space Sustainability Rating to Shine Light on Debris Problem,” accessed June 21, 2021. https://www​.esa​.int​/Safety​_Security​/Space​ _Debris​/Space​_sustainability​_rating​_to​_shine​_light​_on​_debris​_problem.

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50. David Schrunk, Burton Sharpe, Bonnie Cooper, and Madhu Thangavelu, The Moon: Resources, Future Development, and Settlement (Chichester: Praxis Publishing, 2008), 435; Marko Jankovic and Jan Paul, “Robotic Active Debris Removal and On-orbit Servicing,” in Asteroid and Space Debris Manipulation: Advances from the Stardust Research Network, edited by Massimiliano Vasile and Edmondo Minisci (Reston, VA: American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, 2016), 343. 51. Martin Elvis, Asteroids: How Love, Fear, and Greed Will Determine Our Future in Space (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2021), 2–3. 52. Parks, “When Satellites Fall,” 233. 53. Donald Keene, trans., “Taketori Monogatari,” in Traditional Japanese Literature: An Anthology, Beginnings to 1600, edited by Haruo Shirane (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), 169–184; Brian Harvey, Henk H. F. Smid, and Théo Pirard, Emerging Space Powers: The New Space Programs of Asia, the Middle East, and South America (Chichester: Praxis Publishing, 2010), 62–67.

CHAPTER 2 1. Daniel Capper, “Preserving Mars Today using Baseline Ecologies,” Space Policy 49 (2019): 101325. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/j​.spacepol​.2019​.05​.003; Charles Cockell and Gerda Horneck, “A Planetary Park System for Mars,” Space Policy 20 (2004): 291–295, https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/j​.spacepol​.2004​.08​.003; Charles S. Cockell and Gerda Horneck, “Planetary Parks—Formulating a Wilderness Policy for Planetary Bodies,” Space Policy 22 (2006): 256–261, https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/j​ .spacepol​.2006​.08​.006. 2. Roger Crofts, John E. Gordon, José Brilha, Murray Gray, John Gunn, Jonathan Larwood, Vincent L. Santucci, Daniel Tormey, and Graeme L. Worboys, Guidelines for Geoconservation in Protected and Conserved Areas (Gland: IUCN, 2020), 6. 3. Alice Gorman, Dr. Space Junk vs. the Universe: Archaeology and the Future (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2019), 177. 4. Christopher J. Newman, “Seeking Tranquillity: Embedding Sustainability in Lunar Exploration Policy,” Space Policy 33 (2015): 29–37. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/j​ .spacepol​.2015​.05​.003. 5. NASA, Artemis Plan: NASA’s Lunar Exploration Program Overview (Washington, DC: NASA, 2020), accessed October 5, 2020, https://www​.nasa​.gov​ /sites​/default​/files​/atoms​/files​/artemis​_plan​-20200921​.pdf. 6. Christian Davenport, The Space Barons: Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, and the Quest to Colonize the Cosmos (New York: PublicAffairs, 2018), 272–275. 7. Julie Michelle Klinger, Rare Earth Frontiers: From Terrestrial Subsoils to Lunar Landscapes (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2017), 204. 8. Harrison H. Schmitt, Return to the Moon: Exploration, Enterprise, and Energy in the Human Settlement in Space (New York: Praxis Publishing, 2006), 45. 9. Ian A. Crawford, “Lunar Resources: A Review,” Progress in Physical Geography 39, no. 2 (2015): 144. https://doi​.org​/10​.1177​/0309133314567585.

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10. James S. J. Schwartz, The Value of Science in Space Exploration (New York: Oxford University Press, 2020), 164; John S. Lewis, Mining the Sky: Untold Riches from the Asteroids, Comets, and Planets (New York: Basic Books, 1996), 139; Crawford, “Lunar Resources,” 143. https://doi​.org​/10​.1177​ /0309133314567585. 11. Schmitt, Return to the Moon, 5, 44. 12. Schmitt, Return to the Moon, 98. 13. World Population Review, “World City Populations 2020,” accessed June 19, 2020, https://wor​ldpo​pula​tion​review​.com​/world​-cities/. 14. Mark Williamson, Space: The Fragile Frontier (Reston, VA: American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, 2006), 105. 15. Martin Elvis, Asteroids: How Love, Fear, and Greed Will Determine Our Future in Space (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2021), 211. 16. Crawford, “Lunar Resources,” 143, 157–159. 17. Schwartz, Value of Science, 6. 18. K. R. Norman, trans., The Group of Discourses (Sutta-Nipāta) (Oxford: Pāli Text Society, 2001), 83; Gil Fronsdal, trans., The Dhammapada (Boston: Shambhala, 2006), 46; Bhikkhu Bodhi, trans., The Numerical Discourses of the Buddha (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2012), 519. 19. Pāli: Rāhu, Candimā. Bhikkhu Bodhi, trans., The Connected Discourses of the Buddha, Vol. 1 (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2000), 144–145. 20. David Hawkes, trans., The Songs of the South: An Ancient Chinese Anthology of Poems by Qu Yuan and Other Poets (London: Penguin Classics, 2011), 127. 21. Don E. Wilhelms, The Geologic History of the Moon (Washington, DC: United States Geological Survey, 1987), 143. https://doi​.org​/10​.3133​/pp1348; C. S. Lewis, Christian Reflections (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans, 1967), 173. 22. Mircea Eliade, Patterns in Comparative Religion (New York: New American Library, 1958), 154. 23. Eliade, Patterns, 155–181. 24. Subhash Kak, “Birth and Early Development of Indian Astronomy,” in Astronomy across Cultures: The History of Non-Western Astronomy, edited by Helaine Selin (Dordrecht: Springer-Science+Business Media, B.V., 2000), 308; John S. Major, trans., Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought: Chapters Three, Four, and Five of the Huainanzi (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993), 127–128. 25. Bernd Brunner, Moon: A Brief History (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2010), x. 26. Taikō Yamasaki, Shingon: Japanese Esoteric Buddhism (Boston: Shambhala, 1988), 198. 27. Plutarch, On the Face Which Appears on the Orb of the Moon, translated by A. O. Prickard (Winchester: Warren and Son, 1911). 28. Hawkes, Songs of the South, 127. 29. Anthony Aveni, Stairways to the Stars: Skywatching in Three Great Ancient Cultures (New York: John Wiley and Sons, 1997), 28; Susan Milbrath, Star Gods of the Maya: Astronomy in Art, Folklore, and Calendars (Austin: University of Texas Press, 1999), 32.

