Skip to main content
NCBI home page
Wiley Open Access Collection logoLink to Wiley Open Access Collection
letter
. 2026 May 29;40(6):612–619. doi: 10.1111/bioe.70133

In Space, No‐One Can Hear the Screams of Paternalism: A Response to Häyry's Immorality of Space Exploration

Steven J Firth 1,✉
PMCID: PMC13293276  PMID: 42212503

ABSTRACT

Matti Häyry has argued that space exploration aimed at human settlement is both irrational and morally impermissible. Such projects, he claims, expose others—including future generations—to serious risks that were not autonomously chosen and which may be harsh, oppressive, and difficult or impossible to escape. Given the increasing institutional interest in extra‐planetary habitation, these concerns warrant serious engagement. This paper refutes Häyry's use of the precautionary principle as a decisive moral rule in this context because the principle is ill‐suited to long‐term, future‐directed activities in that it treats abstention as ethically neutral. The moral failure of human settlement in space, if there is one, lies not in space exploration qua activity—but in mission frameworks that exclude normative, social, and philosophical perspectives from their design and governance.

1. Methodology

I am a futurist. My approach to matters of practical philosophy is shaped by the conviction that future‐oriented technologies can (and often do) contribute to better human futures. This orientation is partly informed by science fiction—not as fantasy, but as a historically reliable source of technological anticipation. The future, in this sense, is improperly typified by slow or incremental change; it is already unfolding unevenly… and currently quite a lot faster than our ethical frameworks can adapt. This positioning matters because my work operates within futures studies to explore possible, probable, and preferable futures in order to assess risk, responsibility, and institutional design. I identify this disposition because it places me squarely amongst Häyry's "enthusiastically techno‐reliant" liberals [1, p. 1]—a description I accept without reservation. My optimism is not naïve; it rests on the historical record of technologies that have improved human lives while also introducing new vulnerabilities that have been resolved by governance rather than prohibition.

I am profoundly grateful to Matti Häyry for contributing to the current debate with such clarity and seriousness. Social, political, and normative engagement with space exploration remains under‐represented in the literature, and important perspectives are often sidelined in favour of technical or scientific discussion. The scale and permanence of human activity in space, however, demand far greater interdisciplinary participation; and Häyry's penetrating thought advances the conditions for that engagement—even (and, perhaps, especially) where disagreement arises.

In this response, I broadly adopt Häyry's analytical framing in order to ensure that our arguments operate at the same level and under comparable constraints. I restrain, however, from adopting the precautionary principle. Whilst Häyry treats the principle as a decisive moral filter in contexts of uncertainty, I interpret it as structurally ill‐suited to evaluating long‐term, future‐directed human activities. This disagreement is not a rejection of caution—nor of the principle itself—but of noting the structural limitations of the principle. My reasons for this divergence are developed in the sections that follow.

2. Introduction

In Out There No One Has the Right to Die, Häyry argues that space exploration directed toward the colonisation 1 of other worlds is both irrational and morally impermissible [1, p. 6]. His conclusion is grounded in the precautionary principle, according to which the burden of justification lies with those who would initiate any activities marked by deep uncertainty, irreversibility, or the possibility of serious moral harm. Where such harms cannot be ruled out in advance, abstention is taken to be the appropriate moral response. Häyry maintains that human settlement in space meets these conditions, since it may generate catastrophic and irreversible harms to future human populations, planetary environments, ecosystems (and any forms of extraterrestrial life they may sustain) [1].

Häyry acknowledges that familiar arguments have been offered in favour of space settlement, including appeals to scientific progress, human flourishing, and long‐term survival. He contends, however, that these considerations remain insufficient to exclude the possibility of serious moral harm. To reinforce this conclusion, Häyry advances a series of supporting arguments concerning consent, autonomy, intergenerational imposition, and the protection of other words and potential life. Together, these arguments aim to show that even voluntary participation in space settlement may involve morally impermissible forms of coercion, domination, or exposure to unacceptable risk [1].

Central among these is an appeal to John Stuart Mill's limits of consent: that individuals may be prevented from voluntarily ‘opting into slavery’, since one cannot appeal to freedom in order permanently to abdicate freedom itself [3, p. 70]. Häyry suggests that generational space missions are analogous insofar as participants would relinquish liberty under conditions that are effectively irreversible. He extends this concern to future generations, arguing that children born on generational ark‐ships or in space settlements would be subjected to lives marked by radical dependence, limited exit options, and system‐level survival imperatives. 2 These conditions, Häyry argues, give rise to what he terms "second‐generation totalitarianism" [1, p. 4], and constitute a morally significant escalation of parental imposition when compared with familiar reproductive decisions on Earth.

These arguments are not offered lightly—nor are they without force. I share Häyry's concerns—and, indeed, worry (amongst others) that our disposition toward a first‐contact situation may antagonise extraterrestrial intelligences [5, 6]; that mission‐critical decision‐making may slide toward ‘military ethics’ [cf. 4]; that unilateral resource exploitation may entrench global inequalities by favouring only the strongest Earth‐based states [7]; and that probes sent to seed other worlds may permanently disrupt indigenous evolutionary pathways [8]. What is at issue here, however, is not whether space exploration involves serious moral risk—but whether the presence of such risk warrants principled preclusion rather than governance, mitigation, and institutional design.

