Governance of the Global and Extra-Terrestrial Commons: What the Maritime Context Can Offer Outer Space 3031316126, 9783031316128

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Michael Roe

Governance of the Global and Extra-Terrestrial Commons What the Maritime Context Can Offer Outer Space

Governance of the Global and Extra-Terrestrial Commons

Michael Roe

Governance of the Global and Extra-­Terrestrial Commons What the Maritime Context Can Offer Outer Space

Michael Roe Graduate School of Management Plymouth University Plymouth, UK

ISBN 978-3-031-31612-8    ISBN 978-3-031-31613-5 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-31613-5 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) under exclusive licence to Springer Nature 2023 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG. The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

Preface and Acknowledgements

Number four. And there was only supposed to be three. In fact originally there was only supposed to be one, but things got out of hand. This one is a bit different but reflects the desire to show that governance in the maritime sector is not just about ownership but is far-­ranging to the point where the issue becomes awkward, complex and consequently commonly avoided. This is dangerous. The maritime sector is not helped by neglecting governance. I should emphasise that I am no outer space expert and this quite probably shines through but the message remains clear. There is much to learn from the failure of maritime governance and the lessons are wholly appropriate for the formidable expansion into outer space which is coming. Much has happened whilst this book was being written. We have moved all of 200 metres along the sea front in Plymouth and up to the top floor of an apartment block. My view of Brittany Ferries vessels departing for Roscoff and Santander is now even better. I also have a view across the city to Smeaton’s lighthouse and the cathedral and so can enjoy the wind and rain from both directions. However, we are moving again soon to Truro and deep into Cornwall from where the next book will emerge in time. I will remain involved with the University in Plymouth and like Frank Sinatra and Mick Jagger have no intention of ever fully retiring if I can help it. Why would I? v

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Preface and Acknowledgements

I should thank Marina Hyde of The Guardian newspaper who has kept me sane whilst British politics has deteriorated to obscenely comical levels, and all the usual people. Liz, Joe and Siân of course, but far fewer others than usual largely as a consequence of Covid which has trapped me here in Plymouth for much of the past three years. For those of you who have assumed it is all over, thanks. Try being Type 1 diabetic and then look at the statistics for hospitalisation and death—still. As Graham Greene said: You don’t weep unless you’ve been happy; tears always mean something enviable. (Journey Without Maps, 1936) West Hoe, Plymouth, October 2022. Plymouth, UK

Michael Roe

Contents

1 Gabo,  Diaghilev and Olga Spessivtseva: The Governance of Shipping and Outer Space  1 2 G  overnance, Time and Space 23 3 O  uter Space 99 4 Outer Space Governance and the Maritime Context171 5 The Role of the Commons in Maritime and Outer Space237 6 Maritime and Outer Spatial Fixation291 7 F  inally361 I ndex447

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Abbreviations

ASEAN Association of Southeastern Asian Nations ASEAN-COST Asian Committee on Science and Technology ASO Asian Space Organisation ASSM Asian Single Shipping Market BIMCO Baltic and International Maritime Council CAA Civil Aviation Authority CIA Central Intelligence Agency CONFERS Consortium for the Execution of Rendezvous and Servicing Operations COPUOS Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space COSPAR Committee on Space Research CPR Common Pool Resources EDA European Defence Agency EEA European Environment Agency EEZ Exclusive Economic Zone ESA European Space Agency ESPI European Space Policy Institute ET Extra Terrestrial EU European Union EUMETSTAT European Organization for the Exploitation of Meteorological Satellites HSRGWG Hague Space Resources Governance Working Group IMF International Monetary Fund ix

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IMO INKhUK ISS ITU IYO MAIB MCA NAFTA NASA NEO OECD OED OST PRC SEP UFO UK ULCC UN UNCLOS UNCTAD UNESCO UNOOSA US/USA USMCA USSR WSO WTO 4IR

International Maritime Organization Moscow Institute of Artistic Culture International Space Station International Telecommunications Union International Year of the Ocean Marine Accident Investigation Bureau Maritime and Coastal Agency North America Free Trade Agreement National Aeronautics and Space Administration Near Earth Objects Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development Oxford English Dictionary Outer Space Treaty People’s Republic of China Societé Européenne de Propulsion Unidentified Flying Object United Kingdom Ultra Large Crude Carrier United Nations United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea United Nations Conference on Trade and Development United Nations Education Scientific and Cultural Organization United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs United States of America United States-Mexico-Canada Agreement Union of Soviet Socialist Republics World Space Organization World Trade Organization 4th Industrial Revolution

And then I scold myself and go to the fridge, I take out the yoghurt and put some sugar in it. And sometimes I sit on the floor, eating, for that’s all I can do at a moment like that, sit on the cold floor of the kitchen and eat my yoghurt with sugar. And then gradually I get better. With insulin, after all, you have a lethal drug in the home. People get killed with it. If you shoot up too much and eat nothing, well, then you die.

 Abbreviations 

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Miriam T. in Annemarie Mol and John Law, Embodied Action, Enacted Bodies: The Example of Hypoglycaemia, Body and Society (2004), 10, (2–3), 49 And then, the Earth being small, mankind will migrate into space, and will cross the airless Saharas which separate planet from planet and sun from sun. Earth will become a Holy Land which will be visited by pilgrims from all the quarters of the Universe. Finally man will master the forces of Nature; they will become themselves architects of systems, manufacturers of worlds. William Winwood Reade, The Martyrdom of Man (1872) She’d seen it clearly all along. It was as she said; they couldn’t go back. Now he understood why he’d felt trapped in a daze today. He’d been fighting against time. Their last parting had been so sudden, so unexpected, they’d not had a chance to say goodbye. When they walked out of this room today, they’d be saying goodbye forever. It was completely clear, like death. Eileen Chang, Half a Lifelong Romance (2014) Do we live in finite universe doomed to decay, where humans are insignificant transitory specks on a tiny planet? Or are we instead the furthest advance of an infinite progress in a universe that has neither beginning nor end? Eric Lerner, The Big Bang Never Happened (1992) Her head was dropped toward one shoulder, and her lips were just far enough apart for the reflection of the upper one to deepen the colour of the other. The jolting of the train had again shaken loose the lock above her ear. It danced on her cheek like the flit of a brown wing over flowers, and Darrow felt an intense desire to lean forward and put it back behind her ear. Edith Wharton, The Reef (1994) They stared at each other for a time, and, as they did, the loveliest look came over her face, a kind of warm light. Not so very different from the look of his face. Really, much the same. Alan Furst, Midnight in Europe (2014)

List of Figures

Fig. 1.1 Fig. 1.2 Fig. 1.3

Fig. 1.4 Fig. 1.5 Fig. 1.6

Fig. 1.7

The Realistic Manifesto (Realisticheskii Manifest) (original poster), Second State Printing House, 1920. (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed. Item is out of copyright) 4 The Realistic Manifesto, 1920 (English translation; Peter Terezakis). (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed. Item is out of copyright) 5 Vladimir Tatlin and a model of his Monument to the Third International, Moscow, 1920. (Private collection). (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed. Item is out of copyright)6 Untitled, Alexander Rodchenko, 1930. (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed) 8 The Narkomfin Building, Moscow, 1928–1930, Moisei Ginzburg and Ignatii Milinis. (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed)9 Konstruktion in Emaille 1 (Construction in Enamel 1, also known as Telephone Painting), Laszlo Moholy-Nagy, 1923. Porcelain enamel on steel, Museum of Modern Art, New York. (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed) 12 Merzz. 53. Red Bonbon, Kurt Schwitters, 1920, Guggenheim Museum, New York. Graphite, coloured and printed paper, cardstock and thread collage with cardstock border. (Artist out of copyright) 13 xiii

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Fig. 1.8 Fig. 1.9 Fig. 1.10 Fig. 1.11 Fig. 1.12 Fig. 1.13 Fig. 4.1 Fig. 7.1 Fig. 7.2 Fig. 7.3 Fig. 7.4 Fig. 7.5 Fig. 7.6 Fig. 7.7 Fig. 7.8 Fig. 7.9 Fig. 7.10 Fig. 7.11

List of Figures

Designs for sports uniform (sportodezhda) by Stepanova in LEF Magazine, 1923. (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed)14 Stepanova poses in sports clothes of her own design, 1923. (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed) 15 Naum Gabo, Constructed Head No. 2, Tate London. (Tate Archive)17 Set for La Chatte with the Ballets Russes, Naum Gabo with Antoine Pevsner, 1927. (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed)18 Alice Markova, in La Chatte. (Source: Ballet State A Collection of New South Wales. Out of Copyright) 19 Olga Spessivtseva, La Chatte, 1934. (Source: Ballet State A Collection of New South Wales. Out of Copyright) 20 The World Lake concept. (Source: Central Intelligence Agency. Free to use—US Government) 202 Hylas and the Nymphs, J.W. Waterhouse (1896), Manchester Art Galleries, Manchester, UK 374 The Fighting Temeraire, tugged to her last berth to be broken up, JMW Turner, 1838, National Gallery, London 425 A First Rate Man-of-War Driven Onto a Reef of Rocks, Floundering in a Gale, George Philip Reinagle, 1836, Royal Albert Memorial Museum, Exeter, UK 426 Red Boats, Argenteuil, Claude Monet, 1875, Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University, USA 427 Breezing Up (A Fair Wind), Winslow Homer, 1873–1876, National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC 428 The Raft of the Medusa, Theodore Géricault, 1818–1819, Louvre, Paris 428 The Starry Night, Van Gogh, 1889. Museum of Modern Art, New York429 Moonlight. Wood Island Light, Homer, 1874. Museum of Modern Art, New York 430 The Meteor of 1860, Church, 1860. Private Collection 430 Nocturne in Black and Gold—The Falling Rocket, Whistler, c1875. Detroit Institute of Arts 431 Star of Bethlehem, Burne-Jones, 1890. Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery, UK 432

List of Tables

Table 2.1 The objectives of policy-making for the maritime and outer space sectors Table 3.1 The Overview Effect Table 4.1 The law of the sea regime: changes and their sources Table 5.1 Types of common goods and resources Table 6.1 Examples of space resource exploitation Table 6.2 Some examples of space tourism proposals Table 7.1 The attentive public for space exploration Table 7.2 Benefits and disbenefits of outer space exploration Table 7.3 Comparative space power models Table 7.4 Libertarian extension Table 7.5 Ecologic extension Table 7.6 Some examples of maritime music Table 7.7 Some examples of outer space music Table 7.8 Examples of outer space religious buildings

53 124 198 242 336 344 363 364 379 417 418 423 424 432

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1 Gabo, Diaghilev and Olga Spessivtseva: The Governance of Shipping and Outer Space

I have known many adventures in my time; the creation of postal routes, Sahara rebellions, South America… but war was not really an adventure at all, it is only a substitute for adventure… War is a disease. Like typhus. (Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Pilote de Guerre, 1942) … punishment is, in many cases, more productive of evil than crime itself. The living organism possesses the faculty of quickly adapting itself to every condition; if it were not so man would be conscious every moment of the unreasonable foundations on which his reasonable actions rest and how little of justice and assurance are to be found even in those activities which are fraught with so much responsibility and which are so appalling in their consequences, such as education, literature, the law. (Anton Chekhov, At Home, 1901) To speak of you is like speaking of heaven; you were pure beauty, pure light. Eternally youthful, eternally lovely and tender as a mother’s eyes, when she looks down at her child. Soft as young squirrels you curled around a man’s neck. Never did your voices quiver with rage, never did your brows furrow, never did your gentle hands become rough and hard. Sweet vestals, you stood like jewelled images in the temple of the home.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 M. Roe, Governance of the Global and Extra-Terrestrial Commons, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-31613-5_1

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Incense and prayers were offered to you, through you, love performed its miracles, and poetry affixed a gold-gleaming halo around your head. (Selma Lagerlöf, The Saga of Gösta Berling, 1891)

Constructivism and the Ballets Russes; bulk carriers and Pluto. So what has all this got to do with governance? And anyway, who was Olga Spessivtseva? Perhaps we should start with where we aim to finish and then the direction may become clearer. The central focus of this book is how the lessons from the governance of shipping could help with directing the governance of outer space. Both have much in common; in both the current governance structures are inadequate, corrupt and yet vital for successful development. Both activities operate within ‘commons’. This presents fundamental issues that need to be resolved—and have yet to be. Both are activities for the future increasingly as the process of globalisation and capitalist expansion continues apace. Both are characterised in particular by the issues of space and time. Now back to the ballet and Olga.

Constructivism, Time and Space In order to educate man to a new longing, everyday familiar objects must be shown to him with totally unexpected perspectives and in unexpected situations. New objects should be depicted from different sides in order to provide a complete impression of the object. (Alexander Rodchenko)

We begin with the Constructivist movement and in particular its focus upon space and time—features of the governance of shipping and the cosmos that we shall return to repeatedly as we move into the realm of space and the sea. Constructivism was an artistic philosophy which emerged in Russia around 1912 and was characterised in particular by the architectural work of Vladimir Tatlin (Fig. 1.3) and the art and sculpture of Alexander Rodchenko (Fig.  1.4) although many others of note were to follow including Moisei Ginzburg (Fig.  1.5), Laszlo Moholy-Nagy (Fig.  1.6), Kurt Schwitters (Fig. 1.7), Varvara Stepanova (Figs. 1.8 and 1.9) and as

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we shall see of particular interest here, Naum Gabo (Figs. 1.10 and 1.11). The movement aimed to promote the use and exhibition of industrial materials with an emphasis on the use of art for practical and social objectives, and in so doing reflecting the contemporary developments in urban space and industrial society. It mirrored the changes taking place in the early twentieth century in Russian and subsequently Soviet society, the rise of socialism (and subsequently communism) and that of the ‘avant-­ garde’, where art-making of all sorts was seen as a form of professional labour like all others and not a spiritual calling. The sectors influenced included art, architecture, graphic design, sculpture, theatre, film, fashion and even music (Bann, 1974; Lodder, 1985; Cooke, 1995; Benus, 2013; Gubbins, 2017). First noted as a movement by Kazimir Malevich in 1917 in his critique of the work of Alexander Rodchenko, it was given a major impetus by the publication of the Realistic Manifesto by Naum Gabo (and co-signed by his brother Antoine Pevsner) in 1920 (Figs. 1.1 and 1.2) (Harrison & Wood, 2003; Hammer, 2020). The manifesto centred on five fundamental principles which aimed to make art more relevant to the era of the proletariat in particular when its relevance to the bourgeoisie in the immediate past had been so strong necessitating justification of its continued importance. The manifesto presented a new ontology for art dismissing ‘naturalism’, ‘symbolism’, ‘romanticism’ and ‘mysticism’ and also other attempts in art to move on—in particular Impressionism, Cubism and Futurism. Gabo saw art creating a ‘spatio-temporal’ continuum (Barlow et  al., 2020, pp.  11–32). Citing Heraclitus—‘the sun is new every day’—space and time were seen as born for man every day, with the past and future both irrelevant (past as ashes, future as vacant). Consequently space and time are the only forms upon which art should be based and should constitute the work itself, not just the structures within which art occurs. They are its ‘medium’ and the ‘raw material’ of artistic creation. In 1939 Gabo wrote ‘space and time are the two exclusive elements of real life, therefore to correspond to real life, art must be based on these two elements’. Constructivism was further taken on by a series of debates at the Institute of Artistic Culture (INKhUK) in Moscow between 1920 and 1922 where focus was placed upon faktura (the material properties of an

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Fig. 1.1  The Realistic Manifesto (Realisticheskii Manifest) (original poster), Second State Printing House, 1920. (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed. Item is out of copyright)

object) and tektonika (its spatial presence). Initially focussing upon three-­ dimensional objects in collaboration with industry, the movement later migrated into two dimensions and the fields of art, books, posters, fashion design and much more before digressing into set design, music and photomontage. Figure 1.3 is a central example of constructivism, showing a representation of a proposed tower as a monument for the Third International (1919–1920) by the Russian artist and architect Vladimir Tatlin (Lynton, 2009, pp. 35–62). The idea for the design of the tower came to Tatlin from a meeting of Pablo Picasso and Tatlin in Paris in 1914 where he saw Picasso’s collages and sculptures made of cardboard, paper and wire. Tatlin envisaged pieces that he might construct as ‘synthetic-static compositions’ of three dimensions and made of more industrial materials

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We proclaim: For us, space and time are born today. Space and time: the only forms where life is built, the only forms, therefore, where art should be erected. States, political and economic systems, die under the push of the centuries: ideas crumble, but life is robust; it grows and cannot be ripped up, and time is continuous in life's true duration. Who will show us more efficient forms? Which great human will give us more solid foundations? Which genius will conceive for us a legend more elating than the prosaic story that is called life? The fulfillment of our perception of the world under the aspects of space and time: that is the only goal of our plastic creation. And we do not measure our work by the yardstick of beauty, we do not weigh it on the scales of tenderness and feeling. The plumb line in hand, the look accurate as a ruler, the mind rigid as a compass, we are building our works as the universe builds. This is why, when we represent objects, we are tearing up the labels their owners gave them, everything that is accidental and local, leaving them with just their essence and their permanence, to bring out the rhythm of the forces that hide in them. 1. In painting, we repudiate color as a pictorial element. Color is the idealized and optical face of the objects. The exterior impression is superficial. Color is accidental and has nothing in common with the internal content of bodies. We proclaim that the tone of bodies, that is, their material substance absorbing the light, is their sole pictorial reality. 2. We deny the line its graphic value. In the real life of the bodies, there is nothing graphic. The line is only an accidental trace that humans leave on objects. It has no connection to essential life and to the permanent structure of things. The line is a merely graphic, illustrative, decorative element. We acknowledge the line only as the direction of static forces that are hidden in the objects, and of their rhythms. 3. We disown volume as a plastic form of space. One cannot measure a liquid in inches. Look at our real space: What is it if not a continuous depth? We proclaim depth as the unique plastic form of space. 4. We disown, in sculpture, mass as a sculptural element. Every engineer knows that the static forces of solids, their material resistance, are not a function of their mass. Example: the rail, the buttress, the beam . . . But you sculptors of any trend and any nuance, you always cling to the old prejudice according to which it is impossible to free volume from mass. Like this: We take four planes and we make of them the same volume that we would make with a mass of one hundred pounds. We thus restore to sculpture the line as direction, which prejudice had stolen from it. This way, we affirm in sculpture depth, the unique form of space. 5. We repudiate: the millennial error inherited from Egyptian art: static rhythms seem as the sole elements of plastic creation. We proclaim a new element in plastic arts: the kinetic rhythms, which are essential forms of our perception of real time . . . Art is called upon to accompany man everywhere where his tireless life takes place and acts: at the workbench, at the office, at work, at rest, and at leisure; work days and holidays, at home and on the road, so that the flame of life does not go out in man.

Fig. 1.2  The Realistic Manifesto, 1920 (English translation; Peter Terezakis). (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed. Item is out of copyright)

such as wood, metal and glass (Lynton, 2009, pp.  63–106; Begicheva et al., 2013, p. 299) and progressively divorced from the flat support of a wall. This would ‘expand art into three directions and the space of

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Fig. 1.3  Vladimir Tatlin and a model of his Monument to the Third International, Moscow, 1920. (Private collection). (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed. Item is out of copyright)

everyday’. Whilst the model was planned to be constructed in St Petersburg (Russia) and to act as the headquarters of the Comintern, the actual tower was never realised. It was conceived as a symbol of modernity, constructed of industrial materials of glass, iron and steel, consisting of a twin helix of 400 metres in height around which visitors would be transported using a variety of mechanical devices. Four geometric

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structures would rotate at differing speeds with a cube at the base for the presentation of lectures, meetings and conferences. The cube would rotate once a year. A smaller pyramid rested above the cube, where executive activities would take place and would rotate monthly, above which would be a cylinder acting as an information centre, rotating daily and issuing news bulletins, by radio, telegraph and loudspeaker. Plans included a large open-air screen. The model shown here in Fig. 1.3 was constructed by Tevel Shapiro, Sofia Dymshits-Tolstaia, Josif Meerzon and Pavel Vinogradov under Tatlin’s direction, in 1920. Punin (1922) described the tower as ‘rising up to the sky to celebrate a global Communist government centred in Russia’. Meanwhile Tatlin suggested that his tower was: the symbol of the era. In it, I created a certain synthesis of art and life by combining artistic and utilitarian elements. I based the design of the building on a screw as the most dynamic of forms. The screw is the sign of our time, indicating energy, dynamism, aspiration. The entire construction consisted of metal forms and looked like a spiral, inclined to coincide with the movement of the earth. Objects tilted to the earth’s axis are the most stable sort of forms. This construction served as the foundation for three working spaces inside it… a cube, a pyramid, a cylinder. All were turning around their axes, making one turn in a year, a month, a day. The walls made out of double panes of glass, preserved heat. This was economical. I (also) based the entire construction on a tree. The stories of the tower were fixed to the central axis like branches to a tree, which assured stability and mobility. The radio-masts, crowning the tower, would quickly connect the thoughts of people around the world. The monument would have been the symbol of friendship of all the people—a future worldwide family—united in time and space.

Figure 1.4 shows Rodchenko’s Untitled from 1920, representing a significant example of two-dimensional constructivism. He had begun his artistic life as part of Art Nouveau and moved through Futurism before taking on a major place in constructivism and in particular its emphasis on line, form, space, colour, surface, texture and physical support and its application to the revolutionary transformations taking place in Russian society. After the revolutions of 1917, he moved away from art to focus

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Fig. 1.4  Untitled, Alexander Rodchenko, 1930. (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed)

upon advertising and combining revolutionary ideals with product promotion and socialism, a movement driven by his witnessing of social injustice under Tsarism and his belief in the power of art to act as a driving force of social transformation through all its various manifestations— painting, design, dance, costume and so on (Dabrowski & Dickerman, 1998; Tupitsyn & Kiaer, 2009).

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Fig. 1.5  The Narkomfin Building, Moscow, 1928–1930, Moisei Ginzburg and Ignatii Milinis. (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed)

Figure 1.5 shows the Narkomfin collective housing project for the People’s Commissariat of Finance in Moscow representing an example of constructivist architecture and its socialist principles embodied in a building. Finally opened in 1932 the objective underlying its design was to reinvent the everyday life of working people. All collective functions of occupants were collectivised into separate and clearly defined areas. These included cooking, sport and raising children which were relocated from the traditional bourgeois apartment into glazed communal kindergartens, libraries, gymnasia and kitchens. Individual spaces for sleeping, washing, study, research and toilets were placed in a long block with a continuous ribbon window overlooking an exterior natural setting. This was designed to question the closed and consequently individual (and therefore bourgeois) characteristics of a room. The development consisted of two blocks, one for communal and the other for individual activities connected by a bridge and surrounded by exterior gardens. The apartments were of duplex formation and consisted

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of two types—‘K’ types which contained areas for cooking and children and ‘F’ types where there were no such facilities implying that all child-­ related activities should be collectively employed. Communal cooking would free women from house responsibilities, facilitating productive employment and release individuals from private, coupled relationships. Narkomfin not only embodied the principles of constructivism in an architectural context but also fitted well with the principles of early Communism in Russia following the revolutions of 1917. In both cases its focus on space and time was clear—something we see emerging repeatedly through constructivism. Communal and individual space was carefully planned and organised to be efficient and to reflect social ideals. The use of time by individuals and families would be optimised to the extent of even removing the family and parent from daily life with the function of the occupants merely to enjoy sexual freedom with anyone who appeared appealing and compliant, to procreate and then to raise children to be active and complicit social beings, functioning in particular for the socialist ideals, practised in collaboration, unimpressed by individual possession and activity, efficient in creating the ideal society and free from the temporal and spatial constraints of the conventional bourgeois life. Meanwhile Laszlo Moholy-Nagy emerged as a painter in Odessa from 1918 before moving to Vienna where he remained until 1920 when he moved again, this time to Berlin, and concentrated upon photographs, films and photomontages. He later moved on to Weimar and Dessau and the Bauhaus from 1925 to 1937. His work also moved across many other genres including sculpture and installations, but his focus was consistently preoccupied with space, time, light and transparency. Nagy was a strong supporter of the constructivists and their work in the newly formed Soviet Union and in particular the work displayed at a show in Berlin in 1922. A series of constructivist paintings followed centring on his favoured principles of light and their relationship to space and time. Early paintings were more static but by the mid-1920s elements of dynamism grew. The social philosophy of constructivism which was so dominant in the design of the Narkomfin Building and which permeated all aspects of society in the early days after the 1917

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revolutions also appealed to Nagy, whereby the artist and their art were seen as agents to improve society. Nagy’s interest in qualities of space, time and light endured throughout his career and transcended the very different media he employed. Whether he was painting or creating ‘photograms’… or crafting sculptures made of transparent Plexiglass, he was ultimately interested in studying how all these basic elements interact(ed). (theartstory.com)

Figure 1.6 (Konstruktion in Emaille 1, 1923) presents an abstract geometric formation which aims to focus upon space as represented by a yellow and black cross which appears to levitate and suggesting a sense of depth. The painting also generates an impression of movement whereby the shapes appear to approach the viewer. Nagy himself suggested that this was a constructivist painting partly at least because of the materials used (porcelain and steel). Kurt Schwitters was born in 1887  in Hannover. After training in Dresden as an artist, he spent time in the military during the Great War before experimenting with Cubism and Expressionism and meeting two major collaborators in Jean Arp and Raoul Hausmann. It was with the former that he attended the Kongress der Konstructivisten in Weimar in 1922. From this he developed work in a wide range of genres and in particular printed media including illustrated journals and advertisements as well as poems, music and collages. The major objective was to encourage other artists to join together resulting in the whole piece evolving over time. These seemingly unconnected objects and ideas left spaces between the disordered work which drew attention to the text and images and ‘challenging the organizational hierarchy by which printed documents were formerly governed’. Constructivist ideals were central to all this work reflected in Merzz 53, Red Bonbon (Fig. 1.7). Varvara Stepanova was born in 1894 and by the 1920s was a central feature of the constructivist movement, married to Alexander Rodchenko but more significantly creating notable constructivist designs for clothing (McQuilten, 2014). Her designs aimed at the ‘revolution of society’ and combined the principles applied across architecture, urban space, clothing, graphics, literature, poetry, music and social activism. Central to the

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Fig. 1.6  Konstruktion in Emaille 1 (Construction in Enamel 1, also known as Telephone Painting), Laszlo Moholy-Nagy, 1923. Porcelain enamel on steel, Museum of Modern Art, New York. (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed)

designs were the ideas that both men and women from all parts of society could work productively together and the idea of ‘composition’ became ‘construction’, whilst artists became ‘artist-engineers’. Stepanova was principally a graphic artist and textile designer and her work emerged from Cubism and Futurism, based around the three

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Fig. 1.7  Merzz. 53. Red Bonbon, Kurt Schwitters, 1920, Guggenheim Museum, New  York. Graphite, coloured and printed paper, cardstock and thread collage with cardstock border. (Artist out of copyright)

principles of function, simplicity and respect for materials all combined with the central features of the constructivist movement relating to the significance of time and space to work and activity (Figs. 1.8 and 1.9).

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Fig. 1.8  Designs for sports uniform (sportodezhda) by Stepanova in LEF Magazine, 1923. (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed)

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Fig. 1.9  Stepanova poses in sports clothes of her own design, 1923. (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed)

Her textile prints drew attention to the material quality of fabric, including the weave of thread and the shape of material in its simplest form. Her clothing responded to how the body moves in space, considering the function of the clothing above aesthetics—with no superfluous elements that might detract from the pure fundamentals of how the fabric and garment would be used. This utilitarian, no-waste ethos was at the heart of Stepanova’s ideas about ‘construction’. Stepanova created uniforms for specialist workers, actors and athletes, each designed to best accommodate the

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physical movement of the wearer. Strong geometric lines emphasised the garment’s structure including the seams, pockets, buttons, fabric bias and weave. (McQuilten, 2014)

We have already noted the importance of the contribution of Naum Gabo to the constructivist movement and more specifically the Realistic Manifesto which, along with his brother Antoine Pevsner, stressed that space and time should be implicit to all new forms of art and that this required art to be ‘constructed’. Central to this were kinetic rhythms as the basis of real time and Gabo went on to develop these ideas through a succession of architectural designs, paintings, sculptures, film and music projects and, most significant for our consideration of time and space, theatrical and costume designs (Barlow, 2020, p. 62). Gabo’s obsession with space and time was clear in some of his early work (e.g. Constructed Head No. 2 created in 1916) which Gabo claimed emphasised the empty space between elements rather than the sculpture’s material mass (Spence, 2020). Gabo went on to explore the ‘inner space’ of objects—the immaterial and cosmic (Fig. 1.10). However, from our point of view, a more significant contribution by Gabo was a series of sculptural and transparent acrylic planes designed for the staging of Sergei Diaghilev’s adaptation of George Balanchine’s choreographed ballet La Chatte in 1926–1927, which purposively combined architecture, time and space (Lodder, 2020, pp. 100–106). ‘The costumes are reminiscent of his sketch for a Kinetic Construction 1922, capturing the directional force of movement while utilising transparent materials to veil the source of that movement—the body. Meanwhile his unconventional use of see-through acrylic forms allows the eye to see the construction as line and space simultaneously’ (Kasten, 2020, p. 67). An example of the stage set is shown in Fig. 1.11. With a central figure of Aphrodite designed by Gabo’s brother Antoine Pevsner, the main set by Gabo consisted of abstract structures constructed in wire and transparent plastic, set against a background of black American cloth. The set was aimed to emphasise the importance of space but received a very mixed reaction, described on one occasion when on tour in London as a ‘fucking greenhouse’ (Tate, 2020). One particular problem was the transparent plastic (otherwise known as mica, talc and celluloid) which the

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Fig. 1.10  Naum Gabo, Constructed Head No. 2, Tate London. (Tate Archive)

local fire brigade suggested was highly inflammable and deemed by a series of other local fire brigades as a serious hazard. The costumes were modelled by two of the original dancers with the Ballets Russes, Olga Spessivtseva and Alice Markova in Figs.  1.12 and 1.13, and whilst beauty is highly personal: what exhilarates us human creatures more than freedom, more than the glory of achievement, is the joy of finding and surrendering to a Beauty

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Fig. 1.11  Set for La Chatte with the Ballets Russes, Naum Gabo with Antoine Pevsner, 1927. (Photographer Unknown and Unattributed)

greater than man, the rapture of being possessed. (Teilhard de Chardin, 1969, p. 119)

The costumes were both original and highly contemporary aiming to subtly reflect directional forces and elements of space and time and as a result caused some difficulties for the performers. Olga Spessivtseva was the first performer and experienced great difficulty in wearing the mica head-dress with two ears as well as dancing on the oil cloth that Gabo insisted was a feature of the set design. Spessivtseva injured her ankle after the opening performances and was replaced by a 15-year-old Alice Markova who also complained of the difficulties of the oil cloth, exacerbated by having to dance with one barefoot and one with a boot. Meanwhile the mica was: a heavy, strong plastic, clear and transparent, the head-dress was the same. Spessivtseva’s hair was shingled and brushed at the sides to a point, high up

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Fig. 1.12  Alice Markova, in La Chatte. (Source: Ballet State A Collection of New South Wales. Out of Copyright)

on the cheeks. I used to have that too. We had to stick it so it didn’t move… Apart from a mica head dress and leggings, we also had a mica skirt, worn over the tutu. (Alice Markova, 1986; Barlow et al., 2020, p. 27)

Underneath all the mica the dancers both wore white tights and satin shoes (at times ‘shoe’) and Gabo’s costume design sketches reflect how significant the integration of all the costume elements was to him in enhancing the temporal and spatial message of the ballet. But enough of all these diversions, we must return to the core themes that underlie the ballet, constructivism and our consideration of

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Fig. 1.13  Olga Spessivtseva, La Chatte, 1934. (Source: Ballet State A Collection of New South Wales. Out of Copyright)

governance. We are still some way from outer space and its relationship with the maritime sector, but the framework formed by time and space will guide us on the way. But before we can move on, we need first to consider governance, the issues it presents, the problems it exhibits and its own particular relationship to time and space.

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References Barlow, A. (2020). Master of time and space. Tate Magazine, 48, 61–65. Barlow, A., Matson, S., & Sidlina, N. (2020). Introduction. In S.  Matson, G.  Jackson, & A.  Barlow (Eds.), Naum Gabo: Constructions for real life (pp. 17–32). Tate Publishing. Bann, S. (1974). The documents of 20th century art; The tradition of constructivism. The Viking Press. Begicheva, A., Kurchanova, N., & Nagel, A. (2013). How I remember Tatlin. Anthropology and Aesthetics, 63/64, 299–313. Benus, B. (2013). Figurative constructivism and sociological graphics. In C.  Burke & E.  Kindel (Eds.), Isotope: Design and contexts 1925–71 (pp. 216–248). Hyphen Press. Chekhov, A. (1901). At Home. Adolf Marx. Cooke, C. (1995). Russian avant-garde: Theories of art, architecture and the city. Academy Editions. Dabrowski, M., & Dickerman, L. (1998). Rodchenko. Museum of Modern Art. de Chardin, T. P. (1969). Une Suite au Probleme des Origines Humaines. La Multiplicite des Mondes Habites (5 June 1953), Oeuvres, Paris, 277–278. Gubbins, P. (2017). Constructivism to minimal art: From revolution via evolution. Winterley Press. Hammer, M. (2020). The realism of Gabo’s 1920 Manifesto. In S.  Matson, G.  Jackson, & A.  Barlow (Eds.), Naum Gabo: Constructions for real life (pp. 33–51). Tate Publishing. Harrison, C., & Wood, P. (2003). The Realistic Manifesto. In C. Harrison & P. Wood (Eds.), Art in theory 1900–2000. Blackwell. Kasten, B. (2020). Naum Gabo. Tate Magazine, 48, 66–67. Lagerlöf, S. ([1891] 2009). The Saga of Gösta Berling. Penguin. Lodder, C. (1985). Russian constructivism. Yale University Press. Lodder, C. (2020). Animating form: Gabo’s engagement with ballet and film. In S. Matson, G. Jackson, & A. Barlow (Eds.), Naum Gabo: Constructions for real life (pp. 99–114). Tate Publishing. Lynton, N. (2009). Tatlin’s tower. Monument to revolution. Yale University Press. McQuilten, G. (2014, July 27). Sublime design: Varvara Stepanova’s unisex sports uniform. The Conversation. Punin, N. (1922). Tatlinova bashnia. Veshch’, Objet, Gegenstand, 1–2, p. 22. Saint-Exupéry, A. (1942). Pilote de Guerre. Gallimard.

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Spence, R. (2020, February 12). Naum Gabo: In tune with the rhythms of inner space. Financial Times. Tate Gallery London. (2020). Model for the set of ‘La Chatte’. www.tate.org/art/ artworks/gabo-­model-­for-­the-­set-­of-­la-­chatte-­t04146 Tupitsyn, M., & Kiaer, C. (2009). Rodchenko and Popova. Tate Museum.

2 Governance, Time and Space

When the first satellites and spacecraft entered orbit in the late 1950s, questions about outer space, law, and sovereignty began to arise. Did laws exist in outer space? Did states’ territories extend vertically into outer space? If so, how far did they go? Outer space presented a challenge that had not been encountered with most other natures; outer space in general—and orbits in particular—did not fall squarely into one or multiple territorial jurisdictions. Outer space surrounded Earth. Because of this incongruence, its legal status was unclear, and so too, was how activities in outer space would affect political, economic and social relations on Earth. (Beery, 2016, p. 92)

As we shall see, the maritime sector has much in common with the questions posed by the governance of outer space; many of the same difficulties and inconsistencies exist and many of the problems that remain unresolved are likely to perpetuate in both sectors. The major difference is that the maritime sector has a considerably longer history within which a governance structure has developed—albeit faulty. Although commentators such as Von Der Dunk (2011, p. 151) suggest that the Outer Space Treaty ‘entitles the state of registry to maintain jurisdiction and control

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over… space objects in outer space’, in practice this is far from the case and for space governance, time is not on the regulators’ side. The significance of governance in most circumstances can hardly be over-emphasised regardless of whether it is in the context of private or public organisations, social structures, technical development or in this case the management and future of two of the commons—here outer space and shipping but equally as significant climate, wild spaces, natural resources and the like. Governance (unlike government and policy-­ making) has been neglected and hardly featured as an issue until the 1960s, in need of analysis and research, and even then, with little progress until much later in the twentieth century. Things have now changed. Now is not the time to review governance in general but instead justifiably assume its importance and to go on to look at how significant it is recognised to be in particular in the context of the shipping and space sectors, and the problems that remain to be resolved—or at least understood. Interest in the governance of space has risen enormously since the turn of the twenty-first century and we shall return to the specific issues which this has illuminated in a later chapter. For now the emphasis is on the recognition that has occurred. This in turn provides justification for looking at outer space and its governance in more detail and subsequently goes on to make comparisons with the maritime sector where the issue has been widely debated in recent years (see, e.g. for the maritime sector Roe, 2013, 2016, 2020; Weiss, 2000, pp. 797–798, for a wider consideration of governance and its definition). Robinson (1986) was an early commentator whilst Tepper (2019, p. 1 and 2) provides a contemporary starting point suggesting that: a critical discussion is (re)emerging in space policy, economics and law; on the classification, use and possible ownership of space resources, and the governance of these activities in terms of rules and institutions.

He does not deny that outer space governance has been on the agenda for some time and refers extensively to the work of the United Nations (UN) between 1958 and 1979 and more specifically the Outer Space Treaty of 1967 and its guiding principle that:

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the exploitation and use of outer space, including the Moon and other celestial bodies, shall be carried out for the benefit and in the interests of all countries, irrespective of their degree of economic or scientific development, and shall be the province of all mankind. (Tepper, 2019, p. 2)

However, he notes how the environment for technology and commerce has substantially advanced (something that can be said for both the maritime and outer space sectors) and ‘yet there is no agreed normative framework at the international level to regulate it’. All this clearly signals that ‘money time’ has come; the governance of outer space resources is being shaped now, with or without consensus among states. It is therefore important to study at this point in time the proper governance—norms, rules and institutions—of space resources. Yet the discourse is unstructured, and there is confusion regarding the most basic notions. (Tepper, 2019, p. 2)

Harris (2008, p. 127) had suggested that ‘space commerce, law and politics cannot be viewed separately but require a more integrated approach by business, legal and political leaders, in conjunction with scientists, engineers and academicians’, and despite the awful English, the point was clear that governance was at the centre of outer space policy-­ making as much as anywhere else. Mazurelle et al. (2009), p. 8) defined space governance as ‘the combination of legal norms that emanate from international, European and national legal frameworks which, together, organize a coherent European decision-making process in both space policy and programmatic activities’, thus clearly highlighting the complexities and importance of governance. Venet (2012, p.  59) indicated that space governance was central to any debate of European space policy-­ making; ‘space governance is at the crossroads of policy (it is linked to the substance of space programmes), politics (it has to set institutional “rules of the road”) and polity (It has to accommodate several tiers of actors)’. Buckerfield de la Roche (2013, p. 159) continued the theme reflecting that space is ‘transnational, borderless and essentially ungoverned; governance and regulatory frameworks for orbital management are critical and

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recognised as a priority issue’, requiring ‘agreed norms’ (2013, p.  160) but then proposing very little else. Shackleford (2014, p. 443) viewed the absence of effective space governance as indicative of the problems faced by managing the commons in general including that of the open seas. Governance he suggested was not keeping pace with the progress of the outer space sector and went on to discuss issues such as over-exploitation and the prisoner’s dilemma both of which will feature in a later chapter. Meanwhile Lahcen (2015, p. 54) discussed the relationship between outer space governance, international relations and geopolitics and remarked on how little research there had been and how the two major paradigms of international relations—realism and liberalism—could be utilised to help administer the dynamics of space. Danilenko (2016, p. 179) noted how the emergence of multinational treaties for space in the later twentieth century required a substantial move in the design and implementation of space law with numerous issues despite remaining unresolved. The continued development of space as a major economic, military and social sector placed more emphasis on the need for specific rules to govern these activities and for these rules to be effective and efficient, the vital role of governance has become clearer. However, almost nothing has taken place in outer space governance since the 1979 Moon Treaty. Space governance remains notable by its absence and perhaps even more worrying, by the absence of any interest in doing anything about this. Meanwhile Hertzfeld et  al. (2016, p.  21) further emphasised the need for consideration of space governance with a ‘need for better management to prevent future international problems, issues and even disasters’ and ‘since nations, by treaty, retain ownership of anything they launch into space and are forever responsible and liable for that property, they have collectively made an international commitment to manage space responsibly’. So recognition that all is not well in space governance is widespread and it is clear that something needs to be done. We will return to the specific issues and how they have ramifications for the difficulties in designing effective governance at a later stage. But what about the shipping sector? Does that display effective governance or do problems abound?

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There has been significant interest in the role and importance of governance in the maritime sector and in shipping in particular where the industry possesses the characteristics of operating within a commons that bears comparison with that of outer space (see e.g. Sletmo, 2001, 2002a, 2002b; Selkou & Roe, 2005, 2022; Bloor et  al., 2006; Kovats, 2006; Roe, 2007a, 2007b, 2007c, 2007d, 2007e, 2008a, 2008b, 2009a, 2009b, 2009c, 2009d, 2010a, 2010b, 2013, 2020; Roe & Selkou, 2006; Van Tatenhove, 2008; Sampson & Bloor, 2007; De Vivero & Mateos, 2010; Van Leeuwen & Van Tatenhove, 2010; Baindur & Vegas, 2011; Vanelslander, 2011; Campanelli, 2012; Duru et al., 2014; Wirth, 2012, p. 224, 239; Gritsenko, 2014; Lister et al., 2015; Moe & Stokke, 2019; and Monios & Ng, 2021). But what are the grounds for this focus of activity? What will be apparent as we move forward is that the problem is a repeated failure of attempts at maritime governance, rather than its absence which is more the issue with the space sector. As Roe (2016, p. 3) notes: To suggest that there is any need to consider changes in maritime governance, there needs to be a case made that something at present could be improved. This is not difficult. The range of failure that maritime policy initiatives continue to display is both substantial and widespread and includes almost all aspects of the industry—all sectors (liner, bulk, ferry); all activities (safety, the environment, security and efficiency); all locations (from the European Union to the USA and from the Far East and China to the developing countries of Africa); and in particular every part of the jurisdiction and functioning of policy-making and its underlying governance from the international and global down to the local and regional passing on the way through the supranational and national. Perhaps the most indicative and also in some ways the most shocking are the continued problems exhibited by the inadequate functioning of the United Nations International Maritime Organisation (IMO) and its strained relationships with both its supranational (in particular the EU) partners and even with its own national members. This is well documented and covers issues from climate change, environmental policy and safety to issues that stem from the organisational relationship between the IMO and its constituent members…. In the words of Jordan (2001, p. 204) ‘to all intents and purposes, the dialogue between the two paradigms is essentially one of the deaf ’.

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This interest in maritime governance has yet to result in much notable change in the organisation and structure of the sector but does reflect the rise in concern for governance as a whole as a major influencer of policy relevance and success. Those considering governance in its widest sectoral and global sense include Held (1991), Ruggie (1993), Crosby (1996), Stoker (1998), OECD (2000), Jessop (2004), Ramachandran et  al. (2009), Borzel and Risse (2010), Scholte (2019) and Dellmuth and Schlipphak (2020). Roe (2016, pp.  4–31) presented in some detail the inadequacies of governance faced by the maritime sector and the reader is referred to this analysis for greater detail. Here we shall simply outline the main problems to form a basis for the consideration of both maritime and space governance and their relationship through the Commons that is to come. Roe (2016, p. 4) summarised the governance inadequacies of the maritime sector in four main themes: • It is fundamentally nation based at a time when nations are becoming less important and replaced by an increasing emphasis upon globalisation (Alderton & Winchester, 2002). • It is institutionally dominated and constrained to the point that the sector’s ability to be both effective and efficient is compromised by its own structure (Wuisan et al., 2012). • It is characterised by over-conservatively defined stakeholders with a severe over-emphasis upon the shipowner and associated maritime actors to the detriment of a more realistic and representative membership from a considerably more diverse range of interests (Parviainen et al., 2018). • There remains a notable emphasis upon the form and structure of the industry and its consequent governance approach and needs rather than one which understands and accommodates a more flexible approach with emphasis upon flow and change. The result is a form of policy constipation, transfixed by historical precedent, reputation and tradition, unable and unwilling to accommodate the requirements of a modern globalised sector and the clients that characterise it (Lee & Lee, 2007).

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Roe goes on (2016, p. 4): Each of these issues needs to be addressed if maritime governance is to be appropriate for today’s and the future’s shipping marketplace. Currently none are being considered effectively. The nation-state retains its jurisdictional pre-eminence whilst maritime governance remains essentially institutionally driven with alternative frameworks for policymaking neglected. The role of extended stakeholder involvement is at least understood (see for example recent commentary by the EU on maritime stakeholders). Meanwhile the ambitions of over-influential shipowners and associated maritime stakeholders is unlikely to change whatever developments in governance occur—these undesirable effects need to be understood and measures taken to produce policies that balance these desires. Major governance revision is not going to remove the significance of shipowners in maritime policymaking, but their ambitions could be accommodated more successfully in policies that address all sides of the environmental, safety, security and efficiency arguments. At the same time, globalisation centres upon flows—of information, materials, money etc.—and yet maritime policies are essentially static— designed at one point in time, for a defined situation with an inability to be flexible to accommodate change. Processes—the movement of money, information, materials—dominate the sector and effective governance structures need to accommodate this dynamism, one which takes little account of national borders and acts as the antithesis of the static policies that characterise the maritime sector.

Little if anything has changed since then so that by 2021 the same problems of governance in the maritime sector remain. And much the same could be said of space. We shall see in time that nation-states remain central to space; just think of the significance of the roles of the US, Russian, Indian and PRC governments and their involvement in its development, exploration and governance. Space policy-making is essentially nation based despite the existence of a number of UN bodies (e.g. the COPUOS Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space and UNOOSA, the United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs in Vienna) which whilst sounding global are actually dominated by the UN’s traditional national considerations, and which refer not only to many nations

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and commonly the entire world, but to territory and locations that are far removed from earthly nation-states. Institutions remain central to space policy-making through the UN, EU, national ministries and the like. Alternative arrangements involving a considerably larger number of actors from interest groups to the military and commercial corporations and from the media and political parties to the individual and public are notable by their absence. Governance frameworks are narrow, nation-­ based and institutionally determined by conservatively characterised government interests. Largely well-meaning but necessarily constrained by their own political agendas this inexorable and innumerable committee focussed framework is clearly inadequate for organising the cosmos. Whilst the influence of rocket and satellite owners (rather than shipowners) is less obvious, the role of Virgin Galactic and SpaceX, for example, is clearly rather more than might be expected when dealing with the entire governance of space ranging from economic and military exploitation to environmental protection and social essentials. And then there is the overall approach of governance to space—already characterised by a fixed and unchanging governance structure, much based on the example of failing governance frameworks for other sectors including that of the maritime. We shall see as we go on how the discontinuity between globalisation, policy-making, governance and the space and maritime industries pans out but first some words on the general nature of governance which are needed before any specific consideration of its role and that of policy-­ making in the maritime and space sectors can proceed. The contribution of Selkou and Roe (2022, pp. 2–14) is particularly useful here providing an analysis of the foundations of governance and subsequently their application to the maritime sector. This in turn can then be applied to the space sector. Let us begin however with some understanding of the process of governance applicable to any sector. Governance is founded upon a policy framework which in turn consists of four strands. • Jurisdiction • Objectives

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• Instruments • Agencies Jurisdiction refers to the level at which a policy can be applied and can be interpreted as a spatial interpretation of policy authority. Five levels of policy authority can be identified, although both more and less have been suggested at times. • • • • •

International/multinational Supranational National Regional Local

This represents broadly a hierarchical model with policies developed at the upper level and then cascading down through the jurisdictions with ultimately implementation at the very specific local level. Policies are supposedly coherently driven down through the hierarchy so that there is coordination throughout and ultimately feedback from the place of implementation (ship, spacecraft, port, launch pad, etc.) to the uppermost level to drive the process forward. Nice idea. But not consistently applied in either shipping or outer space, a problem we shall speak more of at the national jurisdictional level. Meanwhile, commencing at the least specific or targeted and most extensive there is the international or multinational level. Here, in the maritime sector we can identify the United Nations (UN) International Maritime Organisation (IMO) based in London with an almost global level of authority over the shipping sector for safety and the environment, although its effectiveness continues to be questioned (see e.g. Psaraftis & Kontovas, 2020, p.  153; Monios & Ng, 2021). Alternatives include another UN organisation in UNCTAD, responsible for trade and development, and the World Trade Organization (WTO) with interests in promoting international free trade and with considerable shipping interests as the maritime sector not only conveys the majority of goods around the world but also is subject to considerable government interference through subsidy, ownership and regulation all of which threaten trade

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liberalisation. Both currently have minor and indirect interests in the space sector but with considerable potential for the future. There are many international organisations which impact upon the space sector more directly and in similar ways to that of shipping. The most significant of these institutions is perhaps unsurprisingly the UN, with its global remit appearing at least to be the most suitable for an extra-terrestrial impact. Jessup and Taubenfeld (1959, pp. 367–369) provided a summary of its earliest attempts to develop a space policy, whilst Hart (2010, pp. 381–384) and subsequently Stuart (2014, pp. 11–12) and Marchisio (2015, pp. 67–68) took on reviewing later developments. Schauer (1977, p. 68) considered the potential in making space a ‘genuinely international or world regime’ although recognising the difficulties presented by entrenched national interests. Meanwhile Filho (2002, p. 181) noted the need for a UN role in policy space traffic management. Arevalo-Yepes et al. (2010, p. 3) were sure of the need for some sort of global coordination of space policy, firstly stressing the range of space-­ related activities that now existed and then suggesting that ‘the growing reliance on space technology and the increasing pace of international space activities necessitates a more coordinated and strategic approach to space activities at a global level than is currently the case’. The issues that Arevalo-Yepes et  al. (2010, p.  5) identified included ensuring a stable order in the organisation and administration of space object orbits, the need for policy integration in the use of space, the need for a supportive environment for new and emerging space-faring users and nations and ensuring that space continued to be used only for the benefit of all humankind. However, since this was written in 2010, little has changed. In achieving these objectives UN space policy attempts to follow four guiding principles (Arevalo-Yepes et al., 2010, pp. 6–7; Zhao, 2016, p. 13): • Activities in space should be conducted for peaceful purposes and for the benefit of all humankind. • The space environment should be used in a fair and responsible manner. To this end, all space activities should be conducted in accordance with the relevant international treaties and appropriate international best practice.

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• There should be an integrated international and inter-regional approach to space activities. The international community should support and strengthen international cooperation in the space arena to preserve the space environment and its benefits for all humankind. • The international community at large should encourage mechanisms to improve all states’ abilities to access the benefits of the exploration and peaceful uses of outer space. However, Wijkman (1982, p. 526) had noted that the tendency for UN policy including that for space was to ‘sub-divide internationally shared resources, placing the parts under exclusive national control’, in so doing abrogating any responsibility for a truly global or even international policy framework. As we have already seen, international organisations with particular importance for the space sector include those associated with the UN— for example, COPUOS (Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space) is perhaps the major international space governance organisation and was established in 1958 to ‘govern the exploration and use of space for the benefit of all humanity; for peace, security and development’ (Hulsroj, 2002, p.  107, 108; Martinez, 2018, p.  14; Woodell, 2000, p. 96). It was set up as an ad hoc committee of the UN General Assembly, becoming permanent a year later, and its significance was reflected in that it was established as a specific and separate committee rather than as an adjunct to an existing body (Lyall & Larsen, 2018, pp. 14–18). With an initial membership of only 18 nations representing those with particular space interests and with an ability to ‘reach space’ as defined by the USA and USSR, it now includes over 80 with coverage of both the developed and developing nations (Beery, 2016, p.  95). However, the size of the committee whilst highly representative presents problems in reaching consensus on governance, policy and law-making, an issue that is expected to be exacerbated as more countries become interested and involved in the growing space sector (Shackleford, 2014, p. 448). It is serviced by the United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs (UNOOSA) based in Vienna providing a secretariat and also organising a series of international workshops.

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The initial task was to review the processes and success of international collaboration in outer space, to assess the contribution and activities to which the UN could contribute, to encourage research programmes and to assess and evaluate legal issues that might arise from the exploration of outer space. Despite its growth and bureaucratic inadequacies, COPUOS has been instrumental in the development of the five main treaties and principles of outer space of which four have been accepted widely amongst member states of the UN (Arevalo-Yepes et al., 2010, p. 4). However, the principles of the Moon Treaty have undoubtedly failed to receive any serious level of acceptance: 1. The Outer Space Treaty (1967) (by 2020, 110 nations ratified, 23 signed) 2. Agreement on the Rescue of Astronauts and the Return of Objects Launched into Outer Space (1968) (by 2019, 98 nations ratified, 23 signed) 3. Convention on International Liability for Damage Caused by Space Objects (1972) (by 2019, 96 nations ratified, 129 signed) 4. Convention on Registration of Objects Launched into Outer Space (1974) (by 2018, 69 nations ratified) 5. Agreement Governing the Activities of States on the Moon and Other Celestial Bodies (Moon Treaty) (1979) (by 2020, 7 nations ratified, 4 signed) COPUOS has also been responsible for a wide range of bilateral and multilateral agreements outside the main treaties. With two specialised sub-committees focussing upon science and technology, and legal issues, the main committee reports annually to the UN General Assembly. One issue that has persistently troubled the work of governance and policy-making through COPUOS has been the UN’s attempts to keep outer space for peaceful purposes only. This is the main function of the committee but presents a problem in choosing between: a stronger mandate (as urged by a number of delegations) to avoid any space activity that could enlarge the extension of national rivalries in space,

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and a weaker interpretation of ‘peaceful uses’ which merely tries to avoid an arms race in space, while accepting some militarization. (Cervino et  al., 2003, p. 233)

To encourage peaceful activity and to promote the objectives of COPUOS, the UN organises international conferences which in turn have resulted in, for example, the Vienna Declaration on Space and Human Development adopted in 1999. Meanwhile as noted by Arnould and Debus (2008, p. 1090), COPUOS is also assisted by the work of the independent COSPAR (Committee on Space Research) which in particular has advised upon planetary protection, viz.: Although the existence of life elsewhere in the Solar System may be unlikely, the conduct of scientific investigations of possible extra-terrestrial life forms, precursors and remnants must not be jeopardized. Moreover, the earth must be protected from the potential hazard posed by extra-terrestrial matter carried by a spacecraft returning from another planet. Therefore, for certain space mission/target planet combinations, controls on ­contamination shall be imposed, in accordance with issuances implementing this policy. (COSPAR, 2002)

However, the activities of COPUOS have not been without difficulty or controversy. Frakes (2003, p. 421) noted some time ago that the committee’s reliance upon consensus for decisions can generate ambiguity which is exacerbated by the variety of languages that are represented in the committee whilst Arevalo-Yepes et al. (2010, p. 4) suggested that UN space policy was geographically fragmented and thematically chaotic varying across nations with a severe need for improved institutional cooperation. Consensus does not imply unanimity and whilst it does not include dissent it may well include non-assent. The major space players (including, for instance, the USA, Russia and the UK) will always tend to have a greater influence than the lesser players which whilst understandable also leads at time to resentment. As the space agenda increases in size, the opportunities for disagreement also increase. Hence COPUOS may well find itself, along with other UN committees and agencies, less appropriately designed for the future as the industry expands (Lyall & Larsen, 2018, pp. 17–18).

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Kerrest (2011, p.  138) reiterates many of these problems with COPUOS suggesting that acting only as a subsidiary of the UN General Assembly, it lacks authority and autonomy and possesses little technical or administrative capacity. Meanwhile Danilenko (2016, p.  182) and Shackleford (2014, p. 440) also noted the difficulties for COPUOS in reaching consensus particularly as the range of topics and number of participating countries broadened resulting in pressure to defer decisions to other institutions more specialised for a particular issue. In turn this leads to decisions in institutions which are dominated by those countries with specific space interests and expertise, but which may well lack adequate representation of interests and which also may be highly politicised, even more than COPUOS itself. De Man (2017, p. 92) summarised the more significant issues faced by both the UN and more specifically COPUOS with particular reference to outer space: • • • •

Treaties are old and outdated. They are general and ambiguous and require subsequent clarification. They focus on pioneering issues conducted by a few dominant nations. They provide no incentive to pursue further collaboration by governments particularly at the multinational level.

Freeman (2020, p. 1 and 5) provided a final comment upon the relationship between the maritime sector, outer space and the jurisdiction of their governance, reflecting upon how the ‘global commons’ is made up of the: vast areas of the globe that exist outside the sovereign jurisdiction of any single state and are accessible to all—principally the high seas, Antarctica, the atmosphere and outer space. Encompassing dimensions of the global environment essential to planetary life, they are also vital to the global political economy, supplying resources such as fisheries, seabed minerals and orbital space for satellites, as well as enabling global transportation and communications. Unrestricted access to the global commons allows technologically capable states to use them to project global military force.

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Now if we ignore the rather ludicrous proposal that outer space is part of the global environment, the point is clear. Jurisdictional issues of both the high seas and outer space are central to the issues of governance in both sectors. Both sectors’ governance regimes clearly give some legal weight to the idea that they lie beyond the bounds of states’ territorial sovereignty, whether it is international waters beyond the (debated) 12 miles nautical limit or airspace up to a notional 100 km above sea level. Moving on from the international/multinational the next jurisdictional level is that of supranational—spatially smaller, more limited in the nations to which it refers and best characterised in both maritime and outer space terms by that of the European Union (EU), although other supranational regimes do exist (e.g. the Association of Southeast Asian Nations, ASEAN and the North America Free Trade Agreement, NAFTA). The supranational level of jurisdiction refers to that spatial level that lies between them. Multinational conventionally is made up of a number of nations that have common ambitions, and which are allied together through legislative powers and authorities over and above the nation-state. They also commonly abide by jurisdictive remits of the global/multinational authorities, but there is no absolute requirement to do so. Undoubtedly and despite the trials and tribulations of the UK, the European Union remains the most significant player at this level with 27 member states and a number of others which are keen to be accommodated. In terms of the maritime sector the EU has a multifaceted policy which has been under debate for some considerable time and which forms a framework to guide nation-states in their domestic policy-­making as well as a range of policies that are set at the EU level and with which member states must abide (e.g. see Bredima-Savopoulou & Tzoannos, 1990; Wang, 1993; Hart et  al., 1993; Peeters et  al., 1995; Aspinwall, 1995; Coleman, 2000; Paixao & Marlow, 2001; Van der Linden, 2001; Selkou & Roe, 2022, pp. 20–22; Benacchio et al., 2007; Roe, 2009d; Douet & Cappucilli, 2011; Roe, 2013, pp. 90–94; Pallis, 2017 amongst others). The EU also has a policy of abiding by the policies and proposals of the UN IMO. Maritime policy arenas focus upon competition, environment, safety and security for the shipping sector. Roe (2016, p.  8) summarises some of the more recent achievements in the maritime field

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including completing the internal EU market for cabotage trades by sea so that any ship flagged within the EU has the right to compete for domestic shipping regardless of ownership or flag. In earlier years it was not uncommon for nations in the EU (e.g. Greece, Italy and Spain) to reserve domestic trade to their own domestically flagged ships, and the USA (clearly not within the EU) still does. In addition the EU has focussed upon raising safety standards for bulk carriers and ferries in the light of a series of disasters and new legislation derived from that passed by the IMO to improve quality. Legislation to control disposal of garbage, increase port competition, regulate liner shipping competition and encourage the development of short-sea shipping in competition with other, less environmentally friendly modes are just some of the measures which have been standardised across the supranational authority and the 27 nations that make it up. Current (2020) EU maritime policy stretches across a multitude of Directives and other policy documents and is summarised through the Integrated Maritime Policy aiming to provide coordination between different areas that have a relationship with the maritime sector. Shipping is central to this but only forms one part. The integrated approach consists of five cross-cutting policies which have developed since 2007 and continue to emerge and develop: • Blue growth—to realise smart, sustainable and inclusive growth. • Maritime data and knowledge—to enhance ocean science and research through technology and observation. • Maritime spatial planning—recognising the increasing demand for physical maritime space for renewable energy, shipping lanes, port access, aquaculture, wind farms and more. • Integrated maritime surveillance—to achieve better exchange of maritime data and information. • Sea basin strategies—specific spatially defined agreements including those for the Mediterranean Sea, Atlantic Ocean, Baltic Sea and the Black Sea.

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The overall aims are to: • Take account of the interconnectedness of industries and human activities centred on the sea—including shipping, ports, wind energy, marine research, fishing and tourism. • To save time and money by encouraging authorities to share data across policy fields and enhance cooperation. • To build close cooperation between decision-makers in the different sectors at all levels of government—international, national, regional, and local, both inside and outside the EU. These aims and the overall strategy were reaffirmed in the Limassol Declaration of 2012 (Commission of the European Communities, 2012). The EU has also elevated its position in governance and policy-making for space in recent years, something recognised as an important move to make some time ago (Madders & Wouters, 2004, p.  34; Verheugen, 2005). Cervino et al. (2003, p. 231) suggested that European space policy was increasingly seen as integrated with other policies of the European Union and which could provide a unique role in achieving strategic goals. Madders and Wouters (2003, p. 42; 2004, p. 34) considered that a broad-­ based, cross-national policy across the EU was needed. Hoerber (2016, 2018) also noted the importance of EU space policy-making whilst Béclard (2013) provided a useful introduction. He suggested that EU space policy remained essentially a member state competence but commonly implemented in collaboration with the European Space Agency (ESA)—an international agency that comprises 22 member states and which works closely with the EU without being a constituent part. This all takes place alongside national initiatives. The European Commission (EC) issued its first communication on space policy in 1988 and since then has gradually repositioned itself to be what it now self-claims to be a key actor in European space policy. Béclard (2013, p. 464) noted that the ‘current governance architecture rests on a complex triangle comprised of the European Space Agency (ESA), individual states, and the EU’, a situation widely reflected throughout the governance of outer space at all jurisdictional levels.

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Hoerber (2012, p. 77) noted the rise in importance of links between the EU and the ESA in space policy reflecting a growing political importance but one that remains confused by the very existence of two policy-­ making bodies with differing institutional designs and arrangements. The ESA was established in 1975 bringing together experience and resources for the development of space technologies and systems and providing a means of cooperation between member states. As such it has a role clearly of some relevance to the EU and its space ambitions whilst also suggesting the potential for overlap of responsibilities and confused policy-­ making (Cervino et al., 2003, p. 231). The importance of ESA in space policy-making was emphasised by Lyall and Larsen (2018, pp. 21–23) who suggested it continued to play a major part in space exploration, exploitation and law (Ferrazzani & Soucek, 2015; Lafferanderie, 2005) and remains the senior inter-governmental organisation engaged in the space sector. However, with the rise of EU interests, the balance of influence and power may well be changing. EU authority within the space sector rests upon the authority conferred upon it by the member states and only emerged following the Lisbon Treaty which entered force in 2009 and the ambition to link policy to existing competences, specifically recognising three (Article III-254): • To promote scientific and technical progress, industrial competitiveness and the implementation of its policies, the Union shall draw upon a European space policy. To this end it may promote joint initiatives, support research and technological development and coordinate the efforts needed for the exploration and exploitation of space. • To contribute to attaining the objectives referred to in paragraph 1, the European Parliament and the council, acting in accordance with the ordinary legislative procedure, shall establish the necessary measures, which may take the form of a European space programme, excluding any harmonisation of the laws and regulations of the Member states. • The Union shall establish any appropriate relations with the European Space Agency.