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30. Winthrop Sargeant, trans., The Bhagavad Gītā, edited by Christopher Key Chapple (Albany: State University of New York Press 2009), 326; Arthur W. Ryder, trans., The Panchatantra (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1956), 312–315. 31. Sanskrit: Śakra. Peter Khoroche, trans., Once the Buddha Was a Monkey: Árya Śūra’s Jātakamālā (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1989), 32–38. 32. Khoroche, Once the Buddha, 32–38. 33. Hawkes, Songs of the South, 138. 34. Lihui Yang and Deming An, Handbook of Chinese Mythology (New York: Oxford University Press, 2005), 86–91. 35. Australian Earth Laws Alliance, “Declaration of the Rights of the Moon,” accessed February 13, 2021, https://www​.earthlaws​.org​.au​/moon​-declaration/. 36. P. J. Capelotti, The Human Archaeology of Space: Lunar, Planetary and Interstellar Relics of Exploration (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2010), 21; Lisa Westwood, Beth O’Leary, and Milford Wayne Donaldson, The Final Mission: Preserving NASA’s Apollo Sites (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 2017). 37. Nyanaponika Thera and Hellmuth Hecker, Great Disciples of the Buddha (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2003), 222. 38. George D. Bond, Buddhism at Work: Community Development, Social Empowerment and the Sarvodaya Movement (Bloomfield: Kumarian Press, 2004). 39. Elizabeth Allison, “Deity Citadels: Sacred Sites of Bio-Cultural Resistance and Resilience in Bhutan,” Religions 10, no. 4 (2019), 268. https://doi​.org​/10​.3390​/ rel10040268. 40. Liu Jianqiang, Tibetan Environmentalists in China: The King of Dzi, translated Ian Rowen, Cyrus K. Hui, and Emily T. Yeh (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2015), 92, 220, 223, 273, 284–285. 41. Aldo Leopold, A Sand County Almanac and Other Writings on Ecology and Conservation, edited by Curt Meine (New York: Library of America, 2013), 455. 42. Leopold, A Sand County Almanac, 455. 43. Leopold, A Sand County Almanac, 456. 44. Andrew Balmford, Wild Hope: On the Front Lines of Conservation Success (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2012), 98. 45. Parvathy Prem, Dana M. Hurley, David B. Goldstein, and Philip L. Varghese, “The Evolution of a Spacecraft-Generated Lunar Exosphere,” Journal of Geophysical Research: Planets 125 (2020): e2020JE006464. https://doi​.org​/10​.1029​ /2020JE006464. 46. UNESCO, A New Roadmap for the Man and the Biosphere (MAB) Programme and its World Network of Biosphere Reserves (Paris: UNESCO, 2017). 47. William R. Kramer, “Extraterrestrial Environmental Impact Assessments—A Foreseeable Prerequisite for Wise Decisions regarding Outer Space Exploration, Research and Development,” Space Policy 30 (2014): 215–222. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​ /j​.spacepol​.2014​.07​.001; William R. Kramer, “In Dreams Begin Responsibilities— Environmental Impact Assessment and Outer Space Development,” Environmental Practice 19, no. 3 (2017): 128–138. https://doi​.org​/10​.1080​/14660466​.2017​.1338874; William R. Kramer, “A Framework for Extraterrestrial Environmental Assessment,” Space Policy 53 (2020): 101385. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/j​.spacepol​.2020​.101385.

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48. Martin Elvis, Alanna Krolikowski, and Tony Milligan, “Concentrated Lunar Resources: Imminent Implications for Governance and Justice,” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society A 379 (2021): 20190563. http://dx​.doi​.org​/10​.1098​ /rsta​.2019​.0563. 49. Elvis et al., “Concentrated Lunar Resources,” 20190563. 50. Leonard David, “Moon Group Pushes for Protection of Ultraquiet Lunar Far Side,” Space​.com​, accessed November 3, 2022, https://www​.space​.com​/moon​-far​ -side​-radio​-quiet​-telescope​-project. 51. David G. Schrunk, Burton L. Sharpe, Bonnie L. Cooper, and Madhu Thangavelu, The Moon: Resources, Future Development, and Settlement (Chichester: Praxis Publishing, 2008), 87. 52. P. J. Van Susante, “Study towards Construction and Operations of Large Lunar Telescopes,” Advances in Space Research 31, no. 11 (2003): 2480. https://doi​.org​/10​ .1016​/S0273​-1177(03)00563-5. 53. Burton L. Sharpe and David G. Schrunk, “Malapert Mountain: Gateway to the Moon,” Advances in Space Research 31, no. 11 (2003): 2467. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​ /S0273​-1177(03)00535-0. 54. Schrunk et al., The Moon, 54. 55. James B. Irwin, More than Earthlings (Nashville: Broadman Press, 1983), 46, 51, 91. 56. Schrunk et al., The Moon, 427. 57. Tony Milligan, Nobody Owns the Moon: The Ethics of Space Exploitation (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2015), 21. 58. Alan Chu, Storm Dunlop, Mario Weigand, and Wolfgang Paech, The Cambridge Photographic Moon Atlas (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 163. 59. Schrunk et al., The Moon, 22. 60. Andrew Chaikin, A Man on the Moon: The Voyages of the Apollo Astronauts (New York; Penguin Books, 2007), 211. 61. For Buddhist valuations of life over nonlife, see Daniel Capper, Roaming Free like a Deer: Buddhism and the Natural World (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2022). 62. Capper, “Preserving Mars Today,” 101325. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/j​.spacepol​.2019​.05​.003; Daniel Capper, “What Should We Do with Our Moon? Ethics and Policy for Establishing Multiuse Lunar Land Reserves,” Space Policy (2021): 101462. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/j​.spacepol​.2021​.101462. 63. Christopher J. Newman, “Unnatural Selection or the Best of Both Worlds? The Legal and Regulatory Ramifications of the Discovery of Alien Life,” in Social and Conceptual Issues in Astrobiology, edited by Kelly C. Smith and Carlos Mariscal (New York: Oxford University Press, 2020), 299–301. 64. David R. Loy, Ecodharma: Buddhist Teachings for the Ecological Crisis (Somerville: Wisdom Publications, 2018), 151. 65. Loy, Ecodharma, 78.