3. Repudiating Häyry's Use of the Precautionary Principle

Despite the inherent indeterminacy of human activities in space, it is already clear that contemporary technology has, and to a not insignificant degree, paralleled developments first imagined in sci‐fi imaginaries [9]—even if it has not also mirrored the "dystopian warnings woven into those same stories" [10, p. 1]. One difficulty with debates about future space travel is that the technologies required for Star Trek–like exploration—warp drive, inertial and gravitational compensators, and subspace technologies [11]—remain far beyond current scientific plausibility. Häyry is, therefore, right to bracket such futures, given that proposals like the Alcubierre metric (warp drive) [12] appear inconsistent with what we currently understand to be the limits of physics 3 [13, 14, 15]. Häyry characterises optimism over such technologies as "unwarranted liberal hopefulness concerning the future of space travel" [1, p. 1].

While I accept that the Alcubierre metric is unlikely to obtain, it would be a mistake to infer from this that futurists beliefs about relevant technological development for space travel are unwarranted—since, for instance, Breakthrough Starshot initiative speeds of 10%–20% the speed of light [16] are thought [cf 17, 18, 19, 20, 21]. to be realisable "within the next generation" [22]. Additionally, contemporary analyses of computing power show that they continue to evolve at near‐exponential rates [23, cf. 24]; and while growth is slowing in certain domains, historical patterns suggest there are good reasons to expect emerging paradigms to sustain significant technological advances over non‐trivial time periods [25, 26]. Breakthrough Starshot speeds would mean that space exploration to nearby planetary systems would ‘only’ be in the order of several decades—rather than Häyry's ‘multi‐generational’ time frames. Nevertheless, for purposes of the debate here (and retaining Häyry's sci‐fi framing), I believe Häyry would permit spacecraft at the technological level of the long‐duration research vessel USS Cygnus from The Black Hole [27], or generational ark‐ships such as the Avalon from Passengers [28] or the Nauvoo from The Expanse series [29]. The relevant aspect of such vessels for Häyry's argument is that a return to Earth would be impossible (or very unlikely) and that occupants would live a signification portion (if not all) of their lives on the spacecraft.

Häyry's central normative tool is the precautionary principle. The principle has clear regulatory value in contexts where potential harms are well specified, abstention does not plausibly worsen existing conditions, and the target of action is temporally proximate. It succeeds in these contexts because the content of the potential harms is well delineated, the consequences of abstention are generally understood not to worsen the existing state of affairs, and the target of the activity is reasonably imminent. When these conditions are relaxed, however, the principle becomes strained beyond where it can provide delineative counsel. I am not, here, making the claim that the precautionary principle is unserviceable—I hold that it cannot bear the normative weight of future human settlement in space. In such cases, the principle may prohibit one course of action whilst also prohibiting its alternatives (including inaction) for structurally identical reasons. This happens because a decision rule satisfying the precautionary principle may “…return the empty set,” in which “no alternative is preferred” [30, p. 1219]. In these cases, the principle fails structurally; it cannot rank options without violating basic rational constraints such as transitivity or dominance [31].

In the present case, abstinence from human settlement in space is not neutral: under the prevailing global economic system [32, 33], long‐term stability requires sustained social and economic growth. However, sustained growth within a finite material system would necessarily result in future harms including (but not limited to) resource scarcity, environmental degradation, and distributive stress [34]. Seen in this light, the difficulty is not simply that the precautionary principle exaggerates speculative risks, but that it embeds an uneven normative evaluation from the outset. Häyry's decision to bracket “the more non‐fictional—technical or scientific—takes on future space travel and its implications” [1, p. 2] is not, by itself, objectionable; some methodological restraint is necessary if normative inquiry is not to collapse into a speculative engineering debate. The problem arises because the precautionary force of his argument depends on a background assumption that ‘abstention avoids serious harm’. Such an assumption holds, however, only if the foreseeable harms of remaining planet‐bound can be addressed without comparable reliance on future technological development. In the spirit of Häyry's paper, we might consider Earth as it is depicted in James S. A. Corey's The Expanse [29]. In the series, an overpopulated future Earth avoids collapse only because essential resources are extracted from across the solar system—an outcome that depends on sustained human activity in space and long‐term off‐world habitation. Yet, these are precisely the kinds of activities that the precautionary principle, as Häyry deploys it, would prohibit. If Häyry assumes that pressures associated with population density, resource scarcity, energy demand, and health are to be technologically tractable, then he owes us an account of why such reliance is admissible to resolve Terran contexts—but treated as unwarranted hopefulness when invoked to mitigate the human settlement of space. If no such resolution is assumed on Häyry's part, then the asymmetry problem re‐emerges: abstention is treated as morally safer by default, despite its own predictable costs. Either way, the bracketing of technology cannot remain normatively neutral because it determines whether the appropriate moral response is prohibition or governance.

While more can be said here, I believe that I have shown that the precautionary principle is ill‐suited to the task Häyry assigns it. Doing so, however, does not yet exhaust Häyry's formidable case. Häyry offers a set of arguments concerning consent, autonomy, and intergenerational imposition which could carry the conclusion without employing the precautionary principle. Each of these ‘subordinate’ arguments raises serious moral questions that deserve independent assessment—and it is to that task which I now turn.