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The EU has clearly taken on an increasing role in space policy and governance (Sigalas, 2012, p.  110). However, governance and policy-­ making for space by the EU remains ineffective in a number of ways. Any form of supranationalisation of space policy and governance faces the accusation of being risky because of the security, defence and military implications resulting in the traditional resorting to national policy-­ making and a reluctance to give up power to any other jurisdictional authority (Sigalas, 2012, p. 112). The EU possesses few powers in terms of space investment with no budget exclusively related to space projects, whilst the decisions of the ESA remain exclusively their competence and any EU/ESA policy progress relies upon decisions adopted by the Councils of both organisations. Suzuki (2016, pp. 201–202) suggested that the need for effective coordination between the EU and ESA over space policy was a serious concern and the current situation was detrimental to the sector’s governance. This results in policy contradictions and also a shortage of autonomy for the EU in the space sector. In addition, it confuses the role that each institution can play in policy-making and governance and whilst attempts have been made to improve coherence and cohesion (e.g. the proposal of a Space Council in 2001), much remains to be achieved and the speed of progress can only be described as slow in the recent past and hardly better today. Madders and Thiebaut (2007, p. 7) suggested a space policy had ‘been trailed for the best part of the past two decades in a series of Communications, reports, thoughts of Wise Men, and resolutions’. The issue of governance over-complexity (Beischl, 2019, p. 4) and democratic legitimacy also arises with both institutions, stemming from increasing political centrality and the absence of a mechanism to reflect public and other institutional opinions (Hoerber, 2009, pp.  206–207). Proposals include the EU becoming members of the ESA or alternatively the ESA having a place at the EU institutions which develop space policy (Von der Dunk, 2003, pp. 84–85). However, at present, as Von der Dunk suggests, ‘there remains two captains on one spaceship’ (2003, p.  83), which in turn is creating substantial policy confusion. However, some progress was apparent from the early part of the twenty-first century with the proposal for a European Union Draft Code of Conduct for Outer Space Activities and the formation of a Space

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Policy Group set up under the European Community—ESA Framework Agreement. This Group would recommend policy to the EU Council, representing industry and research interests of member states and the ESA Council. These two bodies, the former supranational and the latter intergovernmental, would adopt coordinated measures through a Space Council. However, not all was simple and subsequent European Commission Green and White papers on space policy were produced in 2003 for consideration by member states with the aim of leading to a more general Framework covering a large range of issues including that of space. However, the rejection of an associated constitutional treaty in referenda in the Netherlands and France in 2005 meant that the EU subsequently reverted to ‘consensus building’ for space policy (Madders & Thiebaut, 2007, p. 9). Progress has been slow since then partly at least because of difficulties in coordinating policy and procedures between the EU and the ESA. These problems in the coordination of policy-making between the two institutions remain apparent stemming from the differences in policy ambition, where the ESA is rather more conservative, and the sources of authority became the ESA is an intergovernmental organisation, whilst the EU is supranational. The ESA has both mandatory and optional authority (member states can sometimes choose whether to adopt an ESA policy or decision), whilst in the EU it is a requirement to either adopt a policy decision or to leave the organisation. Meanwhile there are innumerable potential conflicts between policies in areas such as state-­ aid, competition and the free movement of goods and people (Hobe, 2004, p. 26). Madders and Thiebaut (2007, p. 10) concluded that the EU needed to forge ahead with its own policies which would recognise the existence of the ESA but would be characterised by its own priorities and objectives and in more recent years Su and Lixin (2014, p. 35) have outlined the EU’s repeated attempts (2008, 2010, 2012, 2013) to produce a Code of Conduct to enhance the safety and sustainability of outer space activities. They also noted the need for as many stakeholders as possible to be involved. The responses to the Code so far have been largely positive from all nation-states included but rather more variable for the international

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community. Whilst the USA, Australia, Canada and Japan have shown support, China, Russia, India and Brazil have distanced themselves and the failure to accommodate more nations with serious space traditions and ambitions places a question mark against its ability to be effective. It has also been criticised for relying too much upon soft law and therefore having little impact, attempting to do too much in covering security, sustainability and safety, lacking transparency, and rather pathetically, disputes over its location and venue for discussion. These problems have slowed progress since 2015 suggesting that the governance of outer space at the EU supranational level has issues which may be difficult ever to resolve. The EU is not alone in providing a supranational platform for governance of either the maritime or space sectors. ASEAN (The Association of Southeast Asian Nations) is an intergovernmental organisation aimed primarily at promoting economic growth and regional stability among its members located in the Far East (e.g. see Hawkins, 2001; Hawkins & Gray, 2019; Noichim, 2009; Sun & Zhang, 1999, 2000). Formed in 1967, current membership (2021) consists of 10 nation-states: Indonesia, Malaysia, Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, Brunei, Laos, Myanmar, Cambodia and Vietnam (Selkou & Roe, 2022, pp. 42–43). At the centre of ASEAN’s strategy is the creation of an ASEAN single shipping market (ASSM) (ASEAN Secretariat, 2017, pp. 35–44). Originally planned to be created by 2015 it has progressed rather more slowly and in incremental stages. Consequently by that year there was some tangible progress towards achieving unrestricted shipping service provision and cross-­ border shipping companies within the ASEAN region and in line with any domestic regulations that might inhibit freedoms. This would fit with ASEAN’s principles of free movement of goods, services, skilled labour, investment and capital, mirroring many of the ambitions of the EU single market (Tongzon & Lee, 2015, p. 485, 2016, p. 407) and aim to ‘improve the region’s logistics performance and international competitiveness’ (Tongzon & Lee, 2016, p. 408). Barriers remained—relating to customs procedures, infrastructure, labour skills and a variety of specific regulations and law (Arof, 2015) but notable progress stemming at least in part from the supranational institutional governance of the region was evident (Ezeoke, 2017).

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ASEAN also has a role in space policy although its focus is rather less pronounced than that for shipping and its contribution to international and domestic trade. Although there have been other contributors (e.g. see Cottom, 2019; Suzuki, 2016; Rafikasari et al., 2020), the main contributor to research in this area is Noichim (2008a, 2008b, 2009) who noted the problems for developing countries, of which there are many in ASEAN, in developing any form of realistic and meaningful outer space policy (Noichim, 2008a, p. 10). ASEAN was seen as a coordinator of this policy with a series of advantages as acting as a regional leader. These included the reduction in use of natural resources and in particular that of the geosynchronous orbit when satellite coordination could be very helpful; increasing employment capacities within the sector; increasing economic development potential; reducing unnecessary competition between member states (Noichim, 2008a, p.  11). In response each ASEAN state has agreed to the regulation of space activities through international law and in particular the regulations of the Outer Space Treaty (OST) and including membership of the UN COPOUS committee. In addition moves have been made to ensure equitable access to space technologies across member states, whilst a basic legal document supporting international cooperation in space activities has been agreed covering cooperation in technology, skills, training and exploitation. However, the ASEAN countries have also recognised that much more needs to be done and as a result have proposed to develop the ASEAN Space Organization (ASO) to coordinate the development of space policy for the region. Noichim (2009) identified an extensive set of proposals that would form a structure for an ASEAN space policy, and which had at its foundation the following principles: • To formulate and coordinate collaborative and cooperative programmes and projects on space technology and its applications (in particular, remote sensing, satellite meteorology, communication and satellite technology applications for environmental and natural resource management, and development planning). • To review the status and capacity of space technology in the region, to promote space technology for natural resource and environmental management and sustainable development.

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• To exchange information on national policies, programmes and planning in all areas of space technology and its applications among member countries. • To facilitate and accelerate the transfer of space technology and its applications to the ASEAN region • To recommend mechanisms to involve government agencies, industries and academe in promoting and sustaining regional cooperation in space technology and its applications. • To advise ASEAN-COST on matters relating to space technology and its applications. • To assist in securing financial support and seek funding sources for ASEAN activities and projects relating to space technology and its applications; and • To promote collaborative activities and projects on space technology and its applications with relevant international organisations. The emphasis on space technology and its applications is clear but at least it represented a commitment to governance and policy-making for the space sector. This in turn has led to the development of a series of proposals for an ASEAN Space Organization (ASO) to form the framework for further policy-making and governance but which remain largely unfulfilled (Noichim, 2009). The Commission’s activities in outer space have certainly continued to grow so that by 2020 it was actively involved internally and also internationally over issues relating to space and defence with the European Defence Agency (EDA), the environment (European Environment Agency, or EEA), satellites (European Union Satellite Agency ESA), and meteorology through the European Meteorological Office (EUMETSAT). The Galileo, Copernicus, EGNOS and Horizon 2020 space programmes also focussed upon international cooperation (European Commission, 2020). There are other supranational authorities with substantial governance responsibilities not least important being the organisation representing the members of the North America Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), re-­ invented in 2020 as the USMCA (USA, Mexico, Canada Agreement), but whilst having a clear and significant relationship to the maritime sector reflected in a number of research publications (see e.g. White, 1999;

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Selkou & Roe, 2022, p. 9; Brooks, 2005, pp. 1–4; Fitzgibbon & Orton, 2000; Easterly et al., 2003; Edmonson, 2005; Morales, 2008), NAFTA has no direct interest in or responsibility for governance of space issues and policy. Meanwhile Mercosur acts as a South American trade bloc set up in 1991 and currently (2020) consists of the full member of Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay, Uruguay and Venezuela. Associate members are Bolivia, Chile, Colombia, Ecuador, Guyana, Peru and Surinam (Doctor, 2020; Patomaki & Teivainen, 2002). Although lacking any specific shipping or outer space portfolio of policies, Mercosur as an organisation has obvious interests and implications for these sectors emanating in particular from its free trade agreements with Israel, Egypt, Japan and the European Union, amongst others. Moving on from the supranational level of governance jurisdiction, the next level reached is the national representing increasing focus on the more spatially specific and as we shall see, the dominant jurisdictional focus throughout the governance of both shipping and outer space (and incidentally much else). Whilst the preceding jurisdictional levels of global and supranational are easier to illustrate with examples, the national level by definition includes every nation-state in the world, each with its own specific national characteristics and consequently policies (and nuances of governance), but nevertheless it remains both possible and important to consider the role and approaches to national jurisdictional governance that exist. The importance of the nation-state to governance has been appreciated for a long time and despite many significant changes along the way, it remains central to this day. Evans (1997, p. 62) was certain and Nettl (1968, p. 559) made it clear; ‘the thing exists and no amount of conceptual restructuring can dissolve it’. Even with the growth of both number and importance of global and supranational jurisdictional elements in both shipping and outer space including the UN (e.g. the IMO, COPUOS, UNCTAD), the WTO, NAFTA, ASEAN the EU and many more, the fundamental structure of each of these organisations revolves around the nation-state and its inviolability. As Roe (2016, p. 5) suggests, the situation is curious. The clearly highly significant nation-state in terms of maritime and outer space policy-making finds that at the same time as exercising the greatest policy influence, it is largely impotent in

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terms of governance in an ever-increasingly globalised world. As we shall see, in both sectors this imbalance causes friction and inhibits meaningful policy-making whilst providing extensive opportunities for abuse. Both sectors are characterised by globalised elements with shipping fairly obviously central to the trends towards global markets but the outer space sector perhaps even more so—and here of course looking towards markets beyond the ‘globe’ as technological and financial developments permit markets beyond Earth to be exploited. This is happening already to a limited extent through the expansion of opportunities in the use of satellites, space stations and the like. However, despite the terrestrial-wide and extra-terrestrial characteristics of both shipping and outer space sectors, the nation-state remains fundamental to both through flagging, ownership, registration, legal regimes and more. The result of this contradiction between governance and policy-making and the characteristics of the sectors to which it is directed is that governance in both is erratic and commonly minimal in its effect. The result is economic inefficiency, unsafe practices, pollution and insecurity. In a later chapter we shall see how this in turn is at least in part the result of the common pool characteristics of both the shipping and outer space sectors—but first some consideration of just how important the nation-state remains, albeit much of this importance a consequence of its inappropriate role in policy-­making and governance. Recognition of the importance of the nation-state has increased even as this has appeared to become more incongruous in an increasingly globalised society. Walker (1991, p. 445), for example, was an early commentator emphasising its resilience in spite of many pressures, seeing the nation-state as an: institution, container of all cultural meaning and site of sovereign jurisdiction over territory, property and abstract space, and consequently over history, possibility and abstract time, that still shapes our capacity to affirm both collective and particular identities. It does so despite all the dislocations, accelerations and contingencies of a world less and less able to recognise itself in the fractured mirror of Cartesian coordinates.

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Other commentators asserting much the same include Agnew (1994, p. 503) through the ‘territorial trap’, suggesting it is a timeless concept and a ‘unique source and arena of political power in the modern world’. Kaldor (1993), Scharpf (1994, p. 220) and Anderson (1996, p. 133, 135) continued the theme which was also reinforced by Brenner (1998, p. 468) describing the nation-state as an organisational-territorial ‘locus’ focussing on capital circulation, class struggle and national ideologies—and hence impossible to remove. Others firmly convinced include Harding (1997, p. 308), Harvey (2001, p. 29) and Cooper (2000, p. 23). Perhaps we should leave the last word on the continued importance of the nation-state in governance to Opello and Rosow (2004, p. 2): Nation-states, having eclipsed all other types of politico-military rule that have existed on the planet, are and will continue to be for the foreseeable future, the basic building blocks of the global order… The nation-state as a form of politico-military rule has become so ubiquitous that its existence is taken for granted, rarely noticed even by scholars of international relations.

And Lambert (1991, p. 9) who sees no possibility of change even in a fundamentally globalised world—and by extension, even extra-terrestrially. The creation of the nation-state with its ideology of domination, its centralism, arrogant bureaucracy and latent capacity for repression, must figure high on the list (of European history’s contribution). So must the nurturing and propagation of capitalism, which found in the nation-state an ideal ally, ready to identify a country’s fortunes with those of capitalists.

But looking back to the contradictions of the nation-state in a globalised world: Now capitalism has shifted ground. Organised worldwide, it escapes those checks and balances built up other the years, in the nation-state framework, by workers’ movements and parties of the left. The chances of exerting control at the world level, which would require a political framework and enforceable decisions, are totally remote.

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And Wood (2001, p. 36): However the global economy becomes, it will continue to rely on spatially limited constituent units with a political, and even an economic logic of their own.

In both shipping and outer space the nation-state thus remains dominant at all jurisdictions because capital (in the form of ships, ports, space-­ craft, satellites etc.) uses national political space to generate wealth and, not despite this but because of it, the design and implementation of an effective governance framework is seemingly very difficult. This is exacerbated by the focus upon governance at a hierarchical level that does not rest at the apex of the framework. Instead it lies in the middle creating difficulties as it is at this nation-state category that policies are often determined but it is the higher levels that should be dictating the characteristics and specifics of governance. A contradiction thus occurs whereby policies have to both move up from the national level towards the supranational and global and move down to the levels noted below at the regional and local. Meanwhile individual nation-states do not have the authority to dictate levels above them—a problem exemplified by the arguments that have continued over a long period between the EU and its member nation-states, and the UN where a similar situation arises. The lack of true authority at global or supranational level, and the assumption of authority by the nation-states, causes policy constipation and governance impotence. Within the governance hierarchical framework the final two layers, characterised by diminishing size and increased specificity are the regional and local. Whilst these levels are of importance as it is here that the broad and substantive policies for shipping and outer space will be implemented, for example, within a specific port, region or city, or commercial company or Ministry, they are not the driving force behind the development and implementation of policy. Whilst presenting their own problems and opportunities, operationalisation of policies through local and regional governance whilst needing to be effective is less of a problem if it lacks some efficiency, enforcement and direction. Regions are exemplified by the south-east UK, Brittany in France, or the Russian Far East,

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localities by individual cities and port/space complexes such as Piraeus in Greece, Malmo in Sweden, Gdynia Container Port in Poland or even a specific canal or launchpad such as Cape Canaveral in the USA. Whilst an understanding of the jurisdiction of governance is fundamental to its effective design and operation there remain three other components that need to be considered. The first of these are policy objectives—what is the purpose of the governance structure that is being considered and how does this affect its effectiveness, design and significance? Here life becomes a little simpler as there are only a limited number of broad objectives that need to be considered and which drive the governance process across the large majority of sectors including both maritime and outer space. Of course there is also a variety of more specific objectives for any sector and which require particular differences in governance application, but it is the more fundamental demands of the governance process which set the approach and alter the effectiveness of any framework adopted. We can identify two broad categories of objectives to begin with— those that relate to the working of the sector—outer space or maritime in our case; and those that are concerned with policy as an end in itself. We shall only consider these objectives briefly here and the reader is referred to the earlier work by Roe (2007b, 2009c, 2013, 2016, 2020; Roe & Selkou, 2006; Selkou & Roe, 2022) for more detailed consideration. Those concerned with the working of the sector include sector efficiency, environmental protection and safety and security. Here governance is aimed mainly although not without exception, at maintaining or improving the (primarily) economic efficiency of the outer space and maritime industries through controls on competition (in particular deregulation, privatisation and freeing up trade), supporting the development of new technologies and procedures, administration and ownership, and ensuring that coordination between sectors and across groups, individuals and territories is optimised. Environmental protection is much as it sounds and, in both sectors, has become an increasingly important part of governance. Included within this objective is that of sustainability and in both sectors, there are heavy demands to ensure that pollution of all types (material and physical, optical and visual, audio and so on) is minimised whilst still attempting to maximise economic

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efficiency. Both sectors have the potential for disastrous levels of environmental damage, and governance, largely although not exclusively applied through state policy-making, consequently, takes on a major role. Meanwhile both safety and security are clearly major issues which need effective governance structures to ensure that reasonable levels are maintained. Both sectors have their troubles and susceptibilities offering multiple opportunities for abuse through their global/extra-terrestrial characteristics performed almost exclusively internationally and for the most part in a global commons where responsibilities, monitoring and policing is very difficult. In fact the commons nature of both sectors (albeit in differing territories—the high seas and outer space) where responsibility, ownership and law is unclear and all in some dispute, forms one of the major consistencies between and problems of governance design and implementation that is a long way from resolution despite decades of consideration in the maritime sector and an increasing time period in outer space. Those objectives concerned with policy as an end in itself are also common to both sectors although possibly the overlap is a little less definite. Policies and their governance for shipping and outer space have a close relationship with national development as in both sectors’ cases the approach by national governments is to organise, promote and protect their own position for the benefit of state economies and rather less well defined, their prestige. National flags remain central in shipping and outer space despite their international, global and extra-terrestrial nature, the rise of flagging-out (something that may become of significance in outer space as well with the increase in the influence of global capitalism in the sector [Van Fossen, 2016]) and despite also their ‘commons’ activities. Both sectors also have important roles (and therefore need for governance), in terms of international policy-making and roles. Both are strategic in nature, both because what they might carry and the monitoring opportunities they offer, but also from a defence and promotional point of view. They can act as political tools to achieve objectives far out of their own sectors. And finally they both have a role to play in social welfare including disaster relief, weather forecasting, contributing to navigation and communication systems and the like. All this needs effective governance to work, and this has to be achieved across national

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boundaries (and in time quite possibly across global boundaries). Meanwhile these broad objectives are reflected in more specific ambitions which are clearly shared across many aspects of both sectors. Table 2.1 provides some examples. However, for both sectors, policies emerge not only to have an impact upon the specifics of the working of the sector but also with policy as an end in itself. These are commonly rather more general in nature but remain highly important. The first clearly identifiable are policies for national development. The emphasis here is always on the nation-state which develops most of them for its own specific purposes, but increasingly a supranational dimension has become apparent, typified by that of the EU and although the member nation-states have to implement these policies, there is a definite change in the way the policy-making process and its results are imposed by the supranational authority which has the ability to demand that many are implemented. At global level, policy-making remains nationally dominated as the UN (for instance) has no authority to impose polices upon its nation-state members, with the resulting inability of the organisation to be effective in many areas, not least shipping or outer space. This is possibly particularly so because of the shipping sector’s national, organisational characteristics operating within a global commons and the extra-terrestrial nature of the outer space industry. The second relates to policies for international development. The importance of the nation-state to governance of both the maritime and outer space sectors has already been stressed and this can also be said for many other sectors. The nation-state has always a role to play in the international community, either acting as a major player—for example, for the maritime sector, the USA, Russia, China, or the EU and much the same for the outer space sector—but also when a state has only minor involvement in international affairs. Every nation-state is a member of the UN, every one has relationships with other nation-states and as a result international policy-making at every level for both sectors is important. Thus a relatively small maritime state, in terms of influence and capacity such as Vietnam, Bangladesh or Israel, but where shipping is a sector with a relatively important role to play, will have international policies for trade, defence and transport that have an effect on the

Control of excessive competition

Containment of monopoly power

Policy-making objective Outer space

(continued)

The space sector is a long way behind in its Monopolies are generally regarded as an economic development compared with international deficiency (unless of course you are the monopoly provider), and in the maritime sector although there shipping, but the same trends might well emerge as markets for freight and passengers is fierce competition across most sectors and evolve. National flagging is already significant, markets, there remain some areas where for example, in terms of satellites and space monopolies can be a problem (Sjostrom, 1989). stations and the similar ‘commons’ Examples include the spatial monopoly of ports— characteristics of both sectors including that of whereby no two ports can be located in the same the high seas and outer space, and the place and therefore in effect, all ports exhibit difficulties of controlling what goes on, is monopolistic tendencies. National governments can apparent already. What is clear is that those also attempt to restrict national shipping services commercial activities involved in outer space (cabotage) to nationally flagged vessels— will do their utmost to grow and sustain exemplified by the policies of the USA to domestic monopolies wherever possible. Remember, services, but also privileges afforded within the EU capitalism does not equate to competition but to EU state flagged vessels. to control. Not much to say here—yet. Rather more, it will Here the reverse is the case and policies may be depend upon the ease of market entry in the needed to protect disastrous and debilitating future and the difficulty of market exit and competition. Compared with the issue of how these two match up—or not, a problem monopolies, this is far less common, but examples particularly characterising industries with can be seen in elements of the container market large-scale and expensive investments—for where prices can be forced down to unsustainable example, outer space. levels.

Maritime

Table 2.1  The objectives of policy-making for the maritime and outer space sectors

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Regulation of externalities

Opening up markets

Policy-making objective Outer space

International shipping continues to play a major role Here we have almost unimaginably large potential for the future with quite possibly globally and is an essential ingredient of expanding effectively unlimited sources of raw materials into any new market (Peters, 2001). Examples across other galaxies and even sometime in the abound over the years but in recent times include future, new communities on other planets. In the opening up of the Northern Sea Route in the the near future the potential for the Arctic, or the role of ULCCs and mega-container ships in lowering transport costs and thus expanding exploitation of minerals on the Moon is now a possibility and requires only the right economic markets for goods. conditions and a suitable legal framework. Meanwhile passenger flight, albeit for leisure purposes only, is imminent. Some environmental issues are already coming Shipping and ports are both heavy environmental to the fore including in particular that of space polluters and the governance of the environment is debris. seriously inadequate at the moment largely because it takes place in a global commons which is administered by an ineffective organisation (the United Nations), dominated by self-interested nation-states. Little looks likely to change in the near future despite the fact that there is almost universal agreement on the organisational problem as well as the technical issues relating to air, noise, visual and water pollution caused by shipping and ports (examples from the immense literature available include Tzannatos, 2010; Gritsenko & Yiskyla-Peuralahti, 2013; Demir et al., 2015).

Maritime

Table 2.1 (continued)

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Long pay-back time periods

Provision of high-cost infrastructure

Provision of public goods

(continued)

There are clear benefits to be derived from outer space activity in terms of the provision of public goods including weather forecasting and disaster monitoring, public communications (visual and audio), and the contribution of satellites. These would be commercially challenging. Only state intervention policies can ensure that much of this occurs, although there are some commercial opportunities as well. The same is true for investment in outer space Shipping does not come cheap (Kakimoto & (vehicles, space ports, research, training etc.) Seneviratne, 2000). The costs of vessels and port where costs can be astronomical, particularly at infrastructure can be prohibitive, particularly the latter accompanied by all the necessary road and rail the development stage and government services, and as a result government investment (and support will be necessary. Policies are necessary hence policies) will be necessary. There are occasions as well as suitable governance structures to accompany them. where commercial investment alone is unlikely or inadequate. Particularly in port investment the returns may be so Outer space is much the same where investment in land-based space facilities can be prohibitive. slow that the industry is unable to contemplate In addition investment in vehicles is a major them (Lam, 1999). Consequently strategies to problem unlike shipping, until technology has support investment for the long-term may well be been firmly established and tested and markets necessary. secured. Consequently state policies for investment support and market development are needed.

Shipping has a number of public responsibilities that are unlikely to be fulfilled without some sort of state intervention through an appropriate governance framework (Goss, 2008; Roe, 2008a, 2009c). Examples include support by commercial shipping for defence purposes and the provision of loss-making ferry services to offshore island communities.

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Integration and coordination

Needs

Policy-making objective Outer space

Outer space’s time will come when planets are Shipping provides vital services which may not populated at enormous expense and as a result necessarily ever be profitable—island trades are the government will need policies to make most obvious and examples abound from the UK provision for the costs of this. Weather and (Isles of Scilly, Scottish Islands), to Greece where security roles also need policy support. many islands would have no services in winter and some none at all if left to the market. Shipping also plays a role is serving disaster relief, safety at sea and weather forecasting, which need support (Goss, 2008). Integration in any sector is unlikely without some sort Much the same applies to outer space although there is perhaps more evidence of international of public intervention and shipping is no different. and public/private cooperation through the 1960s government policy-making focussing on International Space Station (ISS) and increasing ‘coordination through competition’ was a miserable commercial space launches. These have failure with private industry rarely seeing the required a degree of integration that can only normally long-term benefits of collaboration be achieved under appropriate policy regimes. making up for the short-term costs of failing to compete with rivals. Policy-making for coordination is vital if it is to be achieved and excessive competition avoided. This has particular relevance for large-scale and costly projects such as port facility investment (Franc & Van Der Horst, 2010; Notteboom, 2004; Panayides & Song, 2008; Song & Panayides, 2008; Tseng & Liao, 2015; Wanger & Frankel, 2000).

Maritime

Table 2.1 (continued)

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(continued)

The outer space sector is no different except in Whilst this might sound a little frivolous it is in fact Prestige, some ways it is less developed with a much one of the more important generators of policy and representation shorter history, but in others, such as in global influences their choice and application significantly. and votes politics it has over-performed to a considerable Despite this, it has attracted remarkably little degree. One only has to look at the activities of attention (Duru, 2014; Wirth, 2018). Shipping is a the Cold War in the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s to surprisingly important policy area when it comes to see the impact of space investment and policy votes, particularly in certain cities (e.g. Rotterdam) by governments in the USA and USSR. Votes and regions (Hong Kong), and even countries when it comes to Greece. In addition shipping has a role to may be rather more indirect in their impact upon stimulating space policy but the issue of play in international representation. This includes representation at the UN on space bodies such UN bodies (e.g. the IMO and UNCTAD), sustained by as COPUOS is obvious. a sizeable and influential national flag. Meanwhile the importance of prestige is hard to measure but undoubtedly is significant and the UK, for example, retains a major naval fleet as well as interests in commercial fleets, way beyond what might be thought necessary but as a means of boosting a global reputation.

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Social conditions, training and qualifications

Policy-making objective Outer space

The situation is much the same in the space The conditions of employment for seafarers remains sector except that the development of an important issue and one that is all too commonly standards and the processes for their neglected by employers (Bloor et al., 2006; maintenance are much less well-established. As Parviainen et al., 2018; Prokopenko & Miskiewicz, the industry grows in importance these issues 2020; Sampson & Ellis, 2015). Nation-states and their flag representatives often have a role in maintaining become more apparent and individual nations are increasingly introducing policies and adequate standards of accommodation, food legislation to enforce conditions, training and preparation, rubbish removal and the like and also qualifications—but much remains to be sustaining a reliable and meaningful level of achieved. Whilst global and supranational qualifications and training of the workforce. In authorities such as the UN are involved, the addition this all needs to be maintained to degree of coordinated policy-making is international standards set by (e.g.) the UN currently thin thus facilitating policy abuse and IMO. This applies to both crew and officers. Clearly the dangers that arise from jurisdictional policy-making is an important contributor to the inconsistency whereby authorities at different maintenance of standards at all levels of jurisdiction levels can take advantage of the confusion and from the global level down. The commons lack of transparency that exists. Space is a characteristics of international shipping make the maintenance of standards of conditions and training global commons and like international shipping, needs a governance framework that all the more important to be effective. can accommodate or at least recognise the dangers that this presents for policy avoidance and abuse.

Maritime

Table 2.1 (continued)

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Defence

(continued)

Shipping has clear and predictable defence roles—not The space sector has much the same role to play and there is a considerable amount of evidence only directly naval but also through the use of that not only the early years but also to date, merchant shipping to support naval activity—ro-ro space investment and technology has been ferries, water and oil tankers, survey vessels, driven by defence ambitions. Defence policies passenger liners etc. (Asteris, 1993; Yoho et al., make no secret of this commonly through 2013). National and supranational defence policies spying, monitoring and weather forecasting commonly acknowledge the contribution of although the precise detail is normally less shipping through both organisational choices and clear. Much of the Cold War was characterised financial support. by space investment for these very reasons; the launching of the USSR Sputnik, the US Apollo Moon landings, and the development of space stations were a direct result of defence ambitions and investments. 2  Governance, Time and Space 

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Tradition

Policy-making objective Outer space

The space sector has had a relatively short life The shipping sector worldwide is obsessed with compared with shipping in any nation-state’s tradition, almost regardless of cost and efficiency history and consequently tradition has yet to (Sletmo, 2001). National flags are treated with reverence for reasons that rest almost entirely on what feature as a major policy generator. However, trends are apparent, and the early vestiges of has gone before and what has always been done and irrational national policy protection are clear in financial and legal protection commonly applied even both the USA and Russia as the inheritor of where an economy might be much better off if the USSR apace ambitions and achievements. Time shipping activity was left to other flags. Thus will tell but space like shipping is such an developing countries invest heavily in shipping when emotive sector and one that takes place in a actually the use of other nation’s vessels would be commons that affords such opportunities for more effective; and developed countries such as the nationally focussed abuse of global and UK and the USA both directly and indirectly support supranational policies which centre around their national registers. There are some good reasons national competitive ambitions. This provides for this—the need for ships to be available in national fertile ground for tradition to become a emergencies and at reasonable cost; social reasons, for example, in terms of employment; the maintenance of convenient force in the future with the sector poised to influence policy-makers towards standards which can be monitored; and the assurance over-protectionism from competition at the of supply chains at times of crisis. And the result is same time as encouraging the abuse and certainly policy-making albeit for debateable reasons. avoidance of standards and regulations. Tradition has also provided a convenient refuge for the industry to demand protection against international competition at the same time as using the increasingly open, global market and commons nature of the sector, to avoid regulations and exploit new markets. The multinational nature of shipping reflects both of these trends, whereby the industry is characterised by toothless flags that provide protection from and defence against competition, both at the expense of efficiency and effectiveness.

Maritime

Table 2.1 (continued)

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Employment

(continued)

The space sector currently is like shipping, not a Shipping is not a major employer but can be major generator of employment but in time important in certain nations and locations— this will grow, and it is a focus for very examples clearly come from Greece, Hong Kong, well-qualified (and hence well-paid) staff. Foci Korea and elsewhere, and more specifically Piraeus, of attention are limited at present and unlike London, Oslo, Rotterdam and Singapore. Both general and sectoral policy-making are consequently shipping with its ancient base in certain locations, may well never show these levels of important. concentration—and therefore less spatial policy determination. Clearly locations such as California, Texas and Florida in the USA are important but unlike shipping, the choice of location across the globe is far wider, not as specifically as maritime in relying upon the physical characteristics combined with those of economies and markets. However, the sophisticated nature of the space sector along with its clear future global prospects makes policy-making ever more important and this is reflected in the proliferation of activity at the European Commission, the UN and across nations both with existing and prospective space ambitions.

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Source: Author

Economic contribution

Expertise and clustering

Policy-making objective Outer space

The role of clustering at economic centres of shipping Much of the same can be expected to occur in the space sector and centres of expertise and expertise and experience is well documented and the role of cities such as Rotterdam, London, Piraeus, physical activity clearly exist despite the flexibility offered by the increasingly globalised Hong Kong, New York, Oslo, Singapore and others is characteristics of modern and developing clear (Doloreux, 2017). Smaller clusters have also communications. Whilst the sector has yet to been identified, commonly more specialised such as be so obviously clustered, in time this can be Dublin (Brett & Roe, 2010), Japan (Shinohara, 2010), expected to increase, and embryonic centres of the Netherlands (de Langen, 2002) and Panama research and academic expertise and physical (Pagano, 2016), and the trend towards specialisation activity (not necessarily together) can be and the benefits which remain from economic and expected to emerge. physical clustering even in a world of globalised liberation remain important. Recognition of this has led to policy-making around the world to encourage and facilitate shipping and port clustering. Shipping is a substantial contributor to economies at all The future for the space sector is economically one of huge significance with the extrajurisdictional levels and consequently attracts policies terrestrial market for physical resources, to sustain and promote this at global, supranational, communications, defence and much, much national, regional and local levels. The emphasis is more almost frightening in its extent. This is most obvious at the supranational and national levels the reason for so much interest but also the where organisations such as the EU and NAFTA reason for policy-making to be more firmly provide protection and support to the industry, whilst established and placed at all jurisdictional at the global level the emphasis of policy-makers is levels under a firm and meaningful system of more upon safety, security and the environment. governance. At present this is missing and National policy support, commonly for nationally space policy-making remains chaotic, in some flagged vessels, is widespread. In the meantime, maritime governance, providing the essential structure ways akin to the wild west of the USA. for policy-making, remains ineffective and at times, downright obstructive (Roe, 2013, pp. 1–40).

Maritime

Table 2.1 (continued)

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market. The same can be said for, say India, Brazil and the UK for outer space. Major maritime players of course have a significant set of policies that have an impact across many, if not all other nation-states through the activities of the IMO, UNCTAD, UNESCO and so on as well as direct effects through relationships with other nations. Once again much the same can be said for the outer space sector with major players exemplified by the USA, Russia and China; and minor players France, the UK and India. Although specific in effect—for example, in relation to trading terms, environmental and safety standards, and measures of security— they are important also from a more generic perspective influencing overall trends bilaterally, multilaterally or even globally. Finally there are policies for welfare distribution with social significance where the aim, rather than to achieve specific, technical, political or economic objectives, is directed at broader social targets including a redistribution of income from advantaged to disadvantaged groups and a wider improvement in communications and weather forecasting. Achievement of these policies is seen as an end in itself rather than a mechanism to improve how efficiently the sectors work. So far, our policy-making and governance model has both a jurisdiction—in essence a spatial and legal regime in which it works and commonly a defined and hierarchical relationship between these regimes—and a clear set of objectives for the policies which are derived, both specific to the sector and the issue under consideration, and more generally spatially and socially defined. We now turn to how these policies can be put into effect and the instruments that might be used to encourage their achievement and sustain their effectiveness. A number of instrumental categories can be identified which have application to both the maritime and outer space sectors. Direct state execution is a common approach to the process of policy control and implementation even after some decades of liberalisation exemplified by a period of intense privatisation—especially in shipping—that occurred in the 1980s and 1990s and even with some accompanying exuberant criticism of the state’s role in outer space; Eberhardt Rechtin was clear:

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The criticism by certain groups in Athens over Pericles’ construction of the Acropolis sounds surprisingly like the criticism of elements in the United States over the NASA annual budget. (Rechtin, 1960, p. 19)

Outer space has seen a later progression to a more privately orientated market and realistically only since around 2000. States commonly intervene in all markets. In the maritime sector there are still many clear examples today of state operation of highways (where the exception remains private ownership and operation), less commonly railways (where the infrastructure remains in state hands in most circumstances even if operations are privately owned and operated), ports (where the large majority of both terminals and port territory across many nations is now in private hands although the area of water is rather more obtuse); shipping companies (largely privatised but with many exceptions); and outer space operations (now considerably privatised but with obvious exceptions of both administrators—for example, NASA in the USA—and service providers— for example, in China). In the 1950s and 1960s the majority of these activities was in state hands, almost entirely in the space sector and with the exception of ship operations and ownership, also maritime. We have seen already the fundamentally important role of the nation-­ state in policy regulation and implementation in all sectors. Outer space is no exception and examples of regulation by the state vary between each nation. In the UK, for example, space activities are now subject to The Space Industry Act 2018. The Act requires: any person or organisation wishing to launch a vehicle from the UK, return a launch vehicle launched elsewhere than the UK to the UK landmass or the UK’s territorial waters, operate a satellite from the UK, conduct sub-­ orbital activities, operate a spaceport or provide ranger control services, to obtain the relevant licence.

The Act is supported by the Space Industry Regulations and the Regulator’s Licensing Rules along with a series of guidance documents. The Regulator is defined as the Civil Aviation Authority (CAA), a UK government quasi-autonomous state corporation, with a specific and primary objective of ensuring safety of people and property.

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The complexities of governance in such a sector where spatial boundaries are undeterminable, there is no tradition of ownership or structure, the objectives are mixed and often contradictory and yet the implications of poor policy and governance are sizeable, is clear and exemplified by Launch UK in the UK, a partially funded state initiative, administered by a government ministry and two government-appointed but independent agencies to generate and encourage a private sector space flight programme (UK Space Agency, Department of Transport, UK Civil Aviation Authority, 2020). However, the effectiveness of regulation of outer space activities across the world has been questioned recently, particularly as the sector continues to grow and the problems of controlling and monitoring a globalised (and one operating extra-terrestrially) industry become more apparent. Minter (2019) outlined some of the issues particularly in the context of recent near collisions of space objects and the difficulties in forcing operators to abide by agreed procedures or simply to take action to avoid collisions. The situation was made more emphatic by the recognition that there were roughly 5000 satellites in orbit of which the majority were no longer functioning (and thus with a tendency to be neglected). Meanwhile the US Air Force was tracking 19,000 additional pieces of space ‘junk’ and it was noted that there: are the millions of pieces of metal, some as small as a millimeter, that can cause significant damage to satellites when colliding at speeds exceeding 17,500 miles per hour. (Minter, 2019, p. 3)

Despite exhortations from the US government, the EU and the UN Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (COPUOS), only 30% of satellite operators are adhering to guidelines to bring satellites out of orbit after 25 years (Minter, 2019, p. 5). Meanwhile there are many new spacefaring nations and private operators who do not feel obliged to abide by any, non-binding regulations. There remains no global traffic control organisation and the complexity of military and commercial activities taking place in an extra-terrestrial commons is a severe deterrence. Minter (2019, p. 6) remains at least partially optimistic suggesting that:

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a global convention to regulate Earth orbit could have… industry-boosting benefits, by laying out protocols for satellite operators to communicate with each other, as well as binding standards for the creation, management and mitigation of space junk.

Much the same would be needed for outer space traffic as well as satellites. Meanwhile Oltrogge and Christensen (2020, p. 432), although specifically dealing with the issue of space debris, emphasise the need for more effective space governance and for it to be ‘agile, comprehensive, viable and overarching’, something certainly to aspire to in both shipping and space. They also note the work of COPUOS in issuing guidelines, but as already noted, UN guidelines are nothing more than that and individual nations can avoid and ignore them as they wish. Organisations in both sectors can also be regulated regardless of whether privately or publicly owned and in this way, policy can be imposed upon those involved. This increasingly and commonly involves attempts to make the free market both more effective and competitive. Thus the shipping marketplace is heavily regulated to ensure that intense competition does not lead to lower safety and environmental standards and the application of ship inspections through port state control is a good example of how policies can be translated into tangible effects with ships prevented from leaving port when not meeting international or national standards. The application of EU competition laws to the shipping markets is another case and applied, for example, to the container shipping sector, whilst the Jones Act (Merchant Marine Act, 1920) in the USA protects domestic shipping interests against international competition in cabotage trade, thus helping to sustain artificially a US shipping sector with clear benefits for both the domestic economy and defence. Meanwhile regulation of space activities from the point of view of ensuring competition and the prevention of monopoly provision is at a far more infant stage and is confined to more general rules and regulations such as those that characterise EU competition law (and that of many individual states elsewhere including the UK). However, problems of ensuring effective competition and controlling monopolies are significant. As Shaer (2016, p. 51) notes:

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Still unanswered is the question of who, in fact, owns space. What will happen when, one day, companies from two countries clash over the same rock?

This is also interesting as it implies that someone needs to own space and that its governance is impossible without some identifiable ownership. Fiscal measures can also be used to direct policy-making within a sector. There are many examples in shipping one of which with significance is tonnage taxation—a specifically designed tax regime for the shipping sector which reduces the level of payment below that of a normal commercial enterprise commonly but not exclusively for nationally flagged vessels. Tonnage tax is widely adopted around the world and is an example of targeted subsidy for the sector (Brownrigg et al., 2001; Leggate & McConville, 2005; Selkou & Roe, 2005). There is also direct shipping subsidy provided to ensure the provision of non-profit-making services. This is commonly fiscal support for shipping companies operating island trades and examples come from worldwide including the UK, Greece, France and the USA. The application of penalties (fines) sustained by legal force, can also be important in ensuring policies are implemented and the application of EU competition law to shipping provides many examples of where this has occurred. In the space sector, once dominated by state interests and almost completely reliant on subsidy, the situation is changing and the increase in number of private sector investors is notable. However, state finance is also still widely available with examples from the UK Space Agency, a quasi-autonomous, state government agency, providing £1 million support for space debris amelioration in May 2020, and the US federal government’s funding of US$900  million to the private sector company SpaceX to provide internet facilities to rural America (Wattles, 2020). Finally there is industrial self-regulation whereby the sector attempts to control its own members and to impose policies through self-interest. In shipping, organisations such as Chambers of Shipping made up of shipowners and with voluntary membership, can be very effective. Others are typified by BIMCO, port associations, shippers’ associations and other such representative groups. In the space sector Oltrogge and Christensen (2020, p.  433) note the important role played by the Consortium for Execution of Rendezvous and Servicing Operations

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(CONFERS), the Satellite Industry Association, and the Space Safety Coalition in developing and maintaining high safety standards with particular reference to satellites. And then there is of course the need for policy delivery and an important part of governance in any sector is ensuring that policies get put into place in an effective and efficient way. Policy agencies are the organisations which actually transfer policy from those creating it to those who are affected by it. They come in a variety of forms which are common across both the maritime and space sectors. Perhaps most obviously, government ministries/departments have a significant role to play in policy implementation although with the growth of privatisation in all sectors from the 1980s, their importance has lessened. In shipping terns most nations, (and once again it is commonly a national focus) have a ministry with distinctive maritime responsibilities. This might be only as a policy overseer—for example, in the UK—taking general responsibility for policy for safety and the environment which might then be exercised in detail by another body; or actually as an organisation with direct policy implementation powers such as the European Commission of the European Union. However, these direct government bodies commonly only set the guidelines for other agencies—often quasi-independent of the state which then actually administer policy decisions and have responsibility for their effectiveness. In the UK shipping sector this includes the Maritime and Coastal Agency (MCA) and the Marine Accident Investigation Bureau (MAIB) both appointed and monitored by the state but in theory at least, independent with the underlying aim of separating politics from policy. In space terms the UK ministry responsible for space transport (the Department of Transport) has close relationships with the Civil Aviation Authority and the UK Space Agency, both state-owned agencies. States can also own or part-own companies directly. The ports sector has a number of examples of this especially where privatisation has not been completed or some form of close control is to be retained. Many port terminals in the world are privately owned but sit upon publicly owned land whilst the ownership of the water can often remain unclear. In the UK this is even more muddied by the existence of Trust

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Ports—independent and managed by trustees and in a sense neither public nor private. In outer space the level of direct state ownership of operators or infrastructure is low reflecting the emergence of the sector as a commercial force in the later twentieth century. Whilst early space activity was entirely a public sector pursuit, the importance now of SpaceX and Virgin Galactic, for example, suggests a new private future. Launching facilities may vary somewhat (e.g. Cape Canaveral in Florida, USA, is owned by the US Department of Defense and operated by the US Space Force, a branch of the US Armed Forces, and yet utilised by numerous private commercial organisations). Overall, policy and governance in both sectors aim to accommodate the demands of a dominant national policy environment acting within a global and extra-terrestrial context—no mean feat. The significance of the national dimension is hard to over-state and has significant ramifications for the effectiveness of governance. The independence reflected in this domination of national policy-making, and the tendency for national priorities to impact global and extra-terrestrial decision-making, is almost always going to be sub-optimal. This sub-optimality can be seen characterised by four forces: • • • •

Ignorance and inconsistency Lack of jurisdiction Prisoner’s dilemma Transit

In terms of ignorance and inconsistency, it is particularly the case in maritime governance, although much the same could be said for the principles of space governance, that national policy-making for an industry that is essentially global in nature even when the market served is domestic, almost inevitably results in inconsistency, of which a considerable amount is a result of ignorance of what else is going on. Mallard and McGoey (2011), Rayner (2012) and McGoey (2019) provide interesting perspectives. Shipping (and space) is global (or even extra-terrestrial)— whether it is the flag of registration, vessel/vehicle ownership, place of construction or maintenance, crew, officers, home sea or space port, inspection regime, cargo, in fact every aspect of both industries and

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domestic activity, operating between national ports even those located within a flag territory, remains globally competitive unless the market is heavily regulated. This does occur—take the effects upon shipping of the Jones Act in the USA reserving cabotage to domestically flagged, owned and operated vessels—but most shipping markets, and virtually all space markets, are open to any operator within the legally defined constraints relating to safety, the environment and security. The result is that any attempt to regulate the shipping market through domestic policies, rather than global ones, is doomed to failure. This failure occurs both because there is ignorance of what is happening elsewhere and therefore what the competition consists of, but also because in the case of the shipping industry, its adeptness at avoiding regulation and using existing regulations to its own benefit and the opportunities afforded by a poorly defined or controlled global jurisdiction. At the moment, these opportunities are too good to be ignored. There seems little doubt that this situation will be the same in space. Thus ship operators and owners migrate flags at will to avoid regulation, employ whatever crew is most economically effective regardless of market, and use these ‘tools’ to persuade national policy-­ makers to adapt their policy regime to promote their own maritime sector, much as has been seen across the shipping world. The contradiction between national shipping policy and state ambitions, and the globalisation of the shipping sector makes fertile ground for the systematic abuse that characterises maritime governance, and space will inevitably follow. National policies will always be ineffective and inconsistent across both of the sectors unless they comply with the global and extra-terrestrial forces that characterise them. These problems are an inevitable consequence of the lack of jurisdiction that nation-states have across other nation-states. Plumptre and Graham (1999), and Hooghe and Marks (2001) have much to say on this. Whilst this national policy impotence is patently obvious this does not seem to inhibit the clamour for a strong and national domestic shipping and space policy for most countries. This reflects to a certain extent the important role that the nation-state still pay in the development, operation and sustenance of shipping and space policy around the world. We have already noted the importance of the nation-state in the activities of the United Nations and all its subsidiary bodies, a situation mirrored

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by that of the European Union, and despite the fact that there remains a serious inconsistency between both sectors’ market activities (global and extra-terrestrial) and the nation-state itself. National policy-making with few effective mechanisms to be imposed to ensure compliance are meaningless. Actors in both the shipping and space sectors have the opportunity to trade off and avoid unwanted domestic policy when it is convenient—and they do. Thus in shipping, domestic subsidy is accepted by a national flag carrier whilst employing foreign crew and operating in markets far from their home port. And of course, in the space sector the jurisdictional relevance of a domestic vehicle flag when launch facilities are available in few places and the markets served are far beyond the national (or even global) location, is hard to see. Meanwhile the Prisoner’s Dilemma raises its head, something discussed in relationship to public policy by Snidal (1985), Abbott and Snidal (2001) and particularly Lazer (2001), who emphasised that states commonly undercut other states’ regulations in a race to the bottom as they have very limited knowledge of what others are doing and the plans they have for a sector. The result is a collection of sub-optimal (in global terms) policies that nationally appear to be preferable because of the shortage of knowledge of what is going on elsewhere. Shipping policy is a classic example of this with the UN, as the global governance authority, constantly running behind nation-states in an attempt to coordinate and strengthen ‘good’ global maritime governance in the face of domestic shortcomings. This contrasts with Lazer’s (2001) ‘coordinative mode of interdependence’ where the assumption is that there are benefits in achieving compatibility between national policies. There is no evidence of this in the space sector—yet—but in shipping it is endemic and a consequence of the national obsession and a sector operating globally with little jurisdictional control. Finally there is the specific issue of transit and the significance of an effective abrogation of sovereignty that this implies. Much has been written about specific examples including those from shipping and outer space (see e.g. Stokke, 2013; Dawson et al., 2014; and Huntingdon et al., 2019 for shipping and Nair, 2015 for outer space). All space sector activities involve transit across other nations’ airspace and ultimately across the heavens where territorial definitions remain highly uncertain. Domestic,

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national policy is clearly irrelevant, the problems of which have been overcome in the global airline industry through the work of the UN and other global authorities and, incredibly, by some remarkable coordination between state authorities. In shipping there has been much achieved as well but the need to transit others’ domestic waters to reach most ports, and specific issues such as use of the Panama and Suez Canals (crossing Panamanian and Egyptian territory), the Bosporus (Turkey) through which enormous quantities of Russian oil moves, the English Channel (UK, France), the Bering Straits (USA, Russia), and the Northern Sea Route (Russia, Canada, Greenland etc.), present continuous governance issues that cannot be constrained domestically. Whilst some element of domestic policy ambition is inevitable, many governance problems can only be resolved globally for both sectors. Although international policy-making and effective global governance for both the shipping and space sectors are clearly more effective than the nationally dominated situation that exists at present, there remain issues with its delivery that also need to be resolved. It is not just a matter of ‘globalising’ policy and governance but doing this in an appropriate way. Several issues can be identified that need to be addressed. In terms of jurisdiction there needs to be clear location of responsibility as any vagueness will make the introduction and implementation of policy difficult, and the governance of the sector almost impossible. Whilst the existence of the UN International Maritime Organisation (IMO) is well known as a global maritime authority, the exact location and range of responsibilities within shipping are less clear. Where does the authority of the national flag, the flag state, begin and end? What is the relationship between the global and national authorities? And with shipping’s tendency to migrate almost at will, what flag state are we talking about? This is all made more complicated by the existence of international agreements and relationships including those of a multi-national and bilateral nature. And outer space is no better, just earlier down the path of jurisdictional complexity and obfuscation. Without clear jurisdictional responsibility, governance of anything is very difficult especially when the marketplace for the sectors is a heady mix of global and extra-terrestrial.

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To be effective governance also needs to be policed. Most policies that provide the framework for both sectors are inherently unpopular with those active in the marketplace—this is almost inevitable because a policy from a higher authority, commonly the state, is only needed when the market itself fails to find it advantageous. Clearly, policy-makers are consequently making the sectors do something they do not choose to do— hence their unpopularity. Policing can involve all manner of incentives to comply including physical, financial and legal with varying success dependent upon context, location and time. But whatever mechanism is used, policing will be necessary. Ships can be arrested, confined to port, crews and officers can be fined and lose qualification, owners can be fined and much the same can be said of the space sector. Designing an adequate policing framework for international (and national) policy compliance is essential. Ideally any form of governance needs limited points of application if it is to be effective. The ability to enforce regulations and policy priorities is made much easier if clearly identifiable and a restricted number of locations for their application is the case. In the shipping sector the fact that vessels have to call in port for supplies, replacement crews and cargo means that they can be targeted through inspection and legally arrested to prevent departure until clearance and approval is achieved. Much the same could be applied to the outer space sector through its dependence upon space ports, although in both cases the need for appropriate and efficient application of regulations is essential and the opportunity for slack application and corruption presents problems that an efficient governance framework can mitigate. It also requires a global approach so that avoidance of less welcome regulation is impossible simply by migrating across jurisdictions. In shipping this remains a problem with the ease of moving between flags providing the opportunity to trade-off between regimes some of which are less effective in maintaining standards than others. Only a global enforcement of standards can remove this problem and even then, the ability of nation-states to be obstructive is a formidable difficulty. The dominant role of the nation-state at the global level (in the case of both sectors through the UN), simply exacerbates the problem of both agreeing and enforcing sufficiently robust standards. Simplicity

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and restricted number of points of application of a shipping or space policy helps. Any effective governance framework for the application of policies in either sector also benefits if the process is administratively simple as complexity not only makes the application of policies slower but also provides greater opportunity for corruption. In poorer nation-states these problems are exacerbated and a simpler administration approach can help to reduce the drawbacks. The approach of the shipping sector to policy application in terms of vessel inspection, training, qualification and safety, security and health standards has been remarkably effective in some ways and the space sector may have lessons to learn here. Despite this, there remain considerable gaps in the governance of shipping where vessels and their owners can avoid application of regulation partly because it is possible to throw a web of administrative confusion across the sector facilitated by (once again) the contradictions that exist between global and national jurisdictions, with the former (e.g. the UN), attempting to design and implement policy for the latter but without the power to do so effectively. Space has much to learn from this in designing governance for a sector that at present remains either largely globally unregulated or ineffectively regulated at a national level. Those participating also need to be committed. Shipping presents problems here again with ineffective governance partly at least generated by major players (shipowners) who appear to have little commitment to anything other than profit. Policies for safety, security and the environment thus become unfortunate obstructions to achieving their aims which then can be overcome by manipulation of the nation-state/global contradictory interface. There appears to be remarkably little commitment within the shipowner community to wider, ethical ideals and the result is that policies for these latter areas are side-lined, delayed and abandoned, and in addition there is little enthusiasm for the redesign of a governance framework that might be more effective in achieving them. Roe (2016, pp.  24–31) has much to say on this reflecting the significance, very likely over-significance, of vessel ownership in the maritime sector—and on reflection, potentially in the space sector as well. This is exemplified in shipping by the tonnage tax—a subsidy for shipowners reducing what is a conventional and common industry profit

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taxation to a specific and lower maritime version based on vessel size (Gekara, 2010). Widespread throughout the industry, the globalised nature of the sector has meant that it has had to become almost universally adopted by all national registries, for without it shipowners can migrate vessels with ease to an alternative. This two-level game outlined in principle by Druckman (1978), Axelrod (1987) and Snyder and Diesing (1977) amongst many others is a form of territorial hypocrisy and: is characteristic of maritime governance (and) almost always beneficial to the shipowner manifesting itself in the way that the shipping industry attempts (and largely succeeds) to take advantage of both the national and global framework within which it works. (Roe, 2016, p. 24)

He goes on: The result is… territorial porosity whereby the impact of national borders can be imposed at will (and taken away) by the shipping sector to maximise profit—either actually or at least by threat. National territory no longer has the meaning it once had and globalisation has created a nightmare for policy-makers condemned to working within a nationally defined framework. (Roe, 2016, p. 24)

But one that must work within a global marketplace. Much the same could be said for space. Shipowners are not entirely focussed upon their own desires and ambitions at the expense of everything and everybody else and there are examples from the environmental side where the notion of ‘green shipping’ has taken hold, even though it incurs some cost to those participating. Much the same might occur in the future in the space sector but there remains little evidence of ethical power so far. In both sectors there would appear to be a small chance of the nation-state coming to the rescue to enforce ship and space-craft owners to raise their standards of safety, the environment and security beyond that which the industries themselves are willing to go. Mangat (2001, p.  9) suggests that although nation-states remain at the heart of governance, they retain little sovereignty and as a

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result have no real ability or willingness to adopt or enforce policy in areas such as maritime—and much could be said for the space sector as well. Mittelman (1996) goes further emphasising that states encourage this and by so-doing their own demise as policy-making band enforcement is handed over to the shipowner. As Roe (2016, p. 26) notes: This post-Westphalian world is one characterised by companies that fly the flag of their ‘home’ country and for a variety of political, financial, marketing and to a certain extent legal reasons retain a distinct national identity. Shipping companies are prime examples. Simultaneously, they are independent of any specific state, and their domicile is one that they have chosen rather than been born to. This in turn generates footloose capital and a market for global activity again epitomised by the markets for seafarers, ship registration, ship taxation regimes and the like. One consequence is the inadequacy of maritime governance, reflected in maritime policy-­ making failure and in the problems faced by the maritime environment, maritime security, maritime safety and maritime efficiency—and ultimately the pollution, injury and death that results.

And just watch the space sector which already exhibits the inadequate controls of the major players that mirror those of the shipping sector. The sizeable involvement of nation-states, the impotence of international and global jurisdiction, and the opportunities this affords for out-of-control owners to take advantage of the confusion that results. The example of open registers in shipping is one that is also already evident in the space sector where like shipping, there is nothing to stop a space operator or owner to register their space craft to whatever national register they wish—albeit with some minor legal and financial constraints. This has enormous ramifications for governance in both sectors. To quote Roe (2016, p. 27) again: The whole reason for the existence of open registries is that in terms of regulations they are liberal; their success depends on the maintenance of this. The associated nation-state has no incentive to regulate as to so would destroy the cash-cow from which they benefit. As an intrinsic part of this, the nation-state neither attempts to encroach on the autonomy of the shipowner nor introduces or encourages structures

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and frameworks that might restrict the power of the flag over the state or shipowner.

In both sectors as a result, the owner is king (or queen) and the need for commitment to governance is couched almost entirely in their terms rather than those of other market players (shippers, insurers, financiers etc.), or more significantly the wider social ideal relating to safety, security and the environment. Commitment is narrowly defined and consequently the ability of any organisation to apply policies through a governance framework is similarly narrowly defined. Shipowners (and as we have seen recently, inevitably spacecraft owners) have become increasingly dominated by private investors, and conveniently placed in international law where the nationality of a vessel is indicated by its flag and not its owner, crew or officers. This facilitates what various commentators have termed ‘socially injurious actions’, including Forsyth (1993, p. 208) and Michalowski and Kramer (1987, pp. 39–45). A final key to achieving effective policy-making and application through a well-designed governance process for any sector, but in this case certainly for shipping and space, is pressure to self-enforce. In some ways this is perhaps the most important factor and developments in the maritime sector in the form of green shipping, and the poor publicity associated with ship losses has had a marked effect upon the attitude of many operators. Not all unfortunately and in nation-states where either economics or politics, or both are major driving factors, there remains the incentive not to enforce standards regardless of peer pressure—examples come from North Korea, China, Somalia and the countries of West Africa where ship hi-jacking, cargo theft, illicit vessel registration and low standard enforcement is common. So far it is clear that governance for both the maritime and outer space sectors is wanting and there are many overlaps of the causes of these inadequacies. As we shall see in later chapters these may also provide the clue to improvement in the future. Meanwhile Huntley (2007, p. 258) has suggestions as to some of the major issues that need to be incorporated. He suggests that they centre upon technology, participants and systems. In terms of technology the outer space sector is especially dynamic and the changing ability of mankind to develop space vehicles, monitoring,

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communications and the like will have major effect upon how the industry must be and can be governed. The increasing ability to control the industry at distance, to manipulate vehicles remotely, to utilise unmanned vehicles and to combine expertise across frontiers and across time and space will have notable and largely unpredictable effects. In shipping this is a less dynamic situation but still a changing one with advances in communications and monitoring, in cargo handling, in the use of autonomous ships and much more, clearly will be important. Participants in both industries are changing with time and this will continue to be the case. Will non-state actors continue to grow in significance in the space sector as has been the case in recent years, or will changes in the sector demand that the state returns with its extra resources and ability to carry risk? Will the dominant states remain dominant, or will less well known (and commonly less well resourced) become major players—countries which are already emerging such as Brazil, India and China? Will the reduction in costs lead to increased participation from less well-known states and less predictable industrial sectors? In shipping changes again seem less dynamic; the sector has seen increases in privatisation over the past 40 years although there remains a major state sector involvement both in operation and regulation. The dominant maritime players are exemplified by Greece, Singapore, Hong Kong, Norway, the UK, South Korea and the USA, with less well-known players including Bangladesh, Cambodia, India and the Philippines in specific sectors such as manning and scrapping but this has been only gradually changing in recent years. And systemic change will also be important. What will be the emerging incentives in both sectors—new cargoes such as minerals and humans across space; new locations for conventional cargos for the maritime sector as globalisation and the desire of a capitalist world to expand markets becomes increasingly important (and possible); a process which is likely to be mirrored by the space sector as extra-terrestrial markets become more feasible. More of this in a later chapter. Clearly there will also be many more developing issues as time passes but these three provide some indication of the scope of the ambitions that governance for both sectors needs to accommodate. Huntley (2007, p. 259) goes on to hint at other major factors to look forward to with

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eager anticipation—the changes in relationships between space states which he sees reflecting their terrestrial ambitions—something which is equally identifiable in maritime policy, activity, objectives and governance; the continued anarchy that characterises global (and hence extra-­ terrestrial) relations; and the ever-present need for states to protect their own interests (Van Evera, 1998). Huntley (2007, p. 264) is gloomy: The conviction that space is merely another medium into which the spread of militarized combat is inevitable, and that the greatest US concern is the gloomy foreboding of a ‘Space Pearl Harbor’ evinces a curiously circumscribed situational awareness of the current conditions and future possibilities—benign and malign—for the future of human presence in space.