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CHAPTER 3 1. Dalai Lama, The Universe in a Single Atom: The Convergence of Science and Spirituality (New York: Broadway Books, 2005), 73. 2. Daniel Deudney, Dark Skies: Space Expansionism, Planetary Geopolitics, and the Ends of Humanity (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020), 97. 3. Octavio A. Chon-Torres, Julio César Ramos Ramírez, Fernando Hoyos Rengifo, Rosana Aurora Choy Vessoni, Ivan Sergo Laura, Félix Germán Alfonso Ríos-Ruiz, César Andreé Murga-Moreno, José Percy Leonel Alvarado Pino, and Ximena Yance-Morales, “Attitudes and Perceptions towards the Scientific Search for Extraterrestrial Life among Students of Public and Private Universities in Peru,” International Journal of Astrobiology (2020): 1–9. https://doi​.org​/10​.1017​/ S1473550420000130. 4. Seth Shostak, “Current Approaches to Finding Life beyond Earth, and What Happens If We Do,” in The Impact of Discovering Life Beyond Earth, edited by Steven J. Dick (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 9–22. 5. Tullis C. Onstott, Deep Life: The Hunt for the Hidden Biology of Earth, Mars, and Beyond (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2017), 271–278. 6. Mark A. Bedau and Mark Triant, “Social and Ethical Implications of Creating Artificial Cells,” in Encountering Life in the Universe: Ethical Foundations and Social Implications of Astrobiology, edited by Chris Impey, Anna H. Spitz, and William Stoeger (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2013), 120–140. 7. David A. Paige, “Ancient Mars: Wet in Many Places,” Science 307, no. 5715 (2005): 1575–1576. 8. Janice L. Bishop, “Remote Detection of Phyllosilicates on Mars and Implications for Climate and Habitability,” in From Habitability to Life on Mars, edited by Nathalie A. Cabrol and Edmond A. Grin (Amsterdam: Elsevier, 2018), 37–75; Nathalie A. Cabrol, Edmond A. Grin, Pierre Zippi, Nora Noffke, and Diane Winter, “Evolution of Altiplanic Lakes at the Pleistocene/Holocene Transition: A Window into Early Mars Declining Habitability, Changing Habitats, and Biosignatures,” in Cabrol and Grin, From Habitability, 153–177; Sherry L. Cady, John R. Skok, Virginia G. Gulick, Jeff A. Berger, and Nancy W. Hinman, “Siliceous Hot Spring Deposits: Why They Remain Key Astrobiological Targets,” in Cabrol and Grin, From Habitability, 179–210. 9. Athena Coustenis and Thérèse Encrenaz, Life Beyond Earth: The Search for Habitable Worlds in the Universe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013), 99. 10. Raymond E. Arvidson and Jeffrey G. Catalano, “Martian Habitability as Inferred from Landed Mission Observations,” in Cabrol and Grin, From Habitability, 88–91; Alfred S. McEwen, “Are Recurring Slope Linnea Habitable?” in Cabrol and Grin, From Habitability, 249–274. 11. Louisa Preston, Goldilocks and the Water Bears: The Search for Life in the Universe (London: Bloomsbury, 2016), 154.

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12. Emiliano Fratini and Roberto Amendola, “Caves and Other Subsurface Environments in the Future Exploration of Mars: The Absence of Natural Background Radiation as Biology Concern,” Rendiconti Lincei 25 (2014): 91–96. https://doi​.org​ /10​.1007​/s12210​-013​-0270​-0. 13. Jennifer J. Marshall Hathaway, Matthew G. Garcia, Monica Moya Balasch, Michael N. Spilde, Fred D. Stone, Maria De Lurdes N. E. Dapkevicius, Isabel R. Amorim, Rosalina Gabriel, Paulo A. V. Borges, and Diana E. Northup, “Comparison of Bacterial Diversity in Azorean and Hawai’ian Lava Cave Microbial Mats,” Geomicrobiology Journal 31, no. 3 (2014): 205–220. https://doi​.org​/10​.1080​ /01490451​.2013​.777491. 14. Penelope J. Boston and Steven Dubowsky, “Hopping Microbot Access to Subsurface (Cave) and Rugged Terrain on Mars and Hazardous Extreme Earth Astrobiology Sites,” American Geophysical Union, Fall Meeting 2005, abstract id. P51D-0964. 15. William R. Kramer, “Colonizing Mars—An Opportunity for Reconsidering Bioethical Standards and Obligations to Future Generations,” Futures 43 (2011): 545–551. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/j​.futures​.2011​.02​.006. 16. Alan Marshall, “Ethics and the Extraterrestrial Environment,” Journal of Applied Philosophy 10 (1993): 227–236. https://doi​.org​/10​.1111​/j​.1468​-5930​.1993​ .tb00078​.x. 17. Charles S. Cockell, “The Ethical Status of Microbial Life on Earth and Elsewhere,” in The Ethics of Space Exploration, edited by James S. J. Schwartz and Tony Milligan (Cham: Springer, 2016), 170. 18. Kelly C. Smith, “The Trouble with Intrinsic Value: An Ethical Primer for Astrobiology,” in Exploring the Origin, Extent, and Future of Life: Philosophical, Ethical, and Theological Perspectives, edited by Constance M. Bertka (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 277. 19. Margaret S. Race and Richard O. Randolph, “The Need for Operating Guidelines and a Decision Making Framework Applicable to the Discovery of Non-Intelligent Extraterrestrial Life,” Advances in Space Research 30, no. 6 (2002): 1583–1591. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/S0273​-1177(02)00478-7. 20. Daniel Capper, “Intrinsic Value, American Buddhism, and Potential Life on Saturn’s Moon Titan,” in Astrobiology: Science, Ethics, and Public Policy, edited by Ted Peters, Octavio Chon Torres, Richard Gordon, and Joseph Seckbach (New York: Wiley, 2021), 357–372. For a rare implementation of the concept of intrinsic value within Buddhist ethics, see Simon James, Zen Buddhism and Environmental Ethics (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2004), 83–105. 21. Ṭhānissaro Bhikkhu, Bhikkhunī Pāṭimokkha, accessed March 11, 2019, https:// www​.accesstoinsight​.org​/tipitaka​/vin​/sv​/bhikkhuni​-pati​.html. 22. Gil Fronsdal, trans., The Dhammapada (Boston: Shambhala, 2006), 70. 23. Robert B. Ekvall, Fields on the Hoof: Nexus of Tibetan Nomadic Pastoralism (Prospect Heights: Waveland Press, 1983), 48; G. A. Combe, A Tibetan on Tibet (London: T. Fisher Unwin, 1926), 126–127. 24. Christopher Key Chapple, Nonviolence to Animals, Earth, and Self in Asian Traditions (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993), 22.

