Putting the Cart Before the Horse

Or, perhaps more precisely, putting the rocket propelled space telescope before the Asiatic wild ass.  

I'm referring, with this oblique equine aphorism, to the recent launch of NASA's Kepler Mission, which will use the Kepler space telescope to search for Earth-like extra-solar planets.  By training itself on our closest neighboring stars, and recording the infinitesimal dimmings that result when a planet passes between the star and scope,  Kepler will be able, over the course of three or four years, to determine which solar systems harbor planets similar to our own.  And, theoretically, such planets could harbor life.  Alien life.  For real.

Statistically speaking, life on other planets is basically assured.  The galaxy is a vast place, the universe almost infinitely more so, and with every new discovery, the concept of Earth's particular life sustaining uniqueness is swiftly eroding.  There has already been evidence of liquid water and (just maybe) fossilized microbial life on Mars, and that's a veritable stone's throw away.  The potential for life in other star systems has moved from the realm of science fiction to that of science fact with remarkable swiftness, and skepticism amongst the scientific community is readily turning to excitement at the prospect.  While the search for alien life is still very much in the first stages of its infancy, the Kepler Mission is one of the first clear and intentional steps in that exploration.  

But I'm afraid it's all just an enormous waste of money.  Well, not a waste per se, just rather a gross misuse.  I do honestly believe in the importance of space exploration and research; it's simply where the trajectory of human evolution and development is headed.  And, quite frankly, I'm excited at the prospect of what we may find.  One day locating alien life would explode the preconceptions of our entire species, and change our outlook on our own lives and our role in the universe.  But for now, shouldn't we concern ourselves a little more with life here on earth? 

Wilderness is disappearing, the climate is heating up, the ice caps are melting, species are vanishing, and entire ecosystems, hell, the health of the entire planet, is slowly but surely circling the drain.  That's not doomsaying, that's fact, and if anything, I'm putting it lightly.  In such a situation, how can we possibly justify an expenditure on something as ephemeral as extra-solar photography?  I can't help feeling like this mission is being undertaken for no other reason than to slake the curiosity of a bunch of astrophysicists.  And while the $600+ million price tag for the mission may seem like a drop in the bucket, given the state of the economy, think of how much land could be permanently preserved in trust with that kind of money.  With $600 million we might be able to save the Javan rhinoceros, or conserve sections of Brazil's Atlantic forest, or even just get that much closer to developing clean energy sources.  With so many problems at hand, how can we still justify gazing off at the heavens?

I'm conflicted, certainly.  I support our funding of the sciences, and I support scientific pursuit in general, but even I have my limits.  I want to be excited for the prospects of Kepler's research (though I admit I couldn't understand a lick of the raw data if I tried), and I want to be able look up at the sky with the same interest and intent as the scientists at NASA.  But instead, I can't help but look around at the glory and diversity of life on this planet, and wonder just how much longer that will be the case.