4. On The Subordinate Arguments

Häyry's first set of subordinate concerns targets the moral status of extraterrestrial life and their potential habitats. He worries that human settlement may irreversibly damage environments we do not yet understand, or extinguish forms of life whose moral significance we are poorly placed to assess [1]. As weighty and realistic as these concerns are, they do not necessarily support principled prohibition. This follows because, despite concerns to the contrary [cf 35, 36, 37], there is good reason to argue that such concerns can be successfully mitigated through reasonable practices of restraint, non‐interference norms, and the prioritisation of research capacities such as remote sensing, graduated contact protocols, and biosignature and technosignature detection [38, 39, 40, 41]. Absent a commitment to absolute non‐interventionism (a position difficult to sustain where abstention itself carries morally consequential risks as noted above), the presence of moral risk here supports governance and epistemic humility rather than abstention.

Moving from the other to ourselves, Häyry argues that volunteers for intergenerational settlement missions would be required to relinquish their liberty with no possibility of exit—an action he claims Mill explicitly prohibits: "it is not freedom to be allowed to alienate… freedom" [3, p. 70]. Mill's claim, however, concerns a total divorce from agency, not constrained or non‐exitable circumstances per sē [cf. [42], pp. 70–76]; indeed, even Mill treats volunteer slavery as a ‘peculiar’ limiting case rather than as a general model for evaluating voluntary commitment [3, p. 70]. Häyry's extension of Mill's constraint depends on the further assumption that participation in a generational space mission would involve surrendering liberty in Mill's strong sense, rather than exchanging some liberties for others under demanding conditions (as do soldiers, for instance). Though Häyry holds that this strong surrender of liberty would exist in a totalitarian space habitation mission, it would require a form of domination that would be unlikely to generate voluntary participation—thereby undercutting the plausibility of the scenario in the first place.

Häyry further advances the theme of extreme governance in his argument from second‐generation totalitarianism. Children born into space settlements, he argues, would not choose the conditions of their existence and may be subject to governance regimes shaped by extreme mission survival imperatives. The worry here is not that such lives would be harmful and inescapable—but that they are ‘imposed’ in the first place. Hardship and constrained exit have characterised many lives on Earth without rendering procreation itself impermissible, so it seems odd here to claim the moral wrongness of creating lives which may or may not contain suffering. I suspect for many readers that his conclusion here only follows were they to share Häyry's antinatalist commitments to a stronger antinatalist thesis [43, 44]. Accordingly, Häyry's ‘second generation’ argument more targets the notion that bearing children is morally wrong, rather than the claim that space births are uniquely suspect or that human settlement in space will fall under totalitarian regime.

A similar underlying concern appears in scenarios involving declining birth rates or mission‐critical population thresholds, where reproductive coercion becomes a possible response to survival pressures. These possibilities are not incoherent and parallel pronatalist incentives already employed on Earth in response to declining birth rates [45, 46]. Here, however, Häyry's concerns are presented under assumptions which artificially narrow the range of plausible responses. Intergenerational spacecraft would likely involve large populations rather than minimal crews [47], and the refusal of some individuals to reproduce would not necessarily entail coercion wherever a population redundancy exists. Moreover, there is little reason to assume that such missions would span many generations—even at sub‐light speeds well below speculative extremes, one or two generations would suffice for many foreseeable missions [48].

Häyry's more dystopian examples—such as forced pregnancy and the exclusion of ectogenesis—rely on a level of social and technological pessimism that exceeds his otherwise reasonable methodological restraint. For instance, Häyry rules out ectogenesis by suggesting that artificial wombs would be reserved "only for members of the elite" [1, p. 5]. Yet this seems an unusually prohibitive position, given that artificial gestation is well underway and successful synthetic wombs primarily rely on the refinement of already existing biomedical technologies [49, 50, 51]. Accordingly, unless such technologies are developed and governed in a Huxleyan manner, 4 ectogenesis is unlikely to remain a speculative privilege of elites. 5 Were Huxleyan control to obtain, then Häyry's proper target would not be reproductive hetronomy, but a future of biopolitical totalitarianism!.

Finally, it is worth underlining that the governance failures Häyry fears are not unique to space (indeed, their existence on Earth is possibly the reason that Häyry is rightly concerned about them). Scarcity, environmental degradation, and population pressure (to mention only a few) have already generated pressures that have forced (albeit positive) authoritarian solutions such as the banning of chlorofluorocarbons. Science fiction has long explored these kinds of authoritarian dynamics through narratives such as Logan's Run [53], with its enforced death at 30, or Soylent Green [54], where ecological collapse leads to state‐managed cannibalistic survival. The fact that authoritarian solutions to planetary scarcity have existed on Earth and are foreshadowed in science fiction in a dystopian register underlines the operational asymmetry at work in Häyry's otherwise careful argument. If such outcomes are conceivable on Earth under finite conditions, then arguments that condemn space settlement on the grounds that it may produce them cannot ignore the fact that remaining on Earth might produce them as well.

Taken together, my considerations above do not negate Häyry's concerns—but they do indicate that the way forwards is not preclusion but in developing systems which properly target the potential harms: equitable governance, institutional restraint, and ethical commitments that prioritise non‐interference, respect for life, and humility in the face of the unknown. In short, an overarching, principle guided ‘Prime‐Directive’ model of exploration.