Maritime governance is clearly an area where complexity of participant, issue, context and application is central, where the number of actors continues to increase (Brown, 2018, p. 33), and the political and economic implications of accelerating globalisation continue to exacerbate these characteristics. Governance for outer space, whilst exhibiting many of the same characteristics, is far worse. The range and nature of participants includes the substantial rise of private interests which have an increasing role in policy-making, rule-making and norm defining (Cutler et al., 1999), setting agendas, guaranteeing contracts and providing order and security (Bexell & Morth, 2010; Hall & Biersteker, 2003, pp. 4–5). Laudal (2011) suggests that a number of private corporations—he uses Royal Dutch Shell and Walmart as examples—are far richer than many nation-states, and bringing this up to date, Apple, Google and Facebook are now in a similar position. This has important implications for governance in all sectors. Newlove-Eriksson and Eriksson (2013, p. 287) go on to suggest that three new trends have emerged at the same time as this growth in private sector involvement in the space sector with ramifications for governance— the acceptance of new responsibilities previously the focus of governments, for example, technological development and management; the rise of transnational conglomerates as the opportunities afforded to the sector by globalisation is increasingly realised; and rather more

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specifically, the blurring of military-civilian distinctions which presents its own, in many ways unique issues of private-public governance. All this will present difficulties in governance which in many cases reflect those of the maritime sector which remain unresolved. For example, gaps between public and private sector expectations; unclear objectives, policies and decision-making procedures; poor risk management; lack of funding; poor transparency; and lack of competition. What Newlove-Eriksson and Eriksson (2013, p. 277) term ‘transnational networks’ intensify the complexity and variety of these issues and also the lack of spatial or organisational uniformity. New actors continue to emerge and include government and non-government institutions, cabinets, ministries, agencies, corporations, political parties, pressure groups and many more—‘internally fragmented, and typically operat(ing) in transnational networks’ (Brown, 2018, p. 33). They view the history of space and its governance as ‘the Heavens’, home of Gods, a sacred realm which in the words of Tranchetti (2011), ‘should be exempt from the trials of terrestrial tyranny, power politics, and violent conflict’, widely viewed by many as a ‘demilitarised sanctuary’ (Newlove-Eriksson & Eriksson, 2013, p. 279), reflected in the ideals of the Outer Space Treaty of 1967. Space is thus ‘good’—modern, rational, advancing technology, yielding knowledge and consequently an opportunity to improve life on Earth. However, there is also what Newlove-Eriksson and Eriksson (2013, p.  279) term a realistic narrative, something pessimistic and cynical. Sheehan (2007, p. 8) summed it up: The motivating driver of both (the American and Soviet space) programmes was the acquisition of military capability, both in terms of missiles able to deliver nuclear weapons, and satellites capable of securely performing reconnaissance missions over adversaries’ territory… The civilian and military programmes were linked to the extent that the former diverted attention from the latter, and in some cases, such as the Explorer/Corona satellite, was used as a deliberate cover for military activities.

Consequently, space is also ‘bad’.

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It is about time we tried to bring all this together, and we are helped in this by Reischl (2012, p. 33). In both the maritime and space sectors the impact of globalisation and the cross-functional, geographic and political boundaries that characterise them, means that there is an ever increasing need to cooperate across nations, but that this is inhibited by the tendency for states to be competitive rather than cooperative even in the global fora that exist to enhance this policy-making process. Progress in developing meaningful governance and policy processes is inhibited by the range of international institutions that exists which find difficulties in coordination and overlap of functions and has given rise to demands for a better design (Walker et al., 2009, p. 1345). Reischl (2012, p. 34) suggests the adoption of techniques such as regime complexes (Alter & Meunier, 2009; Keohane & Victor, 2010) to help understand the difficulties of developing effective governance processes in multi-national, global and even extra-terrestrial circumstances where there is a need for a framework that can accommodate what Raustalia and Victor (2004, p. 279) see as ‘an array of partially overlapping and non-hierarchical institutions governing a particular issue area’, in this case both the maritime and space sectors. They highlight the importance of institutional fit between the institution and the problem for which it is trying to generate effective governance (Young & Underdal, 1997). So where do we go from here? Well without giving too much away one of the obvious links between the maritime and space sectors, and one where there is a serious governance perspective is in the form of the ‘commons’, an important area we shall return to in detail in a later chapter (Sadeh et al., 2005). For the time being we shall simply look to see where the concept of common ownership has links to the two sectors and where this provides a clue to how the governance of both shipping and the space sectors can be made more manageable and effective. The literature on the commons is extensive and ranges across a multitude of issues and sectors but both maritime and space activities are central examples along with others commonly discussed including the environment, remote regions of the world such as Antarctica, the utilisation of agricultural resources (where the word commons becomes especially relevant), climate, fisheries and others where ownership is both complex and unclear. The most significant

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contributions towards the broadest discussion of the issues involved in recent years have been from Ostrom (see e.g. 1990, 1996, 2007, 2008, 2009, 2012). We shall turn to these in a later chapter but for now the ambition is simply to understand the role that the commons might play in the governance of the maritime and space sectors. Whilst the maritime implications of the commons is widely recognised (e.g. see Wijkman, 1982; Vogler, 2000; Hertzfeld et al., 2016, pp. 16–18; Tepper, 2019), the perspective from outer space is less well developed although despite this it remains a serious participant. Focussing on the space sector, Sadeh et al. (2005), amongst others, provide an introduction whilst Schauer (1977) gives full rein to the issues of how the commons principle can be readily applied to outer space and how commons problems including, for example, the difficulty of defining boundaries, ownership and responsibility, are serious ones for outer space, in particular as the sector increases in significance and in the context of the failures apparent in the governance of the high seas. Cooper (2003, p. 113 and 114) notes how the Outer Space Treaty of 1967 suggested that resources should be for everyone and ‘non-­ appropriable in the same manner as air, sea and sunshine’. These resources would thus be complementary to the global commons and, as Grossman (2010) suggested, ‘preserved against armed conflict and rampant greed’. Meanwhile, Elhefnawy (2003, p.  55) suggests that outer space is in a permanent commons state and as a result presents problem of territorialisation—much can be said for the high seas. However, they remain convinced that territorialisation will occur over time much as attempts continue with the high seas—for example, the continued increase in territorial waters. Brearley (2006, p.  49) continued the theme emphasising that outer space is a global commons which he terms a ‘social construct’, used to differentiate them from sovereign territory and that considerable overlap exists between the two which are kept artificially separate. He outlines the difference between exhaustible and infinite commons—the former is exemplified by Antarctica, deep-sea minerals and the Moon, and the latter the high seas, the atmosphere and space. Clearly both our concerns are at least in the long-term renewable (and therefore infinite albeit very long-term in some cases), providing further cause for using the lessons

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drawn from each sector to see how this can help in devising governance approaches. Harvey (2014, p. 41) provides a different perspective on the issue of the commons and how this relates to problems of governance. He emphasises the relationship between the commons, viewed in capitalist society as a resource to be exploited and the importance of boundaries in their definition (or failure to define). Rather caustically (although quite accurately) he suggests: Nature is partitioned and divided up as private property rights guaranteed by the state. Private property entails enclosure of nature’s commons. (Harvey, 2014, p. 250)

And here we can see some of the problems that beset governance of the high seas and the shipping sector and which will continue to trouble outer space. How do you partition and divide up the ‘nature’ of the high seas or space? How can they be enclosed? What boundaries are definable? He goes on to propose solutions to these problems with only limited success (Harvey, 2014, p. 50) but in the process raises valuable issues that might help to guide a way forward to governance that is effective. Shackleford (2014, p.  432) also emphasises the role of space as an example of commons something continued by Beery (2016, pp. 92–93) and Aganaba-Jeanty (2016, p. 1, and 2–3) who goes on to outline the difficulties of defining with any precision the notion of common benefit without individualising it—suggesting that: common benefit is constructed as a property claim (‘give me my part’) instead of a distributive justice claim (‘access to an equitable share derived from a common pool resource’).

Many problems relating to the governance of the commons stem from this very misinterpretation. And perhaps the final word in this attempt to move from the general problems of governance to those of the linkages between the high seas and outer space lies with Shabbir et al. (2019, p. 104):

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A few hundred kilometres above the global commons of seas lie (sic) the global common of outer space.

And so to outer space and some things to consider before we can begin to tackle the problems of its governance.

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3 Outer Space

The contemplation of celestial things will make a man both speak and think more sublimely and magnificently when he descends to human affairs. (Marcus Tullius Cicero, 66BC) Although the airplane opened up the sky, and the radio tower filled the air with waves… neither made the limits of the Earth entirely visible or transparent. Space technology closed the sky again, bounded it from above and sealed it whole. Only then could the sky become fully modern in an active, technological sense, and only then could what lay beyond it become as meaningful as space, a vast sea of darkness surrounding a blue and green point of human place. At last the world was one. (Redfield, 2000) Human societies, like living organisms, human or extra-human, cannot be conceived independently of the universe (or the ‘world’); nor may cosmology, which cannot annex knowledge of those societies, leave them out of its picture altogether. (Lefebvre, 1991, p. 14) With our discourses, property right regimes and material practices, we are transforming outer space into a contested terrain in which peace, violence,

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enclosure and accumulation are all possible. (Klinger, in Dunnett et  al., 2019, p. 320) The road he took out of town went off in an entirely different direction. No one was following him; the road was empty. He pictured the poor agents looking all over for him, afraid their boss would bawl them out. He laughed out loud. Slowing down, he looked around at the countryside, something he had never actually done before. Always on his way to arrange or discuss something somewhere, he had come to think of space as a negative value, a waste of time, an obstacle to his progress. (Milan Kundera, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, 1982, p. 20)

And so to outer space. Rather unsurprisingly there has been a considerable amount written about outer space, through many genres and within many contexts, and the intention here is not to provide a comprehensive textbook for the outer space enthusiast. What is more remarkable is how little has been written about the governance of outer space and even less about how little could be learned from other contexts and how little has been gleaned from outer space policy-making and governance that might contribute in return. This chapter hopes to begin this process by looking at what we mean by outer space and its philosophical underpinning, and how its anticipated value to society makes the structure of its governance that more important. From the extensive literature on outer space as a whole, both Ashford (2007) and Logsdon (2008) provide examples of the importance that should be attached to its design. Outer space has a long history. Go (2009, pp. 36–37) notes that its first use comes not from modern scientific literature but from Milton’s Paradise Lost (1667): Space may produce new Worlds; whereof so rife There went a fame in Heav’n that he ere long Intended to create, and therein plant A generation, whom his choice regard Should favour equal to the Sons of Heaven. (Book 1; lines 650–4)

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And: How first began this Heav’n which we behold Distant so high, with moving Fires adornd Innumerable, and which yields or fills All space, the ambient Aire wide interfus’d Imbracing round this florid Earth, what cause Mov’d the Creator to his holy Rest Through all Eternitie so late to build In Chaos…. (Book 7; lines 86-83)

Whilst the Oxford English Dictionary (OED) cites this as the first astronomical usage of the term space, Go notes that the 1623 Jacobean Books of Homilies of the Church of England ‘is repeatedly concerned with God’s Creation of the whole universal world’. He quotes: ‘the marvellous creation of this world’ (217); ‘hee made the whole vniversal world, with all the commodities and goods therein’ (217); by the consideration of the creation of the world’ (218); ‘to make such a new heaven & earth as is already made’ (220); ‘And yet it is not to be thought, that GOD hath created all this whole vniuersall wrld as it is, and thus once made, hath giuen it vp to be ruled and vsed after our owne wits and deuice’. (221)

There is considerably more. Go actually goes on to suggest that the notion of astronomical space featured even earlier in John Griffiths’ 1582 edition of the Homilies, as a corruption of the original use of ‘place’. However, perhaps we should begin in earnest with some consideration of what outer space means to a variety of more relatively modern commentators. Far from a comprehensive definition of the term this simply provides an indication of the importance and variety of interpretations that are available. In turn this has implications for any attempt at governance and where the relationship between outer space and the maritime sector can contribute to policy design, interpretation and implementation. It also begins to suggest the way forward through the complex and confusing world of global (and in this case extra-terrestrial) commons. But much of that later.

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Pasco (2003) noted how the public involvement in space traditionally had focussed upon three main domains—military, scientific and human spaceflight. However, in recent decades the reduction in spending by governments has limited interest in these broader impacts and focussed more upon the ‘intimate components of society’s activities as a whole’ (Pasco, 2003, p. 15) including communications and specific commercial applications reflecting on the production of social goods using space. Space activity has been transformed so that it is now no longer a single sector including war, communications, exploration, travel and more but a medium through which these activities take place—much the same as the high seas. As such it needs appropriate governance principles which can then be applied to each activity and attributes such as flow, speed and process more appropriate for the governance of a medium (Roe, 2016a). Burwell (2019, p.  41) hints at some of the difficulties involved in designing governance for outer space and in particular the complexities generated by social, political, spatial and economic stimuli: Because the contours of and possibilities offered by space are a product of the imagination, its contours are not stable and are subject to needs and desires that shift and evolve according to social, political, and economic priorities—in particular the different iterations of the democratic impulse within national, corporate, and individual relationships to space.

Harvey (1989, pp. 218–219) suggests that there are three dimensions to an understanding of space which might provide a basis for the development of meaningful governance. 1. Spatial practices refer to the physical and material flows, transfers and interactions that occur in and across space in such a way as to assure production and social reproduction. 2. Representations of space encompass all of the signs and significations, codes and knowledge that allow such material practices to be talked about and understood, no matter whether in terms of everyday common-­sense or through the sometimes arcane jargon of the academic disciplines that deal with spatial practices (engineering, architecture, geography, planning, social ecology and the like).

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3. Spaces of representation are mental interventions (codes, signs, ‘spatial discourses’, utopian plans, imaginary landscapes and even material constructs such as symbolic spaces, particularly built environments, paintings, museum and the like) that imagine new meanings or possibilities for spatial practices. Using this framework, the governance of outer space might be viewed in three dimensions corresponding to those of Harvey. The first has clear relevance both physically, in terms of the movement of people, materials, spacecraft, satellites and the like across space, but also socially and economically with aspects whereby governance has to relate fundamentally to how people respond to and interact with the outer space sector in all its manifestations. The second pays respects to the specific signs, representations, knowledge, language and codes that are characteristics of the space sector and which have fundamental implications for how as an activity it is regarded, respected, understood, welcomed or feared. The third is especially significant for the outer space sector as it is a future largely unknown and misunderstood and consequently relies upon human imagination for its planning and appeal. Logsdon (2005, pp.  85–86) noted two visions of space—one looks forward (or possibly internally) and sees how space can serve the needs and demands of Earth’s society by delivering tangible benefits to peoples’ lives, noted by the EU as including economic growth, job creation, industrial competitiveness, sustainable development, security, defence, fighting poverty and developing poorer societies (Commission of the European Communities, 2003). Logsdon (2005, p. 86) sees these as utilitarian benefits. The other he sees as backward (or external) looking out from the Earth, satisfying human curiosity and without necessarily, any specific (human) benefits. Both views of the role of space need a meaningful governance approach but in each case the characteristics may be different requiring different solutions. Genta and Rycroft (2006, pp.  289–294) identified six issues which were fundamental to the governance of outer space—cost (a relative concept dependent upon the purpose that space is to be used for), energy (relatively low except when penetrating atmospheres and planetary

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gravitational fields), velocity (significantly slow for interstellar travel but increasingly manageable for ‘local’ planets), technology (continuously changing and overcoming some of the other difficult issues in the use of outer space), humans (their ambitions, objectives both acceptable and doubtful, ethics, morals, psychological inhibitions and much more) and time (and in particular its discontinuities and unpredictability of progress towards space ambitions and objectives). Consideration of each of these would determine the nature and effectiveness of any governance framework proposed. Jakhu and Buzdugan (2008, pp.  204–205) looked upon the outer space sector as having three main actors whose ambitions and agendas will need to be accommodated by any approach to governance. They considered the most important to be nation-states and we shall return to their role many times throughout our discussions in many chapters. They have much to answer for. Security, economic competition, protection of the commons and prestige have all encouraged their involvement. In recent decades there has been a growth in importance of intergovernmental organisations including those with commercial interests such as Immarsat, Interpsutnik, Eutelsat and Arabsat along with rather more policy-orientated organisations such as the United Nations. In each case the central driver is always the nation-state even if the success of space business remains a fundamental aim. However, in most recent years, there has been the rise of the private sector from mere contractors to the state to becoming independent private exploiters of space facilities and assets. Von Der Dunk (2011, pp. 146–147) outlined what he saw as three eras of space tourism, and although specific to this activity, much could be applied to space in general. The first era was characterised by only a limited number of players made up of nation-state governments and their agencies. This structure was fundamental in driving the design of space governance which still exists today centred around the UN and its nation-state focus. The second we can see the gradual growth of private sector activity which resulted in an increasing number of national space laws and policies. It was only in the third era, with us today (2022), that space tourism begins to raise its profile as the activities of the private

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sector in space have started to focus outside the traditional mainstream of military, communications and scientific objectives. Meanwhile Dickens and Ormrod (2016, pp. 445–446) suggested that the work of Lefebvre (1991) has relevance when he makes a distinction between ‘absolute’ and ‘abstract’ space. He saw absolute space as: made up of fragments of nature located at sites which were chosen for their intrinsic qualities (cave, mountaintop, spring, river), but whose very consecration ended up by stripping them of their natural characteristics and uniqueness. (Lefebvre, 1991, p. 48)

These spaces formed the basis for a ‘relativised and historical’ representational space and included terrestrial spaces where communication with outer space could be conducted. Abstract space was space ‘created through accumulation’—for example, ‘wealth, resources, knowledge, technology, money, precious objects, works of art and symbols’ (Lefebvre, 1991, p.  49). He considered abstract space was ‘backed up by a frightening capacity for violence and maintained by a bureaucracy which has laid hold of the gains of capitalism in the ascendant and turned them to its own profit’ (Lefebvre, 1991, p. 52). This relationship between capitalist accumulation and outer space has significant relevance to the governance of the sector (and incidentally to that of the high seas) and one to which we return in a later chapter. This leads us to the question, do we need to do something about space governance? We shall eventually see whether what we have learned from governance of the maritime sector can help here but for now we turn to space alone. Outer space certainly has unique characteristics that make it an obvious candidate for developing a governance style of its own but before getting too excited by the need for even considering this, we need to establish whether it merits attention from the point of view of its existing and potential significance and secondly whether if this is the case, there is any need for a revision of the governance that exists at the moment. There are plenty of commentators particularly regarding the value of outer space whether this be economic, social, political, strategic, military or more (see e.g. Blamont, 2016, pp. 167–168), and the growth of tangible

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outer space assets is also undeniable (see Martinez [2018, p. 13] for an indication of its size), but here we shall focus on only those relating to the existing governance framework and also those with most significance. The eager reader should look further on both fronts if they wish to get a more comprehensive view. Incidentally from a maritime perspective the value of the sector and its governance failures are both extensively documented (see e.g. Roe, 2013a, 2013b, 2013c, 2013d, 2016a, 2016b, 2016c, 2018, 2020) and later we shall see whether these lessons can provide a foundation for that of outer space. The need for some sort of revision of the governance of outer space has grown in particular since the end of the twentieth century and focussed mainly upon the growth and change in outer space activities stimulating the need to do something more or differently. McGuire and Harrison (2000, p. 8) looked at the need for outer space to be regulated because of its inherent complexity. Regulation would make the market less uncertain and alleviate market failures through a consequent reduction in transaction costs. They stressed the importance of getting the balance right between over- and under-regulation made worse by the speed of change in the sector, coupled with transparency and fairness. Their solution to what these ‘rules ought to be and where they are lodged’ was to look at the existing international organisational framework and possibly use the World Trade Organization (WTO) as a vehicle for this. They also noted the problems that this might face. Genta and Rycroft (2006, p. 287) began by suggesting that space is a new frontier for mankind, linked to the dynamic view of human history and that the world is in a process of constant change moving from its creation by God until it reaches its inevitable and eventual end. Whilst historically there have been many views that history is static and that ‘history would repeat itself endlessly without major changes’ or that ‘history proceeded in cycles, each similar to the previous one’, the current Judaeo-­ Christian view is that history is linear and change has accelerated. The resulting ‘progress’ suggests that positivity can be assumed in these changes and the significance of this was emphasised by its spread from the birth of modern science and the renaissance to ‘cultural, moral, social and other progress’.

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All this suggests that man’s consideration of outer space and how best it can be accommodated needs to change with this progress and developments from the early twentieth century including manned flight, the potential for mineral exploitation, a variety of military and surveillance initiatives and the massive increase in the presence of satellites, much of which have occurred since the 1950s and which have only reinforced this view. Logsdon (2005, p. 5) emphasised the need for good outer space governance to maximise the benefits which could be derived from appropriate use of the sector. Space advocates make frequent attempts to tally up the various benefits to society that have flowed from past activities in space. Most often, leading these lists are the economic and social returns from communications via satellite, the value of weather forecasting using satellite derived images and data, the ability to better manage the Earth and its resources derived from remote sensing, and the already great but rapidly growing benefits from a global navigation and positioning capability. Also sometimes mentioned are the increases in basic knowledge of the solar system and the universe coming from science carried out in space and the stimulus to national pride and educational accomplishment coming from being associated with space achievements.

He goes on to suggest two more benefits from activities in space—‘the use of satellites to provide strategic intelligence to national leaders’ and the growth in ‘the responsibility of those inhabiting (the Earth) for its care’ stimulated at least in part by an appreciation of the planet as a ‘tiny pale blue dot’ when imaged from Voyager 2 as it passed Neptune and reinforced by colour images from US Apollo missions. As the poet Archibald MacLeish wrote of the ‘Earthrise’ image taken by the Apollo 8 crew, it allowed humans ‘to see ourselves as riders on the earth together, brothers who truly know they are brothers’ (MacLeish, 1968). Rather more down to earth, but quite possibly less significantly, Von der Dunk et al. (2004, pp. 155–156) commented on the need for further consideration of property rights in space determined within an international framework. Meanwhile Weinberg (2013, pp. 229–230) identified

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the main stimuli of human exploitation of outer space as international cooperation, exploration, inspiration, economic spinoffs and survival, whilst Lin (2006, pp. 289–291) outlined in some detail the reasons for the exploitation of space but with particular reference to ethical and moral considerations. They included: Adventure and tourism—questioned because the precedent of Antarctica, Dartmoor National Park in the UK and the Lascaux caves in France, where tourism is both limited and controlled, suggests that some territories should remain virgin. Knowledge—there is much to learn in space and both commercial and social benefits to be derived. The issue here is more one of the ethical necessities of commercial exploitation. Providing a back-up plan—to man’s generation of disasters, whether they be war, pandemics, environmental or technological misapplications. What right have we to run away from and potentially export these across the cosmos? Overcrowding—what Lin terms a ‘social release valve’, alleviating diminishing resources and overcrowding on the home planet. Or should humans take more responsibility for what they have created? Interplanetary species—a narcissistic desire to take over whatever is in our reach. God, selfishness and space exploration—and there are always monkeys and dandelions. Is there any reason to consider that humans have a higher moral status? Clearly although space needs governing, and of this there can be no doubt as it is not going away, it also has limits with considerable ethical issues raising their heads. Ethics play a role in many governance decisions outside space and the maritime—think of abortion and cloning—and despite considerable debate about detail, ethics are important. Space as a new and almost unlimited resource raises as many questions as any. Lin (2006, p.  291) provides a guide to defending human exploitation— humans have a presumptive right to explore space and interact with the cosmos as we see fit particularly if there is (1) no one else in the universe to object, (2) no one else to harm and (3) plenty of room for everybody. Whilst there may be much debate about these principles, the need for

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appropriate governance to achieve whatever ethical principles are applied to space exploration and exploitation is clear. Shackleford (2014, p. 431) emphasised the importance of space and consequently its good governance citing national and commercial interests in the political, military and economic spheres with close ties to nuclear non-proliferation, economic development and human rights. Space has become vital to every nation relying on everything from weather forecasting to satellite telecommunications. We return to ethics and space in Chap. 7. Meanwhile Dudley-Flores and Gangale (2012, p.  184) noted the: increasing numbers of industrializing societies leapfrogging to advanced industrial status; rising global population, among whom are increasing numbers of those who desire the fruits of advanced industrialization; decline in easily extractable petroleum resources; and known and unforeseen challenges to an Earth becoming more extreme as climate change and its effects play out

One impact is the increased interest and reliance upon space and therefore the need for governance reform. Dickens and Ormrod (2016, p. 446) suggest that governance of outer space is seriously important and particularly so because the conquest of space represents the ultimate victory of abstract space (Shaw, 2008, p. 1150). This has occurred because any ‘meaningful distinction between terrestrial space and the rest of the cosmos has been eroded. This is not to say that the whole of outer space has been humanized, which of course it has not, but that space has come to be reconceptualized and re-­experienced as a space for accumulation like any other. It is a space that thoroughly colonized by terrestrial knowledge and practice (whether considered primarily capitalist, male, white or anything else)’. Given that the governance of outer space is clearly of some significance it is also important to understand the philosophical context that affects outer space; this may sound esoteric but unlike what might be considered conventional economic, technical financial or operational issues, outer space has a much greater social even quasi-religious aura and one that has serious impact upon the design and acceptance of any governance that it

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acquires. The maritime sector also exhibits some of these issues—for example, the irrationality of the ‘ancient mariner’ syndrome that seriously holds back development within the sector, and an unjustifiable obsession with sovereignty by some parties (this is separate from the abuse of sovereignty, national flags and registers for the benefit of shipowner profit)—but not to the extent that characterises the whole pursuit of outer space, exemplified in practice by the wholly, financially insecure investments of Virgin Galactic and Elon Musk’s SpaceX. And so to philosophy. The Earth is the cradle of mankind but one cannot remain in the cradle forever. (Tsiolkovsky, 1954) Man must rise above the Earth—to the top of the atmosphere and beyond—for only then will he fully understand the world in which he lives. (Socrates, quoted in French & Burgess, 2007, p. 127)

Some of those heavily involved in the development of space exploration were confident about the importance of philosophy to their work. For example, Frodeman (2005, p.  203) quoted former NASA Administrator Sean O’Keefe who suggested that within US President George W. Bush’s The Vision for Space Exploration, that the plan was not ‘merely for the sake of adventure, however exciting that might be, but seeks answers to profound scientific and philosophic questions’. Frodeman (2005, p. 203) went on to quote Adam Keiper (2003) paraphrasing from Tom Wolfe’s The Right Stuff book published in 1979 on the space race— the early space programme ‘was about guts and glory, about the endurance of the human body and soul in the deadly void’—but all this he considered meaningless unless followed up by ‘careful, in-depth reflection into the meaning and values of exploiting and inhabiting space’. The philosophical impulse was sustained by Dickens and Ormrod (2007, p. 622) who placed the whole process of space exploration and exploitation within a ‘Wizard of Oz’ effect, ‘in which power is maintained by those with mechanical control of the universe but hidden by a mask of mysticism that keeps the public in a position of fear and subservience’. Sensing that this suggested that ‘society’s relations with the

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cosmos are at a tipping point’, this emphasises the need to understand fully the philosophical implications of the venture especially as there remains a continued struggle between the use of space for what they term primarily humanitarian ends and needs (environmental sustainability, social justice, etc.) and those characterised by military, political and economic domination. In philosophical opposition to the majority of pro-space activists (though they rarely clash in reality) are a growing number of social movement organisations and networks established to contest human activity in space, the use of nuclear power in space and creation of space debris.

Reiman (2009, p. 81) was in agreement about the significance of the philosophical to space enterprises of any sort suggesting that extending the human influence beyond Earth presents specific and notable philosophical problems. To have any chance of understanding these problems then it is necessary to ‘conceptualise’ what is meant by space and then the debate focusses upon whether space constitutes an environment rather than just a resource to exploit. This in turn leads on to questions of ethics (to which we return later in some detail) and the moral implications of human space exploitation and exploration, both philosophically determined. Peeters (2012, p. 33) further emphasised the need for a philosophical appreciation of man’s relationship to outer space referring to Von Puttkamer (1992) who had noted how in the past science and philosophy were always taught by the same person. Around 400 years ago a schism occurred separating the material sciences and the spiritual world, whilst this was necessary for science to progress with less constraints, it is now necessary to reunite the two at least to a certain extent to appreciate the significance and impact of space on society. From a philosophical perspective: Today this schism, this tremendous gap between the spiritual world and the material world of science, causes great concern to many people, particularly also to scientists. With everything in the physical sciences, specifically in subatomic physics as well as cosmology, becoming, by necessity,

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more statistical, there is a feeling that certain concepts from the spiritual side may have to be taken into consideration… I think it could be one of nature’s principles that for each step further out into the physical world, we are also taking a step deeper into our inner world, whether we want to or not. (Von Puttkamer, 1989, p. 21)

Further commentary came from Hermann Oberth, considered by Peeters to be a major space pioneer. Oberth merged elements of political science and power with those of philosophy in the context of space, strongly criticising communist materialism (and hence the exploitation of space), which he believed ‘was unable to explain such aspects of human life as the soul’ (Oberth, 1959). Dickens and Ormrod (2007, p. 610) made a substantial contribution towards understanding the importance of the philosophical perspective for outer space and man’s relationship to it noting the emergence of ‘abstract theories about the origin and nature of the universe not amenable to empirical testing’. These theories, they considered, were ‘increasingly detached not only from everyday knowledge and understanding, but even from scientific observations of the heavens’ (Frankel, 2003; Lerner, 1991; Norris, 2000). Noting as well, the increased humanisation of space (greater social and physical rather than spiritual interaction), they ask: ‘In what ways is our relationship with the universe a product of Earthly society, and how in turn does this relationship with the universe alter Earthly social processes and, crucially, the selves of different groups of people?’ They go on to argue that the result of this is the emergence of a new relationship between the cosmos and human society, the product of ‘the discovery of a cosmos that unlike the closed one envisaged by its predecessors from Aristotle to the medieval astronomers, was essentially open, even infinite and made up of the same stuff as the Earth’ (ibid., 612). This was paralleled by the emergence of a new self—more ‘open and infinite in its capacities’. It was of course no accident that the birth of the modern self and the birth of the modern cosmos took place at the same historical moment. The Sun,

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trailing clouds of glory, rose for both, in one great encompassing dawn. (Tarnas, 2006, p. 4)

To quote Dickens and Ormrod again: In short, the confident, self-expanding, potentially infinite, individual (one pre-figuring the ‘have it all’ narcissistic individual that characterizes contemporary capitalistic subjectivity) was a product of the discovery of a cosmos and a society which was itself seen as open and infinite. By the same token, this notion of a potentially self-creating further enhanced and supported observation and yet further exploration of an infinite world and heavens. (ibid., 612)

They go on to suggest that ‘we are now witnessing widespread adult infantile narcissism as a predominant personality type in the west’ (Craib, 1994; Dean, 2000; Dickens, 2004; Lasch, 1979, 1984; Sennett, 1974, 1977, Westen, 1985). As they rather nicely put it, ‘very large numbers of the most economically and socially dominant people are failing to adequately grow up’; and to back up their argument they note the work of Freud (1914) who suggested the constant and wholly unreasonable demands by infants on the world in general and their parents in particular, expecting the universe to orient around them. And here we can see the same occurring as outer space technically opens up to more social and material opportunities with those in positions of exploitation, and the increasingly wider range of individuals in society, supporting its use and abuse without consideration of the wider ramifications. This presents a range of philosophical uncertainties, debates and questions that largely remain unanswered but which have serious ramifications for its governance. Dickens and Ormrod go on to suggest that these developments are dangerous and present sizeable difficulties in designing governance for a newly emerging and available commons in outer space where the control of personal and individual desires and predisposition to rights is made less and less effective with predictable results, leading to: the making of ‘insatiable personalities’ (see Dean, 2000) for whom the world is experienced as the means to satisfy an internal lack. They fantasize

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and daydream about their access to the world and its goods, remaining as do infants, severely detached from the world in which they live and work. They fail to recognize that, even if they fantasize otherwise, they are still dependent individuals. If they make sufficient demands (particularly with the aid of cash) they appear omnipotent and capable of acquiring and achieving almost anything. The reality principle has still not struck home. And this is damaging in many ways, not least to other individuals whose rights are over-ridden and unrecognized. Furthermore, self-­absorption of this kind is damaging to external as well as internal nature. (ibid., 614)

Like outer space. And the high seas. They continue by suggesting that this ‘adult narcissism’ emerged from the Renaissance and developed through the Enlightenment and then into the twenty-first century. Potentially owning and occupying parts of the universe beyond Earth are the result and consequences of the rising cosmic consciousness, one simultaneously envisaging a cosmos out there waiting to be occupied while demanding entry into that same cosmos. (ibid., 615)

Much of this rings true when considering the governance of outer space and incidentally that of the high seas in the last few centuries through to today where the resources of the oceans and those of the bordering lands are still seen as fair game for all, preferably at little or no cost to the exploited. Essentially this is perhaps the major problem underlying management of the commons and as a consequence its governance. Ormrod (2006) had taken this further, identifying a ‘pre-space’ movement, paid up members of pro-space organisations, meeting to discuss the science and technology required to explore, develop and colonise the universe and lobbying politicians with the aim of achieving this. Dickens and Ormrod (2007, p. 615) comment on this trend in some depth: There are strong indications that these pro-space activists are amongst those most affected by late modern narcissism. Early on in life, these activists come to project infantile unconscious fantasies (those relating to omnipotence and fusion within the infant’s universe) into conscious fantasies about exploring and developing space, which increasingly seem a pos-

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sibility and which now achieve legitimacy largely through the ideology of the libertarian right. Those who have grown up in the ‘post Sputnik’ era and were exposed at an early date to science fiction are particularly likely to engage in fantasises or daydreams about travelling in space, owning it, occupying it, consuming it and bringing it under personal control. Advocates talk about fantasies of bouncing up and down on the moon or playing golf on it, of mining asteroids or setting up their own colonies.

They suggest that not all these people grow up to realise or attempt to realise these fantasies but that some dominant sectors of Western society reflect these ambitions. Any design for governance needs to recognise this movement and the celebrity status of those participating if it is to be relevant and therefore have any chance of being effective. Central to all this is the notion of power, something discussed by Roe (2016a, 2020) in relation to maritime governance and which is equally if not more so important to the governance of outer space. We return to power in Chap. 7. Outer space is seen as an object to be conquered, controlled and consumed (much in the same way that maritime empires of the past have always acted—the UK, Netherlands, Spain, etc.). Whilst early visions of Earth at the centre of the universe were slowly destroyed by the contributions of Copernicus, Kepler and Galileo, the rise of science, and man’s relationship to it, has opened up new opportunities manifesting itself in terms of power. As a result: Though no longer residing at the centre of the cosmos, humanity, Kepler showed, could comprehend it. Therefore… not only was the universe within man’s intellectual reach, it was in principle, within physical reach as well. (Zubrin with Wagner, 1996, p. 24)

But we shall leave it noting in particular how important considerations of such pressures and activities, manifesting themselves commonly in terms of power, can be for the design and effectiveness of governance of the commons in general and outer space in particular. Miller (1984, p. 26) suggested that outer space was not particularly of interest to a large proportion of the population. Although now outdated and relevant only to the USA, his comments on the salience of space

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suggested that despite the success of Apollo and the subsequent Shuttle programme, space remained an irrelevance to two-thirds of the general public. The consequence of this is that the governance of the extreme Pro-Spacists and their ambitions is something that needs to be kept in perspective—although changes in the relative significance of populism in space since the 1980s should also be noted. Meanwhile the interest in the relationship between philosophy and space accelerated from the later 1970s as focus upon attempted communications with ‘extra-terrestrial civilisations’ raised its head at the meeting of the UN COPUOS held in Vienna from 20 June to 1 July 1977 (Othman, 2011, p. 694). Several philosophical issues were suggested that should be considered whenever the possibility of extra-terrestrial communications arises including: • Would works of art represent humanity better than samples of scientific knowledge? • Should messages be composed under the sponsorship of an international body such as the United Nations, if they are to represent mankind? • Should a register of messages to extra-terrestrial civilisations be established and maintained? • Should the preparation of messages be done directly by the United Nations as an activity that would unify nations? This was followed by messages carried by two Voyager spacecraft launched the same year in August and September travelling towards the edge of the solar system. This artwork carried the messages: • As the Secretary-General of the United Nations, an organisation of 147 member states who represent almost all of the human inhabitants of the planet Earth, I send greetings on behalf of the people of our planet. • We step out of our solar system into the universe seeking only peace and friendship, to teach if we are called upon; to be taught if we are fortunate.

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• We know full well that our planet and all its inhabitants are but a small part of this immense universe that surrounds us, and it is with humility and hope that we take this step. Unsurprisingly God has not been left out of all this either. Peeters (2012, p. 28) refers to the philosophical effect upon astronauts of space travel and in particular the religious impact. He quotes the astronaut James Irwin (1973): After the flight, the power of God was working in me, and I was possessed by a growing feeling that God did have a new vision for me.

Meanwhile Peeters also referred to Charles Duke who had noted a similar experience after his Apollo 16 moonwalk (Duke & Duke, 1990). In addition, the religious aspect associated with outer space was also a feature of the world of early pioneers including Konstantin Eduardovich Tsiolkovsky who in 1926 produced a 16-point roadmap for exploration of space and its exploitation by humans: 1. Design of rocket airplanes with wings. 2. Progressive increase in the speed and altitude of these planes. 3. Design of a real rocket without wings. 4. Developments of the ability to land on the surface of the sea. 5. Achievement of a velocity as high as 8 km/s, allowing a rocket to break through the atmosphere. 6. Lengthening of rocket flight time in space. 7. Use of plants to create an artificial atmosphere in spacecraft. 8. Use of pressurised space suits for activity outside spacecraft. 9. Creation of orbiting greenhouses for plants. 10. Construction of large orbiting habitats around Earth. 11. Use of solar radiation to grow food, heat space quarters and transport people and materials throughout the solar system. 12. Colonisation of the asteroid belt. 13. Colonisation of the entire solar system and beyond. 14. Perfection of society and its individual members. 15. Overcrowding of the solar system and colonisation of the galaxy.

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16. Dying of the sun and migration of those people remaining in the solar systems to other suns (Tsiolkovsky, 1995). Predictions 1–11 have come about and the remainder may take a while but who would dare to say that it might be otherwise? Tsiolkovsky developed his philosophical thoughts about space throughout his life (Tsiolkovsky, 1954). In an unpublished essay he suggested that: millions of millions of planets have existed for a long time and therefore their animals have reached a maturity which we will reach in millions of years of our future life on Earth. This maturity is manifested by perfect intelligence, by a deep understanding of nature, and by technical power which makes other heavenly bodies accessible to the inhabitants of the cosmos.

However, in contrast to the religious commentators from the later US space programmes that we noted earlier it remains interesting to remember the reverse happening in the USSR where cosmonauts were encouraged to make atheistic statements. One such example was from Gherman Titov, the second man in space on board Vostok2, who stated: Some people say that there is a God out there, but in my travels around the Earth all day long, I looked around. I did not see him. I saw no God. I saw no angels. (Pop, 2009, pp. 150–163)

Perhaps the last word on space and philosophy (at least for the moment) should follow from Elon Musk’s launch of Falcon Heavy from Cape Canaveral loaded with a red Tesla Roadster. This attempt at a mix of marketing, communication and ideology has been described as a ‘true disruption in the way the space narrative was delivered’ (ESPI, 2018). This story: • Builds on references to both space history and popular culture and promotes a democratisation of access to space and a progress in space exploration for the benefit of humankind.

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• Promotes tangible innovation: the footage of successes and failures instantly becomes marketing content, fostering a feeling of continued technological progress. • Leverages social media to engage directly with the general public. • Delivers a brand story: Elon Musk himself is a brand, a ‘self-made man’ living the American Dream, allegedly taking one high-tech industry after the other, and enjoying a kind of ‘cult following’ among technology enthusiasts. God has to make an entrance here because, as noted by Carl Sagan (1973, p. 1), ‘space exploration leads directly to religious and philosophical questions’. There is nothing short of a mountain written about the relationship of outer space to religion, something reflected in the words of the then President Richard Nixon on board the US Aircraft carrier Hornet in the Pacific Ocean: This is the greatest week in the history of the world since the Creation.

His views were emphasised by Wernher Von Braun, Adolf Hitler’s chief scientist behind the development of German V2 missiles in the Second World War, and who later worked on the US missile programme. He suggested that the Apollo programme was: extending this God-given brain and these God-given hands to their outer-­ most limits and in so doing all mankind will benefit. (Von Braun, 1969, pp. 75–76)

Also, God might very well: send his Son to the other worlds to bring the gospel to them—I believe the good Lord is full of such tremendous compassion that He will take whatever steps are necessary to bring the truth to His Creation. (Von Braun, quoted in Mailer, 1971, 78)

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This contrasts dramatically with the dearth of discussion that links religion to shipping, certainly in modern times. There is much that considers the significance of faith to the ancient maritime world but specifically since then, comparatively little else. However, we will begin by attempting to draw the threads of outer space religious debate together and placing them within the context of governance to establish the relationship that exists between the two. Let’s begin with a few quotes from the Bible. He stretches out the north over the void and hangs the earth on nothing. (Job 26:7) in the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form or void, and darkness hung over the face of the deep. (Genesis 1:1–31) When I look at your heavens, the work of your fingers, the moon and the stars, which you have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that you care for him? (Psalm 8:3–4)

There are many more and backed up by historical writings such as those by John Chamber who judged astronomy as: very instrumental, and helpful to our salvation, since neither nature, nor hath any thing more potent to stir us to the knowledge of God than the contemplation of heavenly motion. (Chamber, 1601)

Outer space, the sun, the moon, the stars feature throughout all religions. Attitudes towards them and reflections upon their creation and both deities and man’s relationships to them vary considerably but there is no denying their significance. This has provoked considerable debate and there is an obvious increase in interest in the relationship between religion and outer space in recent years. We return to this in Chap. 7 and in particular the relevance of religious architecture and space. Ambrosius (2015, p. 18) notes the work of Frodeman (2005), Carter (2006), Launius (2013) and Weibel (2015) but also goes on to suggest the importance of

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involving religious concepts into space policy because the latter is normally government stimulated and consequently can lack the social and ethical insights that religious viewpoints can bring. Policy-making is also a highly political activity and religion can have serious impact upon public opinion and political behaviour, stimulating the need for it to be an input into space policy-making (Smidt et  al., 2009; Ambrosius, 2011; and Djupe & Calfano, 2014). However, despite this obvious interest in the relationship between religion and outer space, there has been much less in terms of the effect upon space policy and hence governance, and considerably more upon the tangible impact of the development of outer space upon specific sectors of the population (e.g. Miller, 1984; Whitman Cobb, 2011). Meanwhile Ambrosius (2015, p. 20) notes how although there is little evidence of outer space penetrating religious teachings to any large extent, there is ample evidence of how those with religious leanings or responsibilities view the universe and man’s place within it. He cites examples of literature which imply connections between religion, spirituality and space including Mary Doria Russell’s The Sparrow (1996) and Children of God (1998) which consider motivations behind space travel and the place of religion in space. Not everyone is so positive about the relationship between outer space and religion and Carter (2006, p. 63), for example, suggested that it was nothing short of a disaster. He quoted Robert Frodeman (2005) of the University of Texas at Denton, who had noted that ‘it is time that we draw more consciously upon the expertise of scholars trained in the areas of art, philosophy and religion in the design of space policy’. Carter commented: I would agree that artists and philosophers may help the public to appreciate the true grandeur of the universe and thus increase popular support for the exploration of space, but I cannot think of a potentially more disastrous step than to bring ‘scholars trained in… religion’ into the development of our national space policy.

Lacey (2012, p. 1) was more positive about the relationship between religion and space although he did note that nowhere are the Heavens

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specifically designated in ‘God’s Word as man’s domain’, with the Bible simply lacking detail. He does suggest, however: If the expanse (translated as firmament or vault in some English Bible versions) also includes the sun, moon and stars—as Genesis 1:14–15 seems to imply—then it would follow that man would have been given dominion over outer space as well. In fact Psalm 8:6 states that mankind has been given dominion over the works of God’s hands. Why wouldn’t this include ‘the moon and the stars’, which are said to be the work of (God’s) fingers (Psalm 8:3) a few verses earlier?

Cohen (2013, p. 104) noted the development of the religious context upon NASA spacecraft from the launch of Skylab in 1973, suggesting that questions were being raised about how personal faith might be characterised and sustained whilst living for prolonged periods in outer space. He raised both legal and judicial impacts. Launius (2013, p. 48) was similarly as positive suggesting that human space exploration was commonly seen as a ‘spiritual quest, a purification of humanity, and a search for absolution and immortality’. He goes on: Human spaceflight in general, and perhaps Apollo in particular, represented the incarnation of a new religious tradition. The connections between ‘conventional’ religion and spaceflight are very real, and some have drawn those parallels, but the fact that human spaceflight might also be itself a new religion is especially telling.

Oliver (2013, p. 118) was rather more ambivalent: Theologians themselves equivocated between a celebration of space exploration as a fulfilment of the creative gifts that God had bestowed on humankind and an apprehension that—as mankind moved out into space far enough to contain the whole earth in his vision—he might forget the extent to which he owed his success to the sanction of the divine. In their reflections, they often invoked the Tower of Babel and the fate of Nebuchadnezzar (Leitch, 1969). Pope Paul VI applauded the first moon landing but cautioned that man was in danger of idolatrizing his own instruments, ‘perhaps to the point of madness’ (Bridgeport CT Post, 1969).

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The travails of Apollo 13, and the painful public vigil that attended its long twilight journey back to Earth, were thus widely interpreted as a salutary lesson. ‘God has heard us’ wrote 290 citizens of Grafton, North Dakota, in a telegram to the president. ‘The events of the last few days have again taught us what wonderful abilities God has bestowed upon man and it has also taught us we are ever continually dependent upon him’. (Gillquist et al., 1970)

Bjørnvig (2013, p. 5) outlined a quasi-religious perspective on space which had been developed by White (1987 and further elaborated in 1990 and 2012) which he termed the Overview Effect, summarised as the ‘impact of the view of Earth seen from space on both astronauts and humankind at large’. He suggested that it: can transform a person’s reality and entails the realization that Earth is a star-orbiting spaceship travelling through the galaxy. It is connected to changed ways of perceiving space and time along with intense experiences of silence and weightlessness. Central to it is a globalized, pacific vision of Earth as a borderless, interdependent system, dreams of a united humanity, and heightened ecological awareness.

Bjørnvig also envisaged the ultimate migration of significant parts of the human race into space. The Overview Effect was essentially a pro-­ space philosophy emphasising the benefits from the US space programme. It centred on the idea that it was the ‘destiny of humankind to expand to other worlds’ (Bjørnvig, 2013, p. 6), but also went much further in that the fundamental purpose of the space programme was to ‘recognise its connection to a profound human and universal purpose’ and to save the planet by getting a notable portion of humanity into space. White’s vision is summarised in Table 3.1. Bjørnvig (2013, p. 12) summarised the Overview Effect: Taken together, these ideas propose that evolution on a cosmic scale has a direction, that humanity has a cosmic purpose (which it may or may not successfully fulfil); that science and religion are, or will be synthesized; that planetary civilizations will become united and awaken into self-reflective consciousness; that other planets in other solar systems will similarly

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Table 3.1  The Overview Effect Step Civilisation 1 2

3 4

5

6

7

8 9

Mental state/ paradigm

Description

Pre-planetary

Present civilisation Overview effect— Results from seeing Earth from Planetary overview orbit system Terra—Psychology First new civilisation. Earth-­ of homeostasis centred overview civilisation Copernican Results from seeing Earth on perspective—Solar the way to or from the system overview Moon system Solarius— Second new civilisation. Psychology of Solar system overview change civilisation. First contact Universal insight— Results from seeing Earth on Galactic overview the way to or from the system Moon. May also result from contact with extra-terrestrial intelligence Galaxia— Third new civilisation. Psychology of Galactic, even inter-galactic, transformation overview of civilisation Universal overview Results from the same factors system as the Universal Insight Universe-spanning Fourth, final civilisation. civilisation— The universe has become a Cosma single, self-conscious entity

Source: Bjørnvig (2013, p. 7)

awaken; that interstellar communications will commence between these awakened civilizations, whether by psychical or physical means, and that whole stellar systems will become conscious, then galaxies, and finally the whole universe.

Bjørnvig (2013, p.  12) considers White’s Overview Effect as a ‘myth that not only helps build and maintain the pro-space movement’s religious world, but also naturalizes and universalizes the pro-space cause’. White meanwhile suggested that the new space programme should ‘recognize its connection to a profound human and universal purpose’ (White, 1987, p. 104). His ‘philosophy of space’ aimed to outline the

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future development of humanity revolving around his Overview Effect (Bjørnvig, 2013, p. 6). This rather conveniently links us back to the relationship of philosophy to outer space and how this has a religious dimension, something emphasised by Frodeman (2005, pp. 203–204). Take the example of the space station. We have missed an opportunity by not treating the space station as a humanities laboratory as well as a science laboratory. Treating the space station as a humanities laboratory would mean bringing scholars in history, politics, philosophy, art, music and religion in space. The experience of space travel and space inhabitation would inspire their thinking upon crucial issues such as the changing place of humanity in the universe, the implications of our growing understanding of the cosmos, and our increased appreciation of the interdependence of life on earth.

Harrison (2013, p. 27), whilst noting that much of the space philosophy of both the original space superpowers of the USA and the USSR stemmed from religion, went on (2014, p.  31) to borrow extensively from Launius (2013, p. 46) to emphasise the philosophical connections between religion and spaceflight in particular, suggesting that ‘traditional religious values and ideals associated with faith, allegiance, reverence, worship and salvation provide original source material for a common set of beliefs and practices that constitute civil religion’. Launius (2013, p. 46) noted that spaceflight: addresses deep-seated needs that strike to the confluence of the scientific pursuit of knowledge and the philosophical understanding of man’s place in the universe.

However, for Carter (2006, p. 63), the importance of philosophy and religion should not be over-emphasised particularly when considering space policy: I am not suggesting that religious scholars would resort to coercion to influence our national space policy, but I see no reason to take the risk that they might, by inviting their opinions on an endeavour that has nothing to

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do with religion—collecting the scientific data required to answer the three well-posed questions that are already a part of our space policy.

Lacey (2012, p. 1) was in agreement suggesting that the heavens are never specifically noted in God’s word as man’s domain and in fact commonly were the home of the angels. Heaven was seen to be the location of the throne of God and if extended to include the atmospheric and interstellar heavens as well, this certainly does not suggest that God is prohibiting men from flying in planes and rockets, ‘but rather that He is in control of these places as well as Earth’. Arnould (2008, p. 446) presented a different perspective on the relationship between God and the philosophy of outer space, outlining the God of the Gaps theory which he suggested was indicative of a danger of confusing belief with ignorance. Here, anything that human knowledge cannot understand or explain is clearly divine. What Arnould terms a ‘convenient way of filling the gaps in human ignorance’—which also means that the more humans do understand, the less room there is for God. Ignorance is viewed as defect either to be ‘eradicated or exploited for one’s own benefit’. This has clear relevance to outer space where the gaps in knowledge remain sizeable despite enormous scientific progress. God’s social status relies on the scientific inadequacy of our understanding of outer space and hence He finds Himself increasingly under pressure. This is not new with the contributions of Copernicus, Kepler, Galileo and others all nibbling away at His status. In fact the origins of these ‘attacks’ on God’s position can be traced back much further. Take Nicholas of Cusa (1440, p. 12): The world does not have a circumference… Therefore the Earth, which cannot be the centre, cannot be devoid of all motion… The poles of the world do not exist… the world machine will have its centre everywhere and its circumference nowhere, so to speak… The blackness of the Earth does not prove that it is lowly… The earth is made of the same elements as the Sun… Even the corruption of the things of the Earth is not valid proof of any lack of nobility….

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Consequently, it makes no sense to speak of the Earth as a central body, nor as an inferior body. The Earth, he believed, was as worthy as all other celestial bodies and moved like every other body. Launius (2013, p.  49) continued the general theme that God was happy to accept the responsibility for outer space and all the activities that went on in it. Human space flight was seen as the ‘incarnation of a new religious tradition’, with real connections with what he terms conventional religion including God. Meanwhile, Peters (2011, p. 653) was a little more circumspect quoting David Wilkinson, a Methodist theologian who was also member of the Royal Astronomical Society and convinced that we are not alone in the universe: Would the discovery of life elsewhere in the Universe so contradict the central beliefs of Christianity that it would bring it crashing back to the grave? (No he answers). For the vast majority of the Christian church, the existence of extra-terrestrial intelligence is not a big deal. (Wilkinson, 1997, p. 124)

Ham (2014) expresses some surprise at the focus upon the extra-­ terrestrial issue. I’m shocked at the countless hundreds of millions of dollars that have been spent over the years in the desperate and fruitless search for extra-terrestrial life… (S)ecularists are desperate to find life in outer space, as they believe that would provide evidence that life can evolve in different locations and given the supposed right conditions! The search for extra-terrestrial life is really driven by man’s rebellion against God in a desperate attempt to supposedly prove evolution!

Wilkinson continues by commenting that we bear the imago dei, are loved by the same God who created all the star systems and regardless of our smallness and remoteness, we remain God’s beloved creatures. ‘No future interaction with extra-terrestrials will alter this biological fact’. ‘We can remain special in God’s eye without denying divine love and concern for other intelligent beings living elsewhere’.

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Not everyone agrees about the significance of God in outer space and the long feud between the USA and USSR in space during the Cold War from the 1950s onwards contained many examples of this. Pop (2009, p. 156) is particularly useful here citing Cosmonaut Pavel Popovich, who joked that ‘God is my co-pilot and his name is Adrian Grigorevich Nikolayev’. After his return from space Titov declared: Some people say there is a God out there, but in my travels around the earth all day long, I looked around. I did not see him. I saw no God. I saw no angels… I do not believe in God. I believe in man, his strength, his possibilities, his reason. (Getz, 1998)

Titov was asked at the 1962 International Space Symposium, ‘In Communism you do not believe there is a God. Did your spaceflight alter that?’ He replied: Not at all… only now there is proof for the Communist position. I went into space and did not see God, so that must mean that God does not exist.

Meanwhile the US astronaut John Glen’s reply to the same question differed somewhat: I did not expect to… The God I believe in is not so small that I thought I would run into Him, just a little bit above the atmosphere.

Titov’s claims were reaffirmed by the then prime minister of the USSR Nikita Khrushchev who claimed that one of the purposes of sending Yuri Gagarin into space was to check out the claims of the priests that out there, paradise was located. Instead he suggested that they found nothing. ‘It is pitch dark there’ he said: no garden of Eden, nothing like Heaven.’ So he decided to send another explorer. We sent Gherman Titov and told him to fly for the whole day. After all Gagarin was only up there an hour and a half. So he might have missed Paradise. We told him to take a good look. Well he took off, came back and confirmed Gagarin’s conclusion. He reported that there was nothing there. (Sulzberger, 1961, p. 18)

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Messages such as this were common, perhaps reflecting a shortage of confidence in the Communist society that issued them. Take the 1960 Christmas message from Radio Moscow, quoted in Glenn (1964, p. 8): Our rocket has by-passed the Moon. It is nearing the sun, and we have not discovered God. We have turned the lights out in heaven that no man will be able to put on again. We are breaking the yoke of the Gospel, the opium of the masses. Let us go forth, and Christ shall be relegated to mythology.

The concept of denying God’s role in space was perpetuated through a series of conferences on atheism in Moscow in the 1960s, organised by the ruling Communist Party. Titov contributed again declaring that the Cosmonauts had undertaken a series of anti-religious experiments in space but provided no details. ‘Studying the cosmos and penetrating further and further into the depths of the universe leaves no place (left) for God on Earth or in Heaven’ (Pidcock, 2000). Peeters (2012, p. 30) also noted the proactive role of the Soviet state in promoting atheism repeating Titov’s views, although he did comment on the occasional lapse by famous cosmonauts, most notably Alexei Leonov, who had suggested that he retained a belief in God despite his travels. Meanwhile Harrison (2014, pp. 40–41) remarked upon how since Stalin’s time, and essentially from the formation of the Soviet state, the Soviet authorities had encouraged the view that religion was both superstitious and backwards and as a result contrasted with the need for the development of science and technology. Although Stalin permitted increased religious activity during the Second World War as a way of uniting the nation and feeding a movement of patriotism, under Khrushchev in the 1950s ‘renewed efforts were underway to debunk magic and religion and promote technology’. Harrison (2014, p. 41) notes the views of Smolin-­ Rothrock (2011): Rather than fulfilling mystical prophecies and bolstering ancient traditions, space achievements were to demonstrate technological superiority over the West, boost the production of consumer goods, and renew hope for communism. Sent forth to preach atheism, cosmonauts complained that due to their lack of religious education and access to bibles, they found

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it difficult to answer peasants’ questions. Furthermore, the church and much of the public simply accepted the co-existence of science and religion, and interpreted achievements in space as new proofs of God’s power.

This contrasted with the open expression of religious belief by astronauts especially during the later Mercury and Apollo periods which we have noted above. Mersch (2011, 2013) described how Gordon Cooper named his Mercury capsule Faith 7 and ‘tape recorded a prayer that he later read before Congress broadcast over the air’, an event further commented on by Cooper and Henderson (2000) and Harrison (2013, p. 28). Cooper’s prayer included: petitioning God ‘to help us in our future space endeavours that we may show the world that at a democracy really can compete, and that its people are able to do research, development, and conduct many scientific and technical programs’.

But we need to move on. Perhaps one way of achieving this is to consider Launius et al.’s (2013, p. 1) comments on the relationship between space exploration, excessive investment and blasphemy. This builds nicely upon Dodge and Perkins (2009, p. 498) and their review of the political and cultural significance of satellite imagery, noting that some see it as all about play: deriving pleasure from searching for ‘black helicopters’; engaging in virtual tourism and spying on the neighbours’ property; deriving affective pleasure from browsing image space; creatively making their own subversive mash-­ ups; or as part of a wider aesthetic performance.

The latter reflected the work of Kingsbury and Jones (2009) with Google Earth. However, perhaps more significantly they suggest that this satellite imagery heightens senses of pictorial realism and apparent naturalism, and in the process ‘belies the complex cultural processes underpinning’ their production. This process of ‘correction’ they term ‘lies’ is exemplified by Google Earth where a seamless image is constructed out

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of a mosaic of photographs taken at different times to eliminate cloud cover. Meanwhile, back to Launius et al. (2013). After tracing the origins of the space exploration programme from the 1950s onwards, they note the importance of Realpolitik and the Cold War in its continued promotion but that also: there may be what could be called a deeply religious quality to advocacy for the investment in and support for human space exploration, lending to the endeavour of a ‘higher purpose’ that helps to explain both the generous nature of the actual investment and the unwillingness of Americans to eviscerate space budgets.

Launius et al. (2013) suggest that this could be seen as potentially a blasphemous proposition, offending both the ‘faith claims of various traditional churches, as well as those who embrace space exploration as something akin to a religion’. Heaven does not escape scrutiny either. By the time of the Cold War space age, the reality of Heaven had lost its significance, although a popular philosophical image of Heaven in space remained for many believers of all faiths. Read (1957) made this clear: We must be factual and historical in our proclamation of the events in which God was savingly revealed to men, but avoid suggesting that the divine world itself can itself be located in space and time… The angelic worlds from which the Annunciation broke upon the Earth must not be confused with some portion of discoverable space.

The relationship between religion and outer space is clearly a persistent and deep one and through its cultural and social characteristics is a requirement for those with a responsibility for governance of outer space to acknowledge. Before we go on to examine the more specific ways that religions approach the issues that confront them in outer space we need to take a final look at the broader relationship between God, creation and the cosmos. Wellman (n.d., p.  1) is convinced that ‘God created the earth, the stars, and yes, the universe, including the space between these

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objects’, with the Bible speaking of three Heavens. The first is inhabited by the birds and the clouds; the second is where the moon and stars are located and the third is where Heaven is located, beyond our universe. Whilst a little over the top and thoroughly tautological, Wellman’s point still remains clear: Heaven must be another realm altogether, although it is a specific place. Are the heavens up or down? If they’re ‘up’ to us, we must remember it’s ‘down’ for others. We don’t know where heaven is, we only know that it does exist, because that’s where God dwells and today, Jesus is seated at the right hand of the Father, so it must be a real location. We just don’t know what that is.

He goes on to question what on Earth did God create the universe outside Earth for? Why would God create trillions of galaxies with even more trillions of stars or planets? Perhaps God has plans for the universe. Right now, it’s not a safe place to be. There are gamma rays, the cold of outer space, no oxygen, asteroids and comets. Life on other planets we know about cannot support life without a lot of help (sic). What was God thinking when he created all of these heavenly bodies? Was the universe a different place before Lucifer was cast down out of heaven? Was the fall in the Garden of Eden directly responsible for the fact that the planets are in decay and are now hostile environments and cannot support life? Were they capable of supporting life at one time, before Satan and mankind’s fall? What happened? Were they responsible, or have these planets always had hostile environments? No, some scientists say Mars had an atmosphere at one time, meaning it has water, and if there was water, there had to be oxygen, even if a little. We may never know the answers to most of these questions until we see God face to face.

Now I leave you to make your own mind up about all of this and the relationships between creation, God and outer space, but it is important to note Wellman’s clear bias even though the strength of his feeling remains significant regardless of scientific, social or philosophical accuracy:

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We know the heavens were created to declare His glory (Psalm 19: 1–2), and only a fool who sees the universe would say there is no God (Psalm: 1), so perhaps the reason there is an outer space is that we here on Earth can see just how much like a speck of dust we are compared to the entire universe.