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25. Bhikkhu Nyanasobhano, Landscapes of Wonder: Discovering Buddhist Dhamma in the World Around Us (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 1998), 54. 26. Philip Kapleau, To Cherish All Life: A Buddhist Case for Becoming Vegetarian (Rochester: Zen Center, 1986), 6–7. 27. Andrew J. McCormick, “Buddhist Ethics and End-of-Life Care Decisions,” Journal of Social Work in End-Of-Life and Palliative Care 9 (2013): 209–225. https:// doi​.org​/10​.1080​/15524256​.2013​.794060. 28. Daniel Capper, “Learning Love from a Tiger: Approaches to Nature in an American Buddhist Monastery,” Journal of Contemporary Religion 30 (2015): 53–69. https://doi​.org​/10​.1080​/13537903​.2015​.986976. 29. Ian Harris, “‘A Vast Unsupervised Recycling Plant’: Animals and the Buddhist Cosmos,” in A Communion of Subjects: Animals in Religion, Science, and Ethics, edited by Paul Waldau and Kimberly Patton (New York: Columbia University Press, 2006), 207–217. 30. Capper, “Intrinsic Value,” 357–372. 31. Ṭhānissaro Bhikkhu, The Buddhist Monastic Code I and II (Valley Center: Metta Forest Monastery, 2013), 13, 17. 32. Bhikkhu, The Buddhist Monastic Code I and II, 346, 657, 669, 717, 719, 736. 33. Race and Randolph, “The Need for Operating Guidelines,” 1583. 34. Coustenis and Encrenaz, Life Beyond Earth, 41–47. 35. Bhikkhu, Bhikkhunī Pāṭimokkha. 36. Xu Yun, Empty Cloud (Worcester: Element Books, 1988), 48, 55, 125. 37. Susan M. Darlington, “Buddhist Integration of Forest and Farm in Northern Thailand,” Religions 10 (2019): 521. https://doi​.org​/10​.3390​/rel10090521. 38. Damien Keown, Buddhism and Bioethics (New York: Palgrave, 2001), 1–64. 39. Cockell, “The Ethical Status of Microbial Life,” 167. 40. Keown, Buddhism and Bioethics, 35. 41. Arri Eisen and Yungdrung Konchok, The Enlightened Gene: Biology, Buddhism, and the Convergence that Explains the World (Lebanon: ForeEdge, 2018), 38. 42. Capper, “Learning Love from a Tiger,” 53–69. 43. Harris, “A Vast Unsupervised Recycling Plant,” 207–217. 44. Christopher McKay, “Astroethics and the Terraforming of Mars,” in Astrotheology: Science and Theology Meet Extraterrestrial Life, edited by Ted Peters (Eugene: Cascade Books, 2018), 381–390. 45. Cockell, “The Ethical Status of Microbial Life,” 167–179. 46. Kenneth H. Williford, Kenneth A. Farley, Kathryn M. Stack, Abigail C. Allwood, David Beaty, Luther W. Beegle, Rohit Bhartia, Adrian J. Brown, Manuel de la Torre Juarez, Svein-Erik Hamran, Michael H. Hecht, Joel A. Hurowitz, Jose A. Rodriguez-Manfredi, Sylvestre Maurice, Sarah Milkovich, and Roger C. Wiens, “The NASA Mars 2020 Rover Mission and the Search for Extraterrestrial Life,” in Cabrol and Grin, From Habitability, 275–308. 47. Charles S. Cockell, Space on Earth: Saving Our World by Seeking Others (London: Macmillan, 2007), 129.

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48. On rover operation and ethics, see Janet Vertesi, Seeing Like a Rover: How Robots, Teams, and Images Craft Knowledge of Mars (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2015). 49. Elaine Howard Ecklund, David R. Johnson, Brandon Vaidyanathan, Kirstin R. W. Matthews, Steven W. Lewis, Robert A. Thomson Jr., and Di Di, Secularity and Science: What Scientists around the World Really Think about Religion (New York: Oxford University Press, 2019), 28–29. 50. Frank White, The Overview Effect: Space Exploration and Human Evolution (Reston, VA: American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, 1998), 8. 51. Nick Kanas, “Spirituality, Humanism, and the Overview Effect during Manned Space Missions,” Acta Astronautica 166 (2020): 525–528. https://doi​.org​/10​ .1016​/j​.actaastro​.2018​.08​.004. 52. Dalai Lama, The Universe in a Single Atom, 201.

CHAPTER 4 1. Christian Davenport, The Space Barons (New York: PublicAffairs, 2018), 123. 2. Davenport, The Space Barons, 258. 3. Davenport, The Space Barons, 243. 4. Bruce M. Jakosky and Christopher S. Edwards, “Inventory of CO2 Available for Terraforming Mars,” Nature Astronomy 638, no. 2 (2018): 634–639; Mike Wall, “Elon Musk Floats ‘Nuke Mars’ Idea Again (He Has T-Shirts),” Space​.com​, August 17, 2019, accessed September 14, 2019, https://www​ .space​ .com​ /elon​ -musk​ -nuke​ -mars​-terraforming​.html. 5. Christopher P. McKay, “Planetary Ecosynthesis on Mars: Restoration Ecology and Environmental Ethics,” in Exploring the Origin, Extent, and Future of Life: Philosophical, Ethical, and Theological Perspectives, edited by Constance M. Bertka (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009), 254. 6. Tony Milligan, Nobody Owns the Moon: The Ethics of Space Exploitation (Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2015), 8. 7. David R. Loy, Ecodharma: Buddhist Teachings for the Ecological Crisis (Somerville: Wisdom Publications, 2018), 115. 8. Holmes Rolston, III, “The Preservation of Natural Value in the Solar System,” in Beyond Spaceship Earth: Environmental Ethics and the Solar System, edited by Eugene C. Hargrove (San Francisco: Sierra Club Books, 1986), 141. 9. David Naguib Pellow, Total Liberation: The Power and Promise of Animal Rights and the Radical Earth Movement (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2014), 7–8. 10. James S. J. Schwartz, “On the Moral Permissibility of Terraforming,” Ethics and the Environment 18, no. 2 (2013): 1–31. https://www​.jstor​.org​/stable​/10​.2979​/ ethicsenviro​.18​.2​.1. 11. Martin Beech, Terraforming: The Creating of Habitable Worlds (New York: Springer, 2009), 7–10, 13–14, 23, 41.

