We live in a miniature version of the universe. There is a boundary called the cosmological horizon beyond which we cannot see because of the limited distance light has traveled since the beginning of time. As the universe expands, the horizon changes, revealing but still hiding from us the far, far future.

I like applying principles of the macrocosmic to the microcosmic, and this idea of the cosmological horizon got me thinking about some things here on Earth. If you imagine knowledge as the universe, then there is a boundary between what we can foresee knowing, based on what we already know, and what we can’t even fathom because our minds haven’t stretched that far yet. In other words, 200 years ago, with the invention of the locomotive, people could probably start imagining such vehicles as automobiles in the future, even though the practical knowledge was still missing. However, it probably didn’t occur to anyone that the automobiles could hook up to handheld music playing devices, or could release six airbags upon impact, because those ideas were way beyond the horizon of knowledge at the time.

So I started thinking about our current knowledge horizon, what we can imagine learning, and where the boundary lies. It’s very possible that we are on the cusp of revealing something extraordinary in any area of research at all times, but not all areas are given the same priority, or the same resources.

For example, In January 2006, NASA launched its New Horizons mission to Pluto and the Kuiper belt, which will give us the first real look at our farthest neighbors and the mess of stuff collected in the outer rim of our solar system. I can’t tell you how excited I am to see an actual picture of Pluto and Charon and the new dwarf planets in the KB and scattered disc regions. I’ve always been a huge astronomy nerd—the first thing I ever wanted to be was an astronomer, in fact—so I was shocked when this thought popped in my head one day:

“Is this really necessary right now?”

It’s a terrible thing for me to think, and I immediately felt guilty because of how much I love astronomy. But a lot of problems have piled up in the world: environmental demise, economic meltdowns, human rights atrocities, the rates of cancer, heart disease, and diabetes, etc. I wondered if sending a $650 million probe to the edge of our solar system was really the best way to use our resources to push the knowledge horizon, and moreover, how much of our global resources are put towards scientific exploration that is not, at this point in time, of any particular use to us, like New Horizons, Cassini, the LHC, and other big ticket projects.

There are a few ways to look at this. The avid advocate of science in me—and I’m only using scientific research as an example, not in any way suggesting that there is nothing less important—says that all areas of knowledge are intrinsically linked, and there’s no way to eliminate the possibility that research into the depths of our solar system has a positive effect on research into disease prevention, or environment-improving technology. Also, scientific exploration enriches our lives and helps us relate to the universe. But the pragmatist in me wonders if it’s not a bit irresponsible to take resources away from an area that is an immediate problem, like pollution and climate change, and give them to a project that is, like New Horizons, more or less about curiosity.

NASA does have many projects that are environmentally driven, however its annual budget is $17.6 billion compared to the EPA’s $7.3 billion. And while many of NASA’s exploratory missions may, at some point in the future, help us better understand the Earth’s environment, why these changes are happening and how to stop/reverse them, is there enough support for practical solutions to real problems right now?

Imagine what could be done with an extra $650 million… How many portable water purifiers could be distributed to impoverished areas of the world? How many buildings could be fitted with solar panels? For how many people could that amount of money provide health care? Could we find a cure for AIDS and cancer sooner? Could the US implement a broader and better recycling and toxic waste management program? And so on…

But on the other side of the argument, if we cut funding for exploratory projects, how do we know that we aren’t setting ourselves up for a big problem in the future—a problem that we can’t foresee because it is beyond our current knowledge horizon? Or how do we know that what we discover in an exploratory project won’t cause a train-of-thought revelation in a completely unrelated area of research? And practical reasons aside, wouldn’t we miss them? I recently watched a video of aurorae on Saturn taken by Cassini over and over, completely mesmerized…

I guess it’s a question of either trying to push the knowledge horizon for the sake of seeing more, or making practical use of what we’ve got right now. Honestly, I have absolutely no idea what is right; it breaks my heart to think that I won’t have the chance to jaunt off to Jupiter someday, but it also breaks my heart to think about all the people who don’t have clean water, or the consequences of our inability thus far to come up with a healthy way to live on this
planet.

Sadly, the rate at which our knowledge horizon expands is usually proportional to the amount of money put towards it. I hope that as our horizon expands, a solution to that problem will be revealed. If we’re lucky, a high-resolution image of Pluto will help us get there.