5. Prime Directive Not Paternalistic Prohibition

The first priority in any such framework must be the protection of non‐human life beyond Earth. This follows, not because that any such life would be more ‘important’ than human life, but because it may be rarer and more fragile. Additionally, because the nature of that life would be unfamiliar to our current detection standards, and because our processes are likely inadequate for identifying life where it does exist [55, 56, 57], it follows that the burden of its protection falls on us. As Carol Cleland and projects such as EURiCA have shown, our concept of life is shaped by terrestrial assumptions that fail to capture extraterrestrial biologies [55, 56, 57, 58, 59]. This epistemic limitation is itself an ethical risk. Policies governing exploration, landing, sampling, and panspermia must, therefore, be guided by far more conservative thresholds for recognising life or proto‐life than those currently in use. This does not require abandoning exploration or the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence (SETI)—but it does require treating uncertainty about life as a reason for procedural caution rather than blanket prohibition. I have argued elsewhere that this caution can be operationalised through a procedural framework for first contact that limits assumption‐laden interpretation and constrains action under conditions of radical uncertainty—the core aim of what I describe as avoiding the Hobbesian trap [5]. 6

Comparable conclusions emerge from work on SETI governance [60, 61]. Proposals for international co‐ordination around both pre‐search conduct and post‐detection response reject unilateral action precisely because the moral stakes are collective and irreversible [cf. 38, 62, 63, 64]. What matters is not only whether extraterrestrial life or intelligence is encountered, but how the resultant knowledge is handled, communicated, and acted upon [60, 65, 66, 67]. The emphasis throughout is on humility, transparency, multilateral oversight, delayed response protocols, and institutional control over dissemination. These frameworks are explicitly designed to prevent panic, 7 exploitation, and premature intervention—and demonstrate that serious concern for extraterrestrial life and environments can be addressed through procedural design rather than categorical prohibition.

Human autonomy is fundamental within this framework—though subordinate to the protection of non‐human life for the above reasons. A well‐established literature already exists on safeguarding autonomy under conditions of risk and constraint; Beauchamp and Childress, for example, developed their four principles [68] precisely to prevent the erosion of agency simply because decisions are difficult or high‐stakes. Häyry's concern is not that autonomy would disappear altogether in space, but that mission‐critical pressures could permit its excessive constraint—a legitimate concern. The appropriate response, however, is conditional permissibility rather than prohibition. Indeed, we may even invoke Häyry's own liberal utilitarian commitments: wherever possible, decisions "freely and informedly chosen by autonomous individuals" [69, p. 125] to ensure that extremely good arguments must be generated to constrain autonomy. Häyrys liberal utilitarian axiology is intended to ground his minimal ethical theory [69, 70]; a similar axiology could operate to ensure that human settlement missions should be morally admissible only where they are designed to preserve meaningful autonomy. In this sense, space missions would be subject to the narrow and publicly justified exceptions which extent to emergency medicine, submarines, and polar research stations on Earth.

A persistent source of ethical failure in space governance is the narrow concentration of decision‐making authority [35]. Ethical oversight, (if engaged at all) is typically introduced only after technical feasibility has been established, with normative considerations operating reactively rather than constitutively [71]. While many National Aeronautics and Space Administration (NASA) missions ostensibly recognise ethical, social, and philosophical input as integral to mission development, relevant experts are rarely included within mission teams themselves. 8 This amounts to symbolic ‘inclusion’ only; and in this post‐hoc form, it is incapable of contributing any practical counsel over ethical mission design, nor is it able to caution against activities which are unethical or otherwise problematic. Nevertheless, this pattern is increasingly visible in private and hybrid ventures. A recent example is the Ethically Cleared to Launch? policy commentary in Science, which responds to the rapid expansion of commercial spaceflight by outlining high‐level principles for human research governance [72]. While the contribution acknowledges regulatory gaps and ethical risk, its scope and timing illustrate that ethical counsel was invited only once mission planning was well underway. Where plural epistemic participation is absent at formative stages, instrumental and commercial priorities proceed largely unchecked—generating precisely the kinds of risk Häyry identifies.

Similar trans‐disciplinary considerations apply to the distribution of benefits. If space exploration is to be morally defensible, its gains cannot accrue solely to states or corporations capable of financing missions [36]. Star Trek's ‘Federation of Planets’ is, of course, fictional—but the moral intuition it captures is not. Exploration conducted as a Federation, benefit the Federation equitably. Where imperial or exclusionary practices appear in the Star Trek narratives, they are offered as cautionary tales and typically framed as moral failures rather than ideals. Accordingly, exploration that benefits humanity must benefit humanity broadly.

The lesson is not that exploration must be egalitarian in outcome, but that it must be governed by principles that resist exclusion, monopolisation, and unilateral advantage. These commitments must be institutionally anchored in an over arching and global institution were any ethical exploration meaningfully sought. A dedicated global body to oversee space activities—less militarised than NATO and less politically reactive than the WHO—needs to be developed to guide, monitor, and (where necessary) prohibit actions that violate shared ethical constraints. Central to this project should be the articulation of a global ‘Prime Directive’—a guiding axiom that constrains both ends and means, prioritises the protection of life, respects autonomy, and enforces humility in the face of the unknown. No framework of this kind can be exhaustive. Yet the absence of such structures—and the fragmented, capital‐driven nature of current activity—helps explain why dystopian science fiction resonates so strongly. If exploration is part of our nature as curious, future‐oriented beings, then the moral failure lies not in pursuing it, but in doing so without the ethical institutions capable of guiding it responsibly.