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12. Beech, Terraforming, 18, 144, 151–155, 162–163. 13. Robert Zubrin, The Case for Mars: The Plans to Settle the Red Planet and Why We Must (London: Simon and Schuster, 1996), 250, 267, 270. 14. Zubrin, The Case for Mars, 248–249. 15. Zubrin, The Case for Mars, 271. 16. Martin Rees, On the Future: Prospects for Humanity (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2018), 5–8, 60. 17. Rees, On the Future, 150. 18. Sean McMahon, “The Aesthetic Objection to Terraforming Mars,” in The Ethics of Space Exploration, edited by James S. J. Schwartz and Tony Milligan (Cham: Springer, 2016), 210–217. 19. Subhash Kak, “Birth and Early Development of Indian Astronomy,” in Astronomy across Cultures: The History of Non-Western Astronomy, edited Helaine Selin (Dordrecht: Springer-Science+Business Media, B.V., 2000), 319. 20. Khedrup Norsang Gyatso, Ornament of Stainless Light: An Exposition of the Kālacakra Tantra, translated by Gavin Kilty (Boston: Wisdom Publications, 2004), 109; Ebenezer Burgess, trans., Translation of the Sūrya Siddhānta: A Textbook of Hindu Astronomy (Elibron​.co​m: Elibron, 2005); Leo M. Pruden, trans., Abhidharmakośabhāṣyam of Vasubandhu, Vol. II (Berkeley: Asian Humanities Press, 1988). 21. Jamgön Kongtrul Lodrö Thayé, The Treasury of Knowledge, Book One: Myriad Worlds, translated by Kalu Rinpoché Translation Group (Boulder: Snow Lion, 1995), 158. 22. John S. Major, trans., Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought: Chapters Three, Four, and Five of the Huainanzi (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1993), 76. 23. Major, Heaven and Earth in Early Han Thought, 74. 24. David A. Weintraub, Life on Mars: What to Know before We Go (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2018), 4. 25. Arri Eisen and Yungdrung Konchok, The Enlightened Gene: Biology, Buddhism, and the Convergence that Explains the World (Lebanon: ForeEdge, 2018), 38. 26. McKay, “Planetary Ecosynthesis on Mars,” 258. 27. Daisetz Teitaro Suzuki, The Lankavatara Sutra: A Mahayana Text (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1973), 212. 28. Daniel Capper, Roaming Free Like a Deer: Buddhism and the Natural World (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2022). 29. Ian Harris, “Landscape Aesthetics and Environmentalism: Some Observations on the Representations of Nature in Buddhist and Western Art,” Contemporary Buddhism 8, no. 2 (2007): 150. https://doi​.org​/10​.1080​/14639940701636125. 30. Donald S. Lopez Jr., Buddhism and Science: A Guide for the Perplexed (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2008), 70. 31. Ṭhānissaro Bhikkhu, The Buddhist Monastic Code I and II (Valley Center: Metta Forest Monastery, 2013), 346, 657, 679, 719, 736.

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32. Shantideva, The Bodhicaryāvatāra, translated by Andrew Skilton and Kate Crosby (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), 38. 33. Thich Nhat Hanh, The World We Have (Berkeley: Parallax Press, 2008), 70. 34. Thich Nhat Hanh, The Diamond That Cuts Through Illusion: Commentaries on the Prajñaparamita Diamond Sutra (Berkeley: Parallax Press, 1992), 4. 35. Nhat Hanh, The World We Have, 73, 107. 36. Nhat Hanh, The Diamond That Cuts, 89. 37. Daniel Capper, “Learning Love from a Tiger: Approaches to Nature at an American Buddhist Monastery,” Journal of Contemporary Religion 30, no. 1 (2015): 53–69. https://doi​.org​/10​.1080​/13537903​.2015​.986976. 38. Capper, “Learning Love from a Tiger,” 53–69. 39. Capper, Roaming Free like a Deer. 40. Rolston, “The Preservation of Natural Value,” 155. 41. Murray Gray, Geodiversity: Valuing and Conserving Abiotic Nature (West Sussex: John Wiley and Sons, 2004), 65; McMahon, “The Aesthetic Objection to Terraforming Mars,” 212. 42. Mark Lupisella, “Cosmological Theories of Value: Relationalism and Connectedness as Foundations for Cosmic Creativity,” in Schwartz and Milligan, Ethics, 81–82. 43. Tony Milligan, “Valuing Humans and Valuing Places: ‘Integrity’ and the Preferred Terminology for Geoethics,” Geosciences 8 (2018): 25. https://doi​.org​/10​ .3390​/geosciences8010025. 44. John W. Traphagan and Julian W. Traphagan, “SETI in Non-Western Perspective,” in The Impact of Discovering Life beyond Earth, edited by Steven J. Dick (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 303–304. 45. Charles S. Cockell, Space on Earth: Saving Our World by Seeking Others (London: Macmillan, 2007), 31. 46. Nishant Alphonse Irudayadason, “The Wonder Called Cosmic Oneness: Toward Astroethics from Hindu and Buddhist Wisdom and Worldviews,” in Encountering Life in the Universe, edited by Chris Impey, Anna H. Spitz, and William Stoeger (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2013), 101, 108. 47. Victor Mansfield, “Time and Impermanence in Middle Way Buddhism and Modern Physics,” in Buddhism and Science: Breaking New Ground, edited by B. Alan Wallace (New York: Columbia University Press, 2003), 319. 48. James S. J. Schwartz, “On the Methodology of Space Ethics,” in The Ethics of Space Exploration, edited by James S. J. Schwartz and Tony Milligan (Cham: Springer, 2016), 102. 49. William R. Kramer, “Colonizing Mars—An Opportunity for Reconsidering Bioethical Standards and Obligations to Future Generations,” Futures 43 (2011): 545–551. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/j​.futures​.2011​.02​.006. 50. Martin Elvis, Asteroids: How Love, Fear, and Greed Will Determine Our Future in Space (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2021), 123–161. 51. Rolston, “The Preservation of Natural Value,” 156–157. 52. Oliver Morton, The Planet Remade: How Geoengineering Could Change the World (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2015), 249–259.

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53. Ioannis Rigopoulos, Anna L. Harrison, Andreas Delimitis, Ioannis Ioannou, Angelos M. Efstathiou, Theodora Kyratsi, and Eric H. Oelkers, “Carbon Sequestration via Enhanced Weathering of Peridotites and Basalts in Seawater,” Applied Geochemistry 91 (2018): 197–207. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/j​.apgeochem​.2017​.11​.001. 54. Judith I. Ajani, Heather Keith, Margaret Blakers, Brendan G. Mackey, and Helen P. King, “Comprehensive Carbon Stock and Flow Accounting: A National Framework to Support Climate Change Mitigation Policy,” Ecological Economics 89 (2013): 61–72. https://doi​.org​/10​.1016​/j​.ecolecon​.2013​.01​.010. 55. Rees, On the Future, 150.

