The Earth captivated the crew. At that far-off vantage, any hints of boundaries or demarcations, of nations or states, are imperceptible. We have permeated nearly all reaches of that world; we contest over every piece and assert steadfast command. But from the remote perch of the Apollo 8 spacecraft, neither the wars upon the lands, nor the flags planted in them, are evident. Against the backdrop of desolate space, the Earth unites its citizens in a vibrant display. Pristine, blue waters flow. Clouds swirl and dance. The desert sands and the lush flora interplay and paint the terrain in gradients of green and gold.

That photograph of the Earth, entitled Earthrise, pervaded culture. It was a prominently featured dividend of our first journey to the moon. The image provided a unique perspective and a quintessential catalyst for a heightened global awareness. Along with the planetary portrait were sentiments of unification and inseparability, of dissatisfaction and discontent. The world was fraying, the superpowers, caught in perpetual militaristic embrace; the Earth was weakening, the expanse of industry, infringing upon the habitats of other species and jeopardizing the habitability of the planet. The view of our fragile world forewarns of a severe downfall—because we do not just live on the Earth, but we live with it. As we threaten the Earth and question its future, we bring into question ourselves.

In a whirlwind of ambitions, we went to the moon. We walked the surface a short time later. These expeditions ended a few years thereafter. Yet, the Apollo missions evoked a consciousness of space exploration and galvanized the continued pursuit of goals in space. We set our sights on the planets. Once again, we were to probe new worlds.

The Voyager spacecraft, launched in 1977, were employed to study the outer solar system. Voyager 1 was directed to execute flybys of Jupiter, Saturn, and Titan, a moon of Saturn. Voyager 2 also intercepted the gas giants; an altered trajectory enabled this spacecraft to perform first reconnaissance of Uranus and Neptune.

The spacecraft were assured to function only through their Saturn encounters. Recognizing the uncertain longevity, Dr. Carl Sagan suggested that immediately hence, either or both spacecraft look homeward for a final snapshot. He thought that a picture of the Earth from such a great distance might contextualize our species in the cosmos and further reveal the human circumstance. Many of NASA’s Voyager team concurred; though, turning the cameras to Earth would not come without risk. From the outer solar system, the Earth and the sun are very close in view. If the cameras were to be aimed so close to a bright source, there was a possibility of damaging the equipment. Consequently, the Voyager team shelved the idea.

In 1989, the primary Voyager missions were nearing completion, but the commands to procure the picture had yet to be sent. Knowing that such an opportunity might not come again for decades, Dr. Sagan continued advocating. Still, there was opposition by a few of the project staff because there would be no scientific yield. The decision, ultimately, was that of NASA Administrator Richard Truly. He intervened to ensure that the image was taken.