6. Conclusion

Häyry argues that human settlement in space is both irrational and morally impermissible [1]. His case is structured so that the precautionary principle can do decisive work: where serious harm is possible, where uncertainty is deep, and where reversibility is limited, the burden of proof falls on those who would proceed—and abstention is treated as the appropriate moral posture. Häyry reinforces this conclusion with subordinate arguments about consent, autonomy, intergenerational imposition, and the moral status of non‐human life and potential habitats. Read together, these lines of argument aim to show that the risks are not merely technical or probabilistic, but normative: space settlement risks creating lives that are coerced, dominated, and structurally non‐exitable, whilst also threatening environments and life we cannot yet understand.

This response treats Häyry's concerns as serious and legitimate, whilst disputing the inference to prohibition. The subordinate arguments, though weighty, do not compel Häyry's conclusion without further commitments that are not established by the argument itself. Mill's slavery constraint targets the alienation of liberty as such, not hardship or high‐risk commitment; its extension to space settlement therefore requires stronger premises about comprehensive domination than the scenario can plausibly sustain. The ‘second‐generation totalitarianism’ worry rightly highlights risks of governance failure and constrained autonomy, yet its conclusion does not follow unless one already assumes that procreation becomes impermissible whenever future hardship and limited exit are expected (an assumption closer to stronger antinatalist or negative utilitarian positions than to the liberal framework Häyry otherwise inhabits). Where harms remain possible, the more consistent lesson is conditional permissibility: missions become admissible only where robust autonomy protections, governance constraints, and exit‐analogue safeguards are maintained—and, of course, where the imposition of life under extreme vulnerability is treated as a design problem to be solved rather than a verdict to be issued in advance.

The more fundamental dispute concerns the precautionary principle itself. In this setting, it does not merely caution against reckless optimism; it functions as a decision rule that treats abstention as ethically neutral. That neutrality cannot be assumed; abstention forecloses future options, shifts moral burdens forward in time, and risks locking later generations into narrower and harsher choice‐spaces than those presently available. The principle also becomes unstable in the face of structurally similar alternatives—including inaction. Once the ‘do nothing’ option is no longer treated as costless, the rational moral task shifts away from preclusion and toward governance design: transdisciplinary participation embedded upstream in mission planning; stronger procedural protections for autonomy; conservative planetary protection norms grounded in epistemic humility; and co‐ordinated SETI and contact protocols that prioritise transparency, delayed response, and institutional restraint.

Häyry is right about the dangers of human settlement in space. His mistake is in treating those dangers as prohibitive, rather than as demanding. There is no reason to refuse a future in which humans populate the start; but there is a reason to build the ethical institutions without which our future activities—on Earth or elsewhere—will predictably go wrong.

Conflicts of Interest

The author declares no conflicts of interest.

Acknowledgments

My thanks to Matti Häyry for penning the target article, for his willingness to engage in debate on this subject and for his considered communications which have helped to develop this response.

Endnotes

1

Where Häyry characterises this expansion as “space exploration in the sense of colonising other worlds” [1, p. 6], I resist the term ‘colonisation’ because, in this debate, it functions less as a neutral descriptor and more as a morally loaded umbrella under which heterogeneous practices are grouped and condemned in advance. Used in this way, ‘colonisation’ and its derivatives operate as what W. B. Gallie describes as an ‘essentially contested concept’—a term whose application is inseparable from evaluative commitments [2]. Its use therefore risks loading the normative value of human expansion into space at the outset, prejudicing it against more balanced and analytic evaluation. For this reason, I adopt the locution ‘human settlement in space’, primarily because there are likely many modes of space habitation that may or may not involve settlement on other worlds (and which need not carry the historical injustices implied by ‘colonisation’), but to which Häyry's careful analysis nonetheless applies.

2

Szocik observes that the success of certain space missions may require the adoption of ‘military ethics’, implying decision protocols which weight the ends of the mission over the means by which it is achieved. See [4].

3

These limits are generally not conceptual or theoretical, but practical. Limitations with the Alcubierre drive, for instance, are related to the amount energy required to create localised gravitational fields of the magnitude required—not with the concept of creating a ‘warp bubble’ itself [13].

4

In Brave New World, artificial gestation is commonplace. However, access to these technologies is controlled by the state, with biological development stratified and allocated through hegemonic social planning [52].

5

While substantial effort has been invested in initiatives such as Breakthrough Starshot, whose realisation depends upon multiple large‐scale and as‐yet unproven technological advances, ectogenesis presents a markedly different profile: it relies primarily on the incremental refinement of existing biomedical technologies, with many foundational components already in place rather than requiring breakthroughs of an entirely new order.

6

The Hobbesian trap refers to the transition from mutual co‐operation to mutual defection (or pre‐emptive first strike) where the other party's intentions cannot be known. In first‐contact contexts, this represents a critical procedural error, as such escalation may result in extinction‐level conflict rather than mitigate risk.

7

Milan Ćirković argues that contact will be more of a process than event, concluding that it will be unlikely to result in panic [67].

8

I was recently informally involved in discussions with members of NASA's Mars Science Laboratory (MSL—Curiosity) and Mars Sample Return (MSR) teams concerning ethical procedures being developed in anticipation of MSR approval. Several meetings focused on protocols for ‘safe’ material handling, during which ethical and bioethical judgements were routinely made by engineers and scientists rather than bioethicists or astrobiologists. I raised concerns that ethical self‐regulation was structurally problematic and that such protocols required input from relevant normative experts. I was laughed at and told, in no uncertain terms, that ‘NASA had no budget to engage unless people like that.’ Similar responses were reported by a colleague at a recent space conference who has spent decades advocating for transdisciplinary involvement in space missions; his efforts were met with variations of ‘There is literally no place for any philosophy here’ and ‘All you philosophers do is create problems we don't have the space or time to resolve.’ This pattern reflects a form of regulatory capture that systematically excludes ethical expertise from mission governance.