OK. Other views of Creationism and its relationship to outer space also exist but with clear overlap. Kocher (1952) provides a detailed basis for all this, but we cannot do justice here so we shall just pick out a few points that connect creation, religion and outer space. He suggests that to begin with that there were three theories of matter: 1. From the Greek Aristotle who saw matter as composed of the primary qualities of heat, cold, dryness and moisture which combined to form the four elements, earth, water, air and fire. 2. Derived from the Parecelsans and supported over time by the medical community and pharmacologists, the alchemists’ view based around three chemical elements—salt, sulphur and mercury. 3. The atomism of Democritus and Epicurus which although accepted by some as an explanation for the human soul and by Gesner’s The Newe Jewell of Health (1576) remained widely ignored. None of these three theories of matter created great concern theologically as none interrupted God’s work in process. This is not the case with theories that suggested a pre-existing chaos, given to the gods before they created the world as is found in Ovid’s Metamorphoses. Renaissance theologians took the safe path of asserting that the Scriptures meant that ‘God created matter out of nothing, compacting therewith one universe and all creatures in it through a process lasting six days’ (Kocher, 1952, p. 102). However, over time this presented a problem, in that the rejection in the Renaissance of the Aristotelian-Ptolemaic view of the universe was difficult simply because it had become so closely entwined with Christian beliefs, whereby both camps believed that the world was made for man, with the Earth at the centre of the universe, characterised by air, water, fire and earth. This view of creation combining the Aristotelian and Christian viewpoints and rejected by the Renaissance scientists was summarised neatly by Kocher:

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Earth, his habitation, though dark and tiny, was the centre of the universe and the sole fixed point about which wheeled the entire structure. It was therefore in the full sense unique. Oceans lapped it, over them folded successive circles of air and fire… Here was the elemental world composed of Aristotle’s earth, air, water and fire, a region of continuous generation and corruption, perpetual decay, perpetual renewal. For within the limits of the orb of fire bounded by the moon’s sphere the elements went through an unending cycle of motion and transmutation; fire into air, air into water, water into earth and so back up the ladder again—all this under the drive of the motion imparted by the upper spheres and the animating heat of the sun. These processes of decay and rebirth, however, ended at the sphere of the moon. There, and in all the ethereal region extending upward to the outer crust of the universe, nothing ever changed until the Last Judgement. Locked within seven solid spheres revolving in the appropriate different periods, seven planets—the Moon, Mercury, Venus, The Sun, Mars, Jupiter and Saturn, in ascending order—moved but did not in any of their parts know birth or death. Above them, likewise permanent in perfection, were the spheres of the fixed stars, the crystalline heaven… and last the primum mobile or outer limit of the world, set in motion by the finger of God to revolve completely once every 24 hours and carry with it all the spheres below. Beyond these there were no time or space. The world ceased, but all around it—not as symbol but as fact—stretched the illimitable empyrean, home of angels, blessed spirits, and God. Motionless, pure, bright, everlasting it was known to be. Over questions about its size, shape, and other properties, however, religion threw her mantle while science averted her eyes. Little could be learned about such questions even from the word of God. (Kocher, 1952, pp. 103–104)

Now I know there’s a lot of this, but it reflects the importance of the concept of creation to any discussion of outer space, its philosophy and meaning. It generated and sustained the idea that nothing beyond the Moon could be ‘natural’, as beyond that limit all was supernatural, characterised by miracles such as comets and supernovas, ideas not dispelled until the development of science through the Renaissance accompanied by ‘God geometrising’, whereby He also created mathematics to design His universe in all its glory. The new geometer provided a strong link

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between the growth of sciences, established religion and, in our case, an understanding of outer space. Despite traumas, such views of the importance of God to the universe have not gone away and suggest that whatever is discovered about outer space, they never will simply because humans need them. Ambrosius (2015, p. 18), for example, refers to Ken Ham, an internationally known Creationist from Kentucky, who was certain that ‘aliens probably don’t exist—and if they do, they’re going to Hell anyway’ (Gates, 2014). But enough. The religious building blocks have been considered in some detail—God, Heaven, Lucifer, Angels and more—and although much more could be said the importance of religion to an understanding of man’s relationship to outer space should be clear by now and a simply scientific approach to governance which takes no account of this immense history will inevitably be inadequate. And so a brief visit to the Cold War. We have hinted at the significance of both the USA and the USSR to the development and characteristics of outer space and when it comes to the religious perspective their role has been no less important. It is not the intention here to dwell upon the Cold War and its impact for outer space except where this might have implications today for its governance. Many others have provided a considerably more detailed analysis than would be possible at this time, but the relationship of the two superpowers to outer space undoubtedly means that when the religion and its impact on the social context for governance are being considered, their role cannot be ignored. We have noted already the importance of atheism in the context of Soviet space activities. We return to this and cosmism after we have focussed upon the intense debate that has occurred in the USA particularly surrounding the Apollo programme and which remains active today. The strong links between the USA, religion and outer space have been illustrated by some of the comments above which have come mainly from astronauts. Wilson (1984, p. 211) provides some detail looking in particular at the Apollo programme, suggesting that ministers at the time were clear about their view that it was all a waste of money with limited contribution to scientific knowledge, with the main ambition of national prestige. Social priorities were emphasised and being far more important,

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as referred to by the civil rights leader Ralph David Abernathy at the Apollo 11 launch where he referred to Cape Canaveral as: really holy ground… (but) it will be more holy once we feed the hungry, care for the sick, and provide for those who do not have houses.

Wilson however described Apollo as ‘essentially priestly’, a kind of ‘patriotic version of the civil religion’ (Wilson, 1984, p. 212). The religious significance of outer space was further emphasised when astronaut Aldrin celebrated pre-flight communion in the lunar module with a wine chalice and passages from the Book of John. His pastor had prayed: We dedicate unto Thee, Thy servant and our brother, Edwin Aldrin, to represent the Body of Christ, our nation, and all mankind on the first expedition to another planet. (Aldrin Jr., 1973, pp. 232–233)

Religious controversy and outer space was not a new thing with Apollo 11. Apollo 8 was scheduled for Christmas week in 1968 and aimed to be the first flight around the Moon but generated a large number of complaints to NASA by fundamentalists. The response was for the crew to attend church the Sunday before the flight, whilst astronaut Jim Lovell suggested that he couldn’t ‘think of a better religious aspect of the flight than to further explore the heavens’. Meanwhile Commander of the flight was Frank Borman, a lay reader at the Episcopal Church who had converted Lovell to his faith. The other member of the crew, Bill Anders, was a Catholic. During Apollo 8, Borman read a prayer directed to God on behalf of, specifically the people of his church, and for the people of the world. On Christmas Eve, as the crew circled the Moon, cameras transmitted pictures back to Earth. Television displayed the wonders of American technology to the world. As the astronauts prepared to sign off, accompanying the last photos of the stark lunar landscape, Borman read the first ten verses of the book of Genesis, containing the Christian account of Creation. ‘God bless all of you—all of you on the good Earth’, Borman said in closing. (Wilson, 1984, p. 220)

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There are many other examples of religion playing a serious part in the exploration of outer space. Take Ed White, who on his orbital flight, carried a St Christopher medal, a crucifix and a Star of David, to ‘symbolize all religions on Earth’ (Harrison, 2014, p.  41). The impact of these attempts at some form of Americanised astro-religion was both substantial and notable in reflecting the importance of the religious context for outer space and consequently the need to accommodate this into any governance framework for the sector if its social and spiritual significance is to be properly recognised. Outer space, regardless of nation, is not just science, ambition, greed, violence, power or even fun. It is much more than this in terms of its impact and relationship to how the world is organised. Wilson (1984, p. 221) noted just some of the responses: • Billy Graham considered that it showed that man was a ‘spiritual being’ ‘more than a product of technology’. • The New York Board of Rabbis commended the astronauts for their ‘profound spiritual quality’, redirecting ‘man’s focus to God’. • Pope Paul VI suggested that the flight would enrich the spiritual life of mankind. This close affinity of religious and astronomical communities also generated discussion about the purpose of outer space exploration in the USA.  Oliver provides a very useful summary of the issues that he saw were central, both in general and more specifically to the Apollo programme. The programme represented: the incarnation of a new religious tradition. The connections between ‘conventional’ religion and spaceflight are very real and some have drawn those parallels, but the fact that human spaceflight might also be itself a new religion is especially telling. (Oliver, 2013; Mersch, 2011)

The linkage of these elements was expressed eloquently by Norman Mailer at the time of the Apollo programme. He suggested that it was about attempting to become ‘one with God’:

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They don’t know what to do when they get there. The fact that its technological is what’s wrong with it. Its too exclusively technological. People are sick to death of technology. The technologists themselves are wondering how they can control technology before technology wipes out the Earth. So what we are looking for at this time in human history is an enlargement of human consciousness, a rediscovery of spiritual values to which we can adhere because they deepen us. (Mailer, 1972)

In the view of Launius (2013, p. 49), Apollo was religious because it ‘evoked, in a metaphorical and absolutist sense, emotions of awe, devotion, omnipotence, and most importantly redemption for humanity… The promise of a utopian Zion on a new world coupled with immortality for the species, resonates through every fiber of the space exploration community’, and with most religions. However, not everyone was impressed by the spiritual contribution of the astronauts and their flight. Most famously Madalyn Murray O’Hair, a leader of American atheism, encouraged by a 1963 Supreme Court decision to ban prayers from schools which resulted from her suing a Baltimore School District, protested at the reading of Christian statements by state representatives, violating the principle of state and church separation and therefore unconstitutionally tying the nation to Christianity (Oliver, 2013, pp. 116–117). Speaking on a Houston radio station O’Hair suggested that astronauts, by reading from the bible, had been ‘slandering those persons who do not accept religion’ (Anon, 1968). O’Hair was further annoyed when she discovered that a NASA manager at Johnson Space Center was working with astronauts to place Bibles on the Moon (Harrison, 2014, p. 41). Despite a major mail campaign, attempts to obtain court orders, and an unsuccessful lawsuit filed against NASA (O’Hair v. Paine) (Mersch, 2013, pp. 71–72), O’Hair mainly succeeded in generating the opposite response to what she wanted with NASA receiving over eight million letters and petition signatures supporting the right of astronauts to free religious expression during missions (Oliver, 2013, pp. 116–117). However, indirectly, O’Hair’s campaign did result in a dilution of religious content for future Apollo missions (Christianity Today, 1969, pp. 36–37).

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The debate over the appropriateness of a religious dimension to outer space in the USA has continued despite (or perhaps because of ) its long history. Frodeman (2005) presents an example of someone who feels that faith issues should be a central part of any governance of the sector, whilst Carter (2006, p. 63) was emphatic that issues such as religion and culture should be excluded from the objectives of space exploration and certainly contrasted with the three fundamental questions that NASA was designed to (attempt to) answer: 1 . How does life begin and evolve? 2. Does life exist elsewhere in the universe? 3. What is the future of life on Earth and beyond? Whilst a religious dimension to each of these questions is clearly identifiable, it remains something hotly debated and yet as such needs to be considered in the design of any governance framework—perhaps more so because we are dealing with outer space and the largely unknown, but it also has relevance in other contexts including the maritime. Meanwhile, Cohen (2013, pp. 100–102) suggested that NASA, from its earliest days of the Mercury programme, had never seen a need for a religious dimension to its policies or, for example, to comment on the discussion of their beliefs by seven astronauts with members of the press in 1959, each disclosing a Protestant faith (Makemson, 2009, pp. 44–47). Before moving on to the Cold War opposition in the form of the USSR a suitable conclusion to the American context is provided by Pop (2013, pp. 81–82) who cited Charles Stark Draper, the developer of the Apollo 11 guidance and navigation system (Battin, 1989). During a visit to the Holy See, Draper told Pope Paul VI: ‘You and I are in the same business: celestial navigation’. Pop also remarked upon Michael Collins, an astronaut upon Apollo 11, who called the craft his ‘mini-cathedral’. Where others saw an instrument panel, Collins saw a nave and transept; removing the couch, he had a center aisle; and the tunnel connecting up to the Lunar Module was like bell tower (Mailer, 1971, p. 381). (Pop, 2013, pp. 81–82)

Pop continued:

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Yet the chancel was far away, on the lunar surface, where Buzz Aldrin converted the Eagle Lunar Module into his own sacred space—this time with a complete communion table—the panel in front of the Abort Guidance Section computer on which he placed the bread, the wine and the chalice he had brought with him. Years later, having shared Holy Communion in outer space, astronaut Tom Jones described the US Space Shuttle as ‘the most magnificent cathedral you can go to church in’. (Noble, 1997)

Despite being a central feature of the Cold War, the race for outer space domination generated far less controversy in the USSR compared with the USA.  Fairly obvious why, in that it was convenient that the Communist regime actively pursued an anti-religious policy across their activities and as such any conflict between faith and the exploitation of space was effectively squashed. We have seen earlier the importance of atheism as a trend within the USSR which formed a part of this anti-­ religious stance but one development that did affect both superpowers, although to a far lesser extent in the USA, was that of cosmism (Shlapentokh, 1992; Young Jr., 2012; Harrison, 2013). Cosmism was almost exclusively a Russian phenomenon and brought together philosophy, religion, values and spaceflight (Harrison, 2013, p.  27). It emerged in the mid-nineteenth century and survived late Tsarism, the Bolshevik Revolution, Communism and the emergence of modern Russian capitalism, to remain with us today. It is characterised by a mix of science, technology, mysticism and the occult. Underneath, it resembles closely the characteristics of the American vision of outer space—science, belief and emotion—but has formed a far less important and far less formalised movement in the USA. The extra significance of cosmism in the USSR was given a particular boost by the Russian Revolution of 1917 and the initial success of the 1920s with its added emphasis on science and technology. Harrison (2013, p. 27) provides some more detail, referring to Siddiqi (2010): In the 1920s, a growing sense of the possible empowered by the success of the Bolshevik Revolution and coupled with government efforts to excite interest in science and technology led to an explosion of interest in space travel. In Bolshevik Russia, carefully researched articles on spaceflight

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appeared in outlets such as Pravda. Scientific lectures sold out, and crowds stripped vendors’ shelves clean. Police were summoned to control crowds that were denied admission to space symposia or were excited by false rumours of an impending American rocket launch to the Moon. Societies with impressive names, and sometimes with impressive credentials, promulgated visionary ideas about space, and sponsored special exhibits featuring sleek rocket ships and eerie simulations of distant planetary surfaces. Space related themes infiltrated literature, art and the cinema, and people with different levels of education, skill, and imagination shared ideas.

Popular interest in spaceflight in the USSR slipped in the 1930s and 1940s with other distractions taking hold but rose substantially again in the 1950s with the launch of Sputnik. At the same time, interest in America also grew substantially with the growth in technology in all spheres of life with obvious implications for the space industry. There were references to rockets and space travel everywhere one looked, from television and movies to the pages of the Sunday comics to the hood ornaments of the latest-model Oldsmobile Rocket 88… Hardly a week went by without an article in at least one national magazine about the coming of age of spaceflight. (Miller, 2007, p. 509)

We have noted earlier the close relationship between what might be termed ‘conventional’ faith and spaceflight in the USA; in the USSR Pop suggested that Marxism was the most religious of all religions, with Marx standing for Moses and Lenin playing Christ. Icons were torn down and replaced by statues and pictures of Lenin, Marx and Engels, representing communist saints. ‘Pilgrims’ journeyed to Red Square to view Lenin’s embalmed remains, and as Pop (2009) noted, ‘just like any religion, communism needed its miracles’. All communism lacked was a resurrection. However, as noted by Smolin-Rothrock (2011), it was not that simple to exterminate a faith that had been around for over 1000 years. As we have seen, cosmonauts repeatedly reported travelling to space and finding no evidence of God or Heaven and the Soviet authorities had hopes that the conquest of space would finally ‘establish the absence of God and the primacy of science and technology’. At the same time, nature and God seemed to be irreconcilable and the Soviet public continued to flock to

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planetaria and telescopes whilst still remaining unquestioning of God’s greatness. Both church and public accepted the existence of science and religion with all its seeming contradictions. Flights to space are new proofs of God’s great power, and the idea that cosmonauts did not see God, well it is not as if he sits in one place. One cannot see God, he is a spirit. And if life on other planets is discovered, then their existence also involved the participation of God, he is all powerful. (Archpriest L.A. Taranovskii, quoted in Smolin-Rothrock, 2011, p. 190)

From all of these contradictions and debate in Russia and the USSR, there emerged cosmism, its origins in the nineteenth century generally credited to Nikolai Fedorov. His initial ideas focussed on the common task of humanity to resurrect the dead, and in so doing, unite all people for all time. This would be accomplished by technical, not mystical means. Space travel would be necessary to collect the cosmic dust of our ancestors, which would then be reassembled in physically and morally perfected form. Space travel would also be necessary to colonize enough planets to house everyone from everywhere and all from all times. (Harrison, 2013, p. 30)

OK, so this might sound barmy to us, but his ideas were actively taken up by Konstantin Tsiolkovskii in the early years of the twentieth century who wrote on philosophy, religion and social affairs and in the process set out the principles of cosmism. For Tsiolkovskii, mitigating beyond our terrestrial home was important. First, because it would guarantee human survival over the long-term, no matter how enormous the calamity that might befall Earth. Second, it would make it possible to develop and propagate societies beyond Earth. He envisioned a string of pearl-like satellites orbiting the sun, and he wrote fictional but realistic accounts of what it would be like to travel in space, providing details, for example, of the crushing press of gravity during launch and what it would be like in a micro-gravity environment. His ultimate goal was colonizing the universe and eliminating by any means possible all forms of imperfection, including human imperfection. He

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believed that humans would evolve to thrive in extra-terrestrial environments. Tsiolkovskii hoped to create a new race of super-humans who would eventually take the form of luminous rays. For him, space exploration was a means to an end, a way to achieve self-perfection and eternal human bliss. (Hagermeister, 2011). (Harrison, 2013, p. 31)

Cosmism has not gone away and remains alive and well in modern Russia where the ability to hold at the same time beliefs in space science and technology and various forms of faith—both involving conventional religions and otherwise—is still common. The atheistic principles of communism in some ways only encouraged continued religious practices and beliefs, and the existence of similar, if more conventional beliefs in the West only emphasises the need to recognise these irrational factors in the design of a governance framework for the space sector. To ignore their existence (albeit not necessarily to believe in their principles) would be to doom any attempt to failure. Faith is not just faith and one religion is not necessarily much like another—the result being that any attempt to accommodate the whole outer space game within a religious context has to take account of the differences that exist. We cannot spend too much time here and shall only look at the specific relationships between some of the different faiths and outer space. Possibly of most interest is that of Islam largely because it presents some interesting demands upon the believer which space makes more difficult to accommodate. Lawton and Moody (1986, p.  1) were early commentators taking as their central issue the USA’s Discovery Mission 51-G on 17 June 1985 and the fact that it included Prince Sultan ibn ‘Abd al-‘Aziz Sa’ud of Saudi Arabia, the first Arab, the first Muslim and the first member of royalty in space. Included in the mission’s tasks was the launching of a communications satellite for the Arab Satellite Communications Organization (Arabsat). In addition, Prince Sultan carried out a series of in-cabin experiments designed by Saudi scientists, talked to his uncle King Fahd, by telephone from space, gave a guided tour of the space shuttle’s interior in Arabic,

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which was beamed back to Arab television viewers on Earth, and also found time to pray and to read the Koran. (Lawton & Moody, 1986, p. 1)

There were some difficult decisions to make outside of those related to faith including dress. NASA jump suits were a requisite for launch and landing but once in orbit astronauts could choose whatever they wished. The Saudi national dress of thawb and ghutra were unsuitable for zero gravity because of their flowing nature. Meanwhile, it was possible to make the trip more meaningful for the Muslim Prince as he was able to photograph the new moon from above the Earth rather than from upon it, representing a significant moment as the sighting of the new moon at the end of the Muslim month of Ramadan signals the end of the dawn to dusk fast and the start of the Eid-al Fitr holiday. In addition, he also carried a Koran which contained inside a prayer dictated by his mother asking God to take care of travellers. Sunni Muslims are required to pray at five specific times of day and facing the holy city of Mecca whenever possible. Aboard Discovery, Sultan Al Saud adopted the schedule of a traveller, praying three times a day based on the time in Florida. However, other aspects of prayer were less easy to adjust. Al Saud abandoned attempts to face the holy city because of the shuttle’s orbital speed and he could not fully kneel in prayer due to the complete lack of gravity. (Cohen, 2013, p. 104)

Harrison (2014, p. 43) briefly noted some of the Islamic issues whilst Lewis (2013) wrote extensively about the observation of Muslim religious rites in outer space. She noted in particular the spatial demands of Islam, different from monotheistic religions, in its ‘routine attention to Earth geography and astronomy’ (Lewis, 2013, p. 108). Clearly this presents challenges to Islamic worship, reflected in the fact of the few Muslims who have taken to space in recent decades, only half have attempted to modify their faith practices. However, there are more challenges. Fasting from sunrise to sunset, particularly in low orbit, presents a conundrum as this may occur up to 16 times in 24  hours, effectively every 90  minutes. A Malaysian

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cosmonaut, Sheikh Muszaphar Shukor, took part as a member of the crew on Expedition 16 to the International Space Station in 2007, part of which coincided with Ramadan. Shukor requested advice from the Islamic National Fatwa Council and the result was a set of Guidelines for Muslims in Space (Guidelines for Performing Islamic Rites at the International Space Station) which provided Muslims with advice including ‘how to pray in a low-gravity environment, how to locate Mecca from the space station, how to determine prayer times, and issues surrounding fasting’ (Lewis, 2013, p. 114). The Malaysian Minister for Religious Affairs, Abdullah Md Zin, suggested that the production, translation, and distribution of the guidelines were aimed at ensuring astronauts could concentrate upon mission goals rather than worrying about how to perform religious obligations in space. These guidelines were subsequently translated into Russian, Arabic and English. However, Islam is not alone in presenting issues in space that must be resolved. The difficulties of following the Jewish faith in space had been a topic of interest since the early 1960s although the first American Jewish astronaut Judith Resnick only flew aboard Discovery STD-41-D in 1984 (Rosenfeld, 1964–1965; Jakobovitz, 1966; Cohen, 2013, p.  104). In contrast to Islam, Judaism presents less conflicts with the requirements of outer space travel and consequently has generated considerably less material and discussion. Cohen (2013, pp. 104–105) outlines the main issues suggesting that the need to keep the Sabbath had been actively discussed since the mid-1960s. The requirement of the Orthodox Jewish community in its application of Halakhah (the Jewish religious law) is that ‘the Sabbath lasts from sundown on Friday until an hour following sunset on Saturday, a duration of approximately 25 Earth hours’. For example, this can present difficulties simply because sunset can occur every 90 minutes during Earth orbit, and so how exactly could Jewish astronauts ‘remember the Sabbath day by keeping it holy’ (Exodus, 20:8)? Cohen (2013, p. 105) notes: Rabbis have reached a range of conclusions. Some hold that Jews would not be obligated to halakhah while in space; others maintain the stringent

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demand that observant Jewish astronauts maintain allegiance to a seven-­ day, sunset-based calendar. (Bleich, 1977, pp. 211–212; Levi, 1998)

An alternative view was that it was most appropriate to observe the Sabbath based on the time at a specific ‘point of reference’ on Earth (Cleveland, 1966). Rosenfeld (1964–1965, p. 28) was particularly useful in outlining five specific problems that the emergence of the space age presented for orthodox Jews: 1. An astronaut in an equatorial-orbit satellite sees the sunset approximately every 90 minutes. Does he (sic) keep the Sabbath for 90-plus out of every 630 minutes? 2. Another astronaut in a polar-orbit space station sees the sun continuously at the times of year when the plane of his orbit is tangent to the earth’s orbit and has a 90-minute cycle during the rest of the year. When does he keep the Sabbath? 3. The inhabitants of a lunar base have month-long intervals between sunsets. Do they keep the Sabbath for one month out of every seven? 4. On Mars the day is a little over 24.5 hours long. Do the colonists keep the Sabbath according to the Mars day or the Earth day? 5. An interstellar expedition has lost sight of the sun; when does its ‘day’ begin and end for halakhic purposes? Obviously, many other specific problems could be envisaged but these five provide a good indication of the difficult issues that the Sabbath raises for the orthodox Jewish space traveller. Rosenfeld (1964–1965, p. 29) also provided a very appropriate example of how similar issues arise for those on-board ship—particularly useful here where we are attempting to see what can be learned from maritime governance for the governance of the space sector. The quote is long but helps to indicate the problems faced and how they might be resolved, and also the need for an understanding of such issues when designing governance regimes for the space (and shipping) sector. Imagine a ship which sets out to circumnavigate the world at latitude 60° south, starting just east or west of longitude 180° and proceeding eastward

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or westward at the very reasonable rate of 15° of longitude per 24-hour day. The complete circumnavigation thus takes 24 days, during virtually all of which time the International Date Line is not crossed. When do the passengers keep the Sabbath during the first three weeks of their voyage? …The natural, and presumably correct, answer is that they keep the Sabbath at seven-sunset intervals. What makes this answer non-trivial however, is that because of the ship’s motion, the passengers clock the intervals between successive sunsets as 23 or 25, rather than 24 hours, depending on their direction of travel. This case thus appears to suggest to the dismay of potential Sabbath observing astronauts, that the astronomical basis for Sabbath observance suggested above is in fact the correct one—in other words, that the Sabbath must be observed in accordance with astronomical ­observation even if this leads to elapsed-time intervals which differ significantly from 24 hours. What appears at first glance to be an exactly contrary conclusion can be drawn from a second important terrestrial precedent—the case of inhabitants of the Polar regions. As is well known such individuals continue to keep a 24-plus hour Sabbath at roughly 168-hour intervals even at times of the year when the astronomical phenomena which usually define the beginning and ending of the Sabbath do not occur at all. These apparently contradictory cases can be neatly reconciled if it is realized that in both instances the Sabbath is kept for one out of every seven of the ‘days’ by which the local community lives. In the ‘ship time’ case it is quite easy for the passengers to live on a ‘sky day’ schedule, since this is only an hour or so longer or shorter than the usual 24; the ‘sky day’ therefore governs them for halakhic purposes, even though it may differ appreciably from the usual 24-hour ‘clock day’. In the Polar settlement, on the other hand, it is not physically possible to live by the ‘sky day’ throughout the year; the ‘clock day’ thus becomes the preferred regime. This role of the local community defining the time of the occurrence of the Sabbath may be derivable from the Biblical dictum ‘It is Sabbath… in all your places of settlement’ (Lev. 33.3). (Rosenfeld, 1964–1965, pp. 29–30)

The issues presented by the Jewish Sabbath are clear and argument continues over their resolution. Rosenfeld (1964–1965, pp. 32–33) suggests that the Halakhot may be completely inapplicable to extra-terrestrial activities because of its Earthly time dependence and as the concepts of day, week, month and year beyond Earth become meaningless.

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Justification for this is provided by some observers in considering similarly difficult geographical commandments, for example, which only need to be observed in Israel. As a consequence it is justifiable that others can be astronomical and therefore only need to be observed on Earth. However, Rosenfeld is not convinced citing Jewish agricultural festivals which can still be observed in the Southern Hemisphere even though it might be out of season. He concludes, the Sabbath: has its roots not merely in history but in cosmology—‘in commemoration of the Creation at the Beginning!’ No, the Sabbath is not merely terrestrial, but universal; not transient, but eternal, until mankind reaches the ultimate culmination of the ‘day which is all Sabbath’.

Islam and Judaism provide the best examples of the need to understand the relationship of faith to outer space and its governance but other faiths also have their issues and have made contributions, albeit limited, to the debate. Catholicism also presents its own particular relationship with outer space. Goodwin (1962, p. 125), for example, notes that the Roman Catholic church was the first to take an explicit position in relation to outer space. Pope Pius XII addressed the International Astronautical Federation Meeting in Rome in 1956 and suggested that God clearly intended man to use the capabilities he had to explore outer space, justifying his assumption on the basis that if man had the capabilities to do something then clearly God approved it. That raises some dodgy questions about the activities of man in times of war, rape, incest, racism and other unpleasant acts but we shall just leave that here for the reader to think about. Meanwhile Goodwin (1962, pp. 125–126) noted C.S. Lewis’ contribution to Christian space theology: Each new discovery, even every new theory, is held at first to have the most wide reaching theological and philosophical consequences. It is seized by unbelievers as the basis for a new attack on Christianity; it is often, and more embarrassingly, seized by injudicious believers as the basis for a new defence. But usually, when the popular hubbub has subsided and the novelty has been chewed over by real theologians, real scientists, and real phi-

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losophers, both sides find themselves pretty much where they were before… So, I cannot help expecting, it will be with the discovery of ‘life on other planets’—if that discovery is ever made. (Lewis, 1958)

Further, Lewis also argued that in Paul’s letter to the Romans (8: 19–23), God had suggested that the desire for redemption was cosmic and consequently not limited to Earth. Paul also spoke of suffering, viewing it as not just a personal issue but also one that represented a cosmic level of decay and deterioration, where our entire reality is under a curse. Meanwhile Wirt (n.d.), in an interview with Lewis, extracted a rather less positive response: I look forward with horror to contact with the other inhabited planets if there are such. We would only transport to them all our sin and our acquisitiveness and establish a new colonialism. I can’t bear to think of it. But if we on Earth were to get right with God, of course all would be changed. Once we find ourselves spiritually awakened, we can go to outer space and take the good things with us.

Ambrosius (2015, p.  19) also considered the protestant attitude to outer space and more specifically the issue of exploration and potential extra-terrestrial life (Ashkenazi, 1992; Michaud, 2007; Arnould, 2008; Bertka, 2013). He suggested that Bainbridge (1983) had found that protestants were less likely to want to communicate with extra-terrestrials, although what we can conclude from this is unclear. Bainbridge went on to suggest that evangelicals were not keen on extending space programme funding in the USA. Meanwhile, more recently, Weintraub (2014) noted that belief in the existence of extra-terrestrials varied very widely with Baptists the most sceptical. In contrast, Peters (2007, p. 341) carried out an extensive survey that suggested that virtually all religious faiths had no problem in accepting the existence of life beyond Earth and also ‘incorporating (this existence) into their world views’. In this discussion of the attitudes of various mainstream faiths to outer space the role of extra-terrestrials has become increasingly clear. ET cannot easily be ignored. Fear not, we are not about to descend into a detailed debate about the existence of ET or otherwise but a few words about the

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significance of the extra-terrestrial in our consideration of how outer space might be governed is appropriate. Goodwin (1962), for example, is an early commentator and does not shy away from the issue and that if we continue to explore outer space the likelihood of discovering extra-­ terrestrial life must increase. Despite sounding rather esoteric, it raises enormous issues of governance relating to empire, disease, communication, warfare and a vast array of ethical and moral considerations which would be too late to be thinking about after the event. Whilst Goodwin insists that the possible discovery of intelligent life in our solar system is remote, he also suggests that: this is by no means impossible—particularly when we consider that man does not know what forms intelligent life may take. The probability that intelligent life does exist in other planetary systems is now accepted by many, even though only discovery of such life will be positive proof. Discovery does not necessarily mean that astronauts must visit other systems. Intelligent communications from the stars would serve equally as well. (Goodwin, 1962, p. 125).

But note that if life is found to exist, Goodwin is suggesting that we should communicate (and quite obviously would and the temptation would be far too great to ignore). This communication has enormous governance ramifications however remote this might sound. Goodwin (1962, p.  125) also goes on to look at the relationship between extra-terrestrial life and religion, questioning what the implications of faith are for man’s response to such life if it is not humanoid. Carter (2006, p. 1), meanwhile, noted the relationship of the Catholic church to the prospect of finding life beyond Earth. He considered the work of Consolmagno (2000), who had qualified in planetary science at the highest level academically at the University of Arizona and then taught at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology before joining the Jesuit Order and becoming a member of the Vatican Observatory. He commented: Finding any sort of life off planet Earth, either bacteria or extra-terrestrials, would pose no problems for religion… God created the whole universe.

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There’s nothing that makes one place more special than another… To insist that ‘God could not have made other worlds’ was declared a heresy in the thirteenth century—this even covers alternate or parallel universes.

Arnould (2008) considered the likelihood of life (including human life) developing at all, let alone in addition and elsewhere from Earth. Although some scientific contributors were more optimistic; Dick (1998, p. 187) suggests—‘it seems reasonable to suppose that as long as suitable conditions come together in the universe, life will inevitably appear’— generally scientists remained convinced that the chances remained low, and of intelligent life, very low. For example, in France, du Nouy (1947) used probability theory to calculate the time necessary for the formation of: a single molecule with a high degree of dissymmetry… by random chance and thermal activity…. The mean time necessary to form such a molecule (with a degree of dissymmetry of 0.9) in a volume equivalent to that of the planet Earth is of the order of 10 billion years (1 followed by 243 zeros).

He noted that the formation of this molecule would only be the first stage of a process that might lead to the development of a human-like species followed by all the random events of evolution. ‘When such levels of probability are considered, the appearance of life on Earth seems such an unlikely occurrence that that it could only be unique’ (du Nouy, [1947], quoted in Arnould, 2008, p. 442). Arnould also went on to quote Monod (1971). The old alliance has been broken; man is at last aware that he is alone in an immense universe that is quite indifferent to him, where he appeared by chance. No destiny awaits him, no obligations are imposed on him. He alone must choose between the Kingdom and eternal night.

Arnould (2008, p. 444) had much more to say on the topic of extra-­ terrestrials. For example, he questioned the threat that the existence of extra-terrestrials might have for theology and quickly dismissed it. He noted the contribution of Peters (2007) linking UFOs, politics, science

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and religion. Peters suggested that extra-terrestrials were often associated with ‘heavenly divinities: transcendence, omniscience, perfection, the power of redemption’. Do they not come from Heaven? Do they not claim to have created us? Are they not constantly watching us, our actions, our thoughts, with what the ancients called ‘the all-seeing eyes of the gods?’ Do they not possess perfect knowledge, together with beauty (some of them at least…) and wisdom? Have they not discovered the secret of immortality that they might be persuaded to share with humankind if we could only renounce evil and the will to destroy? Like gods, in fact, do they not appear only to the privileged elect few, preferring to remain hidden from ordinary mortals?

Arnould goes on to note the work of Jean-Bruno Renard who attributed a Messianic role to extra-terrestrials: Belief in the imminent arrival of extra-terrestrials on our planet is a fundamental characteristic of flying-saucer enthusiasts… Extra-terrestrials landing there would not have as their sole mission the salvation of an elected few. They would also be here to set up a new era of peace and happiness on Earth, after a period of trial. (Even so), very few groups of flying saucer believers call themselves a church, as many religious movements in the USA do, where there is even a Church of Satan! (Renard, 1988)

There is some very heavy stuff here that we will not explore further, but once again it emphasises the need for an appreciation of the importance of governance in outer space. Rather less seriously, but certainly with some zest, Arnould continues with consideration of the work of Erich von Däniken. Author of Erinnerung an die Zukunft (Chariot of the Gods), the central theory of the book was that God and his helpers were extra-terrestrials. Arnould explains von Däniken’s approach: When the Book of Genesis tells of the union between the daughters of men and the ‘sons of God’, von Däniken suggests that the latter were extra-­ terrestrials. Noah’s Ark, the vision of Ezekiel or Elijah’s fiery chariot, well-­ known to readers of the Bible, are all interplanetary spacecraft. The

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destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah, is the result of an atomic bomb, the Walls of Jericho are brought down by a ‘high-powered generator of infrasound’. And so on… von Däniken and his supporters, the Dänikenians, with their excessively literal reading of sacred texts and religious myths, ignore or reject the analytical approach that in some cases has been carried out for centuries.

Von Däniken may well just provide some entertainment in the debate about the role of governance and extra-terrestrials, but it does suggest just how deep this debate goes—and hence its significance. Noted earlier, Arnould (2008, p. 448) goes on to outline the work of Nicholas of Cusa. Published in 1440 (and consequently probably the oldest work referred to in this book), De Docta ignorantia contains much that is the precursor of Copernicus, Kepler and Galileo and as such close to blasphemy at the time. The future Cardinal Cusanus amongst much else addressed the issue of inhabitants of planets other than Earth: It may be conjectured that in the area of the Sun there exist solar beings, bright, enlightened, intellectual and by nature more spiritual than such as may inhabit the Moon—who are possibly lunatics—while those on Earth are more gross and material; so that the more intellectual creatures that inhabit the Sun are more given to action rather than power, whereas the inhabitants of the Earth are more given to power than to action; as for those who live on the Moon, they are somewhere between these two extremes. These opinions are suggested to us by the influence of the Sun, which is by nature fiery, by that of the Moon, which is made of air and water, and by the heaviness of the earth. The same is no doubt true of the other stars, for we see no reason to suppose that they are uninhabited. (De Docta ignorantia, 1440: II, 12)

Yes, 1440. Particularly notable is the comment that intellectual creatures on Earth are more given to power than action. How little things change. Coming much more up to date, we can end this section dealing with Arnould’s contribution to the need for serious consideration of governance for outer space by noting the work of Teilhard de Chardin, a Jesuit who commented on the issue of life on other planets.

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The idea that only one planet might be populated in the entire Universe has become just as thinkable for us (insofar as we think about it at all) as the idea of a Mankind appearing on Earth with no genetic connection to the other creatures on the earth… With such a prodigious plurality of celestial sites of ‘immortal life’, how will Theology respond to the ­expectations and hopes of all those who wish to continue worshipping God in spirit and truth? Teilhard de Chardin (1969, pp. 277–278)

Arnould (2008, p. 449) concludes: He warns against three facile solutions; deciding that, of all the inhabited planets, Earth alone knew Original Sin and needed to be redeemed, imagining that Christ’s redemption of humans, accomplished by his Incarnation of the planet, is somehow known to all other ‘humanities’; and lastly, affirming that the Earth is the only inhabited place in the universe. You do not need a doctorate in theology, Teilhard de Chardin concludes, to see that these solutions are respectively: absurd, ridiculous, and humiliating. So what can be done? We should open up theology to the possibility of extra-terrestrial beings, without necessarily seeking to develop a theology adapted for use on these new worlds. And… this means taking very seriously the convergence between the universe and Christ’s universality, even if to do this we must be prepared to revise and be less dogmatic about our theological representation of ‘Creation’.

And so to Peters (2011, p. 644) who spent a considerable amount of time and effort considering the relationship of outer space to religion and in so doing raised a whole series of questions about governance. He suggested that there was a widespread belief that terrestrial religion would collapse if extra-terrestrial life was confirmed. It would dilute the divine image of man as created in the likeness of God and might affect his assumed superior position. However, Peters (2011, p.  645) also noted that the large ‘majority of religious believers, regardless of religion, see no threat to their personal beliefs caused by potential contact with intelligent neighbours on other worlds’, although rather more concerns were expressed about the institutional stability and robustness that might be disturbed. This was reflected in comments by religious leaders, for

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example, Krister Stendahl, Bishop of Stockholm, who in response to the suggestion of meeting an extra-terrestrial commented: That’s great. It seems always great to me, when God’s world gets a little bigger and I get a somewhat more true view of my place and my smallness in that universe. (Berendzen, 1973, p. 29)

Reinforced by John Haught of Georgetown University: Contact with ETs would provide an exceptional opportunity for theology to widen and deepen its understanding of divine creativity. Haught, 2003, p. 179)

Peters goes on to spend some considerable time discussing the moral importance and characteristics of extra-terrestrials and suggesting that there are two models that should be considered which represent the two extremes of what might be found—the celestial saviour and the alien enemy (Peters, 2011, pp. 648–650). The former is an alien that has developed much earlier than humans and as a result has progressed further in all respects including moral values. They would bring to Earth ‘advanced science, peace on Earth, a long life and prosperity’. The latter is more of the science fiction kind, an enemy in the skies aiming to conquer Earth. Morals are not on the agenda. Clearly both agendas are a long way from reality at present and may, of course, never materialise but if extra-terrestrials are ever to appear, then this is precisely the sort of issue that will need considering—and by definition some form of governance will be needed to cope with it. Peters (2011) says much more, but we shall leave it here—not because it has no relevance but because it is debate for another place and time, not to be discarded and ignored but to be a central part of the design of governance for outer space in the future. ET is for the future but this does not reduce its significance. Despite sounding faintly ridiculous, the potential role of the extra-terrestrial remains something that has to form part of any governance framework for outer space.

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Turning to the past now and moving not too far away from religion to that of superstition, there is a rich vein of habit and obsession that we can trace throughout the development of outer space activity. Arnould (2008, p. 45) suggests that the cosmos has always been viewed as sacred, a term used in the sense of ‘set apart’ and ‘separate’. This reflects the ancient temple where the fanum is separated from all around it by the profanum. Arnould also sees this in human life where, for example, the young mother who has just given birth is kept separate fearing she will soil things in the ordinary world and thus needs purification. Arnould questions how the cosmos could ever not have been declared sacred: Its incommensurable elevation and its terrifying infinity, its cold immutability and its formidable power imposed themselves on the newly-budding human consciousness, in a sort of primordial separation and crushing dialect.

As a consequence, the sky and beyond has always occupied the ‘dreams, hopes and longings of humans, believers, mystics and poets’. Arnould continues; this is especially the case in the West because the: dominant cosmologies set up an impenetrable barrier between the sublunar world (i.e. our world, mortal and imperfect, alterable and chaotic) and the supralunar world (i.e. the sky, immortal and perfect, beautiful and orderly). No one could ever hope to attain the celestial domain, reserved for gods, except in spirit or after death for the most perfect of mortals.

The conviction that the sky was sacred and thus unattainable was sustained for many years but there were times when this was questioned. Arnould notes the falling of a meteorite in the Dardanelles in 467 or 468 BC which was recognised by witnesses as clearly rock whilst a similar event in Alsace in 1492 caused a sizeable crater to form generating some debate. However, the idea that humans might one day reach the skies in the flesh rather than just the spirit followed the publication of Galileo’s The Starry Messenger in 1610, which contained details of the astronomer’s discoveries, and which led Johannes Kepler to suggest:

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Ships and sails proper for the heavenly air should be fashioned. Then there will also be people, who do not shrink from the dreary vastness of space. In the meantime, we will prepare maps of the heavenly bodies for the bold sky travellers. (English translation quoted from Arthur Koestler (1989), The Sleepwalkers)

From here it is not difficult to see how astronauts and cosmonauts could be seen as gods of their day even four centuries later. Their whole demeanour and environment lent themselves to sacredness. Arnould (2008, p. 47) provides some convincing arguments: From the colour of their clothes (the white of purity, the red of sacrifice) to the ascetic rigour of their training, the strict selection process, and the aura of their fame—everything was in place to make them into demigods and stars, sometimes even before they had ever been in space. As the final detail, the American heroes plunged into the Pacific Ocean on their return, as if in a bath of purification, before facing their final trial—quarantine.

Pop (2009, p. 155) had noted earlier that the Soviet cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin had assumed a godlike status, albeit one where his miracles were all conducted in an atheistic environment. He was declared a miracle-­ performing saint of the Soviet ‘religion’ in a ceremony on the top of Lenin’s Red Square mausoleum (Doran & Bizony, 1999, p.  131). Pop quotes Bartos and Boym (2001, p. 91): The cosmonaut became… a mystical being. Gagarin, the most important Soviet icon and the human face of Socialism, was worshipped all over the nation. The real-life story of Gagarin… turned from a biography into a hagiography.

Pop continues: Soviet artists created an entire iconography. Vladimir Dzhanibekov’s painting Gagarin Before Take-Off shows him ‘bathed in ethereal light similar to a depiction in an orthodox icon, (while) in the sky all around him doves (presumably for peace) flutter’ (Sheldon, 1995). A statue at the Museum of Cosmonautics in Moscow shows the risen Christ-like figure of a cosmo-

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naut—perhaps Gagarin—in front of a stained-glass panel. He was a genuinely loved popular saint of atheism—Gagarin’s photographs were sold at newsstands and posted as lucky charms on taxi windscreens across the Soviet Union.

Gagarin continues to this day as a cosmic saint in Russia, celebrated on 12 April on Cosmonautics Day when young cosmonauts continue to drink from the well in his village of Klushino (Pravda, 2004). Such gods have also stimulated a variety of practices and traditions that now colour space exploration and activity ranging from the religious and superstitious to the downright odd. In October 2001, in the ex-Soviet Union, it emerged that space missions were blessed by a priest at the door of the cosmonauts’ hotel in the middle of the night. Launius (2013, pp. 57–58) reported that a year previously a press release had noted that, following precedents, some set by Gagarin: According to tradition, an orthodox priest sprinkled holy water on the three men before their departure, and the men signed the door of their hotel room on which the giant mechanism of the international solace station was drawn… As part of the rite, the cosmonauts are also to urinate on the wheel of the bus which drives them to the launch pad at the cosmodrome.

Other superstitions followed by cosmonauts before a mission included compulsory attendance at a screening of the hugely popular Soviet film White Sun of the Desert, a tale of adventure on the Caspian Sea during the Russian Civil War; champagne at breakfast; and the playing of a Soviet popular rock song The Green Grass Near My Home as they leave the hotel. Superstition (or is it faith?) also permeated the early attempts to launch the European Ariane rocket in December 1974 in Guyana. Jean Gruau, chair of the Launch Readiness Review, noted that at this second attempt: We had done everything humanly possible, and then I suggested going to light a candle at the Kourou church. I think that the SEP (Société Européenne de Propulsion) even lit something like 24 candles… Later we were able to verify that if we omitted the candle-lighting ceremony, the launch failed… So this gesture became a tradition. The crews mentioned this instruction in the last procedure; talk to the general inspector about

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the candle. So came the first Intelsat launch, in the presence of an American advisor. Fearing ridicule, Frédéric d’Allest was ashamed to mention the candles in front of him. But I insisted, explaining that otherwise the teams would be very upset. At the end of Launch Readiness Review, seizing a moment when the Intelsat representative was absorbed in conversation with Frédéric d’Allest, I said into the microphone, ‘And, there will be candles’. Later, the NASA advisor came up to me laughing, ‘You know’, he confided, ‘back home we talk about candles too’. (Durand-de-Jongh, 1998)

Space is also characterised by institutions and events which may seem curious and perhaps possess only novelty status. Both weddings and funerals, for example, have been proposed. Williamson (2003, p.  49) noted the proposals for burials in space whilst Karash (2001) commented that Father Dmitri Grigoriev, a Russian Orthodox priest in Washington, DC, had commented that ‘burying people in space is just a trick that has nothing to do with the paying of respect to the deceased person or with Christian traditions’. Meanwhile Lozano (2003) also noted: While the law in the US State of Texas permitted a Russian cosmonaut to marry his earthbound bride Ekaterina Dimitriev in the world’s first space wedding in August 2003, the couple had to plan their Russian Orthodox wedding following Malenchenko’s return from space for the legitimacy of the church.

All this talk of astronaut and cosmonaut idiosyncrasies, superstitions and religious fervour might suggest some level of instability but actually the ability of spaceflight to affect someone substantially does not seem to have been too great. For example, Oliver (2013, p.  119) notes that American astronaut John Glenn claimed that his exploits on Friendship 7 had left his notion of God unaffected suggesting that getting closer physically to God was not important, whatever that may mean, but that God was present ‘wherever we go’. A ticket into orbit, or onward to the Moon, was not enough to ensure that its bearer would come back a different man. NASA after all, favoured stability in its astronauts. For obvious operational reasons, it preferred their personalities to be well armoured against spontaneous transformations.

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Accordingly, a number of Apollo astronauts reported that in matters of mind and spirit they had not been changed by their missions. Only two— Apollo14’s Edgar Mitchell and Apollo 15’s James Irwin—experienced epiphanies significant enough to change the trajectories of their careers. Irwin, who sensed God helping him on the Moon, began an evangelical ministry (Irwin, 1973). Mitchell, in contrast, had intuited the underlying connectedness of everything in the universe—not just matter but consciousness too—and so established an institute to explore the physical basis for that unity, aiming to bridge the divide between religion and science. (Mitchell, 1996)

So where does all this leave us in our consideration of outer space, its governance and the contribution that the experience of governing the maritime sector might make? Clearly outer space is a far-reaching area— not just physically, which it certainly is being to all intents and purposes infinite—but also in its impact, relationships and social context. And whilst we have not considered its economic and political impacts here, they are also highly significant. Any governance regime has to accommodate many aspects of this wide-ranging influence if it is to be effective, something similar to which has been the case in maritime governance where the traditional approaches have been shown to be largely ineffectual and weak. See, for example, the commentary from Roe (2013a, 2016a, 2020). These mistakes in governance design resulting in safety, security, environmental and economic mismanagement and failure need to be addressed in the outer space sector, and outlandish so it might seem, the need to understand, for example, the spiritual dimensions of the sector should be recognised. Other aspects which are no less important, including the artistic, social and economic dimensions, also need to be accommodated and we shall turn to some of these in later chapters. For now the main thing to note is the need to be catholic in our approach to governance and not to dismiss issues simply because they sound unusual, outrageous or unconventional. Maritime governance has displayed enough inadequacies to require global, international and, in the case of outer space, cosmic recognition of the wider influences that are important and however difficult it is to design, organise and implement, these must be taken into account.

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And so in the next chapter we move directly to the central issues of outer space governance and the factors that make its design so interesting and problematic.

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Read, D.  H. C. (1957, December 9). Sputnik and the angels. Christianity Today, 9–11. Redfield, P. (2000). Space in the tropics: From convicts to rockets in French Guiana. University of California Press. Reiman, S. (2009). Is space an environment? Space Policy, 25, 81–87. Renard, J.-B. (1988). Les Extraterrestres: Une Nouvelle Croyance Religieuse? Cerf. Roe, M. S. (2013a). Maritime governance and policy-making: The need for process rather than form. Asian Journal of Shipping and Logistics, 29(2), 167–186. Roe, M.  S. (2013b). Maritime governance: Form versus process: The need for change. International Association of Maritime Economists (IAME) Annual Conference, Marseille, July 3–5. Roe, M.  S. (2013c). Maritime governance and corporate social responsibility in shipping—Process rather than form. Proceedings of the International Scientific Meeting for Corporate Social Responsibility (CSR) in Shipping, 2nd International Maritime Incident and Near Miss Reporting Conference, 11–12 June, Kotka, Finland. Roe, M. S. (2013d). The governance of shipping under global challenges: What next? In O. Debicka & K. Dobrowolski (Eds.), Challenges of global economy (pp. 173–212). Foundation for the Development of Gdansk University. Roe, M. S. (2016a). Maritime governance. Speed, flow, form, process. Springer. Roe, M. S. (2016b). An agile approach to maritime governance and corporate social responsibility. In A. Tavidze (Ed.), Progress in economics research, Volume 35. Nova Science Publishers. Roe, M. S. (2016c). Corporate social responsibility and the governance of international shipping. Baltic Rim Economies, 5, 23–24. Roe, M. S. (2018). The governance of ports under global challenges: What next? In S. Pettit & A. Beresford (Eds.), Port management: Cases in port geography, operations and policy. Kogan Page. Roe, M.  S. (2020). Governance, policy and juxtaposition: A maritime perspective. Springer. Rosenfeld, A. (1964–1965). Sabbath in the space age. Tradition, 7(1), 27–33. Russell, M. D. (1996). The Sparrow. Ballantine. Russell, M. D. (1998). Children of God. Ballantine. Sagan, C. (1973). The cosmic connection. Dell. Sennett, R. (1974). The fall of public man. Cambridge University Press. Sennett, R. (1977). Destructive Gemeinschaft. In N. Birnbaum (Ed.), Beyond the crisis (pp. 169–197). Oxford University Press.

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4 Outer Space Governance and the Maritime Context

There is much to be learned about outer space from consideration of ocean governance: Marine geographers’ concentration on the description of what is admittedly a physically unique region and one decidedly hostile to permanent human habitation has likely confirmed the impression among many non-­ marine geographers that the ocean… is an uninteresting abyss that separates the places that ‘matter’, a marginal region that has limited commonality with or impact on the physical and social processes that characterize the rest of the world. (Steinberg, 1999a, p. 367)

And so to the meat of the issue. In this chapter we shall consider the complications that face the development of an effective governance framework for outer space. Using the example of lessons learned from the maritime sector will direct us towards two fundamental issues that will characterise organisation, design and process—the role of the commons and its relationship to governance, and the implications of the capitalist system and its importance for outer space. But firstly, some words on the development of governance more broadly to date. Outer space governance is simply one part of the governance of Earth’s activities; do not fret, we have no intention of providing a universal guide

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to governance as this is well covered elsewhere and would leave little (no) space for much else in this book. Here we will provide a few pointers before going on to look at their application to outer space which in turn will provide the basis for comparisons between the major governance issues in the maritime and outer space sectors. In an earlier volume, Roe (2016a, pp. 3–4) provided a summary of the characteristics of maritime governance that underlie the problems that the industry faced, noting at the time just a selection of the considerable literature that had amounted in recent years looking at the issues. This included Sletmo (2001, 2002a, 2002b); Selkou and Roe (2002, 2020); Bloor et al. (2006); Kovats (2006); Roe (2007a, 2007b, 2007c, 2007d, 2007e, 2008a, 2008b, 2009a, 2009b, 2009c, 2009d, 2010a, 2010b, 2013, 2014, 2015, 2016a, 2016b, 2016c, 2018, 2020, 2023); Roe and Selkou (2006); Van Tatenhove (2008) Sampson and Bloor (2007); De Vivero and Mateos (2010); Van Leeuwen and Van Tatenhove (2010), Skrzeszewska and Beran (2016); Vanelslander (2011); Campanelli (2012); Wirth (2012); Wan et al. (2016); and Christodoulou and Fernandez (2021). This was supported by evidence of the failure of much broader governance issues suggested by the work of Held (1991), Ruggie (1993), Crosby (1996), Stoker (1998), OECD (2000), Jessop (2004), Ramachandran et al. (2009), Börzel and Risse (2010), Goldin (2013), Reischl (2012), Newlove-Eriksson and Eriksson (2013), Steinberg (2013), Munsami and Nicolaides (2020) and Trur (2021). It is fair to assume as a result that many of the issues raised in this more general and maritime literature might also apply to the governance of outer space. Roe (2016a, p. 4) identified five fundamental characteristics of maritime governance that defined both its operation and structure and which had a major effect upon what could or could not be achieved and by whom. The five characteristics were: • • • •

Maritime governance was essentially nation-based. It was highly institutionally determined. It was conservatively defined by stakeholders. It was shipowner dominated.

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• It focussed on static form rather than fluid process and as such failed to reflect the actual situation within the sector. These characteristics might also provide a foundation for the understanding of the governance issues facing outer space, albeit of course, with some local adaptation. Rather depressingly Roe suggested that none of these issues were being considered seriously at the time of writing and it takes little research to see that progress since 2016 can be neatly summarised as absent. In the maritime sector: The nation-state retains its jurisdictional pre-eminence, whilst maritime governance remains essentially institutionally driven with alternative frameworks for policy-making neglected. The role of extended stakeholder involvement is at least understood…. Meanwhile the ambitions of over-­ influential shipowners and associated maritime stakeholders is unlikely to change whatever developments in governance occur. (Roe, 2016a, p. 4)

This constipation that characterises maritime governance is exacerbated by perhaps the most significant problem of all, the focus upon static, one-off solutions to policy problems with little if any recognition of the continuous change that is a feature of the maritime (in fact all) industries and the consequent need for a focus upon process rather than form. Shipping is dominated by the movement of goods, people, money, information and the like and outer space is much the same although the precise focus of these features might be different. Over time it will change and it is this change that needs to be accommodated. As we shall see later in this chapter, current maritime and outer space governance structures are incapable of doing this. Roe (2016a) is not alone in concerns over the inadequacies of maritime governance and there has been a history of contributions to the debate over many decades. Some might even say since ancient history. In recent years the focus has intensified with the contribution of Steinberg (1999a, 1999b, 1999c, 2001, 2013) and his comments on the social construction of the ocean and Selkou and Roe (2022) and their concern with a post-Fordist understanding of the maritime sector, from which much of the recent interest has emerged. Blum (2010, p. 671) suggested a number

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of ways that the oceans could be analysed and which their governance could be structured as a result; these included viewing them as transnational spaces, free from ‘national belonging’, characterised by questions of empire, exchange, translation and cosmopolitanism, and their relationship to affiliation citizenship, mobility, rights and sovereignty, ‘all of which have been read in recent critical history as over-determined by nationalism’. Blum (2010) suggested that this approach to governance and its value had origins in at least the nineteenth century if not earlier. ‘The seaman may be said to have no political existence’ declared R.B. Forbes, a ship captain and sailors’ advocate in an 1854 lecture. Speaking as a representative of a broader reform movement that had emerged in the mid-­ nineteenth century, Forbes was seeking to correct popular depictions of the sailor as careless of the concerns of ordinary citizens, a ‘Jack Tar’ who lived blithely at the margins. Late eighteenth and early nineteenth century merchant seaman indeed existed largely outside the bounds of national affiliation, and even those sailing in the United States Navy primarily performed the work of nationalism without benefitting from it. But those who failed to recognize sailors as objects of public interest, as one veteran captain wrote, did not consider ‘the relative importance of seamen either for the advancement of commercial pursuits, or for the protection of our country’s rights, or for the maintenance of our national honour. They (did) not consider that seaman are the great links of the chain which unites nation to nation, ocean to ocean, continent to continent, and island to island’ (Little, 1843, p. 369). The internationalism embodied by sailors abstracted them from participatory citizenship even as they were central to its functioning. (Blum, 2010, pp. 671–672)

Blum (2010, p. 670) was emphatic about the true nature of maritime governance. The sea: leaves no traces, and has no place names, towns or dwelling places; it cannot be possessed.

Now whilst this is debateable it was also reinforced by Boelhower (2008, pp. 92–93) who saw the ocean as:

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fundamentally a space of dispersion, conjunction, distribution, contingency, heterogeneity, and of intersecting and stratified lines and images— in short, a field of strategic possibilities in which the Oceanic order holds all together in a common but highly fluid space.

Further contributions have come from Wan et al. (2016, pp. 28–29) who suggested four ‘routes’ to better maritime governance which remain largely unresolved: • Increasing the speed with which maritime governance instruments come into force with a particular focus upon the role of the IMO. • Better coordination of regional actions with a coordinated attempt at harmonisation. • The development of market instruments which would give greater assurance towards meeting funding requirements. • Improved data acquisition, sharing and usage. Meanwhile the seriousness of the maritime governance issue was emphasised by the emergence of an independent report focussing on just this and the activities of the IMO as the organisation with the most significant contribution to global governance. Produced by the Berlin-based Transparency International, a global interest group with clear specific motivation aimed at reducing corruption in public life, this report was issued under their ‘Climate Governance Integrity Programme’ and included consideration of the IMO and its structure, the conventions produced, the significance of the various ‘states’ including flag, port and coastal, the role of flags and ports, classification societies, shipowners and stakeholders. Their fairly damning conclusions centred upon: • The unequal influence of states within the IMO and the effect this has upon decision-making. • The growth of open and private registries. • The need for a genuine link between ships and registries. • The disproportionate influence of external industrial stakeholders upon the IMO. • The lack of delegate accountability.

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Whilst this is far from a comprehensive review of maritime governance initiatives in the past 20 years or so it is indicative that the problems it faces are complex, severe and largely unresolved. It may as a result provide a background for how outer space, as a medium with similar ‘commons’ features and problems, may progress its own governance. However, before we can move on to the specific features of outer space governance we need to clear up some remaining issues that emerge from governance in general. Whilst Roe (2016a) focussed directly and specifically upon maritime governance problems, others have provided frameworks for understanding governance applied across more generalised scenarios. For example, Munsami and Nicolaides (2092) provide an example of governance scenarios for the African Space programme, whilst Huntley (2007, p. 259), considering the situation in outer space, also outlined three governance scenarios that would be applicable across a large number of sectors: • Relationships among states in all activities always reflect the more general relationships that are in existence between them. Whilst this has particular relevance to outer space, it can also be seen as a basic construct in all sectors. • Rather pessimistically, anarchy will persist regardless of the sophistication and effectiveness of governance. • States must (and always will) look after their own interests. All governance frameworks for all sectors and locations have to both accept and adapt to these conditions. However, there is some evidence that fundamental principles of governance design such as these are frequently ignored resulting in widespread governance failure. Reischl (2012, p. 33) commented on the evidence for governance failure emphasising the need for international problem-solving across many sectors and issues. She went on to suggest that ‘existing international institutions have a mixed problem-solving capacity in many areas of international politics’ citing the failed attempts to develop a post-Kyoto climate agreement and the rise of ‘planetary boundaries’ as a concept which amongst

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other things ‘stresses the shortcomings of international institutions. By quantifying boundaries for nine Earth subsystems, Rockström et  al. (2009a, 2009b) illustrate the critical threshold for a safe operating space for humanity’ and in so doing suggest that a global solution (rather than problem management) is unachievable. Reischl (2012, p. 34) went on to suggest that a fundamental problem of governance at the global level was the increased institutionalism that could be identified—much the same as Roe (2016a) identified in the maritime sector. Higgott (2008, p. 612) was one of many commentators who noted how international institutions were now the primary locus for global and international governance, characterised by ‘nested, overlapping and parallel institutions’ (Alter & Meunier, 2009), which in turn, because of their density and the complexity of issues, made any effective action by a single institution largely impossible. This in turn had stimulated the rise of regime complexes, regime complexity and institutional architecture (Raustalia & Victor, 2004; Keohane & Victor, 2010, p. 279; Hofmann, 2011) which might form an effective structure for the development of governance. Goldin (2013, p. 2) was unequivocal in his view of global governance and the role of institutional failure suggesting that ‘our capacity to manage global issues has not kept pace with the growth in their complexity and danger’. He believed that the reform of global governance was not only necessary but urgent, represented a massive task and could not be left to national governments nor the existing global governance institutions. Reform of these institutions including multiple UN institutions, the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Trade Organization (WTO) have all resisted reform and progressed towards greater effectiveness at a painfully slow pace leading to a ‘yawning governance gap’ (Goldin, 2013, p. 3). Tantamount to ‘rearranging the deckchairs on the Titanic’, reforms so far have not focussed on the real challenges. Rather depressingly he commented (Goldin, 2013, p. 8): The world has changed in fundamental ways since the institutions were formed and so it should come as no surprise that they are overwhelmed by new challenges. Concerted reform in some areas may close the governance gap, but for the most part the participants in these reform efforts include

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representatives of the governments who have resisted reform and so significant reform is stymied. As a result, across the existing system the governance gap is already too wide, and widening.

The problems are exemplified by the position in the United Nations where the structure has changed little since its inception. Other things have changed and it is these that cause many of the difficulties. In particular, on its creation in 1946, there were 51 member states which have grown to 193 in 2021. In response, more seats have been added to the Security Council and to the Executive Boards of the IMF and World Bank and their voting shares have been marginally adapted but the ‘decision-­making architecture’ has largely remained unchanged and in effect the G7 countries (USA, UK, France, Germany, Italy, Canada, Japan) continue to carry an effective majority. Consequently, any attempt to operate effective governance for any sector, space or maritime included, is likely to be inadequate, something Merrie et al. (2014) largely attributed to the disjuncture between commerce and global governance institutions and policies. The failure of international governance institutions to respond at an adequate pace to commercial exploitation (e.g. the extraction of minerals on other planets or the uncoordinated launching of satellites and space tourism) is likely to persist unless some sort of reform takes place (Berkes et al., 2006). Global governance regardless of sector has intensified in complexity as the parties involved have also increased in number. Newlove-Eriksson and Eriksson (2013, pp. 277–278) saw this as a consequence of the rise in private organisations and authority and of transnational networks which have questioned the uniformity of processes. Both governmental and non-governmental actors are commonly involved which can be as diverse as ‘cabinets, ministries, agencies, corporations, political parties, pressure groups’ and a multitude of private and semi-private sector groups. Many of these groups are also internally fragmented and as such present even further complexity. All this suggests that global governance of the maritime, outer space or really anything else is commonly problematic, inadequate and consequently in need of reform. What this means is as yet unclear. For the minute, perhaps the words of Brown (2018, p.  34) can suggest a way

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ahead which although directed towards outer space and its governance has relevance in other areas as well: In order truly to reinvent space, we must make it thoroughly boring. Still today seen as out-of-the ordinary and often special, space activity must come to be seen as just an extension of terrestrial business.

And much the same might be said of the maritime sector where the romance of shipping and international travel and transport and the continued emphasis on nationalism remain a powerful obstruction to effective governance. Despite its obvious potential and the range of issues that outer space presents for the future, discussions of its governance have been seriously limited. This is particularly in comparison with the maritime sector which we have already seen has a history of governance debate and also with governance generally of public and private organisations and activities. However, there has been some interest, characterised by Aliberti and Krasner’s summary of actions to date (145–146), and we can build upon this to establish the particular issues, their importance, how urgently they need to be resolved and the mechanisms that might achieve this. Reference to the maritime sector will also be useful as there are many overlapping characteristics to which we shall return both in this chapter and later ones. Examples of some of the contributions to this area so far tend to be fragmentary and emerging as side issues to discussions of colonising other planets, resource exploitation, military issues, exploration and the like. One exception to this is by Rieder et al. (2009) who overtly examined the importance of governance of national space activities which had been discussed by a large number of national space agencies at a conference that year in Budapest. The focus was upon the importance of this issue within the European area and attracted over 100 participants from 25 countries and although its conclusions were not especially specific nor surprising it did provide some rare debate upon the need for governance across nations, subsidiarity, the importance of the EU, industrial policy, institutional issues, legal and policy frameworks, and the significance of human resources.

