Humans are perhaps the only creatures capable of simply gazing up at the night sky. In itself, this is peculiar. We live on Earth, with our feet in the soil, surrounded by the daily bustle, and yet we lift our heads toward unreachable lights. The first human, tens of thousands of years ago, who stopped and looked up at the sky, probably didn't know that this simple movement would become the beginning of all civilization.

The essence of cosmic research is nothing other than the continuation of this impulse. We use mathematics to calculate trajectories, physics to build rockets, and chemistry to produce fuel—all rational tools we have, ultimately to achieve something deeply irrational: to see what those lights truly are. The footprint Armstrong left on the Moon is still there. Without wind and rain, it might last for millions of years. In a sense, it is the first mark humanity has carved into space—as a child writing its name on a wall for the first time.

What came next, everyone knows. We launched probes and sent them in all directions across the solar system. Some have already left its boundaries and carry with them a golden record with sounds from Earth, floating in interstellar space. Almost certainly, no one will ever find it. Still, we did it. Not for anything other than to tell the universe: there was one civilization here. And it existed.

Of course, someone will always ask: is it worth the money?

There is no easy answer to this question. If you look only at the economic balance sheet, the return on investment for cosmic research is not high. But if you look further, you will find that this seemingly futile quest defines what it means to be human. Cave paintings had no practical purpose—yet we painted them. Pyramids had no practical purpose—yet we built them. The flight to the Moon had no practical purpose—yet we flew there. These things do not fill the stomach, but they fill the soul.

Moreover—the technological spin-offs of cosmic research have long permeated everyday life. GPS in your phone, weather forecasting, satellite television, and even some medical imaging methods—all come from space engineering. We think we are gazing up at the stars, but the stars are quietly changing life here below. As for the future, no one knows. Perhaps one day humans will truly build cities on Mars, search for microbes under the ice of Europa, or mine asteroids. But that is not important. What matters is that while we struggle with daily worries, there will always be people who lift their heads and think about things that are further away. And that is enough.

Marie Liu