Data Availability Statement

The author has nothing to report.

References

  • 1. Häyry M., “Out There No One Has a Right to Die,” Bioethics (January 2026): 1–8, 10.1111/bioe.70083. [DOI] [PMC free article] [PubMed] [Google Scholar]
  • 2. Gallie W. B., “IX—Essentially Contested Concepts,” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society 56, no. 1 (1956): 167–198, 10.1093/aristotelian/56.1.167. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 3. Mill J. S., On Liberty and the Subjection of Women, 1879 ed (Henry Holt and Co, 1879), https://oll.libertyfund.org/titles/mill-on-liberty-and-the-subjection-of-women-1879-ed. [Google Scholar]
  • 4. Szocik K., The Bioethics of Space Exploration: Human Enhancement and Gene Editing in Future Space Missions (Oxford University Press, 2023). [Google Scholar]
  • 5. Firth S. J., “An Assay on the Hobbesian Trap and Axioms of First Contact,” Space Policy 66 (2023): 101581, 10.1016/j.spacepol.2023.101581. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 6. Jebari K. and Olsson‐Yaouzis N., “A Game of Stars: Active SETI, Radical Translation and the Hobbesian Trap,” Futures 101 (2018): 46–54, 10.1016/j.futures.2018.06.007. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 7. Su J., “Legality of Unilateral Exploitation of Space Resources under International Law,” International & Comparative Law Quarterly 66, no. 4 (2017): 991–1008, 10.1017/S0020589317000367. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 8. Sivula O., “The Cosmic Significance of Directed Panspermia: Should Humanity Spread Life to Other Solar Systems?,” Utilitas 34, no. 2 (2022): 178–194, 10.1017/S095382082100042X. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 9. Appel M., Krause S., Gleich U., and Mara M., “Meaning Through Fiction: Science Fiction and Innovative Technologies,” Psychology of Aesthetics, Creativity, and the Arts 9, no. 3 (2015): 305–317, https://psycnet.apa.org/doi/10.1037/aca0000052. [Google Scholar]
  • 10. Appio F., Michaud T., Vint S., and Yaszek L., “Science Fiction and the Quest for Innovation,” Technovation 141 (2025): 103172, 10.1016/j.technovation.2025.103172. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 11. Krauss L. M., The Physics of Star Trek (Basic Books, 1995). [Google Scholar]
  • 12. Alcubierre M., “The Warp Drive: Hyperfast Travel Within General Relativity,” Classical and Quantum Gravity 11 (1994): L73–L77. [Google Scholar]
  • 13. Lobo F. S. N. and Visser M., “Fundamental Limitations on ‘Warp Drive’ Spacetimes,” Classical and Quantum Gravity 21, no. 24 (2004): 5871–5892, 10.48550/arXiv.gr-qc/0406083. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 14. Barzegar H. and Buchert T., “On Restrictions of Current Warp Drive Spacetimes and Immediate Possibilities of Improvement,” Universe 11, no. 9 (2025): 293, 10.3390/universe11090293. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 15. Bobrick A. and Martire G., “Introducing Physical Warp Drives,” Classical and Quantum Gravity 38, no. 10 (2021): 105009, 10.1088/1361-6382/abdf6e. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 16. Loeb A., “Breakthrough Starshot” (Center for Astrophysics, Harvard & Smithsonian, 2017), https://lweb.cfa.harvard.edu/%7Eloeb/Loeb_Starshot.pdf.
  • 17. Frisbee R. H., “Advanced Propulsion for Fast Interplanetary and Interstellar Travel,” Acta Astronautica 52, no. 2–6 (2003): 181–196, https://users.encs.concordia.ca/%7Ehoing/Teaching/AERO485/advanced.pdf. [Google Scholar]
  • 18. Long K. F., Obousy R. K., and Hein A., “Project Icarus: Optimisation of Nuclear Fusion Propulsion for Interstellar Missions,” Acta Astronautica 68, no. 11–12 (2011): 1820–1829, 10.1016/j.actaastro.2011.01.010. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 19. Heller R., “Relativistic Generalization of the Incentive Trap of Interstellar Travel With Application to Breakthrough Starshot,” Monthly Notices of the Royal Astronomical Society 470, no. 3 (2017): 3664–3671, 10.1093/mnras/stx1493. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 20. Worden S. P., Green W. A., Schalkwyk J., Parkin K., and Fugate R. Q., “Progress on the Starshot Laser Propulsion System,” Applied Optics 60, no. 31 (2021): H20–H23, 10.1364/AO.435858. [DOI] [PubMed] [Google Scholar]
  • 21. Greason J. K. and Bruhaug G., “Sunbeam: Near‐Sun Statites as Beam Platforms for Beam‐Driven Rockets,” Acta Astronautica 223 (2024): 262–269, 10.1016/j.actaastro.2024.07.015. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 22. Parkin K. L. G., “The Breakthrough Starshot System Model,” Acta Astronautica 152 (2018): 370–384, 10.1016/j.actaastro.2018.08.035. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 23. Thompson N. C., Ge G., and Manso G. F., “The Importance of (Exponentially More) Computing Power,” arXiv preprint arXiv:2206.14007 (2022).