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Other contributions suggesting an interest in space governance included Ryan and Kutschera (2007, pp.  46–47) who considered the national governance of outer space and its impact domestically. Stuart (2011, p. 9) provided a detailed discussion of the relationship between outer space and world politics encompassing a range of issues that have direct relevance to governance including space law, the global commons, sovereignty and much more, and we shall return to some of these later in this chapter and beyond. She also continued consideration of space governance relationships in 2011 and 2013. Beery (2012, p. 25) made passing reference to MacDonald (2007) and the contribution that geographical analysis could make to outer space governance. Meanwhile, more significant was the contribution by Al-Rodhan (2012, p. 126) looking at the meta-geopolitics of outer space and their relationship to power and governance with particular reference to global security. Al-Rodhan took what he termed a holistic view of space governance relating it to contemporary politics and seven major ‘capacities’: social and health issues, domestic politics, economics, the environment, science and human potential, military and security issues, and international diplomacy. He used each of these issues to judge the governance of the sector and its impact. However, whilst covering a broad range of governance impacts Al-Rodhan also neglected the much wider implications of governance decisions and the significance of governance design upon its effectiveness and efficiency. More recently Harrington (2020, pp. 100–101) looked at the relationship between the insurance sector and outer space infrastructure (e.g. satellites where up to 25% of the cost can be insurance) and how this has a significant impact upon how governance is structured, setting rules and regulations for infrastructure design and usage, a concept building on news items such as Minter (2019) exhorting the need to regulate outer space with some urgency. Overall there is not so much a dearth of research into what is considered outer space governance, but more a narrowness of vision as to what constitutes the issues involved, resulting in an over-emphasis of military and exploitation concerns and an absence of consideration of the structure, form and characteristics of how the governance principles are designed and applied—much the same as identified for the maritime sector by Roe (2013, 2016a, 2020). For example, contributions, at least in

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title, can be found from Gallagher (2010), Khan (2014), Jakhu and Pelton (2017) and Martinez et al. (2019), but none took a serious look at the underlying issues that trouble governance in an extra-terrestrial context, showing failings similar to those of the maritime sector and relating to institutionalism, statism, narrow stakeholder definition and almost always with an absence of dynamism. Steinberg (1999b, pp. 254–255) provides an interesting introduction to governance as applied to the oceans but with the potential to be applied to other commons. More on the commons in a later chapter but oceans and outer space share the same characteristics of difficulty of enclosure, use by all, absence of territory (excluding islands and planets) and consequential lack of ownership generating abuse and neglect by many users. Steinberg suggests that governance of the oceans has been characterised by ‘alternating currents for and against division and territorial enclosure’, citing Colombos (1967), Gold (1981), O’Connell (1982) and Anand (1983). He depicts the ocean as a friction-free void as envisaged by Grotius (1608) in The Freedom of the Seas and sustained through the twentieth and now twenty-first centuries as a vehicle for nascent colonial empires and enterprising merchants who could establish lines of connection with far-flung terrestrial territories, production sites and markets. There are clear reflections of the current situation in outer space. Meanwhile there has also been a move towards viewing the ocean as: a space of resources, whether the resource is that of connection or something more material, such as fish or minerals. Because the modern system of competitive capitalist production governed by multiple sovereign states encourages territorialisation, or partial enclosure as a means of commodifying and guaranteeing rents from resources, the modern era has been characterised by a number of proclamations and events that generally are perceived as drawing lines designed to foster the enclosure, possession and management of ocean space.

These contradictory tendencies exemplified by freedom of the seas and commodification of ocean resources are clearly mirrored in outer space today (e.g. the almost total lack of control of space navigation and the proposed exploitation of mineral rights on other planets) and any

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attempts at designing a governance framework must accommodate them. Steinberg (1999b, p. 255) continues the message which can be used to compare governance of the two sectors: the drawing of lines in ocean space—whether lines of division or lines of connection—can be seen as attempts to steward the ocean as a space that, on one hand, is immune to territorial incorporation into individual states or the system of states but that, on the other hand, is susceptible to social intervention in pursuit of specific goals.

Steinberg continued this theme in further publications (e.g. Steinberg, 1999c, pp. 408–409) providing details of the historical development of the traditional guiding principles to ocean governance and how these remain significant but not always at ease with modern ocean trading and the desire for capital mobility. Despite the shortage of tradition, much could be said the same for outer space governance where the forces of capitalism are largely untamed by a governance structure which remains unsuited for purpose. The contributions of Klein (2012) and Aliberti and Krasner (2016, pp.  145–146) are examples of the detail of the development of outer space governance in recent years much of which reflects the issues identified by Steinberg. They emphasise what they describe as ‘the hard law’ of space and in so doing make even clearer the need for some consideration of the wider governance implications and deficiencies identified by Roe (2013, 2016b, 2020) and others in the maritime sector in recent years. They stress that these hard laws have remained largely unchanged for over 40 years. The international regime for space, the rules and norms for space exploration, liability, registration, militarisation, weaponization and other activities were originally formulated in the 1960s and 1970s. They were embodied in five international treaties related to space concluded between 1967 and 1979: the 1967 Treaty on Principles Governing the Activities of Sates in the Exploration and use of Outer Space, including the Moon and other Celestial Bodies (the Outer Space Treaty); the 1968 Agreement on the Rescue of Astronauts, the Return of Astronauts and the Return of Objects Launched into Outer Space (the Rescue Agreement); the 1972

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Convention on International Liability for Damage Caused by Space Objects (the Liability Convention); the 1975 Convention on Registration of Objects Launched into Outer Space (the Registration Convention); and the 1979 Agreement Governing the Activities of States on the Moon and other Celestial Bodies (the Moon Treaty).

In addition, there are treaties relating to the use of nuclear weapons in space. The Outer Space Treaty (OST) remains the core formal document, whilst the Moon Treaty remains signed by less than 20 non-­spacefaring nations and none that are space active. Apart from an agreement on the International Space Station (ISS) signed in 1998 and a variety of guidelines, the international governance regime for space has remained unchanged for decades. Meanwhile the number of space states and in particular the variety of space activities, now both public and private, have increased substantially. Gaubert and Lebeau (2009a, p. 37, 2009b, pp. 67–68) focus upon the complexities of designing a regime for outer space governance, and although they consider primarily the European context, their comments are clearly more widely applicable. They suggest that the difficulties emerge primarily from the divergence between: the unity of space technology, as produced by its industrial base, and the diversity, indeed disparity, of its uses, which affect all sectors of society, often critically.

They note that these uses of space include the acquisition of scientific knowledge and the mastery of the same; these might be military or civil, commercial or for the public good. As they suggest: controlling them entails states’ sovereign responsibility; their development must therefore be adapted to the degree of European integration. (Gaubert & Lebeau, 2009a, p. 38)

One might add integration elsewhere, as the governance of outer space recognises few national limitations. They continue to emphasise two

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further reasons for anticipating complexities in governance design for the outer space sector: • The contrast that has emerged between the extremely rapid growth of space capabilities and the natural tendency of the organisations which frame them (e.g. national governments) to resist change, leading to a potential source of conflict. • They also identify a series of persistent problems and in particular the difficulty of ensuring continuity of public service applications in areas of clear importance to global society. These issues include those relating to climate change, the control of energy supplies, adequate communications for all and rather more specific but no less important issues such as weather forecasting. This problem was considered to be exacerbated by the dividing of competences for these public issues between different authorities dependent upon purpose and context, a trend it was suggested that was a consequence of the diverse nature of the potential uses of outer space. These complexities not only make governance design a challenge but also suggest that something needs to be done. Brown (2018, p. 33) indicated that the number of actors in the space community had grown enormously and in addition these actors had also spread from the public to the private sectors including many in the rather less definable areas where the two overlap. This has been accompanied by a formidable growth in the range of activities and the inevitable ramifications for other sectors outside of the ‘traditional’ outer space range. Brown continued to emphasise the growing need for effective governance and although he referred in particular to technical issues, the point is clear: There are indeed many new companies doing somewhat new things in space… but the perennial obstacles to a true industrialisation of the cosmos, namely access to space, regulation and access to spectrum, and the ever-increasing threat from debris, have not yet been successfully addressed.

Meanwhile, Tepper (2019, p. 1) notes the critical discussion of outer space governance that was emerging focussing in particular upon the

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‘classification, use and possible ownership of space resources, and the governance of these activities in terms of rules and institutions”. The latter point referring to rules and institutions hints at the pre-eminent view of what governance means in outer space (and incidentally also within the maritime sector) characterised by over-institutionalism, statism and ownership at the expense of the broader concepts that actually define the sector and its governance—issues such as process, context, juxtaposition, inter-relationships and much more—that define what is achievable and what needs to be achieved. It is only once some of these issues are effectively addressed can any progress in the operational governance of the sector be designed appropriately and effectively. Tepper (2019, p. 2) proceeds to stress that the governance of outer space resources is being shaped ‘now’ ‘with or without consensus among states’. As a result, it was seen to be important to ‘study at this point in time the proper governance— norms, rules, and institutions—of space resources. Yet the discourse is unstructured, and there is confusion regarding the most basic notions’. So, despite his focus on technology, Tepper recognises the failings in governance that exist, the failings in governance planning occurring in the early years of the twenty-first century, and the need to do something, and he suggests an increase in ‘scholarship on the issue’ citing amongst others a range of publications mainly focussing on the exploitation of physical resources on other planets and asteroids but more significantly, the Hague International Space Resources Governance Working Group, led by Leiden University’s Institute of Air and Space Law. This Working Group consists of a consortium of representatives from the Netherlands, Brazil, Indonesia, the USA, South Africa, Luxembourg and Japan assisted by up to 35 members from across the public and private sectors and in addition observers and experts as and when needed. Their exact purposes are: • Identification and formulation of building blocks for the governance of space resource activities as a basis for negotiations on an international agreement or non-legally binding instrument. • Recommendations on the implementation strategy and forum for negotiations on an international agreement or non-legally binding instrument.

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The Working Group issued a series of building blocks in November 2019 that they hoped would form the basis for future governance strategies. These focussed upon: 1. Definition of objectives 2. Definition of key terms 3. Scope 4. Principles 5. International responsibility for space resource activities 6. Jurisdiction and control over space-made products used in space resource activities 7. Priority rights 8. Resource rights 9. Due regard for corresponding interests of all countries and humankind 10. Avoidance and mitigation of potentially harmful impacts resulting from space resource activities 11. Technical standards for, prior review of and safety zones around space resource activities 12. Monitoring and redressing harmful impacts resulting from space resource activities 13. Sharing of benefits arising out of the utilisation of space resources 14. Registration and sharing of information 15. Provision of assistance in case of distress 16. Liability in case of damage resulting from space resource activities 17. Visits relating to space resource activities 18. Institutional arrangements 19. Settlement of disputes 20. Monitoring and review The continued restricted emphasis on resources is apparent but despite this, the recognition of the need to do something to improve governance has to be welcomed. The importance of policy-making for outer space may appear to be blatantly obvious but actually its role, and its relationship to the governance of the sector, commonly have both been assumed or ignored. This has not been helpful but is consistent with the maritime sector where the

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‘self-evidence’ of national flags, shipowner influence and the domination of capitalist principles regardless of their wider societal impact have been detrimental to the sector overall and to society more generally. Aliberti and Krasner (2016, pp. 149–150) touched upon the importance of policy-making to outer space governance suggesting that ‘strategic interaction in space is more limited and power asymmetries are greater than in either the oceans or Antarctica’. This contradiction made policy-­ making that much more important and, of course, governance of the sector overall even more so. These characteristics have enabled the more powerful states ‘to secure their first best outcome through unilateral action’, but not necessarily to the benefit of many others. The result has been that: the incentives to establish and maintain international regimes have been lower and, not surprisingly, the institutional arrangements that have been agreed to in the basic space treaties have sanctioned the freedom of use and access to the space environment for civil, commercial and even military activities. Where restrictions have been accepted, these have not, at least to date, imposed much constraint upon the actors.

This reflects poorly upon outer space governance as it has developed so far and is reinforced by Suzuki (2016, pp. 202–203) who noted the predominance of hegemonic leadership in space where those states with technological advantages can (and do) use them ‘as leverage to change other states’ attitude or behaviour’, citing the USA’s attempts to do just this in space policy negotiations with the EU and Japan. Meanwhile Beischl (2019, p. 5), using the UK as an example, noted the significant impact of some nations of developing considerable quantities of outer space policy but referring little at all to the governance framework within which this policy was supposed to work. Outer space is not without regulations—far from it—and we will not be reviewing them here. However, some reference to regulatory development might be useful. Steinberg (2013) provides an introduction through the medium of the sea and despite this, it nevertheless has interesting parallels. We noted earlier how marine historians commonly asserted that:

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the modern history of social regulation in the world ocean may be read as one of alternating currents for and against division and territorial enclosure.

This has formed the basis for the interpretation of successive fluctuations in regulation of the oceans over centuries as noted by Steinberg (1999b, p.  254) and referred to earlier, and this pattern might also be seen as one that could be reflected in outer space. Certain communalities are apparent in both sectors and manifest themselves as a battle between freedom and regulation which is mirrored by the broad characteristics of capitalism and socialism; between state control and ownership and the rising influence of the private sector. This fluctuation in social regulation of the oceans is already being reflected in outer space and the current rise and domination of private sector interests exemplified by privatised ports and shipping companies on the one hand and the exploits of Branson, Musk and Bezos in space on the other, however dominant now, will one day see a reversal as part of a cycle of development. Regulation remains of course but has exhibited a reduced impact in recent decades reflecting a general lightening up of governance in most sectors including both space and the maritime. Kessler and Peeters (2011, p. 223) note the controls in force in the UK which restrict what might go on in space and although using the Isle of Man as an example which whilst an independent self-governing Crown Dependency rather than a part of the mainstream UK still provides a suitable introduction to the issues involved. Danilenko (2016, pp. 179–180) reviewed the level of regulation that has existed in recent years running through the governance of outer space. He suggested that although progress in space law-making can be identified particularly from the 1960s to the 1980s, much more and continuous law-making will be needed. This is highlighted by looking at the existing space treaty law. Not all the essential subjects that are amenable to treaty regulation are dealt with. Even during the ‘golden age’ states failed to reach agreement on a number of important problems. Some of them, such as the delimitation of outer space and the character and utilisation of the geostationary orbit, are still on the agenda of the UN Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (UNCOPUOS).

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Danilenko is clear why we need to go on making regulations despite the rise of the private sector and the decline of direct nation-state interests. These should particularly focus upon international cooperation in the exploration and use of outer space. There is ‘a growing need to agree rules and procedures for the prevention of pollution of outer space and the earth from space activities’. Whilst Danilenko emphasises the technological and military issues that need further governance and consequently regulation, his message is clear—governance of space in 2016 when he was writing was inadequate, and we have seen desperately little progress since then. And this situation mirrors that of the maritime sector where similar problems of regulating a global industry which has no respect for borders, national, international or universal have been side-lined commonly through the over-influential private sector powers that characterise both industries. Danilenko continued to emphasise the failure to develop a new space law treaty of any significance since the Moon Treaty of 1979, which itself has been a failure of governance remaining unadopted by most interested parties. He stressed the need for a review of existing governance and regulation processes and that the problem is global and affects the entire international community. ‘Realistically then, viable solutions to outer space issues can be found only through multilateral negotiations leading to legal regimes of universal scope’ (Danilenko, 2016, p. 180). However, problems in regulating come from this very need to be internationally all-encompassing with increasing numbers of nation-states quite understandably demanding a say in the governance process. This is mirrored in the expansion of membership of the UNCOPUOS but with the inevitable consequence of a reduction in consensus—and as Danilenko stresses: the framework of negotiation consensus means no more than the absence of any formal objection to a particular division. It does not imply the positive support which is necessary for subsequent approval of the treaty by the national bodies responsible for ratification. In the absence of such positive support, especially on the part of the space powers most directly affected, consensus may not lead to ratification when each state decided individually whether it is in its best interests to be bound by a particular treaty.

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The result compares with shipping and is a slow regulatory process, constantly lagging behind the issues needing regulation, which is agreed in theory in committee and then neglected when representatives return ‘home’ to the real decision-making bodies in nation-states, and followed by avoidance, inadequate adherence and ultimately sometimes downright violation. The future does not look good as the rise in private sector interests in space, like shipping, will only encourage independence of action distinct and distanced from regulation. Rajagopalan (2018, p. 2) says much the same criticising the existing major space treaties—for example, the OST (1967), Rescue Agreement (1968), Liability Convention (1972), Registration Convention (1976) and the Moon Agreement (1984), each administered by the UNCOPUOS—as being far too expansive to be useful. Developed at a time when the stresses of outer space were considerably different, in particular the demands of Cold War governance, much of what they attempt to achieve is now irrelevant. He even notes the UN’s own recognition of the inadequacies of these treaties at the Third UN Conference on the Exploration and Peaceful Uses of Outer Space in 1999 (UNOOSA, 1999). Significant changes have occurred in the structure and content of world space activity, as reflected in the increasing number of participants in space activities at all levels and the growing contribution of the private sector to the promotion and implementation of space activities.

As Rajagopalan notes, these trends have continued apace since then and yet so little has been done, and by 2019 the issue had even reached the popular press with The Times reflecting on the potential consequences of a near-miss in space: On one side of the earth was £400million European research satellite called Aeolus, hurtling through the sky at 17,000 mph. On the other side was a newly arrived SpaceX internet satellite hurtling on a collision course in the other direction. One of them had to move and it had to be fast. But when the European Space Agency (ESA) got in touch it found that Elon Musk’s SpaceX controllers were not responding.

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Holger Krag, head of space safety at the ESA said that that at least clarified the appropriate response—as well as his belief that our skies are too chaotic. ‘From the silence we guessed that we were the ones who had to react’, he said. They performed an emergency collision avoidance manoeuvre, and the two whizzed past each other. (Whipple, 2019, p. 15)

The Times went on to be clear that there were many in the industry that agreed that space regulation was a necessity. Krag continued: ‘We are not organised’ Dr Krag said. ‘It is frightening. We are exchanging emails and phone calls to coordinate. We sometimes don’t even have an address book of all operators. Very often it has to be found out from the internet. Sometimes when they spot a potential collision they have to Google a company, phone its reception and hope that someone picks up’.

OK.  Do we need more evidence that outer space governance needs upgrading? At least in the maritime sector collisions are a little less spectacular even though they commonly involve more people. Meanwhile Billings (2006, p. 249) noted the need to address value systems in space, much of which would have to be done through legal and regulatory means and which as have seen would also raise substantial ethical concerns. Aganaba-Jeanty (2016, p. 2) reaffirmed this questioning the domination of the nation-state in space governance suggesting that it was merely a mechanism to ensure retention of the existing hegemony. This undermined any attempt to share information and technology to achieve global and universal ideals. Trust was in thin supply. All nations subscribed to the principles of securing ‘the space domain for peaceful use; to protect space assets from all hazards; and to derive maximum value from space, for security, economic, civil and environmental ends’; but really were all referring to achieving these ends from their own national perspective alone. Nationally defined governance remains sub-optimal (as it has always done so for the maritime sector). As Aganaba-Jeanty (2016, p. 2) suggests, and with clear reference to space as a commons, something to which we return in a subsequent chapter, governance of space currently sees that:

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common benefit is constructed as a property claim (‘give me my part’) instead of a distributive justice claim (‘access to an equitable share derived from a common pool resource’)… the idea of common benefit leads to affirmation that those on the margin of space activity can make a claim upon the public good without reciprocity; and secondly, that equitable sharing means that any advantage derived for the hegemonic space powers is considered to being advantageous for the other states. (However), what we find is that, despite increasing number of new entrants to space activities, or usage, barriers to entry still exist, largely disguised as security constraints, and lack of enablement to increase capacity emerges through restricted international cooperation or technological transfer, even when commercial.

A revised space governance regime is envisaged with appropriate legal force and designed around the polycentric characteristics of the sector, also mirroring some of the needs of the maritime industry and recognised by Roe (2009c) and Gritsenko and Roe (2019) some years ago, but where almost nothing has been achieved. Polycentricity, although widely discussed in terms of its contribution to governance design, has been only considered in a limited way for the outer space sector with the main contributor Shackleford (2014, pp.  467–468, 473). He contrasted the traditional UN, international institutional focussed approach to space governance with that of a polycentric design and went on to suggest that Cole’s (2011) ‘polycentric regime complex’ would be a useful start. Others with useful if rather generic contributions include McGinnis (2011) and Carlisle and Gruby (2017). Capova (2016, p. 307) further pressed the point and the need for revised legal and regulatory governance regimes for the space sector. She emphasised the increase in interest of the growing number of new actors as well as new, challenging geopolitical issues and the growing commercialisation of space (Tatsuzawa, 1988; Hulsroj, 2002; Hearsey, 2008; De Man, 2011). The next space era will be one where the economic potential of outer space has been unlocked and will be characterised by ‘unprecedented continuous growth of a multi-million pound space industry’. The importance of institutions to space governance has been considered by many but Gaubert and Lebeau (2009a, 2009b) and Reischl

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(2012) provide two contrasting examples. Gaubert and Lebeau (2009a) focussed upon the institutional structure of the European Union with respect to space governance suggesting that the relationships between the Commission, Parliament and Council of Ministers and the European Space Agency (ESA) and Eumetsat (for instance) were confused and difficult and placed the ‘political unity of governance in jeopardy’. Although improvements in coordination and streamlining have helped, issues of institutional design remain and whilst focussing upon the EU situation, their comments are more widely applicable to space governance as a whole. For example, they put forward some ideas for improvement: First, starting with the current situation and moving beyond the legal and political obstacles that mark out the route, there must be progress towards a political organ whose decisions, whether political or programmatic, will be imposed on all public actors, both Community (i.e. the EU) and intergovernmental. (Gaubert & Lebeau, 2009a, p. 44)

Some hopes and certainly no sign by 2022. Nothing like this exists for shipping and attempts to achieve it can be traced back to the beginning of the twentieth century if not earlier. Meanwhile Reischl (2012, p. 34) noted how international cooperation in all fields had become increasingly institutionalised and ‘remain the major sites of global-governance’ (Higgott, 2008, p.  612). Alter and Meunier (2009) emphasised how these institutions were nested, overlapping and commonly parallel, leading to inefficiency and confusion across most international and global issues and making it difficult ever to act as a single institution regardless of the problem in question. We shall see in a later chapter how the concept of regime complexity can help to understand how these institutions do not work well together and how they might be made to. Reischl (2012, p. 39) goes on: The possibilities to govern interacting planetary boundaries with current institutional structures look bleak and calls for creating new institutions in order to manage coupled and complex issues can be justified to some extent and even be desirable. However, a pragmatic approach to weaknesses of existing institutions needs to build on what is already here. A feasible solu-

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tion is to find strategies to decrease fragmentation, duplication and adverse decision-making. At a first glance, it is necessary to at least have an understanding of the potential of existing mechanisms and an interest in improve (sic) and build on these mechanisms.

He suggests: • That there needs to be a discussion on what such institutions which will focus upon space governance should look like? • What should their functions be considering the increasing complexity? • What institutional elements are most reliable in clarifying scientific knowledge to political actors? • What elements give the institutions capacity to manage risks? And: International institutions have several shortcomings, and they will have difficulties to manage the possible consequences of interacting planetary boundaries. The limitations of existing institutions give rise to calls for institutional reform and better designed institutions. However… it is imperative to have an accurate understanding of existing institutional structures and the strategies to cope with complexity and coupled issues…. (O)ne important part of this endeavour is to understand how institutional complexes manage interactions and what institutional features need to be developed to make institutions more capable.

And echoing Roe (2020) and his discussion on juxtapositional issues in governance, Reischl (2012, p. 35) continues by noting the relationship between interplay and fit, referring to King (1997). The importance of enhancing institutional fit to their specific domains, in this case the diverse and complex interactive social and scientific features of outer space, cannot be over-stressed and the reader is encouraged to explore the issues of how to achieve a good fit including the work on institutional effect (Bernauer, 1995), effectiveness (Haas et  al., 1993), institutional functions (Abbott & Snidal, 1998), success and failures (Simmons & Jonge Oudraat, 2001), performance (Mitchell, 2008) and compliance

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(Vezirgiannidou, 2009). Each has something to offer to improve the process of governance of both outer space and shipping. Steinberg (1999a, p. 369) provides discussion of the governance of the sea which is useful as a basis for that of outer space, and from a geographical perspective suggests that the limited attention paid to the sea compared with the land, despite its extent and presence, can be largely put down to a lack of sovereignty. Similar to governance the attitude seems to be if there is no state ownership then there are no governance issues worth discussing, whereas in fact the opposite is much more the case. In a world where nations dominate, the absence of a nationality presents problems. Outer space can be seen to be much the same case and both also suffer from the lack of ‘permanent sedentary habitation’. However, Steinberg did see exceptions to this in terms of political geography and the ocean, whereby the sea was seen as a space that could be contested for resources and territory (or at least influence) (Prescott, 1986; Glassner, 1990; Blake, 1994) or rather more despicably, as an arena for military activity (Mahan, 1890; Cohen, 1973). Steinberg (1999a, p. 369) also suggested that debates about freedom of the seas which had gone on since at least Grotius (1608) and Selden (1635) were the source of modern international law which continues to govern both their formation and interstate relationships, citing Ruggie (1993), Taylor (1993, 1995) and Thomson (1994). The latter claimed that the current nation-state system only became an international institution with the abolition of piracy in the nineteenth century and ‘when systemic power began to be regularly applied to marine space beyond the territory of individual states’. Harris (2008, p.  126), referring to Gabrynowicz (1994), noted the political importance of outer space and its relationship to governance, reflecting on such issues as: • Is sovereignty necessary to establish property rights? • Are space resources, as well as space itself, the province of all humankind? • If so, how are they to be allocated? • How can non-spacefaring nations be assured of the use of space and its resources? • How will the investments of spacefaring nations be respected? • How will private space activities be allowed to operate?

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Harris noted that there was no planetary policy of any sort for ‘offworld colonisation and administration’ despite the existence of an internationally operated International Space Station, effectively a prototype for the future; and that ‘in a democracy, the political system must be skilfully worked if space industrialization and settlement is to become a mainstream reality’. His clear conclusion was that ‘space commerce, law and politics cannot be viewed separately, but require a more integrated approach by business, legal, and political leaders, in conjunction with scientists, engineers and academicians’ (Harris, 2008, p. 127). This is a major role of space governance. Venet (2012, p.  60) continued the theme suggesting that European space governance which carries a ‘strong public commitment’ implies the ‘existence of a strong political will’ and that since ‘governance is only a tool to reach political goals’ then the political context and profile is an essential element. This would only be possible by taking into account the broadest of political contexts at the European and international level. The national did not even get a look in although beware—remember that the working of the European Union (and much of what Venet is referring to as Europe is actually the EU) is one essentially controlled by the member nation-states. Marta (2013, p.  21) backed this up referring once again to the European context, but in this case both the EU and the European Space Agency (ESA), and the necessity for governance to be clarified at the political level. Meanwhile Newlove-Eriksson and Eriksson (2013, p. 278) introduced a different perspective on the political issues relating to outer space governance reflecting on the multinational nature of activity in space. By definition they saw this as going ‘beyond the terrestrial or typically sovereign domain’ (Bormann & Sheehan, 2012; Hertzfeld, 2007). If there is a realm lacking definition under territorially organized jurisdictions, that realm is space. Surprisingly, however, key features of globalization, such as deterritorialization and the emergence of corporate transnational power, are barely mentioned in the literature on space politics. The space politics literature has remained strongly state-centric. (Newlove-Eriksson & Eriksson, 2013, p. 278)

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And this is mirrored in the literature on globalisation which in the past has largely ignored space politics and continues to do so. The role of the nation-state in the governance of outer space is clearly a critical one. Zacher and McConnell (1990, p. 72) kick us off on this one with a consideration of the law relating to the deep seabed. Much of what they suggest has a close relationship to that of outer space. For example, they consider that the ‘primary tension with respect to the regulation of ocean space (is) between the right of free access (or freedom of the seas) and national control (or enclosure)’, clearly issues that present problems for both the oceans and space. During the latter half of the twentieth century and thereon this has focussed upon attempts to expand state control beyond a narrow adjacent zone to the coast. Freedom of the seas as a governance principle can be adapted with little effort to that of freedom of outer space. Zacher and McConnell (1990, p. 73) suggest it: implies that all states have access to the use of the oceans, for the latter constitute the common property of all nations. Many publicists conclude that the principle derives from the Roman concept of re communis, which states that the area is the property of all and not subject to appropriation by any (Buzan, 1976; O’Connell, 1982). The essence of the principle was aptly stated by Queen Elizabeth 1 of England in her reply to Spanish protests of Sir Francis Drake’s voyage when she noted that navigation was free to all because ‘the use of the sea and air is common to all; neither can any title to the ocean belong to any people of private man, for as much as neither nature nor regard of the public use permitteth any possession thereof ’.

Whilst Elizabeth I did not have anything to say on outer space, and for good reason at the time, it can be assumed that in different circumstances, she would have said much the same. Zacher and McConnell (1990, pp. 74–75) (Table 4.1) provide an analysis of how the notion of freedom of the seas has changed over time and much they suggest can be reinterpreted with little difficulty for outer space. Clearly outer space is a long way behind the oceans in terms of the development of governance, but it is now moving very much quicker, has left out some stages and is catching up rapidly in the problems it faces

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Table 4.1  The law of the sea regime: changes and their sources Nineteenth century–1940

1945–1966

1967–present

Basic regime features Same, but bases for Navigation Free access except Same possible coastal state in inland waters controls in straits and (innocent passage territorial seas are through 3-mile reduced in 1982 treaty territorial sea) National enclosure of Resources Free access except National enclosure all resources in of seabed minerals in territorial sea 200-mile EEZ and and inland waters on continental continental margin; shelf; increasing outside of 200 miles, challenges to acceptance of a hybrid 3-mile limit on free access/common fisheries heritage regime for jurisdiction (to 12 the deep seabed, with or 200 miles) possibilities for the developed state and exploitation (but support by some industrial powers open to question) Sources of change Uses of oceans Same Navigation Increasing oceanic Same (but colonisation trade, conduct of declines wars and dramatically) colonisation by sea (especially by great powers) Resources Small-scale fishing Dramatic increase in Same, except that in offshore areas long-distance fishing coastal state oil until the declined with creation exploitation; twentieth century increased of EEZ competition for when long-­ off-shore fisheries distance fishing (with a small and scarcity number of problems developed states developed responsible for (especially after most long-distance 1918) fishing) (continued)

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Table 4.1 (continued) Nineteenth century–1940

1945–1966

1967–present

Distribution of benefits Same Same. However, Navigation All gained from decolonisation open trade; great meant end of big powers gained negative more from naval consequences for mobility (with Third World areas Third World areas, which still lost the big losers) occasionally as a result of great power naval mobility Coastal state control Perceived loss by Resources All could exploit over all offshore coastal fishing fisheries without resources is solidified states (especially serious (EEZ); a reasonably competition, until developing) even trade-off around the 1920s; increases; major between developed maritime powers increasingly and developing states willing to sacrifice coastal states on free-access/ own coastal perceive common heritage fisheries to stave themselves as regime for deep off ‘creeping ‘losing’ to seabed (but eventual jurisdiction’ or to long-distance implementation get access to other fishing states somewhat tenuous) offshore fisheries; coastal state control over minerals on continental margin quickly established (continued)

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Table 4.1 (continued) Nineteenth century–1940 Distribution of power Navigation Inability of most states to control shipping outside a narrow coastal zone, and even major powers could not extend control far; naval powers (e.g. the UK) could punish states that interfered with shipping Resources Naval powers had ability to punish any states that interfered with fishing

1945–1966

1967–present

Coastal states’ ability to extend control increased, but naval powers had ability to punish transgressors

Same

Coastal state power Naval powers’ overexploitation of willingness and offshore resources ability to punish intervenors against recognised in law; on deep seabed fishing vessels developing states decreased have significant somewhat because political leverage of proliferation of because of developed regime opponents and desire to avoid state desires to secure political alienation; their support for coastal state power navigational freedoms, their over offshore oil political goodwill and exploitation never their respect for questioned national deep seabed mining operations

Source: Zacher and McConnell (1990, pp. 74–75)

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and the solutions developed. Issues such as colonialisation (largely resolved from a maritime perspective) have yet to develop in space; but they will albeit it is unlikely that the human trade and exploitation aspects will feature prominently, but the exploitation of mineral resources certainly will. Rights of passage and spatial conflicts are already emerging (satellite orbits for example), and the distribution of benefits and costs over space will become an increasing problem. Meanwhile, although military issues do not feature in Zacher and McConnell’s interpretation these are and have been central to both governance regimes. This highlights the problems yet to be faced in outer space governance, and the difficulties there are in reaching acceptable and justifiable conclusions. They make two further points. In ocean governance the principle of national enclosure is clearly important, and we can assume that it will be no less so in space. National enclosure centres upon the definition of areas within which a nation has exclusive rights to legislate. This can be applied over areas as well as activities The future exploitation of space and the activities within it will both be affected by this. Meanwhile the common heritage principle has relevance here. Emerging also from res communis, it requires that an area is managed by ‘community political organs’ and for the seas is based upon: cooperation, on the revolutionary principle that the oceans are the common heritage of mankind and that the marine environment and its resources, therefore, had to be managed for the common good of all. (Zacher & McConnell, 1990, p. 76)

In terms of ocean governance two contenders for the deep seabed can be identified—the freedom of the seas/common heritage hybrid; and extension of the national enclosure movement (variously termed The World or National Lake Concept where the world’s oceans are divided up by drawing equidistant lines between national baselines). The former whilst difficult to administer and police at least appears like it might be a possibility; the latter requires dividing the entire oceans into national plots and might appear preposterous as well as almost universally rejected after its proposal in 1967 on the grounds of administrative chaos, the threat to free shipping movements and gross inequity (Buzan, 1976,

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p. 82). However, the 200-mile limit was also ridiculed before it was introduced. Similar models might be proposed for outer space, the former based upon the commons principle, the latter even more inconceivable than for oceans, but who really knows? Might one day, with Mars, for example, colonised by the USA or China, there be a designated exclusion zone of 20,000 miles around the planet with the rights of use and transit held by the colonisers? The World Lake concept was initiated by the CIA in the USA. However, rather than as a solution to the governance of the ocean commons this was developed as a ‘scare’ option (Buzan, 1976, p.  82) and promoted through the publication of a map showing the division of the oceans as it might look (Fig. 4.1). The World Lake concept envisaged dividing up of the world’s oceans and allocating to land-based sovereign nations (Bernfeld, 1967). Issues of navigation through what would then not be ‘free seas’ would be resolved just in the same way that flight paths are

Fig. 4.1  The World Lake concept. (Source: Central Intelligence Agency. Free to use—US Government)

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agreed and also access to communal routes such as the Kiel Canal, the English Channel, the Baltic Sea and the Bosporus. Oceans would be allocated according to shorelines and location and landlocked states would undoubtedly be unhappy but in many cases too small or economically irrelevant to be a serious issue. However ludicrous this sounds, it reflects the USA’s obsession with the freedom of the seas (and the resource benefits gained by them from them with powerful supply chain interests) and in outer space we would almost undoubtedly see the same process occurring. The most powerful outer space player sustaining the freedom of space for free trade to prosper, but within which it would prosper the most (Steinberg, 2001, p. 175). The World Lake concept has been almost universally dismissed by nation-states and governments so far although some discussion of the approach to the governance of spatial commons like the ocean and cosmos has taken place. Buzan (1976, p. 84), for example, suggested that: this scenario was developed by many writers as a scare example but found very few advocates. Most of the countries that would gain from the largest areas opposed the idea because of the inherent threat to the freedom of the seas, and in general the scheme was seen as being too inequitable and too cumbersome to be a realistic alternative.

Despite this the idea remains alive: ‘if we allow the convention (on the Law of the Sea) to disintegrate, we will most assuredly end up with an ocean regime based on the National Lakes approach sooner rather than later’ (Miles, 1988, p. 4). Zacher and McConnell (1990, p.  89) focussed on this approach to ocean governance which had emerged as a response to the difficulties in applying a commons approach as noted earlier with all the difficulties defining and policing responsibilities. In the ‘National Lakes’ model, the oceans would be divided up into national plots, defined by the location of land-based national boundaries and with each state responsible for their own territory. Whilst the idea that (e.g.) the central Pacific could be divided up between Australia, the USA, Tonga and so on sounds ludicrous at first, the suggestion that 200-mile EEZs would ever be accepted would have sounded equally ludicrous in the nineteenth century (Zacher

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& McConnell, 1990, pp. 91–95). Now this approach, at least theoretically, could be applied to outer space with the voids between planets allocated to Earth-based nation-states according to which they had colonised (or at least landed upon) those nearest. Thus if China, for example, had taken possession of Mars, and Russia, Venus, then some form of allocating governance responsibilities could follow including decisions about access, resources, communications and the like and akin to what has actually happened on Earth for ocean and airspace. One way of organising some of these ideas for outer space mirrors that of the oceans with the development of a ‘World Space Organisation’ (WSO), first put forward at UNISPACE-I in Vienna in 1968 and restated at UNISPACE-II in 1982 (Noichim, 2008a, 2008b). These proposals also received some support in academic circles (see e.g. Serafimov, 1989; Pedersen, 1993). Such an organisation would be most likely to be a part of the United Nations (c.f. the IMO) and as such would have all the nation-state features (and problems) that all such UN organisations exhibit. Its general aims would be: • To provide a focus for international cooperation in exploration and use of outer space for peaceful purposes. • To coordinate the activities of nation-states in outer space. • To facilitate participation in space activities by all nation-states. • And to verify compliance to international agreements. Not everyone is enamoured with the idea of a nation-state-dominated institution for space governance. Gaubert and Lebeau (2009a, p.  42, 2009b) commented on the problems that existed within the EU where there were simultaneous EU and nation-state policies sometimes clearly in conflict—and sometimes reflecting the situation for maritime governance as well. This situation also occurred at the ESA where the national space agency members also had to adjudicate on conflicts between nation-­ state members. Newlove-Eriksson and Eriksson (2013, p. 278) also noted the decline in effective power held by nation-states which commonly appear to be dominant, but which actually find themselves marginalised. The maritime case is a classic example where the UN IMO is both nationally

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determined but also globally weak (Roe, 2013) and seen to be operating in an increasingly complex and interdependent world where the simplicity of the nation-state no longer mirrors the activities of the market. Newlove-Eriksson and Eriksson (2013, p.  280) noted the rise in the number of nation-states with space interests but this increased state complexity may well not make their effectiveness in governance any clearer. Shackleford (2014, pp. 444–445) commented on issues that we shall return to in a later chapter when he considered the commons characteristics of outer space and how the reaction in terms of governance was either to enforce centralised control or to encourage privatisation. ‘Nations increasingly seem to favour the former approach to global commons management with national regulation becoming more prevalent in the oceans as well as in outer space’, although this does appear to contradict increased moves towards privatisation in the outer space market. Lahcen (2015, p. 55), referring to the ESPI (European Space Policy Institute) Autumn Conference of 2014, noted the contribution from the USA and NASA in particular suggesting that the US space programme was still ‘based on nationally motivated political decisions’ and reflected little in terms of global objectives and policies. Meanwhile Damjanov (2015, p. 890) considered the role of nation-states in the governance of outer space and how the ‘thrust into space’ was simply an ‘extra-planetary limb of the technological platform that sustains the human pursuit of power, knowledge and wealth’; ‘extra-terrestrial footprints of global capitalism and its contemporary high-tech grasp over vital material and social processes’. Suzuki (2016, p.  199) focussed upon the differences between traditional nation-state-based governance and that needed for outer space: Governing space is quite different from ordinary international governance. In the world of traditional governance, primary responsibility lies in the hands of territorial sovereign states. States have jurisdictions and control over certain parts of the world. It is also a foundation of international governance that states will not (normally) extend their exercise of power beyond their territorial jurisdiction—at least not under normal conditions, which excludes for instance, acts of self-defence… governance in space is quite different from traditional international governance. There is no ter-

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ritorial jurisdiction in space. No rule or regulation can be implemented and executed because of the absence of coercive force in orbit. Therefore the rules and regulations on space governance have to aim at constraining and restricting the behaviour of actors in space. Current legal frameworks for space activities, such as the Outer Space Treaty… are designed to put into states the responsibility for space activities, including those activities by private entities. In other words, governance of space is governance without government. Each state entering space is responsible for the governance of space. In so doing, states must impose self-restraint on themselves to follow international norms and paradigms.

The nation-state is thus the central player in a power vacuum and reflects almost identically the position that pertains in the maritime sector. It also mirrors some of the dangers and inadequacies which emerge from the incompatibility between governance authority and power exhibited by the maritime sector. Whipple (2019, p. 15) provides an example referring to the chaos of near-misses of space objects that continues to grow because of the absence of ‘terrestrial rules’ (i.e. nation-state agreed rules for nation-state-controlled objects) for space. Chrysaki (2020, p. 6) also noted the inadequacies of national governance for activities within a commons far detached from a global, international arena let alone a nation-state one. This situation has only been exacerbated by the increasing role of private actors in space, demanding increased investment whilst at the same time acting across nation-state boundaries and jurisdictions and using the shortage of coordination between authorities to obtain what they want—again similar to the maritime case where shipping whilst nationally governed is actually able to trade-off nation-states to acquire benefits and privileges. As a result, this gives priority to the national development of each country, leading to different interests. Consequently, many aspects relating to guarantees of sustainability for the benefit of humankind remain uncertain as they would affect national interests.

Much of this debate about nation-states and space governance leads us back again to the commons, and although we return to this in some detail in a later chapter we need to consider it briefly here.

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Rather surprisingly some of the more interesting debates on the relationship between the commons and outer space can be derived from Zacher and McConnell’s (1990, p. 76) discussion we noted earlier on the law applicable to the deep seabed. They outline the role of the common heritage principle, comparing it to freedom of the seas and evolving from res communis but characterised by involving some form of ‘communal political organ’. Here governance of the ocean would be based upon ‘cooperation on the revolutionary principle that the oceans are the common heritage of mankind… and therefore managed for the common good of all’ (Borgese, 1998, p.  595). The same is readily applicable to outer space. Hulsroj (2002, p. 107) was emphatic that outer space should remain free as it was ‘the province of mankind. Free for the exploration and use by all states’ but note the acceptance of the state dimension. However, he also explained that freedom was running out as it ‘pre-supposes an unlimited resource’. Now in space this might actually be the case although there are bottlenecks in satellite orbits, for example, and of course in the resources, to devote to space and hence the range of nation-states with the ability to take advantage of any freedom. Damjanov (2015, p. 894) meanwhile took the notion of the ‘freedom of the seas’ in his discussion on cosmobiopolitics and suggested that the commons of the ocean was a serious participant in the creation of capital and as such these commons (and by extrapolation those of outer space) needed both sophisticated and principled governance. While specifically related to the agenda of European colonial expansions, the establishment of the seas as shared commons was indicative of the awareness that the unlimited accumulation of wealth requires the infinitely free space of the global market. Freedom of the seas was, as Foucault (2008, p. 56) described, born out of the ‘new form of global rationality… a new calculation on the scale of the world’ and it marked the start of economic globalisation. The interplay between the finite room of territories and infinite possibilities for circulation and accumulation of capital was sustained indefinitely by asserting the global freedom, the commonality of the seas. Through the commons of the seas, capitalism assumed its global latitudes; while the historical enclosure of wastelands that were shared as ‘commons’

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enabled the initial, ‘primitive’ accumulation of capital, the creation of the ocean’s commons enabled capitalism to articulate its processes at a global scale.

This he saw manifested in the OST where ‘international law established a space of commons whose exploration and exploitation would proceed as a joint enterprise through which all states could freely advance and prosper both individually and part of a collective’ (Damjanov, 2015, p. 895). Much of this was re-emphasised by Migaud et al. (2021, p. 3) suggesting that space governance was commonly referred through the common pool resource lens of Ostrom (Weeden & Chow, 2012; Johnson-­ Freese & Weeden, 2012). But more on the commons and outer space governance later. The intricate relationship within commons between private property, the role of the state and capitalism has been noted by a number of commentators including Steinberg (1999a, p. 369) who suggested that the fact that maritime space has distinctly different properties from those of land space means that different social formations must emerge. Much the same could be said of outer space. He emphasised the contribution of Deleuze and Guattari (1988) in highlighting the smoothness of movement in the ocean which consequently resists regulation, once again reflecting outer space. The result is that it becomes difficult to regulate, consequently making both the oceans and outer space ideal territory for anarchistic societies. Meanwhile Virilio (1986) suggested that the oceans could be incorporated into the ‘controlled perpetual motion of capitalism and statist militarism’ and as such would represent a victory for modernism. Once again the parallels with outer space are apparent. This was taken up further by Rediker (1989) in considering how the oceans are resistant to direct state surveillance and territoriality but that nonetheless have been ‘incorporated within statist discourse’. Interestingly, Steinberg (1999a, p. 370) goes on to develop this relationship between ocean space and capital in a way that is directly applicable to the outer space scenario: Ocean-space has also provided a foundational. if somewhat ephemeral, grounding for some of the major geopolitical, geocultural and g­ eoeconomic

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references of our time, including the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), and the Pacific Rim.

Steinberg (1999a, p. 370) referred to the contribution of Wilson and Dirlik (1995) along with Dirlik (1993) and their consideration of the Pacific Rim, as they highlighted a geographical identity which focussed upon the ‘rim’ of a ‘supposedly essence-free center’ which generated: modernist images of placeness, an unbounded potential for progress and development and—quite literally—the liquidity and fungability of capital. Through the manipulation of marine imagery, the local space of capital is defined as points of limitless opportunity for investment and ‘development’.

Now think of outer space and the close relationship with the governance issues that impact maritime space can clearly be seen. Steinberg (1999b, pp. 254–255) returned to the relationship of property, ownership and capitalism in the world oceans reflecting on how they were increasingly seen as a ‘space of resources’, both connection and material. The modern capitalist system of production has encouraged the process of spatial enclosure ‘as a means of commodifying and guaranteeing rents from resources’ and leading to a succession of events that have drawn lines to ‘foster the enclosure, possession and management of ocean space’, not an easy task given its commons and spatial characteristics, and perpetual movement. Steinberg went on to suggest that the tendency of oceans to be increasingly territorially defined and enclosed, and the need to maintain a friction free environment for communication, reflects the contradictory tendencies of capitalism identified by many including Bell (1972), Glyn (1990), O’Connor (1991) and Harvey (2014). Newlove-Eriksson and Eriksson (2013, p. 280) identified the growth in private ‘authority’ in governance in general and in particular in global governance with its clear ramifications for both maritime and outer space (Cutler et al., 1999). Private actors were seen to be increasing in influence, ‘setting agendas, guaranteeing contracts and even providing order and security’ with a number of major corporations including some in the shipping and space industries, far richer than some small countries (Laudal, 2011). However, private authority (and therefore inevitably

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governance) has spread far beyond corporations to include interest groups, terrorist organisations and a wide range of social movements. Rosenau (1990) suggested they are increasingly divorced from public accountability and responsibility and consequently ‘sovereign-free’ and hence clearly separated from national interests and the foundation of global governance, the nation-state. Newlove-Eriksson and Eriksson (2013, p. 281) went on to stress the growing significance of the private sector alongside the state in space politics and consequently space governance citing the work of Sadeh et al. (2005), Moltz (2008), Howard (2008, pp. 729–730) and Sadeh (2011). Handberg (1995, p. 1) reflected on this trend rather poetically: Commercial space is no longer merely the dream of visionaries or the province and playground for earthbound government bureaucrats. As the pieces of the tragic Space Shuttle Challenger rained down on the Florida coast in January 1986, private space enterprise rose phoenix-like from the wreckage

Damjanov (2015, pp. 890–891) focussed upon the role of media technologies in outer space and their impact upon governance, reflecting upon their hold on both material and social processes, and their impact upon sovereign territorial power. This is manifested through the circumvention of terrestrial constraints and unlimited spatial expansion outwards. Outer space consequently offers what the maritime sector did some decades ago in providing opportunities for almost unlimited markets, something reflected in the growth of globalisation but which now as the globe nears saturation will hand its development role over to space where technology can open up a process of universalisation replacing that of the almost ‘passé’ globalisation. In turn this will influence the contours of what was remarked upon at a Symposium in March 2014 at the New York Parsons New School of Design as ‘Post Planetary Capital’. We have noted earlier the increasing importance of the private sector in outer space. Lahcen (2015, pp. 55–56) provided support for this trend in his report of the ESPI Annual Conference of 2015 which included contributions from space entrepreneurs claiming that private initiatives were vital for good space governance. Only through private initiatives could commercial, sustainable and affordable services ever develop.

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Examples were provided from NASA which was seen as more a commercial procurement agency rather than a competitor to the private sector in space. This in turn impacts governance as the role of the state becomes much less of a provider than of a regulator to ensure that standards of safety, sustainability and commercial ethics are maintained. These trends have been largely mirrored in the maritime sector. Meanwhile Tepper (2018, p. 2) noted the need for a system of governance for human activity in outer space and that would also need to be one specifically designed as such. National divisions and rivalries would have to be discarded, whilst commercial activities increasingly would need to be accommodated. If current models for governance in space are Earthbound and states-based, the search for new models needs to explore beyond these two characteristics. When human habitats will be independent, far into the future, local governance will make sense, if not be inevitable. In addition, but more immediately, private sector initiatives to establish human presence in space calls for contemplating their role in the governance of space… giving a role to private actors in governance does not necessarily mean that we will see private habitats in space that are owned by space-mining companies or that entrepreneurs like Elon Musk will be the sheriff in the settlement they establish.

This was reaffirmed by Tepper (2019, p.  9) a year later. Meanwhile Migaud et al. (2021) noted the ‘changing landscape of space governance’, referring to Pyle (2019) and Heracleous et al. (2019), the latter in particular emphasising the increasing commercialisation and privatisation of space. Both suggested that a whole new range of actors would be establishing themselves as governance directors and accompanied by a decline in the role of national governments. Whilst placing their argument within the specific context of the USA and NASA in particular, much of what they argue remains more widely relevant to the development of space governance in the coming years. Gaubert and Lebeau (2009a, pp. 37–38, 2009b) considered the wide range of actors that were important players in space governance which in turn had an impact upon the complexity of the issue, something later

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taken up by Venet (2012, p. 60). They believed that political authorities remained central despite the considerable growth in private sector interests in space. These interests manifested at the time of their writing in particular in industrial productive capacity and those with related skills. Effective governance of any sector requires the input and involvement of all those actively delivering products. Relationships between authorities and producers are managed and controlled largely by the intermediaries of space agencies At the time this was seen to be dominated by nation-­ states and supranational authorities including a major role for the EU.  Finally Gaubert and Lebeau emphasised the diversity and significance of space users in the governance process, a category that has grown in significance as the potential and practical possibilities of space have grown. From these actors two main difficulties for governance were clear—the duality present in the national-supranational relationships (e.g. France and the EU) and the problems also apparent in relationships between the supranational and global/intergovernmental (e.g. EU/UN). Both these issues are clearly significant in the process of maritime governance as well and both emerge from the spatial conflicts within current governance frameworks and the divergence between these structures and the variable powers and influence of nation-states in both maritime and space, all set within the complexity of managing a global commons. The wide range of actors involved more widely in governance emerged when we considered maritime governance earlier in this book and also in a series of other publications (e.g. Roe, 2013, 2016a, 2020) and this was further emphasised by Newlove-Eriksson and Eriksson (2013, p. 277) in their specific consideration of the relationship between globalisation and outer space. The rise of private authority and transnational networks are examples of features analysed in the burgeoning literature on globalization. Recent contributions emphasise complexity and variety, and highlight that globalization is not a uniform process. Contemporary analyses commonly stress the involvement of both governmental and nongovernmental actors, including cabinets, ministries, agencies corporations, political parties, pressure groups etc.—actors that are often internally fragmented, and typically operate in

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complex transnational networks. Whilst states are generally considered to be crucial and often the most powerful players, it is also emphasized that states have lost absolute power—if they ever had it—and are currently being compelled to change and adapt to a more independent world. (Barnett & Duvall, 2005; Scholte, 2005)

Aliberti and Krasner (2016, p. 146) continued the theme noting that the ‘number of countries, the array of activities and the kinds of entities launching vehicles into space has grown dramatically’, and those involved were no longer the rich and powerful, exemplified by the USA and the former USSR, but also a range of developing and semi-developed nations such as India, North Korea, Israel and Iran. The activities in space had mushroomed from an expression of power and pride to be dominated by communications, data collection and a variety of military activities. Along with this growth in diversity of nation-states and their focus in space, there has also been the increased role of the private sector. Together this has multiplied the number of actors in outer space and also as a consequence the complexity of governance, although Aliberti and Krasner (2016, p. 147) also commented how ‘durable the principles, norms and rules have been despite having been formulated several decades ago when most of the activities that are taking place in space now were only a glimmer in the eye of a few futurists’. Meanwhile Larsen (2018, pp. 382–384) also stressed the significance of the range and influence of actors in the governance of outer space noting their activities at international, national, governmental and nongovernmental levels. The importance of the rise of supranational influence in the governance of both the maritime and outer space sectors has been well documented from the late twentieth century, and in some ways suggest that it has superseded that of global authorities, although notably generating conflict with national states. Madders and Wouters (2004, p. 34) were relatively early commentators suggesting that the EU needed to take a strategic governance role including a more prominent position in international debate and investing more heavily in the sector as a whole. Venet (2012, p. 59) continued the theme summarising the position of the EU towards space governance following two years after the Lisbon Treaty and just a few months after the release of the European Commission

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Communication on a future space strategy. Space governance was seen to be central to any future EU space policy, but its complexity was recognised as it lay at the: crossroads of policy (it is linked to the substance of space programmes), politics (it has to set institutional ‘rules of the road’) and polity (it has to accommodate several tiers of actors).

Venet (2012, p. 60) continued by suggesting that the EU needed to show a strong public commitment to space reflected in an even stronger political commitment which would be directed by the governance structures adopted. Such commitments would be meaningful only if they could accommodate the inevitable tensions between the nation-state members and the European body as a whole. Marta (2013, pp.  20–21) provided more detail of the main actors involved in European space governance emphasising the roles of national governments, the European Space Agency (ESA) and the EU. She went on to emphasise the importance of multilateralism and the difficulties which were evident in achieving a balance between each jurisdictional level and particularly the national/supranational, something further emphasised by Suzuki (2016) in his consideration of a series of models for governance across a variety of sectors. Her solution was multinationalism but with a single governance authority which would get around the obviously cumbersome arrangement that existed between the ESA and the EU where decision-making and authority were unclear and slow. Béclard (2013, p. 463) outlined the role in the space sector of the EU in comparison with that of the ESA and the complexities this presented in national/supranational relationships and governance, clearly now becoming a recurrent theme and mirroring that of the maritime sector. The EU only benefits from the authority that member states have chosen to confer and consequently the role of the nation-state could be seen as more significant. The problems this presents in ensuring that there is a coordinated and effective space policy for the EU where three institutions are involved (ESA, national governments, the European Commission/ Parliament/Council) are clear (Béclard, 2013, pp. 466–467) terming this

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‘parallel governance’, occurring across three streams with clear inadequacies. He summarised: Because of the numerous limitations inside each of the three parameters, one can hardly talk about the EU as a full actor in the space domain. If the external dimension of every criterion does not seem to be a problem, one can easily notice that it is often the internal dimension of the parameters that is a problem. Indeed, if the EU has acquired competence in space, it is clear that regarding the question of its autonomy, far from playing the main role, the EU still has to share the stage with ESA and member states in a complex governance architecture where all of these actors play a role. In the current situation there is what Frans von der Dunk calls ‘two captains on one spaceship’ in European space cooperation. Despite the important and permanent evolutions that decision-making has experienced, states seem hostile to the idea of drastically renewing European space governance, fearing that this would de facto lead to a power shift from the European Council to other networks much less controllable.

Yet this is happening—remember the role of the private sector and its growth in influence filling the chaos left by the inadequate structures of space governance in Europe. And the pattern continues across the global jurisdiction with the failures of the UN in the maritime field and the inability to progress either speedily or with impact in the maritime sector beginning to be reflected in outer space as well. The problems inherent in the governance of space in the EU were reemphasised by consideration of the role of the UN by Hertzfeld et al. (2016, p. 19) There is no single governmental entity that can exert control over all users of space. While some may wish to see the United Nations (UN) become that entity, the reality is that the current international system of governance precludes it. The core unit of sovereign behaviour is the nation-state, and states only subject themselves to UN authority when it suits their interests.

Tepper (2019, p. 1) outlined how the contribution of the UN through the five space law treaties which were created between 1958 and 1975 was largely inadequate and ineffective and has now to a certain extent

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been replaced by soft law which at least has some advantages in circumnavigating the jurisdictional constipation that exists. Meanwhile Oltrogge and Christensen (2020, p. 434) outlined the role of the UN COPUOS and the voluntary nature of state actor compliance which means that any guidelines (of which there are many) can never be sufficient by themselves. Other significant issues with respect to the governance of outer space include the spatial aspects as outlined by Aganaba-Jeanty (2016, p. 6). She emphasised the polycentric nature of outer space and therefore the need to develop a governance framework that reflected this but to do so would require a central administrative body. Current multilateral institutions were ineffective in the way we have noted earlier with reference to the UN, supranational authorities and nation-states. She also suggested that the only way to design an effective system was to break down the outer space regime into small units through a process of decentralisation. Meanwhile Steinberg (1999a) introduced some interesting ideas that related to the social construction of the ocean and which are relevant to the discussion of space governance. At the heart of the ever-growing maritime trade network, though, is the ocean itself, usually treated by economic geographers as an empty space between discrete points of production and consumption. Despite this prevalent perception, ocean-space, like land-space has long been regulated so as to facilitate the movement that is crucial to capitalist (and pre-­ capitalist) economic processes (Gold, 1981). The precise nature and geographic focus of the sea’s social construction as a transport surface has historically shifted with transformations in the world-economy, but the ocean, in one form or another, has been a socially ‘shaped’ space ever since its emergence as a space of social utility (Steinberg, 1996, 1998). Indeed, Hugill (1993) suggests that a study of technological and logistical innovation in the shipping industry is necessary if one wishes to gain an historical perspective on the progressive ‘annihilation of space’ that characterises the development of modern capitalism.

And much the same with outer space where once again, it is treated as an empty space between discrete points of social and economic activity— in this case largely planets. Yet it is regulated at least to a certain extent

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and increasingly may need to be further regulated to facilitate meaningful governance. In the meantime chaos ensues. Steinberg (1999b) continued suggesting that in the modern era: the drawing of lines in ocean space—whether lines of division or lines of connection—can be seen as attempts to steward the ocean as a space that, on one hand, is immune to territorial incorporation into individual states or the system of states but that, on the other hand, is susceptible to social intervention in pursuit of specific goals.

Once again the clear similarity with the context for outer space is apparent with the contradictions in national property acquisition and sovereignty battling with the immunity of incorporation that characterises all commons. Steinberg (2001, p. 173) also went on to reflect on how effective governance of the ocean required its reinterpretation as a land asset—and much the same can be said of outer space. An anonymous contributor to the Economist in 1998 summed it up: (The sea) is a resource that must be preserved and harvested. To enhance its uses, the water must become ever more like the land, with owners, laws and limits. Fishermen must behave more like farmers than hunters.

However, this would require a resolution of the commons problem— where ownership is shared (commonly) and consequently all the traditions of a capitalist economy, including discrete ownership, laws and constraints on what is permitted, become confused. Despite hundreds (if not thousands) of years of effort, the existing ocean governance remains in severe contradiction to that of the commons. Indeed, solutions to this territorial problem faced by any commons area—land, sea or space based—have been suggested but so far, with little success. The issue of power has also been raised in connection with governance in space, although much of the discussion relates more to the relationship between superpowers and the historical dimension of the Cold War and its after-effects along with a considerable literature on the history of naval and commercial power of traditional ocean states such as the UK, Spain and Portugal (Steinberg, 1999b, pp.  257–258). However, Aliberti and

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Krasner (2016, pp. 149–150) pointed out that ‘strategic interaction in space is more limited and power asymmetries are greater than in either the oceans or Antarctica, the other major commons, enabling the more powerful to achieve what they want in space unilaterally’. This has serious ramifications for any design of a governance framework. Issues of space governance arise in many other contexts and we cannot accommodate them all here but we shall refer to some of the more important ones which so far have been neglected. We begin with Steinberg (1999a, p. 367) and his comments on ocean space which can be transferred easily and appropriately to outer space: Marine geographers’ concentration on the description of what is admittedly a physically unique region and one decidedly hostile to permanent human habitation has likely confirmed the impression among many non-­ marine geographers that the ocean… is an uninteresting abyss that separates the places that ‘matter’, a marginal region that has limited commonality with or impact on the physical and social processes that characterize the rest of the world.

And later he continues considering the place of the oceans in the broadest geographical context: The sea is still generally perceived as a space that shares little with the land-­ space studied by the bulk of the discipline (geography). Yet this perspective is inadequate as the sea emerges as a central arena for many of the key social and physical problems of concern to policymakers, scholars and citizens.

Outer space is similarly ostracised from land/earth-based considerations in policy and governance terms making the development of effective regimes that much more difficult. Huntley (2007, p. 264) was pessimistic about the future scenario of space governance anticipating that ‘the relations among states in space will reflect their terrestrial relations; anarchy will persist despite uncertainties, and so states must always look after their own interests’, a situation perhaps not the best for the governance of a commons. He concludes (264):

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The conviction that space is merely another medium into which the spread of militarized combat is inevitable, and that the greatest US concern is the gloomy foreboding of a ‘Space Pearl Harbor’, evinces a curiously circumscribed situational awareness of the current conditions and future possibilities—benign and malign—for the future of human presence in space.