CONCLUSION 1. Joy Hendry, “Nature Tamed: Gardens as a Microcosm of Japan’s View of the World,” in Japanese Images of Nature: Cultural Perspectives, edited by Pamela J. Asquith and Arne Kalland (Richmond: Curzon, 1997), 93; François Berthier, “Reading Zen in the Rocks: The Japanese Dry Landscape Garden,” in Reading Zen in the Rocks, translated by Graham Parkes (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 2000), 19. 2. Frank White, The Overview Effect: Space Exploration and Human Evolution (Reston, VA: American Institute of Aeronautics and Astronautics, 1998), 189. 3. Linda Billings, “Earth, Life, Space: The Social Construction of the Biosphere and the Expansion of the Concept into Outer Space,” in Social and Conceptual Issues in Astrobiology, edited by Kelly C. Smith and Carlos Mariscal (New York: Oxford University Press, 2020), 239. 4. Erin Moore Daly and Robert Frodeman, “Separated at Birth, Signs of Rapprochement: Environmental Ethics and Space Exploration,” Ethics and the Environment 13, no. 1 (2008): 140. https://www​.jstor​.org​/stable​/40339152. 5. United Nations, Continuity of the Work of the Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space and its Subsidiary Bodies (New York: United Nations, 2020), 1. 6. Daniel Capper, Roaming Free like a Deer: Buddhism and the Natural World (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2022). 7. Howard L. Harrod, The Animals Came Dancing: Native American Sacred Ecology and Animal Kinship (Tucson: University of Arizona Press, 2000), 86–87, 111–112. 8. Elaine Howard Ecklund, David R. Johnson, Brandon Vaidyanathan, Kirstin R. W. Matthews, Steven W. Lewis, Robert A. Thomson Jr., and Di Di, Secularity and Science: What Scientists around the World Really Think about Religion (New York: Oxford University Press, 2019), 9. 9. Stephen Jay Gould, Rocks of Ages: Science and Religion in the Fullness of Life (New York: Ballantine Books, 1999), 47–96. 10. Ecklund et al., Secularity and Science, 7–8. 11. Ian Barbour, Religion in an Age of Science (San Francisco: Harper San Francisco, 1990), 3–30. 12. James A. Dator, Social Foundations of Human Space Exploration (New York: Springer, 2012), 35.

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APPENDIX A 1. Charles S. Prebish, American Buddhism (North Scituate: Duxbury Press, 1979); Jan Nattier, “Who Is a Buddhist? Charting the Landscape of Buddhist America,” in The Faces of Buddhism in America, edited by Charles S. Prebish and Kenneth K. Tanaka (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), 183–195. 2. Chenxing Han, “Diverse Practices and Flexible Beliefs among Young Adult Asian American Buddhists,” Journal of Global Buddhism 18 (2017): 1–24. http://dx​ .doi​.org​/10​.5281​/zenodo​.1247854. 3. Anne C. Spencer, “Diversification in the Buddhist Churches of America: Demographic Trends and Their Implications for the Future Study of U.S. Buddhist Groups,” Journal of Global Buddhism 15 (2014): 35–61. http://dx​.doi​.org​/10​.1​.1​.670​ .7912​-1. 4. Wakoh Shannon Hickey, “Two Buddhisms, Three Buddhisms, and Racism,” Journal of Global Buddhism 11 (2010): 1–25. 5. Jeff Wilson, “‘A Dharma of Place’: Evolving Aesthetics and Cultivating Community in an American Zen Garden,” in American Buddhism as a Way of Life, edited by Gary Storhoff and John Whalen-Bridge (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2010), 195–208. 6. Mark Chaves, American Religion: Contemporary Trends (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2017), 89. 7. Richard K. Payne, ed., Secularizing Buddhism: New Perspectives on a Dynamic Tradition (Boulder, CO: Shambhala, 2021).

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Index

Page references for figures are italicized. abiotic ethics, 92, 96–98; among American Buddhists, 8, 58, 90–94, 96–97; Earth’s climate change and, 98, 104–5; Mars’s beauty and, 91; mining and, 97; our moon and, 40, 57–58; in traditional Buddhist philosophies, 90–91, 104 Abrahamic religions, 7, 9, 11 active debris removal, 23–24, 36 American Buddhism, 2, 21, 113; abiotic ethics, 8, 58, 90–94, 96–97; bioethics, 62, 71, 76; conservative versus liberal, 107–8; environmentalist dimension, 16; ethical responsibility, 30–31; habitat protection and, 72; history and character, 15–16; lunar reserves and, 40, 48, 56–58, 60; nonharm, 59, 68; on planetwide ecological manipulation, 82, 87–88, 92–98; science and, 73–76; and the search for life, 62, 66, 71–73, 77–78; study demographics, 107–9 animals (nonhuman), 13, 64, 102; in Buddhism in general, 33, 104; in Buddhist philosophies, 33–34, 68; humans better than, 9–10; nonharm

toward, 34, 67–68, 73; reincarnation, 33, 89; reserves, 39; space debris and, 20–21, 27, 29–30, 33–34 anthropocentrism: Abrahamic, 9; within Buddhism, 73–79; and planetwide ecological manipulation, 84–85 Apollo program, 42; Jim Irwin, 54; Michael Collins, 82, 102; moon landings, 47; preservation efforts, 47 Aristotle, 9–10 Arnould, Jacques, 23–28 asteroids, 84; helium-3 and, 114; mining of, 97; respect for integrities of, 82; in solar ecosystem, 5 Australia, 4; Australian Earth Laws Alliance, 46; Burra Charter, 25 baseline ecologies, 48–51 Beech, Martin, 83–84, 85, 87, 93 Bhutan, 16, 48 Bible, 9–10, 15, 109, 113 Billings, Linda, 5, 103 bioethics, 105; in Buddhism, 71, 73–74, 76; on Earth, 62, 66, 76 Blue Origin, 3, 50 Buddhadhāsa, 90, 91 149

150

Index

Buddhism: abiotic ethics, 90–91, 104; agriculture and, 70–71; anthropocentrism, 73, 89; Chinese, 15–16, 46, 70, 88, 90; empiricism and, 8, 13; ethnoastronomy, 44, 46, 88; happiness and, 11–13; intrinsic value concept and, 65–66; Japanese, 15–16, 38, 45, 46, 90, 101; major branches of, 16; on moderation, 37; nature reserves and, 2–3, 39–40, 47–48, 56–59; nonharm, 2, 5, 10, 14, 17; nontheism, 11; Pure Land, 101, 106; rabbit in the moon, 45–46; reincarnation, 10, 33, 72, 89; science and, 12–13; scriptural protection of habitats, 2, 66, 68–69; secularization and, 13–15, 68, 77, 109; sentience of microbes within, 73; on space debris, 40, 30–34; Thai, 16, 70, 90, 108; Tibetan, 16, 34, 39, 48, 73. See also American Buddhism Buddhist environmental ethics: abiotic, 90–91, 104; American Buddhist contributions to, 8; anthropocentrism within, 73, 89; in context, 9–11; microbes within, 10; nonhuman animals and, 10–11, 21, 33–35; respect for life, 66, 70; on space debris, 4, 30–34 Burma, 16, 115 Chang’e, 46; Chang’e-4 mission, 51 chemolithotrophs, 1, 65 Chinese Buddhism, 15–16; ethnoastronomy, 44, 88; farming and, 70; the rabbit in the moon, 45–46; Wutaishan, 90 Christianity, 9; and the Golden Rule, 65 climate change, 8; abiotic ethics and, 8, 97–98, 104; deorbiting satellites and, 26; lessons from Mars, 82–83, 97–98; manipulating Mars’s ecology and, 82, 86; space debris and, 27