  • 24. Jones H. W., The Recent Large Reduction in Space Launch Cost, NASA Technical Reports Server (July 2018), https://ntrs.nasa.gov/api/citations/20200001093/downloads/20200001093.pdf.
  • 25. Shalf J., “The Future of Computing Beyond Moore's Law,” Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society A: Mathematical, Physical and Engineering Sciences 378, no. 2166 (2020): 20190061, 10.1098/rsta.2019.0061. [DOI] [PubMed] [Google Scholar]
  • 26. Memon Q. A., “Quantum Computing: Navigating the Future of Computation—Challenges and Technological Breakthroughs,” Advances in Computing 6, no. 4 (2024): 39, 10.3390/quantum6040039. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 27. G. Nelson, dir. , The Black Hole (Walt Disney Productions, 1979). [Google Scholar]
  • 28. M. Tyldum, dir. , Passengers (Columbia Pictures, 2016). [Google Scholar]
  • 29. Corey J. A., The Expanse Series (Orbit Books, 2011–, 2021). [Google Scholar]
  • 30. Stefánsson H. O., “On the Limits of the Precautionary Principle,” Risk Analysis 39, no. 6 (2019): 1204–1222, 10.1111/risa.13265. [DOI] [PubMed] [Google Scholar]
  • 31. Sunstein C. R., “Beyond the Precautionary Principle,” University of Pennsylvania Law Review 151, no. 3 (2003): 1003–1058. [Google Scholar]
  • 32. Peters M. and Walsh C., “Population Growth and Firm Dynamics,” NBER Working Paper Series (2021), 10.3386/w29424. [DOI]
  • 33. Etro F., “Technologies for Endogenous Growth,” Journal of Mathematical Economics 105 (2023): 102808, 10.1016/j.jmateco.2023.102808. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 34. Huo J. and Peng C., “Depletion of Natural Resources and Environmental Quality: Prospects of Energy Use, Energy Imports, and Economic Growth Hindrances,” Resources Policy 86, no. pt. A (2023), 10.1016/j.resourpol.2023.104049. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 35. Smith K. C. and Traphagan J. W., “First, Do Nothing: A Passive Protocol for First Contact,” Space Policy 53 (2020): 101389, 10.1016/j.spacepol.2020.101389. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 36. Wisian K. W. and Traphagan J. W.. “The Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence: A Realpolitik Consideration,” Space Policy 52 (2020): 101377, 10.1016/j.spacepol.2020.101377. [Correction added on 17 June 2026, after first online publication: Reference 36 has been corrected.] [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 37. Traphagan J. W. and Wisian K. W., “The W&T Realpolitik Scenario and Contact With Extraterrestrial Intelligence: A Reply to Wright et al.,” Space Policy 63 (2023): 101536, 10.1016/j.spacepol.2022.101536. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 38. Michaud M. A. G., “An International Agreement Concerning the Detection of Extraterrestrial Intelligence,” Acta Astronautica 26, no. 3–4 (1992): 291–294, 10.1016/0094-5765(92)90114-X. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 39. Rummel J. D. and Race M. S., G. Horneck, and the Princeton Workshop Participants , “Ethical Considerations for Planetary Protection in Space Exploration: A Workshop,” Astrobiology 12, no. 11 (2012): 1017–1023, 10.1089/ast.2012.0891. [DOI] [PMC free article] [PubMed] [Google Scholar]
  • 40. Forgan D. and Scholz A., “#FoundThem–21st Century Pre‐Search and Post‐Detection SETI Protocols for Social and Digital Media,” Acta Astronautica 126 (2016): 312–315, 10.1016/j.actaastro.2016.05.008. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 41. Wright J. T., Haqq‐Misra J., Frank A., Kopparapu R., Lingam M., and Sheikh S. Z., “The Case for Technosignatures: Why They May Be Abundant, Long‐Lived, Highly Detectable, and Unambiguous,” Astrophysical Journal Letters 927, no. 2 (2022): L30, 10.3847/2041-8213/ac5824. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 42. Dworkin G., “Paternalism,” Monist 56, no. 1 (1972): 64–84. [Google Scholar]
  • 43. Häyry M. and Sukenick A., “Imposing a Lifestyle: A New Argument for Antinatalism,” Cambridge Quarterly of Healthcare Ethics 33, no. 2 (2024): 238–259, 10.1017/S0963180123000385. [DOI] [PubMed] [Google Scholar]
  • 44. Häyry M. and Sukenick A., Antinatalism, Extinction, and the End of Procreative Self‐Corruption (Cambridge University Press, 2024). [Google Scholar]
  • 45. Choo D. and Jales H., “Childbearing and the Distribution of the Reservation Price of Fertility: The Case of the Korean Baby Bonus Program,” Journal of Asian Economics 77 (2021): 101395, 10.1016/j.asieco.2021.101395. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 46. Nakakuni K., “Macroeconomic Analysis of the Child Benefit: Fertility, Demographic Structure, and Welfare,” Journal of the Japanese and International Economies 73 (2024): 101325, 10.1016/j.jjie.2024.101325. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 47. Smith C. M., “Estimation of a Genetically Viable Population for Multigenerational Interstellar Voyaging,” Acta Astronautica 97 (2014): 16–29, 10.1016/j.actaastro.2013.12.013. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 48. Hein A. M., Smith C., Marin F., and Staats K., “World Ships: Feasibility and Rationale,” Acta Futura 12 (2020): 75–104, 10.5281/zenodo.3747333. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 49. Kendal E., “The Perfect Womb: Promoting Equality of (Fetal) Opportunity,” Journal of Bioethical Inquiry 14 (2017): 185–194, 10.1007/s11673-017-9775-z. [DOI] [PubMed] [Google Scholar]