If we overlook the US orientation, the point is clear. Meanwhile Reischl (2012, p. 33) focussed heavily upon issues relating to space governance and particularly planetary boundaries and institutions, nation-­ states and boundaries. The need for policy-making in the space sector across nations was obvious and this was emphasised by the failure of existing global institutions to achieve this, largely as a result of the inadequacies of these institutions to provide governance structures across ‘complex and coupled issues’. Buckerfield de la Roche (2013, p. 159) emphasised that space governance was now central—‘as the last frontier, space is transnational, borderless and essentially ungoverned; governance and regulatory frameworks for orbital management are critical and recognised as a priority issue’. But he gave no idea of by whom and also preceded to go on to neglect the issue of governance almost entirely. Newlove-Eriksson and Eriksson (2013, p. 287) reflected upon the relationship of outer space to globalisation and global governance and in particular the rise of what they termed ‘private authority’, a feature which they suggested was growing in significance and was beginning to rival military and security issues. Three features were seen to characterise this development—the growth of new responsibilities, the rise of transnational conglomerates and the blurring of the distinction between the military and civilian. Its growth also hinted at problems that might emerge in the coming years. They included gaps between public and private expectations, unclear objectives and subsequent policies, poor risk management and transparency, a shortage of funding and a lack of competition. Since then, some of these problems have been resolved but others remain significant. Shackleford (2014, pp. 435–436) suggested that there were three variables that provide an analytical framework for space

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governance—technological advancement, growing demand and the rise of multipolar international relations. He also noted the failure of space governance to appreciate or accommodate the commons issues that characterise the sector, consequently generating its own ‘tragedy’ (443). And in conclusion he suggested that space governance for the future would be notable for polycentricism, its need for treatment as a comprehensive global commons and the rise of multilateral accords on weaponisation, debris and property (505). Hertzfeld et al. (2016, p. 21) noted that because of the acceleration in space usage there was a need to develop better management principles and this included governance. Current (and foreseeable) ownership regulation and law in space make nation-states responsible for objects they place there and this will require considerable and increased international cooperation and although there are notable failures in the approach to international maritime governance, there remain lessons for space to be learned, not least that the most powerful nations will always dominate. Aganaba-Jeanty (2016, pp. 2–3) was distrustful of much of the governance that had been applied to the space sector citing the ‘perception that legal rules designed to promote equality and equity are simply disguises to ensure that forms of hegemony are maintained’. She identified eight issues that were central for space governance to address: • • • • • • • •

debris and collisions lack of space situational awareness purposeful interference such as satellite jamming space weather and radiation aggression and its geopolitical origins human error failure to meet societal needs budgets

And the reason for these problems commonly occurring? Because of a perception noted earlier, that common benefit is constructed as a property claim (‘give me my part’) instead of a distributive justice claim (‘access to an equitable share derived from a common pool resource’).

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Aganaba-Jeanty was pessimistic (or perhaps realistic) when considering the role of the developing world: The idea of common benefit leads to affirmation that those on the margins of space activity can make a claim upon the public good without reciprocity; and secondly; that equitable sharing means that any advantage derived for the hegemonic space powers is considered to bring advantages for the other states. What we find is that despite increasing number of new entrants to space activities or usage, barriers to entry still exist largely disguised as security constraints and lack of enablement to increase capacity emerges through restricted international cooperation or technology transfer, even when commercial.

She also noted the problems of governing for sustainability in space in more general terms and in particular in relation to designing a central authority for a common space: the wide distribution of interests; uncertainty in the face of costly commitments; and the struggle to find productive linkages among issue areas. Rajagopalan (2016, p. 232) also contributed to ideas about what outer space governance should include suggesting security, order and stability, and sustainability. Meanwhile Tepper (2018, p.  1) reflected upon how the existing models of space governance were Earthbound and state-based and that a new paradigm was needed ideally leaving behind national rivalries and divisions—once more reflecting the maritime sector where the nation-state remains paramount whilst ineffective. He continued in 2019 (1–3), suggesting that a ‘critical discussion was emerging in space policy, economics, law and governance but which needed to focus upon norms, rules and institutions and which so far was unstructured and confused’. Interestingly, he reflected upon the need for different governance for different parts of a commons—for instance, in space, planets, asteroids, exploration, resource exploitation and more—suggesting that the current UNCLOS (United Nations Convention on the Law of the Sea) does just this in providing a different structure for fisheries and the exploitation of the ocean bed. Oltrogge and Christensen (2020, pp. 432–433) emphasised the need for space governance with particular reference to space debris and the

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existing regimes that exist including the role of Treaties (e.g. the OST), national regulations and other non-binding non-voluntary practices. They also went on to look at the potential for adaptive space governance, taken from the governance of climate change and designed to accommodate the ‘broadening and increasingly diverse set of actors involved’. Much has been written of the potential of adaptive governance and we shall not dwell on it here except to note its future role (Schultz et  al., 2015). However, it should be noted that Migaud et al. (2021) contributed specifically to the debate on adaptive governance and space emphasising the ‘metamorphosis’ that needed to happen. Meanwhile the importance of space governance remains clear and is reflected in a continuing analysis of research in this area. Two examples will suffice to show how by 2021 it had become a central feature of space studies. Trur (2021, p. 452) spent some time looking at the relationship between governance and space debris and how new approaches were needed moving on from those developed in the Cold War period and centring upon Weiss and Thakur’s initial global governance framework as a basis. This identified five governance gaps as a way of structuring governance development: • Knowledge. The identification of the issue, the problem, its gravity, magnitude and potential solutions • Normative. Shared standards of patterns of behaviour that should be followed by a given value system • Policy. A set of governing principles, goals and their implementation plans • Institutional. Created with resources and autonomy to implement these policies, including informal regimes • Compliance. An account of efforts to implement these policies despite the absence of a global authority Meanwhile Shabbir et al. (2019, p. 4) continued the identification of the issues facing space governance and although far from comprehensive gave a different view on the problems still to resolve including:

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• • • • • • • •

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governance of national space agencies interdepartmental/agency cooperation situational awareness a code of conduct for responsible behaviour security and military use international space cooperation data policy hosting of payloads

Clearly like other the many catalogues of problems for governance to address in space that can be drawn up, this is far from comprehensive but that in itself suggests just how far there is to go before we arrive at a satisfactory regime. And so now to look a little more closely at an issue that has arisen a number of times already—outer space as a commons.

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5 The Role of the Commons in Maritime and Outer Space

And certainly it will be more difficult at the international level than at national levels of decision-making. So locked are we within our tribal units, so possessive over national rights, so suspicious of any extension of international authority, that we fail to sense the need for dedicated and committed action over the whole field of planetary necessities. (Ward & Dubos, 1972, p. 294) Nature is necessarily viewed by capital… as nothing more than a vast store of potential use values—of processes and things—that can be used directly or indirectly… in the production and realisation of commodity values. Nature is ‘one vast gasoline station’ (to cite Heidegger) and natural use values are monetised, capitalised, commercialised and exchanged as commodities. Only then can capital’s economic rationality be imposed on the world. Nature is partitioned and divided up as private property rights guaranteed by the state. Private property entails enclosure of nature’s commons. (Harvey, 2014, p. 250) Termed the ‘connective tissue’ of our vibrant global economy, the four domains of the Global Commons—maritime, air, outer space, and cyber space—constitute a universal public good. (North Atlantic Treaty Organisation, 2009) The sea ‘leaves no traces, and has no place names, towns or dwelling places; it cannot be possessed’. (William Boelhower, 2008) © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 M. Roe, Governance of the Global and Extra-Terrestrial Commons, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-31613-5_5

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We have spoken about the ‘commons’ on a number of occasions so far with respect to the governance of both maritime and outer space, and consequently it is time to consider this issue in more depth before we move on. The literature on the commons is considerable, and we shall only focus here upon those factors that are relevant to governance and to the outer space and maritime sectors. Readers are advised to look further elsewhere if they wish to extend their interests in that direction. The term ‘commons’ has been thrown around across the governance world both widely and more worryingly casually so we need to consider what it really refers to before we can move on. It is all made more confusing by the debate about the ‘anticommons’ as well, but the relevance of this is very limited in outer space and the maritime sector and we shall leave it for another time, place and problem, The reader is referred elsewhere if they are interested—for example, Heller (1998), Kosnik (2012), Ohkawa et  al. (2012), Lopes et  al. (2013), Hertzfeld et  al. (2016), Contreras (2018), Palma-Oliveira et al. (2018) and Carlisle and Gruby (2019). There are many definitions of the commons which does not help with clarity but which with care can suggest a way forward in our interpretation of both the maritime and space sectors and also the impact that the commons has on governance design and implementation. Commons is a widely used term and we shall constrain the discussion to global commons and those that have maritime and outer space implications. There are many other interpretations and those with an extra interest are directed to Hardin (1968), Berkes et  al. (1989), Vogler (2000), Ostrom (2002, 2010a), Ostrom et al. (2002), Heininen (2005), Baden and Noonan (2008), Dodds (2008), Harvey (2011) and Buckerfield de la Roche (2013) but there are many others. Wijkman (1982, pp. 512–513) offers a relatively straightforward definition. A commons is a resource to which no single decision-making body holds exclusive title. This can mean that it is owned by no-one (res nullis) or by everyone (res communis).

He goes on to suggest that this may sound odd in times that are dominated by private property and national jurisdiction, and he is right. They are prime reasons why the commons presents such a problem in terms of

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governance. Both maritime and outer space quite clearly are commons and consequently exhibit complications exacerbated by the characteristics of governance which are presently, nationally defined. Wijkman (1982, pp. 518–519) outlined the essential characteristics of a commons: Property rights to parts of the resource cannot be economically defined and enforced. Additional complications on sharing the resource arise when the size of the resource is unknown, and its exploitation involves significant external economies. In such a situation the many small firms of the perfectly competitive model fail to exploit the resource efficiently. Each firm lacks incentives to limit its harvest and strives instead to exploit the resource before its competitors do, thereby harvesting more and faster than is socially efficient. Not only is the resource depleted but too much capital and labour are employed in the industry. Rational pursuit of private profit by firms is therefore wasteful of capital, labour, and natural resources alike.

Quite. Wijkman is fairly damning of the relationship between governance and commons and the significance to the maritime and space sectors is clear. Fawcett (1984, pp. 4–5) expanded upon this definition relating it to Roman law and the concept of res publica and introducing the oceans and Moon as examples of commons whilst Cleveland (1993, p.  10) also emphasised the global nature of many commons problems with particular reference to outer space and the law of the sea. Vogler (2000, pp. 2–3) wrote extensively on the commons and provided considerable discussion relating to definitions referring back to Wijkman (1982) and suggesting that they can never be private property although a range of differing types of property resources may exist. Some parts may be impossible to privatise—although some remarkable and innovative attempts have been increasingly made. He cites attempts to sell land on the Moon (see e.g. Pop, 2001; Simberg, 2012). Essentially, the issue is not the characteristics of the good but the property rules that are applied to it.

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Such rules constitute changeable human institutions and in consequence mobile goods, such as fish, become different types of property depending on their specific location in relation to these institutions. In the case of a salmon its property status depends upon where it has the misfortune to be caught. In a Scottish stream it is private property, in the high seas it is nobody’s property (until caught!), but in an inshore communally managed fishery it is a common property resource. (Buck, 1989, pp. 127–128)

Vogler (2000, p. 4) also noted that commons are fundamentally non-­ excludable and consequently open to all and free for the taking. This differs from the idea of terra nullius—relating to undiscovered land and the right to seize and take possession exclusively of new territory. The oceans and outer space were a different issue where ‘no single user can have exclusive rights to them, nor the right to prevent others from joining in their exploitation’ (Birnie & Boyle, 1992, p. 117). Alternatively, a commons can be collectively owned and managed by a community, thus facilitating excludability and user rights, shares and rents can be specified (Vogler, 2000, p. 4). These are commonly termed Common Pool Resources (CPR) and although they can be identified in space (geostationary orbits) and the oceans (seabed minerals within nationally defined waters), they do not represent the main and complex issues to which we refer—in particular, the vastness of ocean and outer space where delimitation of anything is problematic and which both exemplify the globalised nature of commons (Vogler, 2000, p. 6). Hart (2010, p. 372 and 377), along with Bauman (2016, pp. 105–106), in referring to contact with extra-terrestrial life, suggested that there was a cosmic commons citizenship reflected in the spatial and temporal links that connected everything together. Migaud et al. (2021, p. 2) was clear that Earth’s orbital environment was undoubtedly a common pool resource which had been unregulated throughout human space activity. Soroos (1982) suggested much the same in relation to the radio spectrum and geosynchronous orbits. Shackleford (2014, p.  436) suggested that global commons in the context of space exploration were ‘beyond the limits of national jurisdiction’ and ‘are open to use by the [international] community but [are] closed to exclusive appropriation’ (Joyner, 1998, note 23, 222).

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Stuart (2014, pp.  6–7) provided considerably more detail and in so doing began to illustrate the problems of the governance of space and maritime commons: The high seas, Antarctica and outer space are all considered global commons. International actors have established collective understandings of these areas as global commons, which in itself is a form of coordination…. Treaties developed for these areas use normative language by including the clause that such territories should be used ‘for peaceful purposes’ or by establishing them as res communis… However there are also strategic and selfish reasons why actors may agree to defining an area as local or global commons. Certain territories are inherently difficult to control by a single actor. In such areas exploitation by one user reduces resource availability to others (subtractibility), but potential beneficiaries cannot be excluded by a single actor (Ostrom et  al., 1994, p.  3). Thus the resource is inherently communal, and actors will calculate the benefits of coordination (as well as the risk of being taken advantages of by freeloading—as in the prisoner’s dilemma). Rational, self-serving actors will find that they must coordinate behaviour in commons areas in order to avoid mutually undesirable outcomes.

Stuart (2014, p. 7) quotes Aristotle reflecting just how little we have progressed since then: what is common to the greatest number has the least care bestowed upon it. Everyone thinks chiefly of his own, hardly at all of the common interest. (Politics, 350BCE, Book II, ch 3)

Now think of the environment, climate change, ocean plastics pollution, space debris… little changes. Tepper (2019a, p. 4) provided a summary of the types of common goods (Table 5.1). Meanwhile Freeman (2019, p. 1) reinforced some of our earlier concepts of global commons suggesting that they ‘comprise the vast areas of the globe that exist outside the sovereign jurisdiction of any single state and are accessible to all—principally the high seas, Antarctica, the atmosphere and outer space’, raising the issues of national governance and its

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Table 5.1  Types of common goods and resources Subtractability of use Difficulty of excluding potential beneficiaries

High

Low

High Common pool Public goods: peace and resources: security of a community, groundwater basins, national defence, lakes, irrigation knowledge, fire protection, systems, fisheries, weather forecasts, ocean forests usage, outer space usage Low Private goods: food, Toll goods: theatres, private clothing, automobiles clubs, data care centres

Source: Tepper (2019a, p. 4)

pre-eminence in global institutions but also just how global (rather than extra-global) outer space really is? The close relationship of the commons to that of governance issues for both the maritime and outer space regimes should be clear. Before we take a brief look at how the consideration of commons issues has developed over time it is worthwhile to take note of Frakes (2003, p. 210) who provides a legal interpretation of common heritage. She emphasised how confusion characterises the exploitation of resources from locations such as the deep seabed, Antarctica and outer space. This she termed the common heritage, areas considered to be owned by the whole of mankind but which are surrounded by controversy itself deriving from inconsistent and vague international law. Frakes (2003, pp. 411–413) identified five elements that consistently appeared in consideration of common heritage. • non-appropriation and consequently neither public nor private ownership is permissible. • common management: the resources should be managed by all nations but in a common way. National governments cannot manage them as sovereigns. • benefits sharing; all benefits from such regions should be shared across all nations. • peaceful purposes; exclusively.

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Common heritage presents considerable problems which are the main source of the inadequacies of current governance in the maritime and space sectors. Both Wijkman (1982, p. 512) and Schauer (1977, p. 69) illustrated how the formal concept of commons emerged from the Middle Ages where it featured as a central feature of land tenure in Europe. Its roots can be seen in Roman law which was taken up to form the basis of a feudal society which provided common facilities for farmers—‘forests, pastures, ponds, streams and wastelands’. These remained under the legal control of a landlord but would be available communally by all estate inhabitants for the purposes of gathering wild vegetables, and fruit, lumber, fuel, water, dirt, stones as well as pasturage, fishing and fowling. Recreational and housing provision for the poor was also a feature. Most common land was enclosed in the sixteenth and then the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, succumbing to technological progress (Vogler, 2000, p. 2). In fact, the majority of surviving commons in the Western world can now be found in areas largely inaccessible in Mediaeval times—in particular the atmosphere, the deep-sea oceans and outer space. The implication here is that when technology allows, even these come under threat. In the developing world examples often remain of village commons and ‘in many parts of the world, rights to common property resources are all that separates the landless and the land-poor from destitution’ (World Bank, 1992, p. 142). Vogler (2000, pp. 6–10) also went on to trace the history of commons in outer space and the oceans and the reader is encouraged to look further. He considered that the high seas were the oldest form of commons which were initially considered over three miles from land—the maximum distance of a cannon shot. Navigation, fishing, the laying of cables and aviation were all freely permissible to all. Meanwhile, the concept of commons applied to outer space only emerged with technological exploitation which truly developed from the mid-1950s and has now been formalised in the 1967 UN Outer Space Treaty (OST) where outer space is ‘not subject to national appropriation’. Once dominated by issues surrounding access to geostationary orbits for satellites, the prospect of exploiting other planets and asteroids and the growing significance of space debris open up much greater commons issues. The difficulties this

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presents for outer space governance and achieving a meaningful OST were clearly emphasised by Steer (2017, p. 10) who saw the whole outer space regime ‘congested, contested and competitive’. The commons provides a wealth of problems for their governance. Schauer (1977, p. 69) noted early on that the lessons from the failure of commons management of land resources for the general good (access to all for forestry, pasture, streams, ponds and wastelands) through mass enclosure (access to a privileged few) needed to be learned in the governance of both the oceans and outer space. Wijkman (1982, pp. 518–519) in looking at global commons in general but with a maritime slant provided an early summary of many of the difficult issues that emerge. These he associated with the main characteristics of commons, in particular property rights and the complications in their definition and enforcement. In addition these problems are exacerbated when the size of the resource is unknown (e.g. outer space), or at least realistically immeasurable (e.g. the oceans) leading to inefficient exploitation by firms. Each lacks any encouragement to limit harvest, and there is an obvious incentive to exploit resources before competitors can and at a rate faster than is socially efficient. Both features are clearly present in oceans and outer space. This results in resource depletion, excess expenditure on capital and labour and an irrational and wasteful pursuit of profit. Governance of both space and seas can only be effective if these commons problems at least can be addressed, if not solved and this in turn requires some form of regulation—which, of course, is actually what governance always implies. Cleveland (1993, p. 9) suggested much the same. Meanwhile, Vogler (2000, pp. 11–12) dwelt on the problematic issues and emphasised in particular the ‘Tragedy of the Commons’, something we shall look at in more depth later in this chapter. He noted the inconsistency that always arises between individual and collective interests as extensively explored by Olson (1965) and with direct relevance to the provision of public goods—something that characterises both outer space and the oceans. Starting from the same premise of ‘possessive individualism’ as Hardin, the argument is that individuals have no incentive to pay for public goods which they cannot be prevented from enjoying. The rational actor will then

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tend to free ride. Coping with ‘free riding’ will be a problem for any attempt to regulate a common resource, especially if it has the properties of a public good. (Vogler, 2000, p. 11)

He goes on: It is very difficult for rational self-interested individuals to manage and resolve problems of interdependence in a cooperative and mutually beneficial way. Interdependence in its simplest form denotes a relationship of mutual vulnerability between actors. It is normal for users of a common pool resource to experience such vulnerability which arises initially from rivalness of consumption.

Vogler (2000, p. 2) emphasised that the commons presents problems because they are never private property although they may consist of a variety of property resources. Some would be impossible to privatise— for example, a planetary atmosphere or the ‘territory’ of outer space, whilst others possess ‘common pool resources’, for example, fish, water supplies or radio frequencies which can be taken from common stock. These also present governance problems in that they are mobile, more difficult to constrain or define and can even change property characteristics as their location changes—take fish in the ocean that migrate to a private stream. Hardin (1968, p. 21) also notes common sinks where waste is deposited in, for example, the oceans, atmosphere or outer space. Because they are different, each type of commons demands its own specific governance. The governance of both sectors we are considering is dominated by such commons considerations. Examples abound from fish stocks and ballast water pollution to space debris and the threats from planetary resource exploitation. The implication is that authorities of some sort must either enforce good behaviour or provide public goods. One central issue that remains unresolved (and possibly unresolvable) is that whilst the voluntary resolution of commons problems is feasible where the number of actors is very limited, when the number grows, their resolution quickly becomes less likely. Hume said it all some time ago:

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Two neighbours may agree to drain a meadow, which they possess in common: because ’tis easy for them to know each other’s mind; and each must perceive that the immediate consequence of his failure in his part, is the abandoning of the whole project. But ’tis very difficult and indeed impossible, that a thousand persons shou’d agree in any such action; it being so complicated a design, and still more difficult for them to execute it; while each seeks a protect to free himself of the trouble and expence (sic), and wou’d burden on others. (Hume, 1740, p. 538)

Quite. Vogler (2000, pp. 15–16) continues looking at the problems generated by the commons suggesting that many come from the fact that whilst nation-states are looked upon as responsible for resolving commons issues, in fact they are unable to do so where these problems are global (as is clearly the case for the oceans) or even extra-terrestrial (as is the case with outer space). Current governance practice at the national level is inappropriate and yet central to all the governance structures that exist at all jurisdictional levels. This was emphasised by Vogler (2000, p. 108) using the example of the failure so far of the UN body COPUOS, which has a widely recognised responsibility for formal codification of a governance regime for outer space but which continues to struggle with the demands of powerful nation-states and in particular those of Russia, China and the USA issues also outlined by Hertzfeld et al. (2016, p. 19, 21). Although writing nearly 30 years ago little has changed since Gorove and Kamenetskaya’s (1995, p. 487) comments: There can be no question that the lacunae in international space law for the protection of the ‘space commons’ must be addressed either specifically through a new space treaty or… through international environmental law.

Vogler writing in 2000 was thoroughly pessimistic and to date with justification, and this mirrors the situation in maritime governance where the ineffectiveness of a nation-state-dominated global governance regime supposedly imposed by the UN through bodies such as the IMO has been equally as impotent. Dietz et al. (2003, p. 1907) also emphasised the problems presented by the governance of common resources referring to Hardin (1968) and the

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identification of two central issues that have not gone away—the increasing demand for natural resources and the way that exploitation of these resources has been organised (if at all). Whilst Hardin’s contribution has been criticised for being over-simplistic much of what he said retains considerable relevance (Dasgupta, 1996; McCay & Acheson, 1987). Dodds (2010, p. 63) continued the problematic theme and whilst only referring to maritime and Arctic space, his comments were equally relevant to outer space: Arctic territories are being made legible and re-legible for the purpose of intervention and/or management. Legibility as such, allows for all sorts of textual and visual interventions. As a widely cited Foreign Affairs journal article noted… ‘the situation is especially dangerous because there are currently no overarching political and legal structures that can provide for the orderly development of the region or mediate political disagreements over Arctic resources or sea-lanes (Borgerson, 2008, p.  71)’. Accordingly, a nightmarish neo-realist vision of international politics with the central Arctic Ocean as an anarchic space, at the apparent mercy of the competing geopolitical imperatives of coastal states and other interested parties is being brought to the fore… (Baev, 2007). As a consequence of such a scenario, the management of the Arctic emerges as a latter-day Sisyphean challenge (Dalby, 2009; Dodds, 2008; Heininen, 2005; Heininen & Nicol, 2007; Rothwell, 2009).

Hertzfeld et al. (2016, p. 18) were equally as pessimistic. Referring to outer space they suggested that to develop what they termed some form of overall governance on the principle of res communis was doomed to failure in today’s political environment where ‘nations retain the ability to interpret treaty language differently and where widely different cultures and methods of governance exist’. They continued (Hertzfeld et al., 2016, p. 20); ‘a successful commons would necessitate a very powerful sovereign and would not last very long if valuable and scarce resources were contained or discovered within its borders’. To be governed effectively any commons needs a sovereign power, well-defined boundaries and an economic foundation that is more productive or efficient if produced collectively. The oceans have few of these characteristics; outer space has none.

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The commons is not universally seen as a problem for governance and Schauer (1977, p. 67) was bold enough to go as far to suggest that ‘as a political and legal regime, a commons regime in outer space is both desirable and practical’. Meanwhile Aganaba-Jeanty presupposed that frequently the emphasis placed on the freedom of outer space undervalues the potential benefit that actually could be accrued from consideration as a common benefit. Because the latter is ill-defined the concept of common benefit is abused to achieve individual benefits for the few and the collective good is diluted. Consequently all nations are free to determine their own outer space needs as long as this does not prejudice the ability of future generations to do the same. The result is the free-for-all we see in outer space governance today, and although there are more constraints, it is a similar position for maritime governance. Both sectors could achieve substantially bigger benefits if some form of common agreement could be reached and sustained. The latter is made more difficult as common benefit is constructed as a property claim (give me my part) instead of a distributive justice claim (access to an equitable share derived from a common pool resource). However, in governance terms most commentators see the commons as a problem. Much has been made of the Tragedy of the Commons and we can only touch on a little here and in particular only that directly relevant to the outer space and maritime areas. Hardin (1968) first introduced the expression in an article in Science. Crowe (1969, p. 1103) considered that it referred most particularly to those problems that have no technical solutions, citing population growth, atomic war and the broad environment, and also those with no political solution as well which also encompassed ensuring a specifically liveable urban environment (Wiesner & York, 1964; Marquis, 1968). Crowe suggested that these problems were an inevitable consequence of the separation of two insular scientific communities—the natural and the social—which in turn leads to problems being passed back and forward each community shedding responsibility. The tragedy of the commons is one result of this. Hardin (1968), p. 682) referring back to William Forster Lloyd’s conclusions to his 1833 Oxford Lectures using the example of herdsmen

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emphasised how if a resource was left available for all, the ‘greediest’ would gain but only for a limited while. mutual ruin was just around the corner. As demand grew in step with population (while supply remained fixed), a time would come when the herdsmen, acting as Smithian individuals, would be trapped by their own competitive impulses.

Since then Heller (1998, p. 624), Weeden and Chow (2012, p. 167), Stuart (2014, p. 7) and Hertzfeld et al. (2016, p. 19) have each reflected on the issues involved in space commons but in more detail and referring to broader issues. Ostrom (1990, p. 3) provided a comprehensive review of the concept in principle. She suggested that it symbolised ‘the degradation of the environment to be expected whenever many individuals use a scarce resource in common’. She cited Hardin’s example of a rational herder who receives direct benefits from his own animals but suffers only delayed costs from over-grazing. Hardin (1968, p. 1244) concluded: Therein is the tragedy. Each man is locked into a system that compels him to increase his herd without limit—in a world that is limited. Ruin is the destination toward which all men rush, each pursuing his own best interest in a society that believes in the freedom of the commons.

Meanwhile Gordon emphasised this further: There appears to be some truth in the conservative dictum that everybody’s property is nobody’s property. Wealth that is free for all is valued by no one because he who is foolhardy enough to wait for its proper time of use will only find that it has been taken by another… The fish in the sea are valueless to the fisherman, because there is no assurance that they will be there for him tomorrow if they are left behind today.

Ostrom continued by outlining just how extensive the tragedy of the commons is and it does not take too much thought to arrive at an almost endless list—fishing, over-population, clean air, rivers and seas, technological safety, satellite debris, mineral resource exploitation, fossil fuels and so on, all of them commonly owned but valued by none until

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possessed. However, Ostrom did not consider that the tragedy of the commons was inevitable suggesting that flexible, inclusive and local solutions could be successful in commons governance (Forsyth & Johnson, 2014, pp. 1097–1098). Stuart (2014, pp. 8–9) noted the discussion on the differences between local and global commons suggesting that Ostrom et al. (1994) had crossed over from one to another but not without meeting substantial problems in scaling up from the smaller to the greater exacerbated by the introduction of cultural issues, the interlinking of global factors (e.g. atmosphere, oceans and outer space) and the fact that globally there is only one planet to experiment upon, whereas in theory, at least, there are innumerable beaches, forests, water sources and so on. Shackleford (2014, p. 443) placed the commons debate and its associated tragedies in the context of outer space emphasising how their governance had not kept pace. He suggested that a tragedy is inevitable as space is largely an open-access system, and the idea that this will result in inevitable failure had also been re-emphasised by Bird (2003). Central to this is also the prisoner’s dilemma (Ostrom, 1990, pp. 3–4) which has been the focus of more attention than almost any other model in any sector—Grofman and Pool (1975) estimated that more than 2000 academic papers had been written on the topic by then—and many more by now. Stein (1981, pp. 121–123) described it as the ‘classic illustration of the failure of market forces always to result in optimal solutions’ and was where market rationality leads to sub-optimal outcomes. Its relevance to the utilisation of any commons, but in our case the maritime and outer space, is fairly clear as reflected in Vogler (2000, p. 11): A user of a common pool resource (in our case the ocean or almost anything in outer space) is aware that if he and other users were to exercise restraint the resource would be protected and in fact increased over the longer term to the mutual benefit—it would still be rational for him to ignore this consideration. The basis of this decision would be a lack of trust in other users and a belief that they would exploit his restraint by taking extra shares themselves. (Italicised text added by author)

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Stein (1981, p.  122) went on to note the relationship between the prisoner’s dilemma concept and the emergence of externalities especially in the commons, and which to be resolved, would require some sort of state intervention. Despite the extensive number of examples of the prisoner’s dilemma, its relevance is simple to see but remarkably difficult to accommodate effectively within a governance framework for the commons particularly where the potential for free-riding is prevalent. This can occur whenever someone cannot be excluded from the benefits provided by others, as each person is not motivated to contribute, but to free-ride on the efforts of the others. If all participants choose to free-ride, the collective benefit will not be produced effectively or efficiently. The temptation to free-ride can easily dominate decisions and the result is that everyone ends up where no one actually wants to be. Meanwhile, some may contribute whilst others free-ride, leading to a less-than-optimal level of provision. Neither the maritime sector nor outer space is immune from these commons problems, and the consequences for designing effective governance are clear. The issues of specific outer space governance and the commons already have been hinted at not least by Vogler (2000, p. 8). A number of others with interests in the governance of outer space have also passed some comments. Schauer (1977, p.  69) was an early contributor reflecting upon how the ‘current regime of outer space lies somewhere between the solutions of sovereign rights and international control. Any other regime which can be realized without major political or related changes must also fall somewhere between these extremes. A commons is one such regime’. Schauer (1977, p. 71) also suggested that outer space presented very difficult problems for its governance mainly because of it commons characteristics—boundaries were meaningless, and a problem even more severe than that faced by the oceans and their relationship to nation-­ states. In addition effective outer space governance would need the major actors to agree not to over-exploit, allow free access and to share data and knowledge. This may always be rather hopeful. Cooper (2003, p. 114 and 117) looked at the issues of property rights in space and concluded that although problems abounded—for example, in terms of environmental issues, boundaries and exploitation—in fact,

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any form of ‘tragedy’ was unlikely simply because the size of those resources was ‘staggering’. Brearley (2006, p. 49) in discussing the idea of Moon mining attempted to place space governance into a wider context, although his comments on the role of nation-states are increasingly outdated as advances in technology make their involvement that much more likely to be successful. In an era of Westphalian states and private property, the global commons are an oddity. The resources contained in the commons provide them with very different characteristics that are beyond the reach of national appropriation.

Brearley (2006, p.  49) continued to emphasise how commons and sovereign-defined territory readily co-exist; thus, outer and inner space can be seen as located above a nation-state’s territory whilst the former is an ill-defined commons and the latter specifically bounded. Johnson-­ Freese and Weeden (2012, p.  78) outlined how there was widespread disappointment with the legislation to backspace governance—so-called hard law—and moves were afoot to develop more soft law in the form of voluntary codes of conduct, strategies and policies. These hard law problems were largely a product of the commons nature of outer space and the inability of legislation to be designed which could also be enforced through a governance framework dominated by nation-states. Ostrom’s (1990) solution was to develop a forum with open participation by spacefaring states, space-capable states and space users, but designed to avoid gridlock by a small minority of participants. This will require the ceding of power by nation-states in a way that did not occur after the second world war and the emergence of the UN but has been partially resolved in the design of the institutions of the European Union. Stuart (2013, p. 1) also outlined the relationship between space and the commons citing Crowe (1969, p.  1103) and Vogler (2000, p.  2), whilst Shackleford (2014, p. 432) emphasised the importance of considering outer space as increasingly polycentric, a trend generated by the changing roles and prominence of the public and private sectors. Beery (2016, pp.  92–93) meanwhile focussed upon the governance of outer space as a global commons (Buck, 1998) noting:

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There is little concern for how resources come to be located beyond sovereign jurisdiction and why all states have legal access to them—that is how they come to be ‘global’. The spatial extent or location of the resource beyond or across multiple sovereign territories is taken as given. Outer space’s supposedly given extra- or trans-territorial character is the origin of and reason for the construction of that resource as a ‘global commons’ or ‘global resource’. In this sense, the legal provisions that ban sovereign claims and ensure equal access to these resources are treated as de facto outcomes of the incongruence of the spatial extent of the resource with existing territorial jurisdiction.

Tepper (2019a) sustained the discussion on governance, the commons and outer space but it was Hertzfeld et al. (2016, p. 19, 20) who spent some considerable time looking at the relationship concluding that it would always be difficult to design an efficient arrangement. More specifically the central problem was that the governance of anything requires some sort of sovereign rule and by definition commons have only a very indirect relationship to nation-states. Space has no sovereignty or, in most cases, identifiable boundaries. Consequently, and rather depressingly: a terrestrial model of a commons is not a model that can easily be applied to outer space. Space is an undefined area. No government, nor any combination of selected governments or non-governmental organisations has the power or ability to set rules and regulations to establish and maintain a commons.

An essential element of the problems that beset governing the commons relates to the spatial level of jurisdiction that it implies. An early commentator was Schauer (1977, p.  68) who noted the ‘most general principle of territorial international law, namely national sovereignty’. Problems emerge in attempting to project this territorial principle to that of the cosmos. He commented on the idea that sovereign territorial boundaries could be extended outwards from the Earth’s centre into the universe ‘as far as man and his mind could reach’. Such a convention is in part adopted for airspace but with a maximum altitude beyond which jurisdiction becomes an outer space commons. After suggesting other solutions to the space commons’ jurisdictional problem, Schauer reflected

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on the development of an international regime but also agreed that this was a very remote possibility. Potentially the UN could take over all national responsibilities for space but this was considered politically unacceptable. Meanwhile Keith (1977, p.  199) provided another link between the maritime and space sectors in a wide discussion on the concept of floating cities and the problems they implied for sovereignty and international governance where there is no territory. These territorial problems are at the heart of governance for global commons of all types and Keith considered that it was possible that new sovereign territories could be established for identifiable objects outside of global territory— in his case floating cities moving across oceans, but in the case of outer space it could be planets, asteroids, satellites and so on. Interesting, but whilst satellites might seem to have potential, how agreement could be reached by Earthly representatives as to who should possess Mars, who Venus and so on remains unresolved. Wijkman (1982, p. 512) noted the increasing interest that developed at the UN during the 1980s in redefining property rights for the global commons in general but also the complex debate over the role of nation-­ states, the enclosure of commons (where this is possible, for instance, in space, the allocation of planetary resources to nations) and the allocation of resources between nations. He also suggested that there was a need to assess the role of supranational authorities in the management of the outer space commons although how this would resolve the issues raised by national jurisdiction was unclear. Johnson-Freese and Weeden (2012, p. 76) also noted the role of the UN COPUOS in helping to regulate the governance of political, civil and commercial issues. Cleveland (1993, p. 9) continued the discussion suggesting that the governance of outer space, along with the oceans, Antarctica and the atmosphere could only be achieved effectively and efficiently through a global authority. However, he failed to explain how this could be sustained in practical terms. Vogler (2000, pp. 2–3) had much to say about global commons and the spatial issues generated by the territorial characteristics of governance noting how ‘local’ commons could be resolved by nation-states and thus present only limited governance difficulties but that outer space was inevitably a global issue (Vogler, 2000, pp. 15–16) with all the problems of

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attempting to coordinate national policies. Although a long quote, it summarises many of the problems faced: The problem of the lack of a world authority, and the difficulties of cooperation between sovereign states in its absence, have long been at the heart of the academic study of International Relations. Because there is no natural harmony of interests, behaviour in the global system requires some coordination if mutually damaging outcomes are to be avoided. Discussion was (and continues to be) dominated by the problem of war. Abiding insecurity and the sheer human and material damage inflicted by large-scale hostilities were understandably regarded and the essential problem arising from the ordering of the world into separate sovereign states. The solutions proposed were frequently utopian in their advocacy of world government, but on a more practical level focussed on the creation of formal organizations and the strengthening of international law. The emergence of a world economy, increasingly integrated across national frontiers, and an awareness of a wide-range of transnational or even global-scale phenomena has served to heighten the contrast between Brundtland Report (1987) ‘real world of interlocked economic and ecological systems’ and a political system fragmented into sovereign nation-states. In earlier periods solutions might have been advocated that envisaged the creation of some form of world government organization, overriding national sovereignties and having supranational powers. (Vogler, 2000, pp. 16–17)

Vogler (2000, pp. 215–222) discusses these issues extensively suggesting that any global commons, maritime and outer space included, requires both a national and international dimension for their resolution. This may well result in the derivation of regimes that inevitably will be manipulated by nation-states for their own interests and ‘preservation of autonomy (Zacher with Sutton, 1996)’ but ‘the interests pursued are hardly monolithic and they have been subject to alteration’, suggesting a collaboration between those that were national and those global. The idea that the design of a governance institution should match the scale of the problem—Wapner’s (1995) superstatism—was dismissed by Vogler as both unlikely and undesirable. He also rejected the ‘radical political ecology’ argument exemplified by Ekins (1993, p. 206) that ‘contemporary states are either so tainted or ineffective as to render enlightened

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commons governance at the international level impossible’ (Vogler, 2000, p. 222). Sadeh et al. (2005, p. 269) outlined some of the spatial problems associated with space commons’ governance with particular reference to the Outer Space Treaty, something taken up also by Hertzfeld et al. (2016, p.  18) and Jakhu and Buzdugan (2008, pp.  228–229) who noted the deliberate exclusion of nation-states from the Treaty except that any benefits should contribute to the well-being of all states. Meanwhile Brearley (2006, p. 49) was more explicit suggesting that the global commons in general were an ‘oddity’ in an era of Westphalian states and private property which presented almost insoluble problems ‘beyond the reach of national appropriation’. Brearley went on to stress that the commons and sovereign territory in some circumstances co-exist using the example of the atmosphere as it passes above a nation-state. Meanwhile territorial waters were an example of commons enclosure thus lessening the spatial governance problem and as such have similarities with potential solutions to the outer space commons dilemma using projected territorial space to define responsibilities and opportunities. Mansbridge (2014, p. 9) reflected upon Ostrom’s (1990, p. 101) views on nested governance with an over-riding state authority to provide ‘coercion and other resources that make decision-making efficient’. Along with colleagues she advocated a principle of polycentrism, whereby ‘scholars have found that in many cases a multilevel, polycentric system is more efficient than one large… governmental unit or only a single layer of smaller units’ (Gibson et  al., 2000, p.  234). Hertzfeld et  al. (2016, p. 18) considered outer space as having no government, recognising that it differs from all the commons identified earlier. There are no legal precedents, little means of oversight and enforcement and as a result little can be learned from how the governance of the commons has been terrestrially institutionalised. Despite this, Hertzfeld et al. have overlooked the problems presented by maritime governance where many of the problems remain similar and largely unresolved. Given the clearly global nature of both the maritime and space sectors the role of the UN would appear to be obvious, representing as it does the vast majority of global nation-states, and we have noted above and elsewhere its activities both through the IMO for oceans and COPUOS for

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outer space which take place alongside other institutions. However, we have also seen that despite being the global institution, the very make-up, structure and organisation of the UN around the nation-state have made its impact less effective. This includes Schauer’s (1977, pp. 68–69) rather depressing conclusions that the UN can never take on nation-state responsibilities; Wijkman’s (1982, pp. 526–527) assessment of the UN’s general approach to commons of allocating shared responsibilities for resources exclusively to nation-states; Vogler’s (2000, pp. 16–17) identification of the difficulties of designing a world authority with teeth that could coordinate national approaches to commons governance; Johnson et al.’s recognition of the failure of the UN in particular through COPUOS to develop a meaningful governance regime for space; or Hertzfeld et al.’s (2016, p. 19) perceptive comment that: There is no single governmental entity that can exert control, over all users of space. While some may wish to see the United Nations (UN) become that entity the reality is that the current international system of governance precludes it. The core unit of sovereign behaviour is the nation-state and states only subject themselves to UN authority when it suits their interests.

Regulation of commons is an inherent part of their effective governance. Schauer (1977, pp.  67–68) suggested that there were only two approaches—the first, traditional national sovereignty based upon terrestrial territory; and the second, as we saw earlier, the idea of projecting geometrically, sovereign territory from the centre of the earth much in the way that was proposed for the National Lake Concept (Steinberg, 2001, pp.  173–175) and noted by Alexander (1967) where adjacent national territories and boundaries would define ‘ownership’ of ocean areas (Bernfeld, 1967). Wijkman (1982, p. 519) also emphasised the need for regulation of the commons if their resources were ever to be efficiently and effectively exploited. He examined the relative merits of private or publicly organised regulation but concluded that both were needed in some form and that the issue was inevitably complex and would involve a variety of different tools. Meanwhile Vogler (2000, p. 212) had his usual say but suggested that regulation would always be very difficult as there was no

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effective world authority and that tragedies of the commons could only be avoided by privatisation or by rules created by the state. Denmark (2010, p. 165) emphasised the importance of regulation for reasons such as sustainability and safety but provided few answers to the regulation weakness he identified in outer space commons. Forsyth and Johnson (2014, p. 1097) cited Ostrom (1990, p. 43) in stressing how important rules are: In all cases in which individuals have organised themselves to solve CPR problems, rules have been established by the appropriators that have severely constrained the authorized actions available to them. Such rules specify, for example, how many resource units an individual can appropriate, when, where and how they can be appropriated, and the amounts of labour, materials or money that must be contributed to various provisioning activities. If everyone, or almost everyone follows these rules, resource units will be allocated more predictably and efficiently, conflict levels will be reduced, and the resource system itself will be maintained over time.

And despite not being directed at the sector, this is still very relevant for outer space where like the oceans, regulation and transparency are essential if effective governance is to exist. Almost all the problems presented by the commons in both outer space and the maritime sectors are related to boundaries or borders. Semple commented on the importance of borders many years ago and her comments seem highly relevant in relation to the governance of the commons: Nature abhors fixed boundary lines and sudden transitions; all her forces combine against them. Everywhere she keeps her borders melting, wavering, advancing, retreating. (Semple, 1907, p. 385)

Many others have also noted their fundamental influence upon the commons. For example: The function of a boundary is to produce and regulate a distinction between inside and outside; the movement of things across a boundary signals not its failure but its success. (Rubenstein, 2001, p. 289)

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Steinberg (2018, p. 239) commented on the difficulties of imposing effective boundaries something that will become evidently clear with respect to the commons: If ever there were a time when the world’s ocean frontier (or for that matter, any frontier) could simply be ‘closed’ through simple acts of appropriation and incorporation into existing social structures, that time has passed.

The inevitability of attempts to bound territory was raised by Grant (1989, p. 60) in his consideration of Canada’s Arctic space and both this need and inevitability have consequences for the governance of all the commons: ‘no nation, they argued could afford such empty space’. The broader issue of boundaries and governance has been extensively discussed elsewhere—not least in Roe (2013) in the context of nation-­ state definition and influence, and again in 2020 (150–158), where a wider discussion about boundaries and their impact on governance was pursued. Amongst the enormous range of others who have discussed the broader significance of boundaries are notably Boss (1977), Kerr et al. (1977), Llewellyn (1998, p.  23), Voydanoff (1998), Ashkenas (1999), Gieryn (1999), Guston (2000, pp.  27, 29–30), Ashforth et  al. (2000, p.  474), Cross et  al. (2000, p.  843), Agrawala et  al. (2001), Lamont (2002), and Druskat and Wheeler (2003). The problems associated with boundaries and governance in specific sectors have been analysed by a wide range of other commentators over many years. However, here we shall only focus upon the relationship between boundary definition and the impact this has on the maritime and outer space commons although the work by Massey (1994, p.  155) and Lamont and Molnar (2002, p. 181) on boundaries, spatial issues and policy-making also has considerable relevance. Reverting to boundaries, territories and the commons some notable examples of those who have considered the relationship in detail include Abbott (1995), Agnew (1994, 2005), Blomley (2003), Hickman (2010), Collis (2017) and Hardin (1968, p. 1243), the latter referring to Hardin (1959) and Von Hoerner (1962), who presented an interesting and early interpretation of the boundary issue with respect to outer space suggesting that as our ‘world’ increases in size with the development of both

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technology and imagination then the concepts of finite and infinite become ever more confused: A fair defense (sic) can be put forward for the view that the world is infinite; or that we do not know that it is not. But, in terms of the practical problems that we must face in the next few generations with the foreseeable technology, it is clear that we will greatly increase human misery if we do not, during the immediate future, assume that the world available to the terrestrial human population is finite. ‘Space’ is no escape.

Hardin (1968, p. 1245) also goes on to use the example of both air and water pollution to illustrate the boundary problems generated by the commons. Neither can be ‘readily fenced’ and to prevent either or both from becoming a cesspool then alternative ways avoiding the specific or rigid definition of boundaries must be used. These can be ‘coercive laws, or taxing devices that make it cheaper for the polluter to treat his pollutants than to discharge them untreated’. However, Hardin is perceptive: ‘the law, always behind the times, requires elaborate stitching and fitting to adapt it to this newly perceived aspect of the commons’. Not so new now but the problems (and solutions) persist. Schauer (1977, p. 71) reflected upon the requirement of effective governance of outer space and the need for some definition of boundaries if this is to be achieved. Comparing the situation with the difficulties faced by those responsible for the oceans and the atmosphere his conclusion was that it would be ‘impossible’, even though some sort of tentative agreement over the national boundary responsibilities for the seas had been reached and that issues such as airspace were also seemingly resolved. However, issues of both sea and air pollution reflected the persistent boundary problems. Brearley (2006, p.  50) re-emphasised these problems suggesting that the ‘inexhaustible commons are legally characterised by a lack of restrictions and that the freedom of the seas is established since Grotius (Cuyvers, 1984, p. 47) and exploitation of the atmosphere and space follow the open nature of the sea’. Elhefnawy was confident that not only was outer space a commons but that there was no way that this would change despite continued and increasing commercial interest. The only sector in space where the

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problems associated with territorialising the commons by installing effective boundaries was seen to refer to celestial bodies. Elhefnawy continued by suggesting that much could be learned from the territorialisation of ocean space and the attempts, sometimes successfully, to place boundaries around ocean areas. However, much of the oceans remains effectively without boundaries and consequently with only very limited effective governance. Meanwhile Forsyth and Johnson (2014, p.  1101), citing Ostrom, emphasised the need to agree on some form of boundary definition if any sort commons were to be governed effectively: Two important factors are the stationarity of a resource (how resources are confined prior to harvest), and storage (which refers to the ability of a resource to collect and hold resource units, such as a reservoir) (Ostrom et al., 1994, p. 308). Accordingly, Ostrom herself has acknowledged that common property regimes, work best in cases where the resources and resource users have clear boundaries, and where all actors agree on the rules of the game, such as in the case of reservoirs, or clearly defined pastureland where users have similar objectives.

Hertzfeld et al. (2016, p. 22) summarised the issues for outer space: Space is considered to be a territory without national sovereignty and without specific borders. It is to be used for scientific discovery and for the benefit of all nations. Some have translated this into simple terms such as space as global commons. However space itself does not fit the criteria being a commons. It does not have a superficially defined border where outer space begins. Space is not a ‘thing’. It is many things, ranging from orbits to planets to asteroids to stars and even being just an undefined very large area with little or no gravity. Some of these ‘things’ do have borders and definitions while others do not.

And much could be said of maritime space as well. The oceans can be partially bounded, but by no means all, nor necessarily successfully. Maritime space is many things from ports to shipping routes, places to dispose unwanted items, a place to enjoy, as a conduit for movement, as a commercial and social resource—and much more. But at the same time

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it remains largely definable and unbounded and like space, it is in continuous movement. Which raises the question, what is a Peruvian anchovy; a North Sea cod; Cornish pilchard; and without adequate, meaningful and accepted definition governance of both the oceans and outer space is remarkably difficult. Brenner (1999, pp. 52–53) emphasised the importance that could be attached to the process of capitalism, territories and boundaries, an importance that the commons defies: The contemporary round of globalisation has radically reconfigured the scalar organisation of territorialization processes under capitalism., relativizing the significance of the national scale while simultaneously intensifying the role of both sub- and supra-national forms of territorial organisation—Processes of territorialization remain endemic to capitalism, but today they are jumping at once above, below and around the national scale upon which they had converged throughout much of the last century.

Harvey (2014, p. 41) summed up the problems of the commons which affects both maritime and outer space, emphasising how significant the issue of property ownership was: To be private property, however, a thing or process has to be clearly bounded, nameable and identifiable… Not everything is susceptible to that condition. It is almost impossible to imagine the air and the atmosphere being divisible into private property entities that can be bought and sold. What is remarkable, however, is the lengths to which capital has gone to extend the reach of an individualised property rights regime deep into the heart of biological processes and other aspects of both the social and the natural world in order to establish property rights.

Harvey continues (2014, p. 50) albeit rather unrealistically; but then why not? The current private property obsession with respect to the commons (and much else) does not seem to deliver much success: The only viable alternative political strategy is one that dissolves the existing contradiction between private and individual interests on the one hand and state power and interests on the other and replaces it with something

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else…. The absorption of private property rights into a comprehensive project for the collective management of the commons and the dissolution of autocratic and despotic state powers into democratic collective management structures become the only worthy long-term objectives.

Finally with respect to boundaries perhaps we can learn something from Foucault (2003) cited in Farish (2006, p. 180): The analysis of power should not proceed strictly from the perspective of traditional, legal sovereignty but might be more productively pursued through a strategic model premised on the practices of war and related modes of technical rationality.

The central theme of this book focusses upon the governance of both maritime and outer space with an underlying assumption that they share features largely derived from their commons characteristics. The relationship between governance and commons has been far from ignored in the literature and some of this actually relates specifically to these two sectors. Hardin (1968, p. 1247) was an early commentator in outlining the ‘tragedy of the commons’ and suggesting that a significant way of governing commons was to use something termed ‘mutual coercion’ which required mutual consent. Whilst rigid laws might well achieve good commons governance there is also a substantial role to play using softer measures such as taxation, which can be designed to progressively ‘fine’ an organisation or individual as abuse (or legitimate use) of a facility or resource occurs. Thus, a permit to exploit a planetary resource might increase in cost the more resource is extracted. Schauer (1977, p. 78) was emphatic that management of the space commons was impossible without the major space powers sharing the responsibility as well as the benefits of further space exploration and exploitation. Current (then) governance focussing almost entirely upon nation-states was inadequate. Wijkman (1982, p. 520) took up a similar theme suggesting that the greater number of national governments involved in space governance, the less chance there was of resolving or avoiding problems with free-­ riding increasingly occurring. The issue of national sovereignty remained a dominant feature with its relinquishment rarely accepted.

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Economically, efficient exploitation of global commons property resources requires restrictions on national sovereignty. Governments must abide by decisions made by a supranational authority and accept supranational enforcement of these decisions. The ‘tragedy of the commons’ occurs on the international level because governments are either unable to design appropriate international authorities or unwilling to accept the consequent ‘stinting’ of their national sovereign rights. The basic reason for this ­reluctance is the absence of a sufficient community of interest amongst the participating governments. A government that holds minority opinions is unlikely to surrender power to an authority where it may be outvoted consistently, even if this refusal entails an economic loss. (Wijkman, 1982, p. 521)

He also emphasised the significant role of economic-based governance tools which were inevitably more effective than those with no economic basis (Wijkman, 1982, pp.  522–523). Meanwhile Dietz et  al. (2003, p. 1907) suggested that Hardin’s approach to commons governance was ‘over-simplified’ with its division between state and private stewardship a major distinguishing feature and the only way that the commons problems could be approached. By ignoring the contribution that could be made by social groups through self-governance, he missed a sizeable part of the work of commons governance that actually produced tangible and useful results (McCay & Acheson, 1987; Ostrom, 1990). However, none of this takes away from the need for effective maritime and outer space commons governance, nor the inadequacies in both that clearly exist. Dietz et al. (2003, p. 1908) go on to outline the value of adaptive governance with its potential to deal with complex problems and its fundamental outcomes of providing information, dealing with conflict, inducing rule compliance, providing infrastructure, emphasising the need to be alert to change, and an emphasis on analytical deliberation. Whilst not central to the discussion here on the governance of the commons, a range of applications can be found with potential for the future (e.g. Dietz et al., 2003, pp. 1908–190; Weeden & Chow, 2012, p. 163, 167; Oltrogge & Christensen, 2020, pp. 434–435; and Migaud et al., 2021, pp. 4–8), as well as Roe (2020, pp. 105–111) where a wider discussion of its application to governance more generally can be found.

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Dodds (2008, p. 3) noted the role of flag planting in the governance of the commons, suggesting that this rather crude form of governance was surprisingly common, cementing claims to sovereignty through ‘ceremonies of possession’ (Seed, 1993). In a subsequent paper (Dodds, 2010, p. 63) cited Borgerson (2008, p. 71) who reaffirmed the significance of and problems with these ceremonies with specific reference to the Arctic and the sea-lanes but with potentially clear association with outer space. The situation is especially dangerous because there are currently no overarching political and legal structures that can provide for the orderly development of the region or mediate political disagreements over Arctic resources or sea-lanes.

Dodds continued (2010, p. 65, 66) referring to the ‘nightmarish neo-­ realist vision of international politics with the central Arctic Ocean as an anarchic space at the apparent mercy of the competing geopolitical imperatives of coastal states and other interested parties’. He also noted the contribution of Scott (1999, p. 2) suggesting that there was a need to make the commons ‘legible’ through state involvement, mapping and data collection, if effective governance was to follow, and Hannah (2000, 2009) who reflected upon inscribing territory and the contribution of Foucault on governmentality and calculable territory. This in turn could lead to improved legibility represented by a series of important moments including inscribing territory with ‘basic systems of geographical reference that allow knowledge about populations, resources and activities to be indexed to specific locations, and hence make territory readable’. The inadequacies of outer space governance were illustrated by Johnson et al. when they examined the work of the UN COPUOS which relied upon consensus to reach any decisions, consequently inevitably diluting them to the lowest impact. In addition non-state actors were excluded from the process, failing to reflect the real-life governance issues that arise. Johnson-Freese and Weeden (2012), p.  78) concluded that as a result governance of outer space had failed. The existing regulatory framework established in the 1960s and 1970s was both ‘outdated and insufficient to address the multitude of challenges and increased number of space actors that have developed’, and since this was written little if

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anything has changed. Whilst the framework for international governance of the maritime sector through the UN appears to be a little more effective, it remains similarly paralysed by the need for consensus. Mansbridge (2014, p.  9) referred extensively to Ostrom’s (1990, p. 101) ideas on effective governance which included a major role for the state (although at the same time giving little lead on how this would work with commons outside of the state such as the oceans and outer space). She argued for ‘nesting’ of local decision-making groups within a higher state structure, the latter providing ‘coercion and other resources’ for the processes of ‘appropriation, provision, monitoring, enforcement, conflict resolution, and governance’. This was presented as a polycentric approach with a single layer of small units and an overarching coordinator. Whether these ideas could be adapted for the wider governance of oceans, outer space and the atmosphere might be open to debate but the idea that differing scales of governance, coordinated in some way, may well be worth pursuing. Hertzfeld et al. (2016, p. 18) provide a salutatory conclusion to the problems of governance and the commons. Specifically in terms of outer space, there is evidently conflict between the global body and mechanisms (e.g. UN COPUOS and the OST), nation-states and the characteristics of the commons. A definition of what is the commons can only be derived by nation-states, but simply by having such a central role, the nation-states make effective governance impossible. Hertzfeld et  al. (2016, p. 18) saw it as a major problem: attempts to develop some form of overall ‘governance’ of space based on a res communis principle will fail in today’s political environment where nations retain the ability to interpret treaty language differently and where widely different cultures and methods of governance exist.

The significance of the maritime context as an example of a commons has been recognised for very many years and as we have noted earlier presents a series of issues which are of relevance to all other global (and ultra-global) commons including that of outer space. It is from this similarity of situations that choices for the governance of both sectors might be designed to accommodate the problems faced by both.

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There has been considerable attention paid to the maritime commons through recognition of the special characteristics that dictate the governance of ocean space where, except for coastal margins, there are no national boundaries, where monitoring of activities is difficult, where ownership rights are vague and overall, where jurisdiction over anything is ultimately almost impossible under the world’s governance structures as they are currently organised. Given that nation-states have no territorial rights over the oceans, the role of the UN as the superior global authority has been dominant but despite repeated efforts to design a structure that is effective, it remains largely impotent unless its member states decide otherwise. The position in outer space looks much the same. In recent years the debate about governance of the maritime commons has been wide-ranging. Schauer (1977, p. 67) suggested that both airspace and the oceans had become media for ‘competition in armaments and military strife’ and as such, lessons for outer space governance were clear if this was not to be the case as well. Much the same could be said for undesirable commercial and criminal activity which also takes place, particularly in ocean space where the lack of governance resulting from the commons characteristics has permitted activities such as scuttling, hijacking, identity fraud and the like to take place without effective control or penalty. In time, this is likely to be the same in outer space where effective policing and allocation of responsibilities would be just as difficult—if not more so. Just consider the hijacking of a spacecraft or satellite far from the Earth; taken off to another planet, its identity revised to make tracing difficult and then reused by those responsible. Or insurance fraud where cargo and equipment are claimed to have been lost when it actually has been stolen and sold. Much the same happens today on the oceans. We saw earlier how Keith (1977, pp. 190–192) outlined the concept of floating cities and the commons governance problems these presented. One scenario that may sound far-fetched (but beware, what has not sounded far-fetched when first proposed?) is the idea of floating cities establishing themselves as sovereign states. The concept has already generated considerable debate (e.g. Bolonkin, 2010, 2011; White, 2012). Land territorial states have done just this over the years—take just a few examples including South Sudan, Slovakia, Moldova, a sizeable number

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of countries of ex-Yugoslavia, Turkmenistan and a considerable number of others, all of which have emerged in recent decades. Each are recognised as sovereign states with their own national governance and jurisdiction. Why not then floating states? Thus a floating city could set up its own sovereign government and then seek formal or implied recognition from other states as a means of securing sovereignty in international law. There is some evidence that ­entrepreneurial groups will attempt to do just that. In recent years, at least three attempts have been made to establish new states on reefs. beyond the jurisdiction of coastal states. Two groups made the attempt to build facilities on coral reefs 4.5 miles from South-eastern Florida, but were stopped by a federal court, which granted an injunction on the grounds that the reefs were within the territorial jurisdiction of the USA, construction activities were destroying irreplaceable natural resources, and a permit was required from the Secretary of the Army. Atlantis Development Corporation, a Bahamian corporation which intervened in the case, had planned to spend US$250  million to establish a sovereign state on the coral reef, a state which would include radio and television stations, a post office, office buildings, stamp department, foreign offices, a government palace, congress, international bank and mint.

Much the same could be envisaged for a floating city presenting challenges for traditional nation-based governance, which has always struggled with the concept and operationalisation of new states when land-based, let alone ocean-based mobile ones. And don’t we have a similar situation at the moment with traditional maritime flag-states establishing second registers for shipping (e.g. the Norwegian International Ship Register, and the German International Shipping Register)—effectively a form of new maritime state with no separate territory or borders but with a legal existence and powers? Cleveland (1993, p.  9) referred to UNCLOS III (the Third United Nations Conference on Law of the Sea, 1982) where the deep ocean and seabed are considered to be ‘the common heritage of mankind’—all very nice but what does that mean in governance terms? Sadeh et al. (2005, p. 210) followed this up with some more detail of the problems of getting the USA to sign up whilst Wijkman (1982, p.  514) noted with some

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surprise that UNCLOS III made no requirement for coastal states to pay in anyway or to anyone, when resource jurisdictions were extended seaward. With such extensions comes governance responsibilities but the freedom effectively to extend to any distance if desired opens up sizeable possibilities for abuse—and this could also be the case in outer space where the limits of inner and outer space are ill-defined. Vogler (2000, pp. 6–7) noted that the oldest form of global commons was the high seas where outside the initial definition of territorial seas of three miles (the furthest cannon shot from land), anything was allowable. This limit has of course been periodically extended but the vast majority of the oceans remains outside effective jurisdiction and thus essentially global commons. International jurisdiction has both been proposed and implemented at least to a certain degree through the UN but as we have seen with only limited effectiveness and without being too pessimistic, the oceans remain open to unregulated exploitation simply because their governance is inadequate. Vogler (2000, pp. 44–45) went on to emphasise the growing problems of ocean governance and in particular the impact of unregulated exploitation and pollution, issues which inevitably will be reflected in outer space: Much degradation was not associated with strictly maritime activities at all, but with the generally unrestrained use of the seas as ‘a common sink’ for the free disposal of land sourced effluents. The regulation of the ocean commons thus ceased to be the simple matter it had been at the time of British maritime prominence, which is now represented in Keohane and Nye’s (1977, p. 88) inimitable phrase, ‘a bygone era of fish and ships’.

Very much the same can be seen in outer space commons governance in the future. Vogler (2000, pp. 97–99) did note that a significant difference between maritime and outer space governance was the greater access the former had to the commons, but that was in 2000 and already more than 20 years later we can see considerably greater access by more states and by the increasingly large number of multinational private actors. Brearley (2006, p.  50) suggested that the governance of the ocean commons was largely based on the idea that there is ‘sufficient quantity of resource for all to use’ and this idea can be seen in the initial attempts

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at governing outer space commons. However, its validity has come under greater scrutiny in later years not least as the number of satellites and the quantity of space debris proliferates. Meanwhile Merrie et  al. (2014, p. 20) outlined the progress in formalised ocean governance including 24 UN Directives and considerably more from other bodies between 1958 and 2013, the vast majority after 1967. This illustrated the complexities involved and consequently the likely difficulties in designing a governance structure for a commons in outer space which is even less definable, more problematic to manage and formidably remote. Denmark (2010, p.  174) also emphasised how outer space was in greater need than maritime space for a strong governance regime simply because the majority of issues had yet to be addressed despite their potential severity. Although focussing upon space debris, his emphasis upon the behaviour of actors rather than just their influence, size and capability was interesting. Kerrest (2011, p. 135) concentrated upon the issues of liability of space launches and the disputes that might arise between owners, the launch site, the launch state and so on and comparing the current regime with that of the high seas where there are limitations of the liability of shipowners both in time and amount. Shackleford (2014, pp. 432–433) considered that a polycentric approach to commons governance rather than one centred upon a single global, multilateral authority (e.g. the UN), might be more rewarding, an approach to the governance of the global commons advocated most recently by Ostrom (2010a) and Morrison et al. (2019) generally and more specifically to the maritime commons by Roe (2009), Van Leeuwen (2015), Gritsenko (2017), Monios (2019) with respect to port governance, Gritsenko and Roe (2019), Mahon and Fanning (2019) and Monios and Ng (2021, p. 2, 3) and outer space by Tepper (2019a, 2019b), Kuhn (2021) with respect to the governance of the Moon as a commons, and in particular Morin and Richard (2021, pp. 571–572). The latter suggested that Ostrom (2010b, p. 552) had indirectly referred to this as polycentricity favoured experimentation with differing approaches generating innovation. Tepper (2014) agreed, highlighting the flexibility this introduced which was a major benefit when considering uncertainty, a wide diversity in actors and changing technology. Morin and Richard (2021, p. 572) outlined how vestiges of polycentricity were apparent already in the governance of

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outer space (and we might add in the maritime sector as well) exemplified by the wide range of international organisations with stakes in the sector representing a regime complex (Raustiala & Victor, 2004). Hertzfeld et al. (2016, p. 16) commented on how the maritime commons were characterised by freedom of access and passage and where no state can claim sovereignty, something outlined by Grotius as far back as the 1600s. This was not without some debate at the time, but the basic principle still holds true. This is not quite the full story as coastal waters are legitimately claimed as nation-state territory in a fashion similar to the atmosphere immediate to the Earth but where freedom of passage for all is still retained except in times of crisis. Freeman (2019) reviewed the approach of China to both maritime and outer space but failed to provide detail. Meanwhile the comparisons between ocean and outer space governance continue with Shabbir et al. (2019): A few hundred kilometres (km) above the global common of seas lie the global commons of outer space.

