I. Purpose

I've often thought on what separates a living thing from a machine, and one of the greatest distinctions is purpose. A machine has a function - a specific set of tasks that it repeats in cycle without growing or evolving - whereas a living thing pursues the energy to perpetuate itself, and changes with its environment in order to maintain access to that energy. Life moves around corners and past obstacles, like waves around rocks, but machines by themselves are an inanimate process of entropy, forever winding down until they stop altogether.

But what does purpose mean, specifically? It is the pursuit of a horizon rather than the undertaking of any specific task: Science (for instance) is a purpose, but the implementation of any given experiment, theory, or technology is just a function engaged in on behalf of that purpose. Exploration in general is a purpose, as is population increase, economic enterprise, and any other endeavor that has no inherent limitations apart from those of the local environment.

Specific policies like conservation, efficiency, and sustainability are therefore only functions, because they are inherently limited - there are absolute maxima and minima involved - and cannot compete with the fundamental drives (i.e., purposes) of life and humanity if people do not understand that they ultimately serve them in the long-run. They need to know that bold changes along these lines in the short-term will allow for even broader and more glorious expansion over time, because this is, at its core, the biological basis of human hope.

II. The Wall

Right now, mankind is headed straight for a wall at breakneck speed: Not necessarily a wall of resources - life is surprisingly versatile, even from the perspective of optimists. And not necessarily a wall of conflicts that will arise from changes in the resource environment, although that will certainly be a symptom. But rather a wall of imagination - a ceiling to the perceived possibilities and hopes that have driven creativity since the Enlightenment. And this wall need not be substantial in itself to be devastating, because the mere perception of limitation can make itself effectively a reality.

When people become convinced that they are limited, they stop trying to reach beyond their perceived boundaries, and may even forget that anything exists beyond them. Instead, for the sake of their own sanity, they focus on internal distinctions and endlessly re-fight struggles they have already won, to preserve a fictitious semblance of purpose when they are simply spinning their wheels like machines.

In studying history, one of the many questions that comes up is this: Why did only a handful of countries ever try to get involved in colonizing the Americas? Many individuals took it upon themselves to migrate, but only about half a dozen nations in the entire world - consisting of probably less than 10% of the global population - put forward any kind of effort to pursue the potential of the new continents, and only about half of them did so on a consistent, large-scale basis. Why?

Ideology-driven political correctness would insist that everyone else was just "minding their own business," and had no interest in displacing other peoples from foreign lands, but of course we know that is nonsense: Wars of conquest were every bit as brutal, interminable, and constant in Asia and the Islamic world as in Europe, if not even more so for being as frequent on the local level as between great nations and empires. Equally ridiculous would be the claim that the rest of the world was content with its own resources, since its cities and villages swarmed with poverty, and its aristocrats were as greedy as any in Europe.

So why was there virtually zero interest from these people in two huge continents of largely unoccupied, effectively virgin land? Where were the Chinese colonies? Where were the Ottoman colonies? Where were the Florentine or Venetian colonies? Why did Italian mariners like Amerigo Vespucci have to go to Spain and Portugal to do anything? Why did these states wallow in the same ceaseless internal disputes, clan vendettas, and petty machinations that had preoccupied them for centuries or millennia while a handful of European powers took over half the world and ignited a global revolution that is still unfolding?

The answer is contained in an anecdote about one of the earlier official contacts between a Western ambassador and the Chinese Emperor (though you'll have to forgive me if the particulars escape me): The ambassador delivered a precision-crafted clock to the Emperor as a gift, but the Emperor seemed unimpressed. The ambassador was puzzled, and asked if the gift displeased the throne.

The Emperor said that he appreciated the gift, but that it could not possibly impress him, because all the wonders the Earth could provide already existed in his domains. In other words, he hadn't actually seen such a thing before, but he just assumed that not only must the technology already exist in his possession, but that it must - must - be far superior to what any foreigner could build. The Emperor, like the entirety of Asia at the time, could not imagine something beyond what he already knew: He could imagine no accomplishments qualitatively surpassing those of his ancestors, even when they were within his material reach.