Cockell, Charles, 65, 76, 77; cosmic ethic of, 96 Collins, Michael, 82, 102 comets: and planetwide ecological manipulation, 84; respect for integrities of, 82, 97; in solar ecosystem, 5, 97 Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (UNCOPUOS): described, 115–16; on environmental justice, 7; and nature reserves, 60 control group, 16, 31, 71–72, 74, 109 Crawford, Ian A., 42, 43 Daedalus Crater, 40, 51, 52 Dalai Lama: empiricism, 13; environmental ethics, 3, 89; on the importance of living things, 62; overview effect, 79 deontology, 66, 67, 113 deorbiting spacecraft: inhibited by greenhouse effect, 26; vaporizing, 24, 26–27 dependent arising: abiotic ethics and, 90; in Buddhist scriptures, 32; defined, 12–13, 113; interconnection as alternative to the importance of life, 58, 104; intrinsic value and, 66; as morally neutral, 33, 93, 103; not holy, 14; as paṭicca-samuppāda, 12; philosophical background, 12, 32; space debris and, 32, 34; for Thich Nhat Hanh, 32 Dhammapāda, 33, 67 DNA, 65, 69, 78 Dōgen, 90, 91 Earth’s climate change mitigation, 82, 98 environmental ethics, 8; abiotic, 40, 57– 58, 90–98, 104; aesthetic argument for Mars, 86–87; Buddhism and nonhuman animals, 10–11, 21, 33– 35; Buddhist anthropocentrism, 73, 89; Buddhist contributions to, 30–35,

Index

56–59, 77–78, 95–98; Buddhist division of animate and inanimate, 61, 89–90; Buddhist respect for life, 66, 70; intrinsic value concept, 65–66, 114; on Mars, 8; for moon, 39–60; nondual, 90; nonharm-ininterconnection, 30, 32–33, 82, 96–98; the search for life and, 61–79; space debris, 30, 33–34, 40; this book’s contributions to, 102–6 environmental justice: abiotic entities, 82; defined, 6–7; within Earthly climate change, 6, 83, 98; Mars, 82, 97, 102; microbes, 62, 77; nonvaporized space debris and, 20, 28; from not overhauling Mars, 105; our moon, 7, 39–40, 60; and the preventability of space debris, 28–29; in the search for life, 62, 102; space debris consent and, 28; space debris effects on nonhuman animals, 20, 34; space debris in general and, 25–30; space debris policies, 35–37 environmental nonseparation of Earth and space, 5–6; bioethics and, 78; climate change and, 98, 105; methods in ethics and, 103; in moon ethics, 38, 40, 58 ethics: Abrahamic, 9–10; tripartite ethic for searches for life, 61–79; tripartite ethic for searches for life summarized, 2, 66, 70. See also environmental ethics European Space Agency, 77; moon mining and, 39; Moon Village, 41; space debris and, 37 geosynchronous orbit (GEO), 25–26 Gorman, Alice, 25, 40 Great Chain of Being, 9–10 Greater Earth, 22, 102 greenhouse effect, 26; and Buddhist ethics, 104; gases, 4, 6, 20, 27; on Mars, 81, 84, 115

151

habitat protection, 21, 62, 68–69, 77–78; American Buddhism and, 2, 72–73; Buddhist scriptures and, 33; limits to, 69 helium-3, 42–43, 53; described, 41, 114 Hertzsprung Crater, 40, 51, 52, 59 India: ethnoastronomy, 44–46, 87–88; Indo‑European cultures and, 87–88; the rabbit in the moon and, 44–46; relations between religion and science within, 106; religious nonharm and, 14; as residence for the Buddha, 2, 11; as a source for Buddhist ethics, 71–72; space program of, 39, 114; Tibetan monastics within, 73 Inter-Agency Space Debris Coordination Committee (IADC): deorbiting spacecraft and, 26; described, 114; heritage value and, 25; history, 24; reorbiting spacecraft and, 26; space debris definition, 22 interconnectedness. See dependent arising International Space Station, 26; and space debris, 4, 19, 22, 30 Islam, 9 Japanese Buddhism, 15, 16, 46, 101; Fujito Stone, 90; Jōdo Shinshū, 106; Kaguya-hime, 38; Shingon, 45 Judaism, 9 Kantianism, 9 Kessler Syndrome, 4, 23 Korea, 16, 46, 114 Kramer, William R., 50, 65; on ethical innovation, 97 lava tubes, 64–65, 68, 71 Leopold, Aldo, 48–50, 60 life: Buddhist cherishing of, 62, 66–68, 72; in lava tubes, 64–65; possibly extant on Mars, 63–65; possibly

152

Index

extinct on Mars, 63; scientific studies of, 62–64; the search for, 62, 63; tenacity of, 64; value for science, 63, 69–70; value of microbial forms, 65–66 low Earth orbit (LEO), 23, 26, 27 Loy, David R., 60, 82 Mahāyāna Buddhism, 108, 109; background, 114; as an ethical source, 15–16; Pure Lands in, 101, 106; and space debris, 32; Vietnamese, 61; Zen, 60, 68, 74, 101 Malapert Peaks, 40, 56, 59; communications and, 53; as a human and ecological treasure, 54–55; solar power and, 54 Mars, 8, 9, 70, 74; as abiotic, 82–83; aesthetic qualities, 86–87; in Buddhist literature, 87–88; as an ecological lifeboat, 81–99; environmental justice for, 64–66, 70, 82, 92–97; explored by humans, 1, 4, 41; as god of mayhem, 87–88; possible extant life, 1, 10, 63–65, 78; possible fossils, 63 McMahon, Sean, 86–87 microbes: chemolithotrophs, 1, 65; in current United States cultures, 76; environmental justice for, 64–65, 71–78; ethics and, 65–66, 71–78; harvesting for science, 63–64, 69–70, 73–76; lack value compared to humans, 73–74; moral value of, 64–66, 73–76; as not moral agents in Buddhism, 73, 74; planetwide ecological manipulation and, 84, 88–89; possible extant life, 1, 10, 63–65, 78; as possibly sentient, 73, 74; reincarnation, 72; scientific study, 63–64, 69–70, 73–76 Milligan, Tony, 55, 82, 93 mining, 3, 59; and abiotic ethics, 97; environmental justice issues, 7, 40; helium-3, 41–43, 53; moon