And Klinger (2020, p. 662): In comparison to the governance of regimes for the oceans, that of outer space is elegantly simple. Unlike the oceans, in outer space there is no difference between territorial and international waters, neither are there ‘Exclusive Economic Zones’ or ‘Protected Areas’. Space can only be used in a way that is open to all, the benefits from which must be shared by all humankind.

Two more things to consider in terms of governance and the commons with specific reference to maritime and outer space before we move on. First, to regime theory which has a long history of relevance to governance (see e.g. Andersen, 2002; Andersson & Ostrom, 2008). Vogler (2000, p. 17) provided a definition: A regime is regarded as an institution or, more precisely, a set of norms, principles, rules and decision-making procedures that govern a particular

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issue area, such as trade, money or more relevantly the use of the global commons.

An alternative came from Biermann et al. (2009, p. 14): ‘larger systems of institutions and governance mechanisms in particular areas of world politics which are sometimes referred to as regime complexes, clusters or networks’, and something they saw as ‘governance architecture’ (Biermann et al., 2009, p. 15). Meanwhile, Abbott (2012, p. 571) and Raustiala and Victor (2004), amongst others, provided an alternative definition for regimes and in particular regime complexes: An array of partially overlapping and non-hierarchical institutions governing a particular issue-area. Regime complexes are marked by the existence of several legal agreements that are created and maintained in distinct fora with participation of different sets of actors. The rules in these elemental regimes functionally overlap, yet there is no agreed upon hierarchy for resolving conflicts between rules. Disaggregated decision making in the international legal system means that agreements reached in one forum do not automatically extend to, or clearly trump, agreements developed in other forums. (Raustiala & Victor, 2004, p. 271)

Biermann et al. went on to suggest that they are more than international organisations or legal formal arrangements between states. Whilst they can be as simple as defining a resource as open access, they can also be the ‘functional equivalent of government, serving to provide international public goods and to reduce the associated transaction costs’ (Keohane, 1984). Strange (1982, p. 337) provided an early consideration of regime analysis questioning its validity for understanding international political economy or world politics, and incidentally, that it could also be applied to studying the commons. She suggested five counts on which regime theory could be seriously criticised: 1 . It is a fashion. 2. It is imprecise and woolly. 3. It is value-based.

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4. It distorts by over-emphasising the static and under-emphasising the dynamic. 5. It is narrow, in that it state-centric and therefore limits visions of reality. Effective governance of the commons is in essence much the same as trying to achieve effective governance of any defined space but with some very specific and problematic characteristics. Regime theory provides an approach to this but the problems listed above suggest that there may well be inadequacies that need to be considered. Two stand out—its static nature and state-centrism, both because they are issues of governance identified elsewhere (Roe, 2013) which are fundamental to good governance design. Both must be accommodated or avoided as they are features of the maritime and outer space governance regimes at present and which make them ineffective. Strange (1982, p. 346) suggested that the domination of static approaches to governance arises out of attempting to introduce ‘some confidence in the future of anarchy, some order out of uncertainty’. State-centrism, meanwhile, implies that the only considerations of any importance in governance of the commons, amongst many other issues, are ones in which governments are concerned. This is far from the case and, for example, the issues of the environment, safety, cultural abuse and much more are often dominated by interest groups, individual and family considerations rather than traditional government and especially state government ones. The role of the state in governance remains over-inflated and has created an inertia that continues to stifle novel and potentially more useful approaches. Both the maritime and outer space contexts suffer from the enforced state-­centrism inherited from the past structures adopted and sustained by national interests. Alter and Meunier (2009, p. 13) commented upon how international cooperation was always a complex system with its clear ramifications for international (and consequently extra-terrestrial) governance. ‘The state-­ centric bias of international relations, combined with a tendency to focus on the origin rather than the implementation of formal rules, leads political scientists to focus overwhelmingly on the causes of international regime complexity’. They suggest that is unhelpful in the design of effective governance of the commons, be it maritime, outer space or others.

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Drezner (2009, p. 65) outlined the ‘role that forum-shopping, nested and overlapping institutions and regime complexes play in shaping the patterns of global governance’, and consequently their importance in the design of governance frameworks for maritime and outer space (Aggarwal, 2005; Goldstein et al., 2001; Shanks et al., 1996). He went on to emphasise the importance of the rather delightfully termed ‘institutional plasticity’ which comes with time and which facilitates the application and sustenance of governance structures. Stuart (2014, pp. 12–13) perhaps more than anyone else has focussed on the value of regime theory to the understanding of governance of the commons and specifically targeted the issues specifically relating to outer space to do this. She suggested that: Regime theory seeks to explain under what conditions rational actors will determine that it is in their interest to cooperate, despite the lack of a hierarchical system of governance, and despite the fact that the international system is anarchic. Theorists seek to understand how regimes facilitate cooperation; how and why they matter; and how they are formed, sustained and changed over time. Most regime theorists believe that regimes are an important source of stability in the international arena, particularly as states increasingly confront problems that do not fall clearly within territorial boundaries (and/or are in neutral territory) and that require international cooperation.

Stuart (2014, pp. 14–20) goes on to consider regime theory in considerable detail including its specific application to outer space (Peterson, 2004, 2005; Vogler, 2000) and also reviewing a number of other more general contributors including Ruggie (1975), Young (1980, 1983, 1994), Hurrell (1995), and Puchala and Hopkins (1983). Building on her earlier work (Stuart, 2013, p. 1), she takes Krasner’s definition that we have already noted as the basis for the development of a regime for outer space and included within these the Outer Space Treaty (1967), the Rescue and Return Agreement (1968), the Liability Convention (1972), the Registration Convention (1974), the regime for geostationary satellite allocation and the regime to govern the International Space Station. Noting the geopolitical significance of outer space, she emphasises the

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role that regimes always play in this process, both positively and negatively and the fact that they are constantly evolving (Stuart, 2013, p. 3). De Burca et al. (2014, p. 9) extended the idea of regimes to that of regime complexes which appeared to be more applicable to both the maritime and outer space scenarios. They cited the definition of Raustiala and Victor (2004)—‘an array of partially overlapping and non-­hierarchical institutions governing a particular area’. They also suggested that the formal international regimes—such as COPUOS and the IMO—were being replaced by a complex of ‘states, sub-state units, international organisations, civil society organizations, and private actors’ (De Burca et al., (2014, p. 9). Meanwhile Albareda and Waddock (2018, p. 639) noted the continued contribution of the regime concept suggesting that networks which have clear ramifications for global governance may well exhibit regime complexity, but this was only to be expected. They saw regime complexity as characterised by multiple interacting institutions with similar agendas but no formal hierarchy, each of which has the ability to impose authority (Overdevest & Zeitlin, 2014). The use of regimes has not been confined to the scenario of outer space, and there are a large number of examples from the transport and more particularly the maritime sector. These include Pietri et al. (2008) looking at the environmental impact of Arctic shipping, Heitmann and Khalilian (2011) (carbon dioxide emissions from shipping), Button (2015) (US food aid and cargo preference schemes), Shi (2016) (greenhouse gas emissions from shipping), Zhao (2016) (politico-economic environments and cargo liability), Nawrot and Dabrowska (2018) (international liability, shipping and the environment), Xu (2020) (cross-­ border insolvency in the maritime sector) and Fasoulis (2021) (socially responsible shipping). There are many more. Meanwhile, framing theory has a relatively short history but may provide a useful way of accommodating the problems presented by governance of the commons for both maritime and outer space. However, it does have a considerable research foundation (see, e.g., Hall, 1993, 1997). Morth defined the concept of frames in policy-­making and governance suggesting they acted as ‘referents for action’ and as a consequence could be used to give direction to the process of integration—and consequently governance across something as diffused as the commons.

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Kohler-Koch provided a more detailed explanation suggesting that the process of ‘framing’ was a way of discriminating between competing frames (Ligthart & Lindenberg, 1994; Lindenberg, 1993). She saw framing as sequential with participants (e.g. shipowners or outer space commercial entrepreneurs) focussing upon what they are attempting to achieve. This directs the selection of subsequent frames and simplifies what otherwise might seem to be a complex and confused scenario. Effective governance has some chance of following this. Rein and Schon (1991, p. 263) helped to clarify this process by defining framing as: a way of selecting, organising, interpreting and making sense of a complex reality so as to provide guideposts for knowing, analysing persuading and acting. A frame is a perspective from which an amorphous, ill-defined problematic situation can be made sense of and acted upon.

This sounds ideal for governance of the maritime and outer space commons. Daviter (2007, p. 654) provided support for this definition in his review of EU policy-making whilst Hoerber (2018, p. 7) was clear about the value of framing for the development of policy generally and more specifically outer space quoting Hall (1993, p. 289) and his views on the value of framing: politicians, officials, the spokesmen of social interests, and policy experts all operate within the terms of political discourse that are current in the nation at a given time, and the terms of political discourse generally have a specific configuration that lends representative legitimacy to some social interests more than others, delineates the accepted boundaries of state action, associates contemporary political developments with particular interpretations of national history, and defines the context in which many issues will be understood.

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Hoerber (2018, p. 8) continued to outline how framing works in outer space policy-making and governance referring to their use in EU outer space policy studies (Hoerber & Stephenson, 2016) and outlining how framing assumes rational choices by policy actors concerning what they can actively influence, largely based upon pre-existing belief systems of which policies would be advantageous and which not. This in turn provides the basis for logical, rational and effective governance. Quoting Goldstein and Keohane (1993, p. 12): By ordering the world, ideas may shape agendas, which can profoundly shape outcomes. Insofar as ideas put blinkers on people, reducing the number of conceivable options, they serve as invisible switchmen, not only by turning action onto certain tracks rather than others… but also by obscuring the other tracks from the agent’s view.

Hoerber (2018, p. 9) also noted that framing in policy-making and governance is essentially dynamic allowing for the continuous change that inevitably takes place and in so doing, addresses a major drawback of much governance in maritime and outer space, commons or otherwise, in that governance processes tend to be static (Roe, 2013). Daviter (2007, pp.  656–657) analysed the contribution framing can make to policy studies and governance emphasising that Weiss’ (1989, p. 117) view that framing can be a ‘weapon of advocacy and consensus’. The commons and both maritime and outer space clearly are heavily inter-connected and any attempt to develop an effective governance regime for either must take this into account. It is also clear that much can be learned from each other in this design to attempt to overcome some of the difficult issues relating to the effective absence of boundaries, the indistinct ownership and the enormous social and economic value of both environments which make their governance that much more important. There is much still to be done on the governance of the commons problem and lessons from elsewhere—for example, the atmosphere and Antarctica—are so far not promising.

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6 Maritime and Outer Spatial Fixation

Human societies, like living organisms human or extra-human, cannot be conceived of independently of the universe (or of the ‘world’); nor may cosmology, which cannot annex knowledge of those societies, leave them out of its picture altogether. (Lefebvre, 1991, p. 14) The reproduction of material life is wholly dependent on the production and reproduction of surplus value. To this end, capital stalks the Earth in search of material resources; nature becomes a universal method of production in the sense that it not only provides the subjects, objects and instruments of production, but is also in its totality an appendage to the production process…. No part of the Earth’s surface, the atmosphere, the oceans, the geological substratum or the biological superstratum are immune from transformation by capital. (Smith, 1984, p. 49, 56) The Wizard of Oz effect. Where power is maintained by those with ‘mechanical’ control of the universe but hidden by a mask of mysticism that keeps the public in a position of fear and subservience. (Dickens & Ormrod, 2007b, p. 622)

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Once more, socially and politically powerful people (some even claiming to be on a mission from God) are attempting to make the cosmos into a means by which they can control society on Earth. (Dickens & Ormrod, 2007b, p. 622)

Existing ideas about the contemporary capitalist society which are applicable to the world today including the maritime sector will need to be extended to cover outer space as its development continues to take place (Dickens, 2009; Dickens & Ormrod, 2016a). Clearly, it is possible to use the existing theories to help understand how the governance of maritime and outer space can be improved, and as we saw in the previous chapter, the significance of the commons to this is central. Whilst Beery (2016a, pp. 52–53, 2016b) is interested in how ‘outer space has been central to terrestrial spatial and socio-natural relations since the earliest days of human civilization’, Dickens and Ormrod (2007a, p. 50) suggest that a more significant starting point is ‘historical materialism’ (Lange, 1925; Moser & Trout, 1995) where the processes of change, and therefore the processes needed for effective governance, are directed by the ‘productive forces that characterise society’—in particular labour, capital and technology. People form a central part of production, and these relationships generate ‘class relations organised around the making of commodities’ and together, their specific structuring creates ‘modes of production’ such as capitalism and feudalism. Given that we are in an era dominated by capitalism, it would be useful to analyse how the capitalist mode of production impacts commons such as the maritime and outer space. In turn, this will illustrate how the development of each is taking place and also how this might influence the design of effective governance. Dickens and Ormrod (2007a, p. 50) continue by suggesting that an understanding of capitalism and its crises can be particularly useful in outlining the reasons why maritime space in the past and outer space in the future will become central parts of the capitalist economy. Whilst this expansion of human activity is in part due to an inherent desire to explore, it also forms an inevitable part of the capitalist drive, and it is this latter force that has most impact on governance of both the maritime and outer space sectors.

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To understand the relationship between capitalist society and both maritime and outer space, Dickens and Ormrod drew on a wide range of impressive sources including Lenin (1963), Luxembourg (1968), Lefebvre (1991) and in particular Harvey (1974a, 1982, 2003, 2006, 2016), the latter providing an analysis that links together the dominant issues discussed by others. Harvey’s (2016, p. 118) interpretation emphasises the importance of place even where capital continues to search for new spaces to exploit. He also focusses upon the ‘circuits of capital’, which in turn generate ‘crises’ and which need ‘spatial fixes’ to be resolved—and this is where the process of globalisation (universalisation?) comes in and the exploitation of increasingly large space—including maritime and outer space. But we are rushing on too quickly and too far. Capitalism’s crises have been well documented and their relevance to the outer space sector is substantial: The significance of spaceflight is determined by forces of capital, not labour…. As such, space exploration can be variously understood as a catalyst to drive consumer, manufacturing and managerial innovation (Johnson, 2016), a place to extract resources (Capova, 2016), and a way to train globally competitive knowledge workers while creating new ‘off-­ world’ consumers such as space tourists (Beery, 2012). We might celebrate this vision like Jeff Bezos, Amazon founder, CEO and space booster, as a ‘huge dynamic entrepreneurial explosion in space’ (Davenport, 2016) or lament it as a pernicious ‘up scaling’ of the over accumulation crises enthusiastically interpreted by Harvey (2016, p. 245) including their relationship to the spatial fix, and social inequalities of terrestrial capitalism (Dickens & Ormrod, 2007; MacDonald, 2007). But either way, the future of space exploitation, which for Bezos and other space entrepreneurs, often appears as our only future, appears increasingly determined by capital. (Dunnett et al., 2019, p. 321)

Unsurprisingly, Harvey (1975, pp.  238–242) has much to offer on crises in general including the need to ‘export’ capital (e.g. throughout both maritime and outer space [Harvey, 2016, p. 169]) whilst Steinberg (1999, p.  370) emphasised the importance of capital’s crises on ocean governance suggesting that:

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Through the manipulation of marine imagery, the focal space of capital is defined solely as a space of movement, leaving the places on its borders defined as points of limitless opportunity for investment and ‘development’.

Others include Billings (2006a, pp. 251–252), quoting Baard (2004): ‘the solar system is like a giant grocery store, it has everything we could possibly want’, and therefore is a potential solution to capitalism’s crises; Beery (2012, p. 27) who referred to the work of Dickens and Ormrod (2007a) on spatial fixing and the crises of capitalism and overaccumulation and Lieberman (2017, p. 53) who emphasised how outer space was central to capitalism and vice versa. Although once characterised by exploration, myths, legends, culture, art and religion, it had now become part of consumer capitalism and would increasingly rely upon its products to survive. And these products would become valuable only if they became an intrinsic part of solving the crisis of capitalism and offering a meaningful spatial fix something whose relevance was made, especially by Jessop (2004) and his consideration of the relationship between temporal and spatial fixation. Klinger (2019b, p. 320) also emphasised the ‘infinite expanse of the cosmos’ and as a result how it holds an ‘infinite quantity of resources and possibilities’, free for exploitation to resolve crises of capitalism. However, she continued also to note how some of these practices might be questionable, citing how waste could be sent to outer space to be disposed of in return for useful commodities; ‘if pollution and resource scarcity are at the heart of so much conflict on Earth, why not send our waste to outer space while harvesting the infinite resources of the cosmos? (Zabarah, 2015)’. Dickens and Ormrod (2007a) offered some clarification: A circuit of capital starts with money being invested in labour power (the capacity to work), technology and resources. These are combined to produce commodities, which are then sold to customers. This results in profits and more money available to be invested in labour power, technology and resources. (Dickens & Ormrod, 2007a, p. 50)

A significant problem in this circuit is that workers have an increasing need to consume the products that they are making, but at the same time,

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the capitalist owners have a strong incentive to keep wages as low as possible and to mechanise and automate wherever possible, consequently maximising profits. However, this reduces the ability of workers to purchase the very goods that they make, and which generate the profits of the capitalist. This is the ‘primary circuit of capital’. Secondary and tertiary circuits were identified by Harvey and refer to where firstly the financial market regulates the primary circuit, and secondly where the state then also gets involved. Many crises can be identified including: • Capitalists need to be able to invest their profits further but locations for this investment may be difficult to find because suitable locations or worthwhile raw material commodities may be exhausted. • There may be an excess of commodities manufactured that cannot be sold easily or at a profitable price. • Large number of workers may be laid off with not only social costs but also reducing their ability to purchase products. To hint at what is to come, investment in outer space, militarily and economically, has been used to attempt to resolve some of these crises, generating new products for markets previously unexploited and new sources of materials (Baran & Sweezy, 1966); and over many generations this has been occurring in the maritime sector, progressively opening up new opportunities in expanded territories. Or in other words—globalisation. Harvey (2001a) outlined the concept of fixing these crises of capitalism which inevitably emerge and which the exploitation of both the maritime and outer space is a manifestation. One major crisis is ‘overproduction’ of commodities, and the consequent need to identify new markets—in maritime terms new lands around the world, in outer space terms, new planets or simply new investments in spacecraft, satellites, military equipment and communications. Another is in identifying new and cheaper sources of raw materials, whilst another is to find new locations to divest overaccumulated funds. Harvey (2020, pp. 84–85) provided clarity:

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Capital develops and as it develops, so it expands. The geography of capital is therefore about its endless expansion in and over space. Within a particular territory, the possibilities for expansion are ultimately limited by resources, by the population, by available infrastructures, and the like. At a certain point within that territory capitalist expansion reaches a limit. Capital surpluses stack up in a particular part of the world, often accompanied by surpluses of labour. These capital surpluses need an outlet for profitable employment. So where can they go? One answer is to develop colonies. Another answer is to export capital (and in some cases also labour) to some other place in the world where the capitalist system has yet to develop. This is what I call the ‘spatial fix’ as an answer to the overaccumulation of capital that is the inevitable product of profit seeking.

Fixes do not need to be spatial and examples of attempts to resolve capitalist crises have included speculative property investments, the redesign of workplace practices or the introduction of financial controls and incentives; but many and possibly the most significant have been spatial in nature and the relationship here between the maritime and outer space sectors, their utilisation to resolve capitalist crises and the impact of this on their governance are both fundamental and clear. Spatial fixes centre around the idea of geographically expanding circuits of capital through accommodating new territories, raw materials, workforces and markets. Clearly, not all of these are relevant in all cases of both the maritime and outer space sectors—for example, as yet, the idea of finding new workforces on other planets has yet to materialise but certainly expanded territory, raw materials and markets do exist. In the maritime sector all have been part of attempts to resolve capital’s crises, manifested in the single concept of ‘globalisation’, something that has been going on for thousands of years but which in territorial terms is beginning to run out of steam as new territories and the opportunities to develop those more recently enveloped by global markets have become more restricted as the identification of new sources of raw materials becomes more difficult and expensive, and as sources of cheap labour dry up. Outer space offers some opportunities to resolve these crises. The concept of the spatial fix has been extensively discussed and for those with a particular interest the best sources come from David

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Harvey—see, for example, Harvey (1974b, 1975, 1978, 1981, 1985, pp.  324–327, 335–339, 1992, 1998, 2000, 2001a, 2001b, 2014, pp. 151–154) where both the concept itself and its relationship to space, time and governance within a capitalist society are analysed in considerable depth. Here we shall address only the fundamental issues that have a relevance for governance in general and that of the maritime and outer spaces in particular. The concept of space-time and its relationship to spatial fixation has been taken up by many and even enters modern literature, for example, Anna Kavan (1967, p. 142) in her post-nuclear dystopian novel Ice: He told me about the hallucination of space-time, and the joining of past and future so that either could be the present, and all ages accessible. He said he would take me to his world, if I wanted to go. He and others like him had seen the end of our planet, the end of the human race. The race was dying, the collective death-wish, the fatal impulse to self-destruction, though perhaps human life might survive.

Harvey (1985, quoted in 2001b, p. 318) provides an opening: The processes whereby surpluses of capital and labour power are produced do not guarantee that they can be assembled in time and space in exactly the right proportions to be absorbed into a given process of circulation of capital. To some degree, the technologies embedded within the circulation of capital can adjust to accommodate such differences, though often at the cost of radical restructuring.

In other words goods and commodities are not often in the places where they are wanted when they are produced and consequently need to be moved—either the commodities to the consumers or vice versa. This is the drive that lies at the process of spatial fixing and as the sources of commodities dry up at one location, or the demand from consumers does much the same then a new spatial fix is needed. And it is here where the activities in the spheres of maritime and outer space find their greatest incentive. As consumer markets closest to commodities and products become saturated so those further away must be sought, and as labour

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becomes either exhausted or too expensive then much the same occurs. Maritime space continues to provide new territory for this ‘globalisation’ to occur but even the Earth is exhaustible and then what can the capitalist system do next to find a new spatial fix? One solution is to look to outer space where at least the demand for and sources of new commodities has considerable potential. Whilst this existing spatial fixation globally has huge ramifications for the governance of the maritime sector, much of which has not been resolved, its expansion to an outer spatial fix presents even greater demands. The concept of the outer spatial fix has also been discussed by Dickens and Ormrod (2006, 2007a, 2007b, 2010, 2016a, 2016b), and we shall return to their contribution soon but in the meantime we need to look at the fundamentals of spatial fixing to gain an appreciation of the challenges ahead in both maritime and outer space governance. Harvey (1985, also cited in 2001b, pp. 324–327) provided a lengthy and detailed explanation of the principles involved, which are also summarised in Harvey (2001a, p. 26) and which he supported with the words of Karl Marx and Frederick Engels from the Communist Manifesto (1848), which although so well known as to be hardly worth quoting, are reproduced for those few out there who are not familiar with them The need for a constantly expanding market chases the bourgeoisie over the whole surface of the globe. It must settle everywhere, establish connexions everywhere…. The bourgeoisie has through its exploitation of the world market given a cosmopolitan character to production and consumption in every country…. All old established national industries have been destroyed or are daily being destroyed. They are dislodged by new industries whose introduction becomes a life or death question for all civilised nations, by industries that no longer work up indigenous raw material, but raw material drawn from the remotest zones; industries whose products are consumed, not only at home, but in every quarter of the globe. In place of the old wants, satisfied by the production of the country, we find new wants, requiring for their satisfaction, the products of distant lands and climes. In place of the old local and national seclusion and self-sufficiency, we have intercourse in every direction, universal interdependence of nations. And as in material, so also in intellectual production. The intellectual creations of individual nations become common property. National one-sidedness

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and narrow-mindedness become more and more impossible, and from the numerous national and local literatures, there arises a world literature.

Harvey emphasises how this description of what we now see as globalisation is in fact the manifestation of spatial fixing as originally envisaged by Hegel but with additional commentary from the Communist Manifesto provided by Marx and Engels (1848): The bourgeoisie … draws all, even the most barbarian nations into civilisation, the cheap prices of its commodities are the heavy artillery with which it batters down all Chinese walls, with which it forces the barbarians’ intensely obstinate hatred of foreigners to capitulate. It compels all nations on pain of extinction, to adopt the bourgeois mode of production: it compels them to introduce what it calls civilisation into their midst: i.e. to become bourgeois themselves. In one word, it creates a world after its own image.

He continued, seeing ‘capitalism’s insatiable drive to resolve its inner crisis tendencies by geographical expansion and geographical restructuring … capitalism we might say, is addicted to geographical expansion’; and with the increasing exhaustion of space on Earth, the obvious place next to seek out is outer space (Harvey, 2001a, p. 24). The need for a spatial fix is the fundamental drive for globalisation, and the finite nature of the globe which the maritime sector has increasingly fully exploited is the subsequent drive for developing outer space. And to say it once again—both need effective governance if their exploitation is to be sustainable, clean, safe, equitable and efficient. At present, the governance of neither appears to be effective. Arrighi (2004, p. 527) noted the significance of globalisation as expressed through the spatial fix suggesting that there had been a sizeable increase in the number and variety of global networks identified by Chaise-Dunn and Hall (1997, pp. 52–55) accompanied by an increased scale of those associated with bulk goods and the military-political. Their significance was also noted by Sheppard (2002, p. 310) who saw them as barriers to further accumulation which have to be overcome if capitalist society is to continue to survive and it is here where the relevance of both

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the maritime and outer spaces becomes clear. Dickens and Ormrod (2007b, p. 613) spread the discussion even further looking at the development of globalisation as a process of spatial fix since the Renaissance which over time has metamorphosed into what they term ‘widespread adult infantile narcissism’ (Craib, 1994; Dean, 2000; Dickens, 2004; Lasch, 1979, 1984; Sennett, 1974, 1977). To put the matter simply, very large numbers of the most economically and socially dominant people are failing adequately to grow up. Freud (1914) was the first to outline this kind of personality order. Infants are well known for making constant and wholly unreasonable demands on the world in general and their parents in particular, expecting their universe to orient around them. Serious problems result, however, if these attitudes persist into later life.

Whilst the expansions of both maritime and outer space are manifestations of attempts to satisfy these unreasonable demands this is all well and good as long their governance remains effective. Otherwise ‘insatiable personalities’ emerge as identified by Dean (2000) and Lacan (1977), ‘for whom the world is experienced as the means to satisfy an internal lack’ (Dickens & Ormrod, 2007b, p. 614), and there is a failure to recognise that they remain dependent upon others and upon the world around them leading to the over-riding of others’ rights and damage to both internal and external natures. Spatial fixing, both maritime and outer space, is the manifestation of attempts to satisfy society’s infantile narcissism. Spatial fixation is not without its drawbacks and it is in managing these that governance of the maritime and outer spaces becomes crucial. Steinberg (2001, pp. 160–161) is clear; in fixing capitalism’s demands for perpetual expansion, the process of what Harvey termed ‘time-space compression’ (Harvey, 2016, pp. 37–58) has not resulted in a complete win by mobility over fixity, time over space. Meanwhile Brenner (1999, pp. 52–53) noted the complexities that space-time compression increasingly generated as globalisation accelerated and which we can see would intensify as the outer space complex becomes ever more significant:

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The contemporary round of globalisation has radically reconfigured the scalar organization of territorialization processes under capitalism, relativizing the significance of the national scale whilst simultaneously intensifying the role of both sub- and supra-national forms of territorial organization…. Processes of territorialization remain endemic to capitalism, but today they are jumping at once above, below and around the national scale upon which they had converged throughout much of the world.

There is much more available to read on space-time compression in the work of Harvey (particularly 1975, pp. 11–14 with respect to transport issues; 1978, p. 81, 1985, 1992, 1998, pp. 49–52, 2001b, p. 81) and the reader is again also referred elsewhere—for example, Giedion (1962, pp.  327–333) and Sheppard (2002, pp.  309–315), but in particular Steinberg (2001, p. 23, 160 and 162–163) in relation to the oceans, and Dickens (2016, p. 73 and 84) in relation to the cosmos. Whilst the whole idea of spatial fixing suggests that location is important only in a temporary way, in fact rather more permanency in location remains important exemplified by the concentrations of industrial and technological activity in the Far East, firms relying upon ‘entrenched networks of research, educational and production institutions’ (Storper, 1992; Storper & Walker, 1989), albeit ones that do move around over time. Much of this globalisation is only possible because of the use made of maritime networks through maritime commons, and much of the same is inevitable over time in outer space as globalisation becomes increasingly universalisation but in each case, regardless of whether maritime or outer space, the ideally ‘pure’ context where distance and location become totally irrelevant is unlikely in the near future. The location of the spatial fix is consequently important and always at least to a certain extent, a drag on the ideal fix where locational friction is negligible or even non-existent. The concept of the spatial fix is not necessarily the resolution to all of capitalism’s problems and a variety of issues have been identified where it displays inadequacies. Harvey (1981, pp. 6–7), for example, although the most prominent proponent of spatial fixation as an approach to the resolution of capitalism’s contradictions, suggested that one of the

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‘requirements of production conflicts with those of circulation to produce crises of disequilibrium in accumulation’. This consequently presents a new range of problems that need to be resolved—for example, ‘unemployed capital at one pole, and unemployed worker population at the other’. Spatial fixation may resolve the issue in the short term by geographical expansion, for example, across the oceans or to other planets, but in the long term the issue will never go away. The result is overaccumulation of capital which Harvey (1981, p. 7) defines as: an excess of capital in relation to the opportunities to employ that capital profitably. This excess of capital can exist as a surplus of commodities, of money, of productive capacity, and also leads to a surplus of labour power (widespread unemployment or underemployment). The only effective resolution to such crises, in the absence of a spatial fix, is the devaluation of capital, as money (through inflation), as commodities (through gluts on the market and falling prices), as productive capacity (through idle or under-used plant and equipment), physical infrastructures, and the like, culminating in bankruptcy), and the devaluation of labour power (through falling real standards of living of the labourers).

Given these alternatives, the spatial fix looks ever more appealing, and consequently the search for additional space goes on; and as the oceans and the associated lands become ever more accommodated in this search, so the need to look beyond them and Earth itself becomes obvious. Harvey (1981, p. 2) also referred to Hegel (1967, pp. 150–152) who suggested that society is ‘driven by its inner dialectic to push beyond its own limits and seek markets, and so it is a necessary means of subsistence, in other lands that are either deficient in the goods it has overproduced, or else generally backward in industry’. In so doing it must develop colonies in new lands to generate ‘a new demand and field for its industry’. This process of imperialism and colonialism is a necessary resolution to the inner contradictions of capitalism. We return to the issue of colonialism and outer space in the final chapter but its significance here as a potentially undesirable consequence of spatial fixation and the capitalist society in which we live

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Harvey (2001a, p. 25) also refers to another major contradiction of the spatial fix wherever it is applied as a resolution to the problems of overaccumulation. Spatial fixes are just that, fixes which are characterised by ‘landscapes’ of fixed spaces ‘necessary for its own functioning at a certain point in its history only to have to destroy that space (and devalue much of the capital invested therein) at a later point in order to make way for a new spatial fix… at a later point in its history’. Consequently the process never ends and has to be sustained by ever more distant expansions—and so outer space. Harvey has not been alone in recognising the contradictions and the problems faced by the spatial fix to capitalism’s problems. Arrighi (2004, p.  529) also noted the contradiction of capital and how it becomes increasingly ‘imprisoned within immobile physical and social infrastructure’ (Harvey, 1982, p.  428). Harvey (2003, p.  134) also identified a ‘sinister and destructive side of spatial-temporal fixes of the over-­ accumulation problem’, which had been noted by Marx as ‘primitive accumulation’. This would include accumulation by dispossession (e.g. conversion of commons into exclusive property rights), and colonial, semi-colonial, neo-colonial and imperial appropriation of assets and natural resources including slave labour (Arrighi, 2004, p. 531). Spatial fixation through either the oceans or outer space is a process of accumulation by dispossession of the commons and: release(s) a set of assets (including labour power) at very low (and in some cases zero) cost. Over-accumulated capital can seize hold of such assets and immediately turn them to profitable use. (Harvey, 2003, p. 149)

Capitalism demands that the markets for its products continuously expand to find sources for raw materials, destinations for overaccumulated funds and markets to purchase the products that are produced. As Harvey suggests, ‘this process can presumably continue until all external possibilities are exhausted or because other regions resist being treated as mere convenient appendages’. From a maritime perspective that is increasingly the case; from an outer space perspective the limits are effectively boundless. Meanwhile Karl Marx (1973, pp. 407–410) can help to sum all this up:

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The creation by capital of absolute surplus value… is conditional upon an expansion, specifically a constant expansion, of the sphere of circulation…. A precondition of production based on capital is therefore the production of a constantly widening sphere of circulation. Hence, just as capital has the tendency on one side to create ever more surplus labour, so it has the complementary tendency to create more points of exchange.

Hence the continuously growing role of commercial shipping on the oceans, and that of the exploitation of outer space. Dickens and Ormrod (2007a, p.  55) suggest that these earthbound spatial fixes, largely associated with maritime developments (although we should not discount alternative transport modes, nor modern electronic communication methods), can only ever be temporary; much the same could be said of outer space fixes but here the possibilities are almost so large that their exhaustion at present seems unimaginable. As long as capitalist needs for labour can be met by humans, automation or some other virtual method, a very large number of the other crises can be met by resources from outer space. Some exceptions clearly exist—one case at the moment is the geostationary orbit where capacity for expansion is increasingly limited, and of course there is always the possibility that a specific mineral or raw material can only be found at astronomical distance from Earth or even not at all. But the potential of outer space to resolve many crises through its application as a spatial fix is substantial— and so therefore is the need for effective governance. One of the inevitable consequences (or even required precursors) of extending the spatial fix to outer space and in a way that reflects the moves through globalisation in the maritime sector is that the private sector will become more involved. In the words of Handberg (1995, p. 1): Commercial space is no longer merely the dream of visionaries or the province or playground for earthbound government bureaucrats. As the pieces of the tragic Space Shuttle Challenger rained down on the Florida coast in January 1986, private sector enterprise rose phoenix-like from the wreckage.

The state traditionally has played a serious part in the development of outer space as a medium for all forms of activity from military to

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exploration, meteorology to communications, but this is changing, and these changes are a reflection of the increased recognition that outer space has a part to play in capitalist society and one that will become increasingly important as the terrestrial spatial fixes become ever more constrained. The potential for the privatisation of outer space was recognised some time ago. Reijnen (1981, pp. 107–123) wrote extensively on the issues involved: With the coming of age of space research applications and growing awareness at the industrial level of the potential economic benefits to be derived from exploitation of outer space, an interest is being shown by private enterprise, national and multinational, in launching space objects to gather those benefits. (Reijnen, 1981, p. 107)

Reijnen was clear that the trend towards privatisation of outer space activities was encouraged not only by technological developments which had made commercial involvement much more feasible, but also by the trend at that time of moves by governments around the world to transfer traditional state assets into the private sector, citing the UK and its sale of state-owned British Aerospace and British Airways as two examples with relevance to outer space. At the same time of course, a similar process was going on in the maritime sector with the sale of the British Ports Authority and interest in P and O shipping as examples. Since then there have been clear privatisation developments in both sectors but it is perhaps in outer space that the moves have been most striking, not least because the sector had never before been characterised by private involvement because of a combination of its strategic position, the likely costs incurred and the need to develop technology at a time when no commercial benefit was forthcoming. Outer space remains strategic, but although costs remain high, their commercial recovery is now more likely. Hence the private sector becomes more interested and involved. Hearsey (2006, p. 3) looked at the commercial challenges for corporate expansion in outer space at a time when things were just really taking off and noted the earliest serious moves from the 1980s with sizeable

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increases in launching companies dealing with commercial payloads and more specialised activities beginning to be focussed upon tourism and funerals as just two examples. The former is a particularly good example of spreading the spatial fix beyond the limits of Earth, searching out new destinations (albeit rather limited so far) and consequently new ways of reducing the overaccumulation problem. Stern (2012, p. 417) also noted the increase in private activity in outer space that year, focussing especially upon the activities of SpaceX launching cargo resupply missions to the International Space Station on behalf of the US state-owned NASA, suggesting it represented the ‘entry of commercial space companies into the big league’. He continued: ‘the flight is a watershed, but it is just the beginning of the potentially game-­ changing capabilities and economic promise of the emerging commercial space industry’. SpaceX, along with other private newcomers such as Virgin Galactic and Blue Origin, would open up opportunities for disposing of overaccumulated funds in a way that would ultimately produce further profit, but of course ultimately with the dangers of further overaccumulation. However, unlike terrestrial Earth and its maritime servant, outer space retains the ultimate advantage of being effectively boundless, meaning that the outer spatial fix can continue for the foreseeable future. And of course, things have only grown from thereon. Anderson (2013) considered the role of public-private partnerships in space, whilst Chrysaki (2020) brings us up to date with a long quote but which sums up the new era of spatial fixation in outer space now upon us: The expansion of the private space sector has heralded a new space era, which raises radically different questions and points of view compared with those in the 1960s. At that time ‘the conquering of space’ was mainly a matter of national prestige for and a competition between the USA and the USSR, forming part of their global strategies during the Cold War. This state of affairs has radically changed in recent decades; the commercial space industry has been viewed as one of the sectors with a high potential for (i) strengthening entrepreneurial innovation, (ii) welcoming many new and small players, such as countries or small- and medium-sized enterprises, which do not have a long history in our tradition of carrying out space activities, and (iii) aligning with the Fourth Industrial Revolution

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(4IR) objectives that aim to improve the quality of people’s living conditions through technological innovation. The commercialisation of space is now mainly in the hands of a growing private space sector, which is highly motivated to take the lead in many space activities. A number of studies show how quickly the market for the satellite service industry has expanded, mainly based on private initiatives. The most prominent example is the widespread development of hundreds of start-ups specialising in the deployment of, among other things, satellites for telecommunications and launch services. An increasing number of companies and start-ups are now involved in space activities such as deploying technologies for asteroid mining, providing critical technologies to support the establishment of a settlement on the Moon and/or Mars and space tourism. This ambitious space industry seems to have the potential to be one of the major contributors to future growth on our planet. A billion dollars have been invested in space start-ups, following an increasing trend that is very likely to continue into the future.

Reif (2002, p.  157) had noted these moves towards privatisation in outer space, suggesting that ‘global commercial utilisation of space hardware had reached 53% in 1996’ thus exceeding state involvement and was also accompanied by projections of 57% annual growth and the continued withdrawal of state investment where the activity was commercially viable. Beery (2012, p. 27) considered that a ‘political-economic and spatial transformation of human engagement with outer space is currently underway. Private sector space travel is not something far-fetched. It is very real and quite significant’, basing this upon developments in the 1990s and early 2000s when the US government and private space entrepreneurs had shown a united belief in privatisation and how it would ‘allow for the creation of new space industries’ (i.e. new circuits for reinvested capital) that would benefit them both. The entrepreneurs saw it as a ‘means to new streams of revenue and profit; the government saw it as a means to achieve certain forms of basic infrastructural maintenance’. Hearsey (2006, p.  1) noted how private corporations had become increasingly established in the space sector and went on to suggest that this was a reflection of the failure of NASA from the early 1970s to fulfil ambitions and the subsequent change in outer space policy by the US

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government. He also emphasised the reason why the private sector is so interested in space exploration: There are two main reasons for expansion into outer space. First, outer space is a unique place, providing a new frontier for human exploration. The solar system provides many resources to exploit for humanity’s benefit. Exploration and exploitation go hand in hand in any new frontier. Under these two premises, space firms have developed business models that take advantage of private interest in outer space.

Now let’s not get too carried away here. The commercial incentive behind interests in outer space is profit and the exploration is an inevitable sideline (an unfortunate one in profit terms). Do not get too easily persuaded by the emphasis on ‘humanity’s benefit’, and perhaps think a little more about the word ‘exploit’. Crowther (2011, p. 74), backed up by Burwell’s (2019, p. 46) interpretation of changes in the commercial space market, followed much the same line in considering space tourism and the role that the private sector could play in creating a new market niche—a new spatial fix for tourism opening up new destinations and experiences with all the potential this presents for using up overaccumulated funds and generating even more. Burwell (2019, p. 48) did emphasise, however, that the state retains a role in the outer space sector with much activity by commercial enterprises still regulated by inter-governmental agencies and backed by government initiatives. Fawcett (1984, pp. 37–38) provided an early discussion on the role of the public and private sectors in outer space suggesting that the degree of private involvement in what he termed ‘public functions’ would vary considerably. He considered that the state would always be involved through Ministries of Defence, Foreign Affairs, Communications and Industry because outer space will always be public in purpose and range and the private sector’s contribution would largely be in the manufacture of technical equipment as part of wider industrial production. Little did he know. Harris (2008, p. 124) was convinced that the state needed to withdraw from the outer space sector, not completely but substantially suggesting

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that ‘as the space age matures and develops, it is my belief that it will be the private sector that truly opens up the space frontier for commerce’. Referring to the role of early explorers of the Earth: The history of exploration confirms a pattern—a small number of explorers and traders move first into the new frontier; then governments take an interest in the territorial acquisition prospects, so military outposts are established, often with the help of missionaries, and a basic infrastructure emerges. But it is large commercial trading companies that bring settlement—as opposed to occasional visits—in the form of colonists seeking to improve their life prospects.

And so it will be in space—albeit with rather greater constraints (both physical and financial) on who can actually get there. Sachdeva (2010, p. 49 and 51) went as far as to suggest that the state was slowly withdrawing from outer space and national governments in particular would progressively reduce funding. Commercial activities would increase in response, especially in the areas of navigation, timing, communications, broadcasting and remote sensing. Since then we can begin to see many more including tourism, military and eventually the trawling for commodities. Meanwhile Williamson (2012, p. 158) introduced issues relating to outer space, the private sector and sustainability which may in time lead to greater state involvement to return. There are plenty of people who can see problems in this privatisation of outer space and some of which have been raised over many years with respect to the privatisation of the oceans as well. For example, Salin (2001, pp.  20–21) noted how there is a tendency for power to come without responsibility, undoubtedly a problem in the maritime sector as well. ‘The administrative status of global space operators, whether public or private, has no impact on their final liability (if any), but their activities may (and commonly will) heavily impact the global international community’. Up until then there was little evidence of any effective international responsibility for wrongful acts that have been committed, and in the maritime sector although mechanisms may exist, their effectiveness is doubtful.

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Elhefnawy (2003, p. 57) was wary of the trend towards privatisation and the increase in the opportunities to buy outer space services of all sorts, increasingly from very few private providers. The consequence is that many states are reliant upon a very restricted range of suppliers with all the problems of power imbalance that this implies. Hearsey (2006, p. 1) emphasised the commercial risks involved, both legal and financial, including those that would come from the regulation that will be necessary to ensure safety in such a high-risk environment. Meanwhile Chrysaki (2020, p.  2) continues to press her views on the dangers of unsustainability in outer space and that the emphasis on private sector activity makes regulation that much more difficult and ineffective. Reijnen (1981) provided a substantial discussion of the legal issues that private sector activity might generate and particularly the conflicts that might arise with international law. Reif (2002, p. 157) meanwhile was clear that the law relating to outer space activity had not kept up with private developments: As to the laws applicable to private space activities… the current legal framework was still barely developed and to a wide extent unclear, since it was largely established when space activities were carried out by governments or governmental agencies.

Reif (2002, p. 160) continued, noting the failure of national laws to appreciate the specific needs of a privately organised and owned outer space, that there was a lack of an international body to coordinate and implement a legal regime, and that there was a real danger of flags of convenience emerging for outer space, comparable with those of the high seas and with as many if not more problems. Harris (2008, p. 126) commented on the governance of outer space with intensified private sector involvement and cited Gabrynowicz’s (1994) suggested questions which should form the basis: • Is sovereignty necessary to establish property rights? • Are space resources, as well as space itself, the province of all humankind? • If so, how can they be allocated?

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• How can non-spacefaring nations be assured the use of space and its resources? • How will the investments of spacefaring nations be respected? • How will private space activities be allowed to operate? Some meaty issues here and no attempt will be made to answer them at this stage but each in turn has substantial relevance to the efficient and equitable development of the private sector in space. And making the seriousness of these issues even clearer, Harris noted that ‘at the moment, there is no planetary policy for off world colonisation and administration’. And 14 years later nothing has changed. However, the implications are clear—outer space law, commerce (and private interests) and politics (and state interests) must be coordinated in one policy package. Meanwhile, Newlove-Eriksson and Eriksson (2013, p. 280) suggested that outer space governance would need to model itself on some approach to global governance. This would challenge traditional state-centric perspectives, formulated through a complex web of public and private actors, ‘cutting across the domestic-international divide’ (Barnett & Duvall, 2005; Scholte, 2005; Bexell et al., 2010; Bexell & Mörth, 2010). The role of the private actor would become increasingly significant as ‘authors of policies, practices, rules and norms; they engage in setting agendas, guaranteeing contracts and even providing order and security’. Given that some major corporations—Royal Dutch Shell, Walmart, Apple, Amazon for example—are larger than some small countries, their role in the future of global and extra-terrestrial governance should be clear. Newlove-­ Eriksson and Eriksson (2013, p. 281) summed up the likely significance of the private sector in outer space governance in the future: Governmental actors play an essential and often dominant role in space politics (Handberg, 1995; Moltz, 2008; Sadeh, 2011). Nevertheless, conceiving of states as unitary and solitary actors in space politics is misleading. The bureaucratic politics of, for example, NASA and the ESA makes it clear that the assumption of ‘states-as-unitary actors’ in space politics must be relaxed. Moreover, commercial parties and PPPs in space governance have increased in number, and arguably also in significance, over the past decade. (Howard, 2008, pp. 729–730; Sadeh et al., 2005).

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Examples of how outer space is already helping to resolve crises of accumulation are many, varied and increasing. Early contributors included Von Puttkamer (1979), McLucas (1991) and Rathman (1999), the latter focussing particularly upon ethical challenges. Beery (2012, pp. 26–27) outlined activities at that time by Virgin Galactic and SpaceX in the development of new space vehicles, the construction of new launch facilities, plans for space tours and even the redevelopment of old airfields as space hubs, whilst at the same time suggesting this represented a ‘political-­economic and spatial transformation of human engagement with outer space’. Stern (2012, p.  417) also emphasised the potential for sub-orbital space to provide a scenario for private sector activities, whilst Hearsey (2006, pp. 5–6) chartered the increased activities of Virgin Galactic and SpaceX but also that of Bigelow Aerospace (expandable space station modules for NASA) which would form part of future ‘commercial space habitats that could be used as hotels, science stations, or… office buildings orbiting above the Earth’. Meanwhile, Space Adventures was another example of the rise in private activity and commodification of space as part of a contribution to the solution of the overaccumulation problem, offering ‘open spaceflight and the space frontier to private citizens’. Rather tellingly, Hearsey (2006, p. 6) noted that: A major goal of these entrepreneurs is to open outer space to humanity. Even so, as technological innovators, they all realize their investments will produce significant returns once the technologies are established and available for licensing. Taken together, each entrepreneur’s business plans build upon one another to create the beginning of a viable private commercial space sector.

In other words, an outer spatial fix representing the next stage after the global (and largely maritime stimulated and sustained) spatial fix has neared its limits. Sachdeva (2010, pp. 51–52) spread his consideration of the potential for outer space to provide an arena for fixing capital identifying a range of industries that could profitably occupy a space environment including

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fabrication, manufacturing and processing. It may sound far-fetched as he suggested that: Factories and laboratories could be established and qualified workers stationed there to conduct the work. Raw materials and supplies will have to be transported to these orbital sites, and manufactured goods will have to be brought back to the Earth for use or sale.

But if the extent of globalisation which has occurred had been suggested 200 years ago with the maritime industry as the main facilitator, it would have been greeted with both incredulity and disbelief. Outer space’s offer for spatial fixing will be taken up. Hearsey (2006, p.  52) however, despite welcoming the potential, had this to say: There is no question that space and celestial bodies can afford immense opportunities for profitable business, commerce, and viable industrialization that can be harnessed to the welfare of humankind, to improve the quality of life on Earth. Such a bargain should not go to waste—or be stifled by politics, economic greed or exclusively national interests—hence, a New Ethics for Space Commerce is an imperative.

And that raises enormous and significant issues that we cannot consider here but which undoubtedly are a consequence of a new outer spatial fix. His further comment sums up many of the problems that spatial fixation of any sort, including that facilitated by the maritime industries, generates: A survey of economic history of the world… slavery, colonisation, capitalism, and labour—is blemished with insatiable greed and exploitation, as well as unfair competition. The economic psyche of humans has always been flawed with self-interest first and foremost. As such, human behaviour has not always been just and righteous, nor have human actions exhibited a constant sense of equity, business morality, and social responsibility.

Sachdeva (2010, p. 53) suggested that such practices may not automatically be transferred to space with the extension of commercial

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activity, privatisation of assets and commodification of resources. There is little to suggest in the history of mankind that they will be. And for those of you still doubtful about the close relationship between the maritime and outer space sectors despite their sharing ‘commons’ characteristics and their significant role in spatial fixation, Reif (2002, p. 160) made it clear in her report on the Working Group for Project 2001 and the legal framework for the commercial use of outer space, where one final recommendation was: International technical requirements and safety standards for space activities should be formulated to globally reduce technical risks and avoid ‘flags of convenience’.

Enough said. Dickens and Ormrod (2007a, p. 59) suggest that an important part of using outer space to solve capitalism’s crises is through privatisation and commodification—exemplified by the recent moves from a state-­ dominated space industry to one with increasing private interests— Virgin, SpaceX and more—and one can anticipate attempts to turn commons such as atmospheres, other planets and the like into commodities that can be bought and sold. Similar moves have been taking place in the maritime sector over the past few decades with the privatisation of ports, the extension of territorial waters, the exploitation of oil reserves, proposals for the territorial subdivision of the Antarctic and the like. There has been a considerable debate on the commoditisation of outer space as a precursor to its use as a spatial fix and although we cannot hope to consider all the issues here, it remains important to reflect the considerable debate that continues to take place. Some early discussion setting the scene came from Sadler and Schulze (1981) whilst Ahadi et al. considered the role of space resource commodities whilst Lucas-­Rhimbassen et  al. (2021) reported on a conference at Arizona State University in February 2021 which focussed upon Commoditizing Space Commons and noted the ‘evolving context of the space sector towards a privatized and commercialized ecosystem’, issues relating to property rights and the ‘fact that commodification of space resources, which are not clearly defined in international space law, are setting the path for future rights related to

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space resources’. Commodification was clearly taking place and accelerating. Much earlier, Bugos and Boyd (2008) had outlined the acceleration of entrepreneurial space, Pelton (2010) had also recognised the increased significance of the entrepreneur, and Stern (2012, p. 417) had noted the emergence of a commercialised and increasingly commoditised space industry. Billings (2006a, p. 252) had commented that space advocates had assumed that the values of materialism and consumerism were worth extending to outer space despite the conflicts this suggested with the principles of the Outer Space Treaty of 1967 of equal access, benefit sharing and non-appropriation. Meanwhile Hertzfeld (2007, p.  210) was confident that space had already become ‘just another commodity’ but at the same time, space was not treated in the same way as ‘automobiles, soap or furniture’ because of its strategic value. Dickens (2016, p.  76) spent some time looking at how one major commercial user of space—the geostationary satellite—had demand for its services increased through marketing of communications—TV, social media and the like and in addition, the increased use of these communications has intensified the demand for consumer goods, this in itself creating a contribution to a new spatial fix (Dickens, 2016, p. 79). What can be further done as a means of securing economic growth and profitability? One answer is now the steady expansion of capital into the cosmos, this being another means of ‘fixing’ declining levels of profitability… the commodification of outer space itself (including private ownership of the Moon and Mars) is now being actively discussed and planned for. But for the time being, the commodification of the space industry is only part of the much wider ongoing process… the creation of new sources of capital accumulation. (Dickens, 2016, p. 85)

In recent years the process of commodification has not eased off. Beischl (2019) noted the economic incentives for space exploration rivalling those of national security and pollution/environment. George (2019, p.  181) provided examples from SpaceX, Virgin Galactic, Moon Express

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and Orbital ATK (Grush, 2016) and quoted some estimates of the likely value to the US economy of the commercialised space sector of US$1 trillion by 2040 (Anon, 2017). Clearly, the reliability of estimates of this sort in an industry which is so dynamic can be questioned. Others who have commented on recent activities include Shaer (2016) and Weinzierl and Sarang (2021) There has been debate about the difference between exploration and exploitation both in the maritime sector and in outer space. The former is commonly used in itself as a reason for expansion across the global oceans and into deepest space but there are others who see it as a useful way of providing an acceptable image for exploitation of resources in each sector with all the ramifications that this implies. Hulsroj (2002, p.  108) considered the outer space ramifications of ‘using’ outer space noting the role of the International Telecommunication Union (ITU) whose role is to coordinate telecommunications internationally which they organise on a ‘first come first served’ basis, with no guarantees that every organisation which wishes to be involved can be fully accommodated. This is detrimental to the protection of common interests and a system of prioritisation is put forward as a solution. He continued by considering the role of auctions in the allocation of space resources suggesting that ‘if the alternative to chaos is payment, then existing space operators and their national governments will have no other real choice but to pay’ (Hulsroj, 2002, p. 114), and contrasting this with the situation for ocean-bed exploitation when the licence system of the Law of the Sea Treaties was negotiated. Then exploitation continued even when agreement was not reached partly at least because the seabed presented an almost limitless resource whilst that of space telecommunications is already heavily congested. Of course, this is not the case with much of outer space resources which are also effectively limitless, but it does resonate when considering geostationary orbits and the role of space debris. Contant (2003, p. 64) says much the same if rather more succinctly: The development of space activities has followed two pathways: space exploration, and space exploitation, be it commercial, military or civil. There has always been more emphasis on exploitation than on exploration.

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And much the same could justifiably be said for the maritime sector and the globalisation and commodification of the Earth’s resources through the expansion of shipping networks. Meanwhile Baard (2004, p.  1) emphasised how the motivation behind the expansion of outer space activity had changed. ‘The Cold War between the United States and the USSR drove engineers to work around the clock during the glory days of NASA’s Apollo missions. But now the spark is global competition’. He continued: ‘It’s simply a question of economics’, said Joshua Neubert, the chairman of Students for the Exploration and Development of Space, or SEDS, a co-­ sponsor of the SpaceVision Conference. ‘If the metals are valuable enough, and the costs of transporting them back to Earth are cheap enough, then why not?’ ‘If the Moon and Mars hold any mineral riches, they should be easy to find. Impact craters on many other bodies in the solar system are right there in plain view’, said Neubert. (Baard, 2004, p. 2)

The discussion of the exploitation or exploration of space (and to a certain degree the oceans) continues. Capova (2016, p. 307), for example, believed that what she terms the ‘New Space Age’ is primarily economically driven, with the aim of gaining control over space and pursuing business. This in turn has changed the relationship of humans to space from ‘something to be explored to something to be exploited’. This in turn presents challenges to ‘policy makers, space lawyers and space scientists alike’ much in the same way that the maritime sector has faced challenges in designing a meaningful and efficient framework for maritime governance—with much that it has yet to achieve. Following the contribution of Tatsuzawa as long ago as 1988, she refers to the need for issues such as international space law, legal protection in space, space industrialisation and the regulation of commercial space activities to attract greater significance and importance in the coming years. Crawford (2016, pp.  58–60) was convinced that the exploration of outer space benefits from the exploitation of the space economy as the latter makes the former more possible and attractive, with exploitation of extra-terrestrial resources opening up new areas to be explored, indirect scientific discoveries facilitating travel ever further and the infrastructure

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required by space exploitation offering opportunities not only for the exploitation of resources but also for travel further afield. Many of the same arguments could be used for maritime space and the cross benefits that can emerge from exploitation for exploration and its fewer commercial characteristics. Some consideration has also been given to the inevitable role of the state in the increasing moves towards commercialisation and exploitation of space. Hertzfeld (2007, p. 211) was confident; there would never be a time when the state had no role to play in space exploitation (or exploration for that matter), partly because the two stimuli are likely to be present for the very longest future. Space is effectively limitless and as a result there will always be more to explore. Meanwhile, under the UN international treaties, nation-states are currently (and foreseeably) responsible for the actions of their citizens in outer space and certainly at the time he was writing: to get to space and to do anything in space, a company will need the formal approval of a parent nation. And since each nation may be both jointly and severally liable for certain types of damage from space objects, it will be difficult, if not impossible, for a company to operate in space without supervision. Therefore, unless the major legal tenets of solace activity change, commercial interests will be subject to national interests in space and will face major regulatory controls.

The consequential need for effective governance of space is clear. Stuart also noted the significance of the state in the process of outer space commercialisation and commodification, outlining their role in the growth of the satellite industry characterised by liberal economic policies that encouraged private investment. In turn, she suggested that this ‘reflected a slight erosion of sovereignty in outer space as governments accepted the legitimacy of privately funded objects in space’. Despite this, she also noted that ‘space actors were still highly dependent on states’ and that this caused some difficulties at times; for example, it had become ‘normalized that those satellites were registered under the state within which the company that commissioned the launch was registered. If the satellite and rocket were from different countries,

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registration would defer to the country that commissioned the satellite’. These types of definitional issues remained unclarified but even so did not prove obstructive enough to stimulate much discussion at the UN. As she suggested, ‘the institution of sovereignty was still robust, though related to the rising institution of the market’. Much could be said the same of the maritime sector where whilst the sovereign nation-state retains a disproportionate role in maritime governance in an increasingly globalised, commercialised, commoditised and privatised world, this role is sustained quite deliberately providing a structure for the sector which is convenient if anachronistic. Outer space is following much the same path, likely to lead to many of the same problems and inadequacies. Steinberg’s interpretation of the maritime sector and its relationship to globalisation, commodification and privatisation (1999, pp.  404–405) provides an interesting round-up of many of the issues we have been considering in both the maritime and outer space sectors and reflects how the governance of both sectors raises such similar issues: In 1995 alone, two major US publications, Time and National Geographic, featured cover stories celebrating the ocean as a resource-rich but fragile environment (Lemonick, 1995; Parfit, 1995). Time tells an optimistic story: The sea is a frontier replete with opportunity, at last capable of being ‘conquered’. National Geographic tells a more pessimistic story: The sea is an endangered environment wherein new technologies both respond to and reproduce scarcity. Both stories, however, place the sea within a discourse of sustainable development similar to that constructed by the promoters of the IYO (International Year of the Ocean): As the sea is a space of ‘finite economical assets’, the commodification of its environment should be guided by long-run planning for maximum efficiency and productivity. Similarly, a 1998 supplement to The Economist celebrates the ocean as multiple-use space, but one in which certain uses are likely to crowd out others and destroy the ocean environment unless we ‘take stewardship of the ocean, with all the privileges and responsibilities that implies’ (The Economist, 1998, p. 18). Also associated with these efforts to promote investment in the sustained exploitation of the ocean’s riches is a general campaign for what Leddy (1996) calls the ‘Cousteauization of the oceans, a popular movement to cultivate public interest in the ocean’s biota

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with the effect of generating support for further marine research and for governmental and/or corporate stewardship of marine resources’.

The implications for maritime resources are also clear and the potential for developing exploitation opportunities across multiple scenarios rather than bound by single ‘treaty-like’ minds (Messina, 2020) is something to look forward to. Before we go off to look at some examples of the commodification of space and the value it might hold for future generations, just a final word on blockchains which Lucas-Rhimbassen et al. (2021, p. 2) considered have potential for the organisation of the exploitation of space resources whilst De Filippi and Leiter (2021, pp.  415–417) are emphatic about how they can contribute to outer space governance noting how their significance had increased: ‘blockchain technology has spurred the emergence of powerful narratives to promote new ways of governing outer space’. Examples of where they could provide structure for governance include property registries for asteroid mining, supply chain management and interplanetary cryptocurrencies (PWC, 2019). Although progress beyond proposals had been negligible by 2021, the potential was clear. A fundamental reason was the vagueness that characterises outer space legislation and in particular the Outer Space Treaty (OST) of 1967 which has the primary aim of preserving outer space as a commons, and as the ‘province of human kind’, free for exploration by all nation-states and not subject to appropriation by any means. In contrast to this, it has become ever more subject to commodification, commercialisation and private exploitation exemplified by the activities of SpaceX and Virgin Galactic. Whilst these commercial activities are not directly subject to the provisions of international treaties such as the OST, they are indirectly affected in that they are subject to the laws of the nation-­ state in which they operate, which in turn are subject to the treaties’ provisions. Consequently, private companies cannot claim sovereignty over territory in outer space but can commodify resources. The ambiguity that results is one that remains unresolved and increasingly individual nation-states, for example, Japan, the USA, Luxembourg and the UAE, have enacted legislation specifically to permit private claims on resources from outer space provided they are undertaken ‘for the benefit and in the

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interest of all humankind’ (Su, 2017, p. 992; Feichtner & Ranganathan, 2019, p. 541). Johns (2021, p. 405) notes that governance for a regime that is characterised by such ambiguity is problematic and exacerbated by the state/ public, market/private dichotomy that is a feature of outer space—and in fact all commons including the oceans—makes meaningful rules for exploration, exploitation and governing very difficult. She cites Korhonen and Rantala (2021, p.  408) who viewed a blockchain as ‘essentially a political, not a technological, idea’. Whilst one possible solution to these problems might come from the development and application of blockchains, there are dangers inherent within as well. De Filippi and Leiter (2021, p. 415) explain: It is in the alleged separation between the state and the market that blockchain technology enters into play, bringing a new set of narratives for private ordering (Jasanoff & Kim, 2015) based on the myth of an autonomous and decentralized market order. In particular, blockchain narratives of transnationality (i.e. spanning across multiple jurisdictions) (Swan, 2015), alegality (i.e. existing beyond the purview of the law) (De Filippi et  al., 2022), and self-sovereignty (i.e. operating independently of any sovereign authority) (Atzori, 2015), can be regarded as relevant catalysts for some of the emerging practices of private ordering in outer space. The decentralized character of blockchain technology facilitates coordination between multiple parties, with no centralized control. The transparency and tamper-resistance of the technology makes it possible for anyone with an internet connection and a blockchain wallet to record information in a secure and immutable manner, providing a secure audit trail of who has done what and when. Finally the automation inherent in smart contract-­based systems enables operations to be carried out automatically by the underlying blockchain networks, without any third-party intervention.