So they didn't even try. The Ming emperors had ships that dwarfed the galleons of the Spaniards, an able and robust maritime tradition, and enough wealth that they could have exported their civilization to both of the new continents if the will and imagination had existed. But as things stood, the most that happened was a brief series of publicity tours to South Asia and East Africa, after which their long-distance fleet was burned and isolationist policies imposed. The waste of it is staggering to the educated mind, and yet it happens over, and over, and over in history.

China was just the most extreme example of this "death of imagination," this "wall" beyond which even the obvious becomes invisible, but the failure of the formerly enterprising Islamic states and Italian merchant republics would also qualify as examples. They might not have been as relatively wealthy by the 16th and 17th centuries as they once were, but they had more than ample resources to spread their respective cultures to the New World, and regular enough dealings with the Spanish and Portuguese to obtain the know-how if they had desired it. But...they didn't. They had hit the wall.

III. As It Stands

Without a purpose, more and more of America's spirit slams into that wall today, and instead of moving forward and evolving we just argue over the same old stupid nonsense. New life and vitality might surge into and change our civilization by virtue of pursuing the future, but instead people increasingly believe that The Way - the one and only Way - is to sit on their asses, both mentally and physically, and rehash the same problems they were born with.

These are the people who, whenever space is mentioned, trudge out the "We have problems down here..." trope. No matter how often it's debunked, they cling to it as some kind of default attitude, and indeed we can reasonably suspect it is the default when someone has no imagination, no hope, and no sense of the broader world and cosmos. It's a theme that doesn't seem to have ever helped the state of any people who ever lived, and yet they're utterly convinced that if we just stop aspiring to anything, our problems will be easier to resolve.

And maybe, for a time, they would be right: If you want nothing, you can't be frustrated. If you aspire to nothing, you can't be disappointed. And if you risk nothing, you won't lose anything...at least, nothing that you yourself chose to wager, rather than having it wagered for you by someone else who doesn't care about preserving your comfortable stagnation. The Ming decision to "focus on problems at home" did exactly what any such decision always does: Multiplied those problems, and softened up the society for external domination.

But I believe Americans are the inheritors of a precious legacy whose product has saved the world more than once: It is the inevitable result of being forged from people who believe, either foolishly or with good reason, that there's something better over the next hill, across the next river, across the sea, over the mountains and through the veil of mystery that guards the unknown.

It may not be true that there is, in fact, something better over the next hill, but if you keep believing it and acting on that belief, eventually you'll get somewhere that is better - or at least more amenable to your chances of creating something better. And if it stops being a place where your hard work is rewarded; if society becomes too orthodox and conformist, or the Powers That Be end up holding control with too tight a fist, you just pick up and keep going. This is the psychological origin of the Johnny Appleseed mythos, and the pioneer spirit that gave birth to it.

The possibility of starting anew is essential to the preservation of freedom, not only as a practical fact, but even as an idea that people can understand. Even if the concept is explained intellectually, a person cannot understand freedom who believes there is nothing beyond what they already know - who cannot imagine a world that they create rather than forever bowing to what went before. But in a world that has ceased to have frontiers, either physical or mental, people begin to believe the only way to gain for themselves is to take from others, to reiterate the known, to fight for control of what is already built - and in the process, destroy it - rather than building new things.

IV. Legacy

We didn't create the light we carry - it was born in the Aegean, in a world of islands and peninsulas, where every direction held both wonders to entice the curious and dangers to excite the bold. While the vast Asian steppes were laid waste again and again by one indistinguishable tribe after another; one servile kingdom after another rising out of the dust and falling back into it; the Greek peninsula and its array of sub-regions spawned a new world of ideas in fractal profusion.