commercialization, 39–41; moon metals, 41; moon water, 53 Mongolia, 16, 116 moon, 2, 4, 18; in Buddhist literature, 43–46; Chang’e as goddess of, 46, 51; communication installations, 53–55; environmental justice, 7, 39– 40, 43; in historical human cultures, 43–46; importance of the near side, 44–45, 52; Kaguya-hime, 38; mining and, 39–43; rabbit in, 45–47; recreation, 50, 55; solar power, 54, 55; south pole commerce and, 53; telescopy, 51–52, 54–56; vertical rotation, 53 moral responsibility, 21, 22, 24, 30–31, 34 Musk, Elon, 81–82, 85, 87, 93 National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA), 106; planetary ecological manipulation and, 81; Project Artemis, 41; space debris and, 37 nature reserves, 2, 7; baseline ecologies and, 48–49; Buddhism and, 39, 47–48, 56–60; extraterrestrial, 40, 56–60; multizoned, 49–50; the preservation of Apollo sites, 47 nirvana, 10, 11, 13, 33, 68 nonharm, 5, 77–78; abiotic ethics and, 58–59, 93, 104; described, 14, 114; in Dhammapāda, 33, 67; habitat protection and, 62, 69–70, 72–73; limits of, 67–68; in monastic rules, 67; moon mining and, 58–59; nonhuman animals and, 34, 61–62; not applied to stones, 89–90; as a predominant American Buddhist value, 10, 34; scientific sampling and, 2, 73–76; secularization and, 13–15, 68, 77; space debris and, 21– 22, 32–36; spiders and, 61, 66, 67 nonharm-in-interconnection, 5, 98, 103–4

Index

nuclear devices, 35, 41, 81, 84; plutonium, 29; uranium, 20, 27, 29, 37 orbiting recycling centers, 4, 21, 36–37, 102 Outer Space Treaty, 35, 60; background, 114; and property rights in space, 24, 40, 50 Peary and Florey Craters, 40, 55, 57 Pellow, David Naguib, 6, 29, 82. See also socioecological inequality planetwide ecological manipulation, 81–99; in American Buddhism, 82, 88, 92–95; anthropocentrism and, 84–85; challenging Buddhist ethics, 89–91; general American rejection of, 95; microbes and, 88–89; moral obstacles to, 87; natural beauty and, 86–87; the question of permissibility, 87, 92, 95–96, 98 plants: Buddhist nonharm and, 67–68; the Great Chain of Being and, 9–10; harvesting by monastics, 70; planetwide ecological manipulation and, 81, 84, 92 Pure Land Buddhism, 101; Ellison Onizuka, 106 rabbit in the moon, 40; in Buddhist ethnoastronomy, 45–47; in Chinese mythology, 46; human cultures and, 45–47; illustrated, 45; origin story, 45–46; space missions and, 46–47 Rees, Martin, 85–86, 94, 97, 98 regolith: defined, 115; lunar mining and, 41–42; Mars and, 91, 96 reincarnation, 10, 33, 89; and microbes, 72 religion and science dialogue: Buddhism and, 8, 13; path of cooperation, 78, 105–6 Ricard, Matthieu, 34 rocket exhaust, 27

153

Rolston, Holmes, 5, 91, 97 Schwartz, James S. J., 6, 21–22, 43; on the value of nonlife, 96 science, 14, 40, 43, 55; Buddhism’s empiricism and, 13; Buddhist attitudes toward life and, 62; the Buddhist monastic code and, 70; Buddhist nonharm and, 73–78; Buddhist scriptures and, 70; friendliness with Buddhism, 8, 11– 13; harvesting microbes, 2, 62, 74– 75; harvesting microbes challenging Buddhism, 69–70, 73–76; microbes and Buddhism, 73–74; possible Martian microbes and, 2 search for life: and American Buddhism, 62, 68, 71–78; beyond our solar system, 63; morality of, 71–78; nature of, 63; in our solar system, 63–64; possible extant life, 63–64, 77; possible fossils, 63, 77; unknown Earth life, 63 secularization: and moral values, 13–15, 68, 77; in today’s Buddhism, 109 Shackleton Crater, 53, 55 socioecological inequality, 6–7, 29, 82, 102 Songs of the South, 44, 46 space debris: active debris removal, 23–24, 36; Buddhist solutions, 30– 37; defined, 22, 115; environmental justice and, 19–20, 25–30, 34, 36; heritage value and, 25; Kessler Syndrome, 4, 23; negative impacts on the poor, 24, 28; policy and, 35– 37; small satellites, 23–24; summary of the problem, 3–4 space nature mysticism, 17 Space Shuttle, 19, 106 Space Sustainability Rating, 36, 102 SpaceX, 3, 50, 81; and small satellites, 23 Sri Lanka, 16, 115; Sarvodaya Shramadana, 48

154

Index

terraforming. See planetwide ecological manipulation Thailand, 16, 70, 108, 115; Buddhadhāsa, 90 Theravāda Buddhism, 15, 16, 109; background, 115; Bhikkhu Nyanasobhano, 68; insight meditation, 74, 108; space nature mysticism, 17–18; Vinaya, 67 Thich Nhat Hanh, 32, 90–91 Tibetan Buddhism, 16, 116; ethnoastronomy, 88; Géluk, 34; monastics divided over microbial sentience, 73, 88; nature reserves and, 39, 48; Running Stream Reserve, 39 tripartite ethic for search for life: American Buddhists and, 2, 73–78; delineated, 66, 77–78; as a fusion between traditional religion and contemporary culture, 2; microbes and, 70, 77, 102; roles of nonharm and dependent arising, 2; science and, 70; scriptural basis, 67–70; secularization and, 67–70 UNESCO, 49, 59 United Nations, 35; geological preservation and, 40; IADC and,

24; on joining Earth and space, 103; UNCOPUOS and, 7; UNESCO and, 59 utilitarianism, 9 Vajrayāna Buddhism, 16, 108, 109; described, 116; as an ethical source, 15; microbial personhood and, 74; Nyingma, 74, 108 vaporization of spacecraft, 24, 32; environmental justice and, 19–20; greenhouse gases and, 4, 20, 27, 36; human responsibility and, 31; IADC recommendations, 26; nonconsent and, 28; nonvaporized hazards, 4, 19, 20, 28; respiration hazards, 4, 20, 27; rich people contribute to global warming, 28; space stations, 20 Venus, 83, 88 Vietnamese Buddhism, 16, 31, 32, 61, 72; Thich Nhat Hanh, 32, 90–91 Vinaya, 16, 67, 70, 113 Von Kármán: Crater, 40, 51, 52; Line, 5 Zen Buddhism, 68, 79; American Buddhist authenticity and, 107; and David R. Loy, 60; dry rock gardens, 101, 106 Zubrin, Robert, 84–85, 93, 96

About the Author

Daniel Capper is professor in the School of Humanities at the University of Southern Mississippi. Trained in the field of science and religion dialogue at the University of Virginia and the University of Chicago, his interdisciplinary studies explore environmental ethical interactions with the nonhuman natural world in comparative religious perspectives as well as specifically among Buddhists. Capper’s many publications include the books Guru Devotion and the American Buddhist Experience, Learning Love from a Tiger: Religious Experiences with Nature, and Roaming Free Like a Deer: Buddhism and the Natural World.

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