  • 50. MacKay K., “The ‘Tyranny of Reproduction’: Could Ectogenesis Further Women's Liberation?,” Bioethics 34 (2020): 346–353, 10.1111/bioe.12706. [DOI] [PMC free article] [PubMed] [Google Scholar]
  • 51. Kendal E., “Ectogenesis for Space Exploration,” eLS 2, no. 6 (2021): 1–5, 10.1002/9780470015902.a0029255. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 52. Huxley A., Brave New World (Chatto & Windus, 1932). [Google Scholar]
  • 53. M. Anderson, dir. , Logan's Run (Metro‐Goldwyn‐Mayer, 1976). [Google Scholar]
  • 54. R. Fleischer, dir. , Soylent Green (Metro‐Goldwyn‐Mayer, 1973). [Google Scholar]
  • 55. Cleland C. E. and Chyba C. F., “Does ‘Life’ Have a Definition?” in Planets and Life: The Emerging Science of Astrobiology, eds. W. T. Sullivan, III and Baross J. A. (Cambridge University Press, 2007), 119–131. [Google Scholar]
  • 56. Cleland C. E., The Quest for a Universal Theory of Life: Searching for Life as We Don't Know It (Cambridge University Press, 2019), 10.1017/9781139046893. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 57. Vickers P., “Expecting the Unexpected in the Search for Extraterrestrial Life,” International Journal of Astrobiology 19 (2020): 482–491, 10.1017/S1473550420000269. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 58. Cleland C. E., “Moving Beyond Definitions in the Search for Extraterrestrial Life,” Astrobiology 19, no. 6 (2019): 722–729, 10.1089/ast.2018.1980. [DOI] [PubMed] [Google Scholar]
  • 59. Vickers P., Cowie C., Dick S. J., et al., “Confidence of Life Detection: The Problem of Unconceived Alternatives,” Astrobiology 23, no. 11 (2023): 1202–1212, 10.1089/ast.2022.0084. [DOI] [PubMed] [Google Scholar]
  • 60. International Academy of Astronautics , Declaration of Principles Concerning Activities Following the Detection of Extraterrestrial Intelligence (IAA, 1989), https://iaaspace.org/wp-content/uploads/iaa/Scientific%20Activity/setideclaration.pdf. [Google Scholar]
  • 61. Colombano S. P., New Assumptions to Guide SETI Research (NASA Ames Research Center Technical Report, 2015), https://ntrs.nasa.gov/api/citations/20180001925/downloads/20180001925.pdf. [Google Scholar]
  • 62. International Academy of Astronautics , Declaration of Principles Concerning the Conduct of the Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence (IAA, 2010), https://www.setileague.org/iaaseti/protocols_rev2010.pdf. [Google Scholar]
  • 63. Baxter S. and Elliott J., “A SETI Metapolicy: New Directions Towards Comprehensive Policies Concerning the Detection of Extraterrestrial Intelligence,” Acta Astronautica 78 (2012): 31–36, 10.1016/j.actaastro.2011.09.016. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 64. Wright J. T., Haramia C., and Swiney G., “Geopolitical Implications of a Successful SETI Program,” Space Policy 54 (2020): 101377, 10.1016/j.spacepol.2020.101377. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 65. Tough A., ed., When SETI Succeeds: The Impact of High‐Information Contact (Foundation for the Future, 2000). [Google Scholar]
  • 66. Dick S. J., ed., The Impact of Discovering Life Beyond Earth (Cambridge University Press, 2015). [Google Scholar]
  • 67. Ćirković M. M., “Is Contact a Process?,” Space Policy 42 (2017): 103–108, 10.1016/j.spacepol.2017.05.001. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 68. Beauchamp T. L. and Childress J. F., Principles of Biomedical Ethics, 8th ed. (Oxford University Press, 2019). [Google Scholar]
  • 69. Häyry M., Liberal Utilitarianism and Applied Ethics (Routledge, 1994). [Google Scholar]
  • 70. Häyry M., “Just Better Utilitarianism,” Cambridge Quarterly of Healthcare Ethics 30, no. 2 (2021): 343–367, 10.1017/S0963180120000882. [DOI] [PubMed] [Google Scholar]
  • 71. Manoli M., “The Architecture of Authority in Global Space Governance: The Moon Agreement as a Deconflicting Mechanism of Space Activities,” Utrecht Law Review 20, no. 1 (2024): 100–113, 10.36633/ulr.974. [DOI] [Google Scholar]
  • 72. Rahimzadeh V., Fogarty J., Caulfield T., et al., “Ethically Cleared to Launch?,” Science 381, no. 6665 (2023): 1408–1411, 10.1126/science.adh9028. [DOI] [PubMed] [Google Scholar]

Associated Data

This section collects any data citations, data availability statements, or supplementary materials included in this article.

Data Availability Statement

The author has nothing to report.

Articles from Bioethics are provided here courtesy of Wiley

RESOURCES