They were protected enough by their geography not to feel overly threatened by the unknown, but accessible enough for those who wished to be in regular contact with it, and that - as Frost would say - made all the difference. Such was the same with America, right up to 1950s and 1960s, when the population surged Westward with the Interstate highways and the growth of California.

We began with an entire continent of wonders and dangers, with only a handful of little islands of people here and there, and the bold and the curious lived in a place that constantly challenged their courage and imaginations while still holding out hope for when they decided to settle down. That unique environment - which held out for centuries - is the reason why the United States became such a culturally and politically radical influence on the world.

Radical ideas that had floated around Europe for generations, but existed mainly in the abstract intellectual discussions of the gentry, were suddenly manifest possibilities, and the repercussions have been cascading around the globe ever since, giving new life to imaginations that had died and shaking the dusty sepulchre of obsolete ways to its foundations. Our dreams soared to new heights, and yet our nightmares were petty and banal; our heroes outshone Olympus, and yet our worst monsters (until recently) were merely the kind of people who usually ruled in the rest of the world.

This America we have now - falling apart, struggling just to handle basic problems - doesn't have to be the whole story. The England that bore our country was not a pleasant place to live - it was not the stuff of Mary Poppins, but of Mary Tudor - and it too was wracked with internal strife and ideological conflict. It too held an empire, and it too was ultimately unable to handle the weight of the world's problems compounded with its own. But when it all came finally crashing down, and its destiny seemed either to live beneath the German jackboot or fight them off just long enough to learn Russian, they were saved by their children.

The creativity, productivity, and courageous spirit of the New World they had born came back to them and saved them both from the destructive avarice of degenerate Continental states and their own stagnation. Through the energy we returned to them, and preserved for them standing watch along the Iron Curtain, they began again and built the United Kingdom that today has so many admirable attributes without coming at the expense of an oppressed foreign people.

But who will save us? I wouldn't venture the change in my pocket that anyone else would or could, nor would I want us to be saved from outside and throw away the chance for a glorious comeback if there is any choice. We may be perceived as naive or even stupid for holding on to visions of a Space Age future despite the problems that cripple us on Earth, but those ideas are woven into the fabric of the American psyche: I believe the moment Americans have the opportunity, we will be the most distinguished and committed of all the peoples and nations who begin to grow outward into the broader environment.

I say that our creativity has not died or even gone to sleep, but simply been stored up, waiting for the time when the road to the future we have always seen in our hearts is once again open. If America The Idea is allowed to grow and flourish, seeking out its energy Out There like all life seeks its sustenance across new lands and vistas, then America the political state that lives within these borders will thrive and change.

The descendants of those who move outward into the solar system may or may not think much of the society that sent them, but they will see enough of themselves in us to care and be our salvation. And those who remain will see enough of what they are capable of in the heroic deeds of their far-flung relatives to know that what is possible exceeds even their wildest dreams.

V. Conclusion

We need a purpose to survive and grow, both as a nation and as a species, and luckily we already have a profound legacy upon which to build. We set foot on the Earth's Moon at a time when most of the world still didn't have electricity, and two generations later, that achievement has still not been equaled or surpassed.

It is something that resonates in our cultural DNA, that alludes to the past while being made from the substance of the future, and that can bring hope not only to our own people but those of all mankind. To pursue this purpose, we would bring honor and eternal glory to our country while inspiring others rather than degrading them.

I would rather live in a run-down city in a vibrant, growing, far-flung civilization than a pristine and intricately-balanced Byzantium suitable only for ghosts and museum curators. And, of course, living in a run-down city in a run-down civilization whose gaze is fixed on its own navel is certainly the least appealing option, but one that is the most likely alternative if we cannot find it within ourselves to keep seeking.

However far we've fallen as a people, we still have that vital strain in our culture that understands how to create, and that pursues the horizon with a deep and mystical yearning. But it will not be there forever if we fail to nurture it; it will not linger unless we give rise to generations of people who know as an immediate fact the infinity of the cosmos, and believe with justified conviction that our destiny is one with it.