Blockchains have much to offer and also many dangers in their application but with time may offer a resolution to the state/market governance problem that characterises all commons, not least ocean and outer space, something recognised by Feichtner (2019) and the wider

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applications noted by Rozas et al. (2021). De Filippi and Leiter (2021, p. 417) suggest that blockchain technology could bring: a long-missing piece to the commons’ governance puzzle through the affordance it offers—e.g. reducing free-riding and enabling the collective management of funds. Blockchain technology thus appeals to many grassroots communities and decentralization advocates, who see in this technology new opportunities for distributed and participatory governance.

So what is all this commodification and commercialisation of space all about? Why all the excitement in the marketing of commons resources— ocean or outer space? There has been much written on this, and we will spend relatively little time upon it but this should not take anything away from its significance in terms of governance and how the commons in general can be accommodated in a world that is increasingly, obsessively, turning everything into a product that can be bought and sold and one that is the sole possession of one or a limited number of individuals rather than that of everyone. Reinstein (1999, pp. 59–60) and Chengzhi (2011, p. 157) both outlined the resources that space might make available while Elvis (2012, p.  549) provided an introduction to the whole idea of exploiting outer space: Trawling space for valuable resources may seem an unlikely concept… but suspend your disbelief for a moment. We scientists should take the idea seriously, for it could offer two benefits; a burgeoning of planetary sciences, including the discovery of exotic new cosmic materials, and much cheaper space missions to explore the Solar System and the distant Universe. And government agencies, not least NASA, should pay attention too. Asteroid mining could give them a renewed purpose.

Elvis also made it clear that economic interests were also central to all outer space exploration—as has always been the case with the Earth’s oceans—‘greed is a powerful motivator to get things done’. Of course, like the oceans, the idea of exploiting outer space is far from new. Although the idea for the oceans pre-dates that of outer space by

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thousands of years, space still has a relatively long history. Shaer (2016, p.  47) outlined how the concept of space mining was put forward by Konstantin Tsiolkovsky of Russia in the late 1800s, suggesting that the surface of asteroids at least in principle, could be mined. He extended this idea to that of colonisation with a 16-point plan published in 1926 with the ultimate aim of achieving ‘autonomy from the Earth’. These ideas were taken up by authors throughout the twentieth century, notably Isaac Asimov and Jack Williamson. Klinger (2019a, pp. 668–669) also noted the historical foundation to the exploitation of space on many occasions as a source of power. Elites have used the cosmos as a material and meaningful source of authority for millennia. Emperors and monarchs claimed their ‘divine mandates’ installed them in their thrones (Marshall, 2001; Monod, 1999; Spence, 1988). Religious figures backed these claims to territorial control by anthropomorphising the evolution of the cosmos to claim privilege vested in them by a ‘God’ or ‘gods’ that ‘resided’ in ‘the Heavens’ (Brown, 2003; Crone & Hinds, 1986; Gordis, 2003; McAnany, 2001; Stopler, 2008). Religious figures aligned with state or imperial power positioned themselves as indispensable to appeasing heavenly powers in exchange for subordination and material wealth transfers from other people. Powerful actors past and present used claims of exclusive access to the ultimate high ground, even if only imagined, to organize regimes of territorial control on Earth, lending classical geopolitics a deep historical resonance with respect to outer space.

Meanwhile, Munevar (2019, p. 38) viewed colonisation of space in the same way as the maritime industry had done for the oceans, providing room for economic expansion and also safe territory away from conflict and danger—although this objective for outer space expansion might also be used to save humanity from extinction from asteroid collision or nuclear catastrophe. He also saw many other advantages in colonising space, including moving polluting industries away from Earth, providing extra solar power and enabling sourcing of asteroid mineral resources. Su (2017, p. 991) suggested that the growth of resource use on Earth accompanied by an accelerating population would inevitably lead to commercial asteroid mining and that ideas of this sort had been

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seriously active since the 1970s (O’Neill, 1974, 1975) despite the obvious high extraction and transportation costs. This had been reiterated by Stuart who, along with Deudney (2002, p. 152), noted the increase in practicality of outer space resource exploitation through the 1980s and 1990s with NASA (2006) suggesting estimates of the worth of resources of the asteroids of Mars and Jupiter as US$100 billion for every person on Earth. Saletta and Orrman-Rossiter (2018, p.  1) also outlined the potential of mining asteroids and other near-Earth objects (NEO) for precious metals and rare elements whilst providing a spin-off in that it would reduce terrestrial conflicts over resources whilst at the same time benefitting humanity in a techno-utopian, even religious way. Chrysaki (2020, pp.  2–3) commented on the estimate by the Australian Government Department of Industry, Innovation and Science that in 2016, the value of the space economy was around US$345 billion with 75% of this coming from commercial budgets (Bryce Space and Technology, 2017). Some US$13  billion had been invested in space companies and start-ups since 2006. Major activities included on-orbit servicing, satellite refuelling and retrofitting, space-based solar power, the extraction and utilisation of space resources, commercial space transportation markets, orbital, sub-orbital and beyond-orbit space tourism, R&D commercial payloads, space colonisation and the deployment of small satellite constellations for communications and remote sensing. Much is going on and as a result needs a meaningful governance framework as the majority of this activity, like the oceans, is taking place beyond national jurisdiction. And the reasons for all this activity? Shabbir et  al. (2021, pp.  3–4) suggested: • Civil: including scientific missions, disaster monitoring, supporting search and rescue. • Commercial: including making profits from manufacturing, launch services and ground services. • Military: including both launch activities and spin-offs. Lukaszczyk (2020) noted that developing countries become involved to achieve greater international recognition, to increase prestige and to

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enhance the safety of their citizens. Gibbs (2012) identified three other reasons which to a certain extent overlap with these others: • Space is an essential part of a nation’s infrastructure. • Space is an engine of innovation and economic prosperity. • Other military and civil applications. Pasco (2003, p. 15) provided an introduction into why a change in attitude to the exploitation of outer space had occurred in the years approaching the end of the twentieth century: over the past few years efforts seem to have fallen into relative anonymity, expressive of a profound change in the markers which have constituted the identity of space activity. Initially space always demonstrated a state-led character, witness to the immediate political, and military goals it was assigned from the end of the 1950s in the USA and USSR. Subsequently, and for the same reasons, space has always manifested a powerful symbolism. Because the development and exploitation of space programmes called for national capabilities beyond the norm, while their aims sometimes demonstrated a certain nobility—a certain lyricism indeed—they established a specific identity vis-a-vis other human activity. Public space activity swiftly became structured around three major domains: military activity, scientific activity and human spaceflight. But the progressive reduction of interest in big civil programmes among governments, especially in the two premier spacefaring nations, combined with the rise of commercial interest in certain applications, in particular telecommunications, has gradually modified the environment of the space sector. These transformations, already germinating in the USA in the 1970s, deepened throughout the 1990s, to the point where space activity has become an intimate component of society’s activities as a whole.

Pasco decided that this was a good thing as the space agencies and industries could concentrate their efforts in the exploitation of space for the production of social goods. It is self-evident to suggest that the exploitation of the resources of outer space has many clear benefits just in the same way this can and has been repeated on many occasions for the maritime sector. As far back as

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1984 Miller (1984, pp. 30–31) reported on a survey in 1979 of the US public’s attitude to space exploration where the major benefits emerged as technical spin-offs and the discovery of new sources of minerals. Other benefits were identified as increased knowledge and understanding of the universe, the identification of new locations to inhabit, contact with other life forms, the discovery of new foods, industrial exploitation, improvements to missiles technology and more general beneficial economic spin-offs. However, only increased knowledge and understanding were of any substance and the remainder were minimal in importance. Kasturirangan (2004, p. 865) was very positive about the contribution that space had and would continue to make to improving society. The benefits included imaging for weather forecasting and managing natural disasters and resources. Communication developments have shrunk the virtual distance between communities and indirectly satellites have helped to reduce inequalities between societies. Kasturirangan could also be considered to be a little optimistic: As a community resource space is inherently accessible to all and is capable of serving without distinction between the rich and the poor and its outreach can transcend barriers of knowledge, literacy, and any form of social or geographical imbalance.

Maybe. But note it is only maybe and there remains plenty of examples where the opposite has been the case. Baum (2009, p. 76) was also enthusiastic about the benefits of exploring and exploiting outer space suggesting that one of the greatest was ‘the insights we gain about our place in the universe’, although because most of these benefits go uncaptured by the market, attempts to measure them have been fruitless. Another he identified was the opportunity that space exploration would provide in reducing the risk of extinction of humanity, which may sound dramatic but resounds with the emigration of the Pilgrim Fathers to the Americas from England in 1620 which in its way provided a similar solution to a serious problem. Escape from nuclear warfare, pandemics, anthropogenic climate change and disruptive technology were also cited (Baum, 2009, p. 77; Bostrom & Cirkovic, 2008).

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Al-Rodhan (2016, p. 123) also emphasised the importance of outer space exploration and exploitation, and as we have noted earlier, promotion of the cosmic ideal has not gone away, something further taken up by Saletta and Orrman-Rossiter (2018, p. 2) and Shabbir et al. (2021, p. 4). But what of the drawbacks because like everything, there are always some of these? Rather suspiciously, there are few who are willing to discuss them, possibly because they are few and far between but perhaps more likely, a reflection of the general enthusiasm and optimism that surrounds any consideration of outer space. We can find some of the potential disbenefits at the extremes of recent discussions. Miller (1984, pp. 30–31) questioned the US public about what they saw as not only the benefits of outer space exploration but also the drawbacks. Top of the list was transmission of new diseases to Earth, followed by the dangers to those exploring space, weather modifications and also the cost of any space exploration programme. Additional worries focussed on warfare and that exploration in space was ‘against the will of God’, but Miller suggested that the relatively small number of drawbacks identified by the public reflected the lack of evidence that (at that time) existed and the relatively limited experience of space exploration. Meanwhile, Weinzierl and Sarang (2021, p. 8) focussed more closely on the property rights issues that also emerge with the exploitation of commons and how outer space presented a severe form of these problems as we noted in the previous chapter, using the examples of water on Mars, ice on the Moon and the allocation of orbital slots. Many more problems are likely to emerge as the resources of outer space become more easily available and many will reflect those of the Earth’s oceans and associated territories where issues relating to common ownership, inadequate policing and authority, and an inadequate nation-­ state-­centred governance framework remains. Reinstein (1999, p.  60) was clear about the costs of ‘harvesting the bounty of space’ which at the time of his writing, had been ‘precluded by technological and financial considerations’. Although no longer quite the case, the point was clear:

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The tremendous cost of launch, retrieval, and return means that ‘if there was gold in low Earth orbit and all the shuttle had to do was to go up and open its cargo bay doors and let (the gold) fall in, it wouldn’t be worth it, even then’. (Quote from Robert Park)

Reinstein was positive about the future however seeing the price of launches reducing due to improved technology and increased competition, both trends continuing to this day although the uncertain legal regime that also continues has quite possibly inhibited developments (Elvis, 2012, p. 549). The space economy was defined by the OECD (2007) as all public and private actors involved in developing and providing space-­ enabled products and services. It comprises a long value-added chain, starting with research and development actors and manufacturers of space hardware and ending with the providers of space-enabled products and services to final users.

Clark et  al. (2014, p.  121) emphasised the importance of spin-offs from the outer space sector for economies in general suggesting that ‘major sectors of the economy and many citizens depend on space systems and space-based technologies Many of the services we take for granted in everyday life depend on space to function properly from telecommunications to television and from weather to global financial systems’. Applications ranged across consumer products, manufacturing industries, professional and government services, intelligence and defence. However, Clark et al. (2014, p. 122) were disappointed in that: there is no conclusive, comprehensive evaluation of the economic and social effects of space activity, and in particular the social effects of space investment are rarely studied. This is unsatisfactory, as this may be where space has a comparative advantage over other sectors competing for public investment. Moreover, the existing studies use different, incommensurate, and incomplete data, and therefore cannot be aggregated to provide a coherent, overall picture of the space sector. OECD (2012) asserts that ‘many space-based services have positive impacts on society, but issues con-

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cerning economic data definitions and methodologies have to be resolved to allow the benefits to be identified and quantified more precisely’.

Despite these problems, Clark et al. (2014, pp. 122–124) attempt to identify the space economy by dividing it into quantifiable and unquantifiable impacts. The former are much easier to define and include everything from R&D spin-offs, knowledge spill-overs, telecoms and navigation suppliers, and associated supply-chains to direct involvement of engineering companies and fuel suppliers. Meanwhile the unquantifiable are much trickier and include advances in understanding through research, strategic and geopolitical impacts, national prestige and reputation, defence, civil security, cohesion, culture and societal benefits including education. Lyall and Larsen (2018, p. 516) look to the future in terms of the economic benefits accruing from space but cast doubt on the equity of what has and will be achieved. In particular they focus upon the discrepancy between the developed and less-developed world. Klinger (2019b, pp. 321–322) was concerned about how the economic potential of outer space was being abused: In the contexts of intensifying climate change impacts and protracted armed conflicts, outer space is being reimagined as an ecosystem in which human activities could be supported beyond Earth (Messeri, 2016). With our discourses, property right regimes and material practices we are transforming outer space into a contested terrain in which peace, violence, enclosure and accumulation are all possible. (Klinger, 2019b, p. 320)

Klinger went on to assess whether the OST was adequate to ensure that outer space was reserved for all, noting the increase in legislatory developments in the USA and Luxembourg which permitted limited private property rights of their citizens to resources in space, changing ‘the common heritage of all (hu)mankind to a privatized frontier for capitalist accumulation by a shifting set of ideas empowered by changing political economies’ (Klinger, 2019b, p. 321). She also went on to question the common assumption that outer space, and consequently its resources, were infinite. Earth is placed within that infinity and so for all practical

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purposes there are limits as Earth cannot be moved. Clearly, over time the cost imposed by time and space to reach these resources will reduce but by definition, if outer space is truly infinite, there will always be resources remaining available further away. Consequently there are limitations. Space may be infinite, but we are not. This fundamental fact structures our behaviour. Our bodies and our technologies are always located in specific places, and therefore produce geographies that, however expansive, are nevertheless limited in space and time. (Klinger, 2019b, p. 322)

Much the same could have been said about the maritime world over the centuries, and it is not all that long ago that the oceans were viewed as infinite (or effectively so). Their governance has been dominated by the desires of nation-states to exploit their resources, albeit commonly through private industry, and the difficulties that the combination of the need for protection of the maritime environment in its widest sense, and the desire to profit from it at the same time presents. Outer space is facing the same issues of governance now but with the advantage that it might learn lessons of good governance from the maritime sector in time to reach better solutions. We shall see. Governance frequently strays into legal issues whatever the context and both the maritime and outer space show evidence of this. Various parts of the discussion in Roe (2013, pp. 1–40) of failure in maritime governance touch upon the legal complexities and inadequacies that currently continue to affect the shipping and port industries in a globalised world. Meanwhile there has been some substantial consideration of the relationship between governance, the law and outer space. Touching on just a few of those who have noted the issues, Reinstein (1999, pp. 61–62) outlined the legal uncertainty that was constraining the commercialisation of space resources, more than that of money or technology and although this is some years ago, little has changed except that issues of both finance and technology have moved on to become easier to resolve, whilst those of the law have not. If exploitation of outer space’s bounty is our goal, we must establish a space property legal system that creates both incentives and predictability. Space

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development is a highly risky endeavour, as well as mind-bogglingly expensive. Who would expend the effort in developing a space colony, if they were not certain of the project’s legality? Valuable projects—energy collection, mining and colonisation—are by no means inevitable. If the law of outer space rejects such uses, or even makes their legality uncertain, it is unlikely that the necessary technology would ever be created.

Reinstein (1999, pp. 63–65) suggested three main reasons for developing a widely accepted property legal framework for outer space: • Division of the limited resources available—limited in particular by their accessibility to Earth. • To protect the rights of the less-developed nations for both political and moral reasons as they are unlikely to be able to compete (or even take part) in space resource exploitation. • Protection of both the space and Earth environment. However, Pop (2000, p. 275) noted that the Outer Space Treaty as the major piece of legislation for the sector specifically failed to mention private appropriation of space resources and whilst the UN Moon Treaty of 1979 is more precise, it remains signed by only 11 nations by January 2022. Eighteen states are parties to the treaty. Four additional states have signed but not ratified the treaty. Consequently the legal regime for outer space, particularly in terms of exploitation, remains confused and considerably more so than that for the oceans where the UNCLOS Law of the Sea of 1994, at least provides a framework that is largely accepted (if frequently violated). A substantive and generally agreed Law of Outer Space is needed, drawing together existing legislation and providing principles that could be used as the basis for the governance of outer space and needed very soon as exploitation by commercial and state interests continues apace. Goh (2009, p. 270) in her review of Pop’s 2008 book Who Owns the Moon? Extra-terrestrial Aspects of Land and Mineral Resources Ownership outlined how the legal appropriation regime for outer space differed from that of airspace which is considered the property of the underlying state, and that consideration of the governance of outer space territory and

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resources was increasingly needed as Earth’s contribution runs out. Stuart was dismissive of any attempts to legislate effectively for mining resources in outer space as: the complex status of potential mining actors (as quasi-state) reflects globalisation and the strengthening of the transnational domain and the rise of the market institution, but where states continue to be the main actor in international politics.

Saletta and Orrman-Rossiter (2018, p. 2) were expansive on the governance issues and difficulties which exploration and exploitation of outer space generated, suggesting that much could be learned from the successes of maritime governance and UNCLOS in particular. underlying the many different approaches to space exploration and exploitation at the international, national and subnational levels are various and often divergent political, economic, philosophical and ideological values of property, the commons and the appropriation natural resources (Roark, 2013; Baden & Noonan, 1998) with important implications for humanity’s future in space and how the benefits of such a future will accrue and be apportioned.

Weinzierl and Sarang (2021, p.  8) also pointed out the continued problems of outer space governance generated by nation-state ambitions in exploiting the commons. Meanwhile, Xu and Su (2020) also noted the legal uncertainty generated by the OST—what they describe as the Magna Carta of international outer space law—before going on to outline a series of ‘building blocks’ adopted by the Hague Space Resources Governance Working Group (HSRGWG) in 2019 for the development of an international framework on space resource activities. The HSRGWG consisted of interested parties from governments, industry, universities, civil society and research centres which although lacking a specific state mandate, was aimed at providing a basis for governance discussion. These blocks consisted of:

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• The adoption of safety zones around areas of exploitation, something already part of the exploitation of ocean resources under UNCLOS. To avoid de facto appropriation by exploiting states, these must be reasonably time limited. • Common benefits and interests. A fundamental of the OST and in need of strengthening including specific protection for less-developed nation-states. • Promotion of participation by all countries. Whilst sounding both important and admirable and a fundamental part of the OST, this is a difficult area with substantial political overtones. • Sharing monetary and non-monetary benefits to reinforce the need to achieve participation by all countries, regardless of development level and to overcome some of the political anxieties and stresses that otherwise could be substantial and detrimental. • Environmental protection. In the case of the building blocks these proposals are more detailed and comprehensive than those of the OST. • Ecocentrism. The need to move away from the anthropocentric and utilitarian approaches which dominated earlier attempts at outer space law, and which remain fundamental to that for the oceans. The issues of ethics and morals have been touched upon very briefly already with Reinstein’s (1999) and Hearsay’s (2008) comments related to the commercialisation, exploitation and spatial fixing. These issues will be considered more in the final chapter and have been around for many years with respect to maritime governance and the exploitation of terrestrial and ocean resources and also have been discussed in the context of outer space for a long period. For example, Goodwin (1962, p.  108) commented in relation to social change that exploration of space would bring: The feeling is inescapable that a program of the scope, drama and promise of space exploration must be creating at least a basis for social change, if not the change itself.

Some years later, Fawcett (1984, p. 3) was adamant that the broader changes in international society that had taken place since 1945 placed

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an obligation on those responsible for the exploitation of the commons territory of outer space, to accommodate the new social obligations that had emerged. He quoted the United Nations General Assembly noting how these ambitions had strong relevance for outer space and its resources which, like all commons, need to be exploited for all mankind: the interests of the developed countries and those of the developing countries can no longer be isolated from each other, that there is a close inter-­ relationship between the prosperity of the developed countries and the growth and development of the developing countries…. International cooperation for development is a shared goal and common duty of all countries.

Steinberg (1999, p. 367) considered governance of the oceans but his comments were also relevant to outer space. He emphasised how the oceans (read space) is commonly seen as a void, ‘an interesting abyss that separates the places that matter, a marginal region that has limited commonality with or impact on the physical and social processes that characterise the rest of the world…. The sea is still generally perceived as a space that shares little with the land-space…. (However), it is a space (that), like land, shapes and is shaped by a host of physical and social processes’. Outer space is much the same, and any governance framework will be inadequate if these social, ethical and moral considerations are not taken into account. Abiodun (2013) concurred noting the importance of outer space resources to health, water, population pressures, natural disaster monitoring and sustainability rather than only profit and power. Clark et al. (2014, p. 122) suggested that outer space has very serious impacts on both economies and societies and that ‘the social effects of space investments are rarely studied. This is unsatisfactory as this may be where space has a comparative advantage over other sectors competing for public investment’. The danger is that this societal, moral and ethical dimension will get increasingly forgotten as time passes, as it has with maritime governance as power and money take hold as driving forces. The value of investment in outer space and the resources that this will release has been emphasised on many occasions. Take for example Hugh

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Dryden, the Deputy Administrator of NASA from its inception as a policy-­making body, defending NASA’s budget for the Moon landing programme: The billions of dollars required in this effort are not spent on the Moon; they are spent in the factories, workshops, and laboratories of our people for salaries, for new materials and supplies, which in turn represent income to others. Moreover, these developments at the frontiers of science and technology are transferable to other applications in our industrial society…. The development for space science and technology strengthens our whole industrial base and serves as insurance against technological obsolescence.

Examples of the potential and actual exploitation of space resources in all their forms are numerous—we can give just a few examples of the more commonly cited, including some spin-offs which are not the direct objective of investments (Table 6.1). It is also interesting to see the close relationship that exists between maritime and outer space with respect to commodification and resource value governance, and this emphasises the potential that there is in each learning from the other. Saletta and Orrman-Rossiter (2018, p. 2), for example, when considering the governance of outer space, refer to ‘analogous terrestrial examples of global commons’ management’. This included the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), reflecting once again the close relationship between ocean and outer space. Su (2017, p. 992) also referred to UNCLOS but this time in terms of the provisions for deep-seabed mining where the role and authority of nation-states clearly in question. He questioned the legality of the US Space Resources Act which ‘goes against a number of treaties and international customary law which already apply to the entire universe’ (Oduntan, 2015) and problems such as these have been fundamental to the derivation of ocean legislation reflecting the wider difficulties of governing the commons of all types. Meanwhile, Wrench (2019, pp. 448–449) contrasts the situation for both regimes suggesting that there are the ‘same obstacles present in outer space’ as in international and national maritime law. Compared with outer space, ‘(t)he seabed is rich in minerals… (c)ollecting and

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Table 6.1  Examples of space resource exploitation Activity

Source

Commercialisation of the Anon (2017) International Space Station (ISS) Mining Gaffey and McCord (1977), Bhattacharya (2018, p. 217), Capova (2016, p. 308), Nelson and Block (2018, p. 68), Marks (2016), Wrench (2019, p. 438) Exo-burials and post-­ Capova (2016, p. 308) cremation memorials Extra-terrestrial advertising Capova (2016, p. 308) Agronomy Chengzhi (2011, p. 158), Nelson and Block (2018, pp. 66–67), Wheeler (2017) Knowledge and Clark et al. (2014, p. 125), Reinstein (1999, experimentation pp. 59–60), Chengzhi (2011, p. 158) Water Jakhu and Buzdugan (2008, pp. 201–202) Oxygen and volatile gases Jakhu and Buzdugan (2008, pp. 201–202) Opportunities for human Robinson (2004), Munevar (2019, p. 38), Klinger colonies (2019b, p. 321), Barthomeuf (2019) Waste disposal Klinger (2019b, p. 321) Sources: See Table

mining these minerals is expensive and requires sophisticated technology capable of reaching the great depths’ (Sattler, 2005, p.  34). Wrench emphasises that the international law for the seabed (i.e. UNCLOS) addresses issues of protecting the environment, promoting the peaceful uses of the seas and oceans and also efficient utilisation of resources. The whole complexity of international governance of the common seabed is made even more complex by national legislation that may well conflict and contradict. One significant area of commercial activity involving the exploitation of outer space resources that we have yet to consider is that of tourism: the most important space development will be the advent of a burgeoning tourist industry to near-Earth orbit during the middle of the next century. (Norman Augustine, Lockheed Martin Corporation Chairman, 2000)

Other contributors included Dickens and Ormrod (2007a, pp.  124–141) who focussed upon the sociological aspects of the space

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tourism industry and its potential growth, and Crouch (2001) who was looking at the market for space tourism. Also take a spokesman for a well-­ known tourist hotel chain from some years ago, whose comments were noted by Cohen (2017, p. 28): When space scientists make it physically feasible to establish hotels in space the hotel industry will meet the challenge… and we would franchise the Hilton name. (Barron Hilton, Hilton Hotels President, 1967)

The Lunar Hilton would be accessed by a space shuttle service at US$1500 a trip with a two-week stay at the hotel at around US$1000 (altogether about US$22,000  in 2022). The hotel would have around 5000 rooms and its own private ocean. The idea was resurrected by Hilton in 1999 in collaboration with 16 other groups around a revised US$25 billion hotel. Initial accommodation would then be US$2 million (US$3.5 million in 2022) a night. Meanwhile, Launius and Jenkins (2006, pp. 261–264) provide a detailed history of space tourism from the beginning of the twentieth century which began with fanciful ideas but really took off with the development of workable rockets in the 1930s and 1940s. The progressive collapse of the USSR after around 1970 and with its final demise in 1991 (Cohen & Spector, 2019b, p. 6) resulted in a serious interruption to space travel developments for some time, but by the early twenty-first century the earlier, fanciful ideas were beginning to become reality and space had metamorphosed into a tourist commodity—for the very few so far admittedly, but as with terrestrial tourism, this is how a fully commercialised resource begins and with time, its expansion to become widely accessible is inevitable. But firstly some definitions. Both Masson-Zwaan and Freeland (2010, p. 1598), also cited by Padhy and Padhy (2021, p. 269), and Hobe (2010, p. 1593) suggested that space tourism denoted ‘any commercial activity that offers customers direct or indirect experience with space travel’ (Hobe & Cloppenburg, 2004, p. 377); and a space tourist as ‘someone who tours or travels into, to, or through space or to a celestial body for pleasure and/or recreation’ (O’Brien, 2004, p. 386). Cater (2010) meanwhile cited the US-based Space Tourism Society who suggested that space tourism consisted of four different areas—in earth orbit experiences;

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beyond-earth-orbit experiences (e.g. to the Moon); earth-based simulation, tours and entertainment; and cyberspace tourism experiences. The expansion in space tourism since the turn of the twenty-first century has been widely noted. Crouch et al. (2009, p. 442) cited the growth in fare-paying tourists; a series of new commercial ventures for sub-orbital flights; changes in policy at NASA; sizeable developments in design, testing and facilitation of sub-orbital and orbital initiatives; and growth in private investment in the sector. Spector and Higham (2019, p. 1) commented on how the expansion was quicker than recently anticipated and was widely unappreciated, stimulated in particular by the growth of private activities in space (Benjamin, 2018; Cohen & Spector, 2019a; Webber, 2019). Cohen and Spector (2019b, p. 2) emphasised how space travel remained a niche activity with rich imagery contrasted by staggering constraints. However, the sector was seen as being on the verge of a ‘dramatic and unparallel expansion within the first half of the (21st)… century, and the leaders of the space industry see space travel as the next logical extension of aviation’ (Ryabinkin, 2004, p. 108). The legal context for the development of space tourism has generated a considerable debate. Hobe (2010, p.  1583), for example, provided a broad description of the issues that are involved including the difficulties faced by the interaction of air and space law, which are fundamentally different, and where one jurisdiction should finish and the other begin and that air law is characterised essentially by nation-state sovereignty whereas space law is deemed ‘free for exploration and use’ by all nations in the Outer Space Treaty. Von Der Dunk (2011, p. 147) suggested that: the most important and certainly the most striking key legal aspects of space tourism stem from the dichotomy between the public character of international space law and the thoroughly private character of space tourism. The former reflects the origins of space activities as largely driven by political/military factors and scientific interest. Even after private and commercial interests became a major aspect of certain parts of the space arena, it was largely through concepts of space responsibility and state liability and the consequential implementation by national space law that such interests were legally dealt with—never, so far, by creating something akin

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to private international law. Space tourism therefore takes commercialisation and privatisation one key step further. Its very essence is that anything involved in manned spaceflight—the manufacture of vehicles, launch and other in-space operations. marketing and provision of services, and most prominently of course the space travellers themselves—could well be truly private.

The issue of defining space boundaries was considered by Von Der Dunk (2011, p. 149) who noted the problems of overlap and trespass by aeroplanes and satellites during launch, similarly, considered by Masson-­ Zwaan and Freeland (2010, pp.  1602–1603). These problems mirror those of the seas where national sovereignty has at some stage to migrate to ocean freedom and where the complexities associated with transit routes (e.g. the Bosporus, Suez Canal and even the English Channel) are the most obvious and difficult to resolve. Almost any boundary choice inevitably, at some stage, will be both a compromise and arbitrary. Masson-Zwaan and Freeland (2010, p. 1598) continued to consider the overall paucity of adequate space law and in particular the failure of the OST to provide for second and third-party liabilities for private companies as it only ‘addresses liability at the level of the states involved. There is no cap on liability of operators, and no opportunity for passengers or third parties to present direct claims for compensation’. Crowther (2011, p. 74, 75) also noted how the growth in space tourism presented: challenges to regulators with regard to the potential certification and licensing of the flight vehicles and their use (both within and outside the atmosphere), for the perspective of the operator, the flight participants and third parties who might be affected by the operations.

Of course much more has happened since he was writing to make the situation less clear and rather more complex as states involved in space tourism in particular will need to consider how best to balance their statutory obligations with the need to facilitate the development of the industry. Crowther (2011, p. 75) went on to note how:

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space tourism is effectively a hybrid activity, involving many existing and established activities and regulatory regimes. Accordingly there is a temptation to treat space tourism in a fragmented manner, addressing different aspects of a mission, or different sorts of missions, through a variety of different mechanisms with different licensing authorities.

Whilst the legal situation for the maritime sector is far from ideal, and its international nature makes for legal complexities that are similar to those of outer space and which remain unresolved, there is at least an agreed structure for its global governance (through e.g. the UN IMO). Crowther’s view was that the space tourism industry needed to work in collaboration with governments of all types and levels particularly because the market was changing so quickly and also because he felt that the context for the business meant that a ‘standard’ system of regulation and governance was unlikely to be effective. Lyall and Larsen (2018, pp. 228–229) also suggested that the OST was ineffective in providing a legal basis for space tourism and that the activity had not been contemplated, and just to show that the issue has not gone away, Padhy and Padhy (2021, p. 270) continued the discussion of the problems of legally differentiating between air-space and space-space, suggesting that so far nothing had been resolved. Space tourism’s legal problems stemming from governance considerations are not the only ones and others which are in many ways more obvious were outlined by Billings (2006b, p.  163). Space tourism is inherently dangerous and expensive and is likely to remain so for some time. This will undoubtedly decline—take the example of the maritime industry where the safety and expense of cruising are now not a major issue. Militarisation also raises its head as it always does in space where the opportunities for using outer space as a medium for military ambitions are clear. And then there are ethical and ‘social implications of expanding human presence into space and allowing commercial operations in the space environment’. Billings questioned whether ‘unfettered corporate activity in this environment is desirable’. Cohen (2017, pp.  24–25) noted the difficulties presented by space commoditisation through tourism and also the likely environmental impact but more significantly, the ‘huge distances’ involved with the

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exploitation of outer space beyond Mars with the nearest galaxies still light years away. He cited Kanas (2015, p.  127) who suggested that a ‘starship at the speed of Voyager 2 would need 497,000  years to reach Sirius, a relatively nearby star’; and Ormrod (2007) who considered multi-generational trips, lasting well beyond a human life-span and with most crew never seeing their destination and those returning ‘not knowing Earth from direct experience’. Ashworth (2012, p. 140) noted that such missions would require the development of an ‘artificial mobile world-like environment’ for the sustainable support of a town-to-city-­ sized community of travellers, requiring a ‘shift in the dominant mode of human civilisation from planetary to space-based life’. Meanwhile, Spector and Higham (2019, p. 1) maintained the focus upon some of the problems of space tourism suggesting it was a ‘deregulated environment largely devoid of scholarly critique’ and associated with: a range of complex environmental, social, political, ethical, legal, medical and economic implications, many of which are not well understood (Cohen & Spector, 2019b).

As with the maritime sector, the governance of space tourism is intrinsically entwined with the role of the nation-state and like the oceans, outer space despite being a commons, cannot extricate itself from sovereignty and all the complications this implies. However, surprisingly little has been written on the relationship of space tourism to the nation-state and much that has been written is from some time ago. Examples come from Masson-Zwaan and Freeland (2010, p. 1604) who reflect upon the relationship between jurisdiction, vehicle registration and governance by regulation; and Cater (2010, p. 844), who quotes Lash and Urry (1994) and their emphasis upon organisational innovation as the key to success in technical advances in space. They also suggest the importance of the ‘nature of future legal and regulatory requirements for the industry, which are not inimical to viable businesses and commercial investment as well as public support and confidence in a fledgling space tourism industry’, couching their argument in the development of national space legislation (e.g. the US Commercial Space Act, 2003) and how this might conflict with the inevitable demands of governance for commons.

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All this was confirmed by Von Der Dunk (2011, p. 148) and his consideration of private space activities, suggesting that there was a ‘need for relevant states to authorise, monitor and control those private spaceflight activities possibly giving rise to state responsibility and/or liability under the Outer Space Treaty and the Liability Convention’. He went on to outline how some states were increasingly legislating for private space actions including by then Russia, Norway, the USA, Sweden, France, Australia and Brazil. Of course there are complexities—for example, where flights are launched from another state’s territory, which is often the case. Where does responsibility lie? And the impact of space debris or environmental degradation could well be felt by any or all nation-states, even those with no space activity but which might find themselves with no representation in the governance of the industry because they lacked direct involvement. Damage to and deterioration of the environment, and global communications will never restrict itself to those nations which launch, own or manage spacecraft. Von Der Dunk concludes: As a consequence of the state orientation of current international space law the legal position of private operators and their activities in the context of private spaceflight is largely defined through states, notably those bearing international responsibility and liability for their activities and able to exercise jurisdiction over them.

Somehow, governance can never rid itself of the influence of the nation-state even in outer space. The notion of commodification of outer space through tourism has arisen already. Tourism anywhere is a clear commodification of something which previously existed, but which was not being offered as a commodity and at a price to those who wished to take advantage of it. Space tourism takes the natural environment of space and makes it something desirable and available to those who are willing and can afford it. Whilst Peeters (2010) really only paid lip-service to the commercialisation of personal spaceflight, Cater (2010, p. 841) afforded it a little more consideration. Although long, it is worth quoting in full as it summarised many of the issues:

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Of course the romantic notion of the earth from space is not one that is employed neutrally or solely by the environmental movement. Images of the globe are frequently turned into a metaphor for the power, coverage and scope of corporate reach, and it is the migration of private finance into orbit that may prove to have the most significant impact on astro-tourism. It is worth acknowledging that along with commodification of the space experience will come increased commodification of space itself. Although technically nobody can own space, there are many commercial ventures that are tantamount to doing so. This is not limited to the obvious one of technology as in 1999, Pizza Hut arranged to paint a 30-foot logo on a Russian rocket. Thus the commodification cycle of big business becoming involved with such high profile and iconographic ventures, and the limited consumer aspirations, will be an important factor in the emerging astro-­ tourism industry. Indeed, of allied interest, are plans for space station visits which have been based around commercial sponsorship. Examples that have yet to get off the ground, include a documentary following a pop star to the ISS, who would have been entirely funded by commercial organisations looking for maximum extra-terrestrial exposure, and plans by Pepsi to run a global competition for a place or schemes for an ultimate ‘pop idol’ type show, where individuals complete for places (Space Adventures, 2008).

Much of this now seems outdated but the rise of space tourism and the opportunities for the ultra-rich to taste space through Virgin Galactic and SpaceX reflect much the same and there will only be more to come. And the governance of all this? A heady mix of the commons; social, environmental and ethical issues; military ambitions; geopolitics and sovereignty; all taking place in an unregulated and unpoliced, dangerous and expensive context. Crowther (2011, p. 74) also noted the privatisation of space and its inevitable commodification whilst Cohen (2017, p. 28) quoted the early work by Lewis et al. (1993, p. 4) whereby: the next giant step in the human use of space (will be) to harness the energy and material resources of nearby space, not just to lower the costs of present space activities… but actually to make use of these resources in the service of the greatest material needs of humanity.

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And these activities will include that of tourism. Moreover, as noted earlier, Cohen and Spector (2019b, p. 5) reaffirmed the ambitions of the Hilton Hotels Organisation to one day be at the forefront of hotels in space, remaining of course a fantasy so far but one day. Many other examples of actual and proposed commodification of tourism in space exist and we can only refer to a few listed in Table 6.2. Spector and Higham (2019, p. 6) summed it up: There are a plethora of unanswered questions and unresolved tensions regarding space tourism. Many of the individuals involved in the space industry hope that the initial forays of space tourism represent a step towards humankind settling the cosmos. On Earth, tourism has been responsible for opening destinations and precipitating their development (De Jong & Fuller, 2010; Garrod et al., 2006; Smith & Doherty, 2006). Space tourism may thus serve a similar role. However, it is an open question to what extent outer space will be opened to the masses or, conversely, remain a sight (sic.) of joy-rides and capital accumulation for the elite few Table 6.2  Some examples of space tourism proposals Space tourism proposal

Year

Source

Hilton Hotels. Lunar Hotel. Shuttle

1967

PanAm. Reservations for future space trips

1968

Dietrich Koelle. Trips

1971

Project Space Voyage. Future flights Pacific America Launch Systems. Future trips

1985 1985

Spacelab. ISS Space Module

1999

Japanese Rocket Society. Future trips MirCorp. Trips to Russian Space Station SpaceAdventures. Trips to ISS Zero G Aerospace. Future trips Virgin Galactic. Trips in conjunction with Scaled Composites and Space Ship One SpaceX. Trips

1999 2000 2001 2006 2004–to date 2002

Launius and Jenkins (2006) Launius and Jenkins (2006) Launius and Jenkins (2006) Billings (2006b) Launius and Jenkins (2006) Launius and Jenkins (2006) Collins (2002) Collins (2002) Collins (2002) Collins (2002) Various including Collins (2002) Various including Marton (2022)

Source: Author

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able to afford such endeavours and to escape (rather than ameliorate) the issues plaguing the Earth.

Commodification of outer space, as much as the oceans, relies upon the notion that there are identifiable property rights. However, in both cases these are restricted dependent upon social position and wealth and consequently not available to all, or in equal amounts. The UN’s declaration that outer space should be ‘free for exploration and use by all states’ ignores this inequity and also the fairly self-evidentiary fact that space is not ‘uniform in its usefulness’ (Dickens & Ormrod, 2007a, p. 60); take geostationary orbits and the varying characteristics of planets as examples. The conclusion is that the concepts of territory and boundaries matter both in the oceans and in outer space where the notion of borders, territory, ownership and consequently statehood appears at first meaningless. This is reflected by the situation in the world’s oceans where similar difficulties in the confinement of space and the significance of the commons are recognised, but despite this, the pressures and rewards of commodification have increasingly enabled the manifestation of borders and territorialisation of the seas. Much the same is beginning to happen in outer space, and the difficulties of providing for effective governance already are clear in the inadequacies of the oceans and are also going to be a problem in outer space. The arguments over the interpretation of the UN OST are an inevitable reflection of these tensions and mirror many of those exercised over the past 70 or so years at the UN IMO. All this leads us back to the emergence of time-space compression as a concept that underlies the commodification of both the seas and outer space and the desire to expand markets to feed the capitalist machine. Outer space is now beginning to come into its own as did the geographically further Earthbound nations and continents over the previous centuries facilitated by the development of the maritime sector. As these Earthly markets become exhausted so outer space offers a new location, initially for extraction and exploration but ultimately for consumption and maybe even the utilisation of sources of labour. Space tourism is one such example that facilitates the expansion into a new market and will offer increasing opportunities for both labour exploitation and the use of resources (views, experiences etc.) that may well be intangible, but are important

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nevertheless. It represents the outer spatial fix, effectively a derivation by Dickens and Ormrod (2007a, pp.  61–63) of Harvey’s (2001a, 2001b) Earthbound spatial fix. Meanwhile the contradictions of nation-state and globalisation and the difficulties this presents to governance will grow. Some see outer space as an even bigger solution to increasingly wider capitalist crises, a process in principle that has been going on for centuries in one form or another; Lenin, for example, saw the mass export of social and political problems to other nations, and today we see conflict and environmental problems commonly organised far away from the root of problems. Although thinking more in terms of a maritime solution, the appropriateness of Cecil Rhodes’ comments to today and also to outer space remains clear leading us to the notions of colonialism and imperialism to which we return in the final chapter. My cherished idea is a solution for the social problem, i.e. in order to save the 40,000,000 inhabitants of the United Kingdom from a bloody civil war, we colonial statesmen must acquire new lands to settle the surplus population, to provide new markets for the goods produced by them in the factories and mines. The Empire, as I have always said, is a bread-and-­ butter question. If you want to avoid civil war, you must become imperialists. (Cecil Rhodes cited in Hardt & Negri, 2000, p. 232)

Meanwhile, Mowlana (2004, p. 300) saw that outer space and its colonisation by super-state satellites, although in theory should be ‘for the benefit and in the interest of all humankind’, was actually taking the form of a modern hegemony: The Western-fuelled system of ‘communications, capitalism, consumerism and continuous change’, contains seeds of a new form of conquest. This now surging e-sphere of information, communications and capitalism seems to be seeking to conquer the culture and diverse human capacities of the world.

Dickens and Ormrod (2007a, pp. 77–78) argued that ‘the humanization of outer space is a product of economic and social crisis and… that such humanization is a means of reasserting hegemonic authority’. As

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such its effective and equitable governance not only becomes problematic, but also becomes essential. Since 2020, recognition of the significance and complexity of the governance of outer space resources has been exemplified by the development of the Artemis Accords, an international agreement between governments participating in the Artemis Program, a US-led effort to return to the Moon by 2025 and ultimately to expand all space exploration. This has generated a considerable body of interest (see e.g. Crane, 2020; Nelson, 2020; O’Brien, 2020; Deplano, 2021; and De Zwat, 2021). The Accords aim to establish a codified framework of cooperation grounded in the OST of 1967, which signatories are obliged to uphold along with most major UN Treaties that constitute space law. Signed on 13 October 2020, by 8 countries, the number has risen by May 2022 to 19. In summary the principles are: • Activities should be exclusively for peaceful purposes. • A commitment to transparency and shared scientific information along with protection for proprietary controlled information. • Establish interoperability standards. • Commitment to render necessary assistance to those in distress in outer space under the Rescue and Return Agreement. • Specify responsibility for the registration of objects in space as required by the Registration Convention. • An agreement to preserve outer space heritage and to develop practices and rules to achieve this. • Agreement to extract and utilise outer space resources in compliance with the OST, safely and sustainably. Signatories affirm that this does not inherently constitute national appropriation as prohibited by the OST. • Reaffirm commitment to the OST’s provisions relating to due regard and harmful interference with other nation’s activities. Also the development and notification of safety zones in which harm could occur as a result of the activity. • A commitment to mitigate the effects of existing space debris and to limit the generation of new debris.

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All well and good but there have been many criticisms and it is notable that as yet, India, China and Russia have refused to sign up. Accusations from China include that it represents a new approach to European colonial enclosure land-taking (Ji et al., 2020), and from Russia that it is a blatant attempt to create international space law that favours the USA (Boley & Byers, 2020, pp. 174–175). There is much left to achieve in the area of outer space governance.

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7 Finally

When I dig the soil of churchyards, I take the parts which have constituted and been transformed by human beings into human beings; if I take them to my kitchen garden and put plants in them, from this I get cabbage heads instead of human heads, but if I boil these cabbage/heads and give them to people they are transformed once again into people’s heads or to other parts etc. Thus we have come to eat up our dead, and in so doing we prosper. (Karl Linnaeus, 1746) This event, second in importance to no other, not even to the splitting of the atom, would have been greeted with unmitigated joy if it had not been for the uncomfortable military and political circumstances attending to it. But curiously enough. this joy was not triumphal; it was not pride or awe at the tremendous human power and mastery that filled the hearts of men, who now, when they looked up from the earth towards the skies could behold there a thing of their own making. The immediate reaction, expressed on the spur of the moment, was relief about the first step toward escape from men’s imprisonment to the earth. And this strange statement, far from being the accidental slip of some American reporter, unwittingly echoed the extraordinary line which, more than twenty years ago, had been carved on the funeral obelisk of one of Russia’s great scientists; mankind will not remain bound to the earth forever. (Hannah Arendt, 1998, p. 1) © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 M. Roe, Governance of the Global and Extra-Terrestrial Commons, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-31613-5_7

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And so where do we go from here? This book commenced with the aim of looking at the governance of the outer space and maritime sectors with a belief that there was considerable overlap in how they functioned and the problems they presented. We have seen little to contradict that belief. This chapter will attempt to bring all the issues together as well as introduce some others that will help to place the consideration of governance of outer space and the maritime spheres of influence into context. Inevitably it will conclude with some problems that remain unresolved and some questions that remain unanswered; but if it didn’t, then we would be fooling ourselves that the governance of both sectors had been resolved satisfactorily. We begin with the grandest of considerations but simply because of its grandiosity, one that cannot be ignored: philosophy. Governance, in a similar way to all fundamental concerns, cannot excuse itself from such issues. Governance is not just simply a consideration of ownership (a common approach in ports and increasingly in outer space), legislation (definitely the dominant approach in both) or policing (once again both). It is much more than this evidenced in earlier work on the maritime sector by Roe (e.g. Gritsenko & Roe, 2019; Roe, 2012, 2016, 2018, 2020), but also others in contrasting sectors such as urban planning (e.g. Harvey, 1973, 1989, 2001), European Union relationships (e.g. Kaina & Karolewski, 2013; Kohler-Koch & Larat, 2009) and warfare (e.g. Patomaki, 2007). Consequently, the philosophical implications and assumptions of both the maritime and outer space sectors have relevance to the way that it is designed and implemented and to the reactions of the industries and public to their presence. Philosophy is not a remote and irrelevant consideration in any sector or activity but the fundamental basis upon which each grows and acts. It is fairly obvious that we cannot present a full and complete analysis of the implications of the development of both the maritime and outer space sectors and the implications for governance. However, we can touch upon some of the fundamentals and then point the reader towards where they might discover more. To facilitate the discussion, outer space and maritime governance philosophical issues will be discussed separately. Cassirer (1963) was an important commentator looking at Renaissance philosophy towards the cosmos whilst Miller (1984, pp.  26–28)

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introduced some of the philosophical issues for outer space in a review of public perceptions of the US space programme at that time. Perhaps his most significant discovery was that the programme was not ‘salient’ to the majority with little interest expressed in either the earlier Apollo or (then) current Shuttle expeditions—a consequence of what he described ‘the complexity of modern life’. Modern society was seen as generating immense volumes of information which meant that ‘no single individuals could remain knowledgeable about more than a relative narrow range of topics’ (Miller, 1984, p.  28). Table  7.1 shows the disinterest that dominated. Miller extended this analysis to adopt Almond’s (1950) model of public policy formulation, a fundamental element of governance in both the maritime and outer space sectors. Almond suggested a pyramidal structure for public policy consisting of four levels: • Policy-makers, for example, government bodies (UN, IMO, COPUOS, EU, national, regional and local government etc.). • Non-government policy-makers (research institutes and universities, industrial and commercial interest groups etc.). • The interested public (both individuals but more significantly interest groups, political parties etc.). • The uninterested public. If the government and non-government policy-makers can agree, then effectively the public are excluded from sector governance. Lip service might well be provided but little else. If they disagree, then the public are, Table 7.1  The attentive public for space exploration

Attentive public for space exploration Interested in space exploration but low on information Interested in science but not space Not interested in space or science Total surveyed Source: Miller (1984, p. 28)

1979 (%)

1981 (%)

1983 (%)

8.8 17.0

10.2 15.3

9.5 20.0

28.3 46.0 1635

26.2 48.2 3195

36.7 33.7 1631

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Table 7.2  Benefits and disbenefits of outer space exploration Benefits Improve other technologies Find minerals and other resources Increase knowledge of the universe Find habitation areas Contact other life forms Raise food production and find new kinds of food Find industrial use Improve missile technology Create economic benefits Disbenefits Bring disease or problems back Waste money Danger to astronauts Disturb weather or atmosphere Move warfare to outer space Falling debris and garbage in outer space Others conquer us through contact Not Biblical or the will of God Source: Miller (1984, p. 31)

in Almond’s words, ‘used’ to achieve some sort of resolution, giving the public a residual policy and therefore governance a pseudo-role. This in turn raises substantial philosophical questions about governance and policy-­making in all sectors including maritime and outer space. Miller’s contribution also illustrated some interesting issues about the perceived benefits and disbenefits of outer space exploration, which in turn might focus upon the development of governance. Table 7.2 outlines the main issues and indicates the importance of anticipated economic benefits in contrast to the expansion of understanding and the potential role of companionship. What also is apparent from the survey was the irrelevance relating to religion and beliefs. We will return to the latter in a later section. Davies (1984) focussed upon the significance of religion to the exploitation of outer space and attempted to explain the changing relationship between religion and science and how in particular physics was providing new insights into issues that were once considered solely religious or philosophical (or both). We return to these issues a little later having already focussed upon the religious dimension to outer space governance in Chap. 3.

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Meanwhile, Robinson and White Jr. (1986, p. 181), in their examination of the governance of space societies, touched upon the philosophical implications only briefly, but nevertheless made a valuable contribution. In considering the various space treaties that existed at that time, they noted that each ‘represents attempts to deal with a realm that is as yet largely unknown’. In this sense there is a distinct difference between those for outer space and those for the maritime sectors with the latter commonly considering a problem that is at least recognised (if not fully understood), and the former problems that are anticipated (and again not fully understood). Robinson and White Jr. considered the early outer space treaties characterised by idealism, ‘to act as mirrors for the hopes and aspirations of humanity, just as Renaissance jurisprudence did for the settlers of the New World’. Exploration never before had the objective of being for the benefit of all mankind, something they claim is unique to law in the late twentieth century and central to the Outer Space Treaty and providing a framework for a series of later treaties including the Rescue and Return Treaty, and the Liability Convention. Frodeman (2005, p. 203) emphasised the philosophical implications of outer space exploration and exploitation: In the words of Adam Keiper, paraphrasing Tom Wolfe, the early space program ‘was about guts and glory, the endurance of the human body and soul in the deadly void’. But such sentiments are likely to become platitudes if they are not followed up by careful, in-depth reflection into the meaning and values of exploring inhabited space.

His conclusion: It is time that we draw more consciously upon the expertise of scholars trained in the areas of art, philosophy and religion in the design of our space policy. Take the example of the space station. We have missed an opportunity by not treating the space station as a humanities laboratory as well as a science laboratory. Treating the space station as a humanities laboratory would mean bringing scholars in history, politics, philosophy, art, music and religion in space. The experience of space travel and space inhabitation would inspire their thinking upon crucial issues such as the changing place of humanity in the universe, the implications of our grow-

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ing understanding of the cosmos, and our increased appreciation of the interdependence of life on Earth. (Frodeman, 2005, pp. 203–204)

This provides direction for a number of the issues that follow in the rest of this chapter. Meanwhile, Reiman (2009, p. 81) was confident that ‘expanding the human sphere of influence beyond Earth presents philosophical questions that also have important practical implications’. She continued by identifying space as an ‘environment’ rather than just as a phenomenon that was there to be exploited. This she suggested ‘lay the foundation for an ethics of space exploration that is very different from an ethics that treats space exclusively from the point of human interests’ and raised serious moral questions. Both ethics and morals with a relationship to space we return to later in more detail. Peeters (2012, p. 33) provided a number of other philosophical interpretations for outer space. To put it all into some sort of perspective, he begins with Socrates who wrote in 50BC ‘man must rise above the Erath—to the top of the atmosphere and beyond—for only then will he fully understand the world in which he lives’ (quoted in French & Burgess, 2007, p. 127). Peeters sees this as a paradox—that man must rise to understand itself more deeply but that in the past this was considered an essential as science and philosophy were treated almost as a single discipline and commonly taught by the same person. However, ‘some 350 years ago, a schism occurred between the disciplines under the influence of rational thinkers such as Descartes, Locke and Newton, which effectively separated the material sciences and the spiritual world into two separate domains’. Taking both the maritime and outer space fields as material science and neglecting their philosophical credentials may be a problem. Von Puttkamer (1989, p. 24) summed it up: Today this schism, this tremendous gap between the spiritual world and the material world of science, causes great concern to many people, particularly also to scientists. With everything in the physical sciences, specifically in subatomic physics as well as cosmology, becoming, by necessity, more statistical, there is a feeling that certain concepts from the spiritual

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side may have to be taken into consideration… I think it could be one of natures’ principles that for each step further out into the physical world, we are also taking a step deeper into our inner world whether we want it or not.

Peeters continued citing a project administered by the German Aerospace Center which concluded in 1991 that manned spaceflight always possesses a ‘cultural dimension, as it changes the picture of mankind and his (sic.) place in the universe’ (SAPHIR, 1991). Fromm and Hoevelmann (1992) emphasised the philosophical dimensions even more, stressing the trans-utilitarian rationale of outer space in particular. They considered that space exploration should be considered not only in terms of ‘costs and gains’ and political motives but also pioneering including the colonisation of celestial bodies and the advancement of human civilisation contributing to a new outlook on life. This view was supported by Sahm and Thiele (1998, p. 7): In this context the question is certainly justified whether humankind should restrict themselves to their earthly habitat or venture into the space frontier… For answering and solving such questions and problems a cross-­ ferritization type of thinking is required, a poly-historic interdisciplinary approach. On the one side fears must be overcome, on the other, uprooting has to be avoided—in any case, the dialogue between the technical ‘realize’ and the personality with a liberal arts background i.e. the historian, the philosopher, or even the theologian, must be cultivated.

De Chardin’s (1959) anthro-principle contributed significantly to the merger of elements of space and philosophy fuelling debate about the possibility of an acceptance of a More-World Hypothesis, that is the possibility of life on other planets, another area we return to soon., De Chardin was convinced of the philosophical dimension of man’s progress including that of space exploration. Inevitably God would rear his head in this discussion of philosophy, governance, the seas and outer space but as noted earlier, we shall leave full consideration to later. Here we note only the philosophical implications which are extensively illustrated in Davies (1984) and some lesser but still interesting assessment by Peeters (2012, p. 28). He noted the example of

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the American astronaut James Irwin who wrote, ‘After the flight, the power of God was working in me, and I was possessed by a growing feeling that God did have a new mission for me’ (Irwin, 1973), a sensation reiterated by Charles Duke from Apollo 16 (Duke & Duke, 1990). Peeters (2012, p. 32) also referred to Hermann Oberth (1959), a ‘German space pioneer’, who was particularly interested in the political dimension of space exploration, and who openly rejected the concept of communist materialism which was unable ‘to explain aspects of human life as the soul’; and the Saudi Arabian astronaut Sultan bin Salman Al-Saud who lapsed into philosophy when he suggested in 2011 that ‘the first day or so we all pointed to our countries. The third or fourth day we were pointing to our continents. By the fifth day, we were aware of only one Earth’. This leads us to one of the central issues in outer space philosophy— that of the existence of life beyond Earth. Reflecting the seriousness that this sort of issue is considered by some, Othman (2011, p. 694) noted that the UN, through COPUOS, had put forward a number of things that needed to be considered, including: • Should messages (to extra-terrestrial life) be composed under the sponsorship of an international body, such as the United Nations, if they are to represent mankind? • Should a register of messages to extra-terrestrial civilisations be established and maintained? • Should the preparation of messages be done directly by the United Nations as an activity that would unify nations? Whilst these questions are undoubtedly important there is a need to consider some more fundamental issues and Dickens and Ormrod (2007a, pp. 610–611) consider these in some detail. They begin with an assessment of what they term metacosmology—‘abstract theories about the origin and nature of the universe not amenable to empirical testing’. These they see as detached from everyday knowledge and understanding as well as from scientific observations of the heavens (Frankel, 2003; Lerner, 1991; Norris, 2000). They also see the universe as becoming increasingly humanised as we interact in a more physical than imaginative manner. The latter remains significant but no longer dominates the

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global view. Both of these trends pose questions about our relationship to the cosmos as individuals and society. They trace the move from a collective and communal society that existed for thousands of years to one where Western society has generated and now focusses upon the individualised self. They quote Geertz (1974, p. 1): The western concept of the person as a grounded, unique, more or less integrated motivational and cognitive universe, a dynamic centre of awareness, emotion, judgement and action organized into a distinctive whole and set contrastively against each other wholes and against its social and natural background is, however incorrigible it may seem to us, a rather peculiar idea within the context of the world’s cultures.

Dickens and Ormrod go on to trace how this individualism grew along with the notion of capitalism from the Renaissance (Cassirer, 1963; DeGrazia et al., 1996; Poppi, 1987) and the rise of Burckhardt’s (1878) ‘universal man’ represented by ‘elite intellectuals, priests, merchant bankers and others in Northern Italy in the 14th and 16th centuries… (In this way) the whole of the universe was represented within the individual and he could make himself a part of the universe through embracing all kinds of wisdom’. This view implied that humans could do almost anything if they wished and ultimately from this emerged capitalism to expand around the world. It is from this that the idea of an open and infinite cosmos developed in the late fifteenth century which was paralleled by an open and infinite ‘self ’. As Dickens and Ormrod (2007a, p. 612) suggested: No longer was the individual seen as locked into a rigidly defined chain of being as proposed by the Ancient Greeks and the Medieval cosmologists. Rather the Renaissance humanist philosophers were outlining a new kind of self-propelled self, a proactive, rational individual fully capable of exercising free will and with infinite capacities for self-improvement. Charting the seas and the heavens and travelling round the Earth were a rational means of escaping what DeOliva, a major 16th century Spanish philosopher, called ‘the dregs of the Earth’. God and the heavens, ‘the dwelling place of happy people’, were to be accessed in this way. (DeOliva, 1977 [1543], p. 38)

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This conjuncture of the heavens and the seas is illuminating from our perspective where the role of both and their overlapping requirements for governance have run through so much we have said. Tarnas (2006, p. 4) emphasised the role of the cosmos in the emergence of the ‘self ’ with capitalism and indirectly we can infer its significance for governance: It was of course no accident that the birth of the modern self and the birth of the modern cosmos took place at the same historical moment. The Sun, trailing clouds of glory, rose for both, in one great encompassing dawn.

Or as Dickens and Ormrod (2007a, p. 612) summarised it: In short, the confident, self-expanding, potentially infinite, individual (one pre-figuring the ‘have it all’ narcissistic individual that characterises contemporary capitalist subjectivity) was a product of the discovery of the cosmos and a society which was itself seen as open and infinite. By the same token, this notion of a potentially self-creating self-further enhanced and supported observation and yet further exploration of and infinite world and heaven.

Now this is all important when we come back to the notion of the existence of life beyond Earth, the relationship of humans to this life and the approach to the governance of all the issues that would emerge. This is also something that has been widely reflected in the expansion of capitalist markets on the Earth through the process of globalisation and the role of shipping and the oceans in providing a solution to Harvey’s (1985) spatial fix. Over millennia, the oceans were explored and both land and sea-based commodities and labour were exploited through globalisation to the point where there is increasingly little to continue to exploit. Hence the need for an outer spatial fix to provide new sources of both labour and commodities for the capitalist market, albeit the former probably remains a little way off. The interest and fears associated with the exploration of unknown and distant lands across uncharted seas mirror the demands that opening outer space markets will generate. Whilst much of the Earth and its oceans now seem well understood and in most cases ‘tameable’, the cosmos remains a frightening, if potentially remarkably valuable resource. The potential threat posed by life on other planets— humanoid or otherwise, represented by all shapes and sizes and many

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unimaginable—although remaining remote as yet, will one day manifest itself. How will this be governed and will any lessons from the discovery of the wide variety of humans, animals and societies by the ocean explorers be learned? Dickens and Ormrod (2007a, p. 613) emphasise how globalisation has continued apace on earth since the Renaissance accompanied by an intensification on individualism which has exacerbated both the belief that ‘the way to the good life is through looking after their own interests’ (Branigan, 2006), and also the fear and suspicion inherent in the potential discovery of life in the cosmos. This in turn raises specific questions of how new life will be treated—as slaves or companions, what regard should we have for other planetary body environments, what resources should Earthlings take from discoveries in the cosmos and much more. And to deal with any of this needs governance—and given the clear failure of governance associated with the exploration and exploitation of the Earth through the oceans, what hope is there? Take just a few controversial examples of where relatively simple situations associated with global exploitation can be seen to generate complex issues—Antarctica, the Northern Sea Route, the Suez and Panama Canals, The Black Sea and Bosporus, the South China Sea, even fishing rights in territorial waters, and many, many more. Now place these equivalents into outer space, replicate by just a minuscule proportion of the planetary bodies out there, and toss in a dose of Earth politics and the existence of aliens. Now there’s the potential for another book. Dickens and Ormrod (2007a, p.  613) continue to suggest that ‘the ideal of a complete, unitary, outward-looking and socially disposed universal man has largely evaporated’, replaced by ‘one more prone to dreams and much less to rationality’, and this has serious ramifications for effective governance not only of the Earth but also of the cosmos. They summarise this up succinctly through the concept of infantile narcissism, outlined earlier in Chap. 3 and considered by Freud (1955 [1914]), Craib (1994), Dean (2000), Dickens (2004), Lasch (1979, 1984), Sennett (1974, 1977) and Westen (1985). This attitude increasingly persists throughout society with the concept of idealism replaced by that of self-expression and the satisfaction of personal needs. This makes a truly horrific base for good governance of

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anything and an environment where there are virtually no controls like outer space is ripe for exploitation by the ‘self ’. It also has serious ramifications for our attitude to extra-terrestrial life which we fear because potentially it threatens our personal desires whist at the same time offering opportunities for personal exploitation producing a toxic mix for which we are utterly unprepared. These insatiable personalities (Dean, 2000; Lacan, 1977) experience the world as a place to satisfy their ‘internal lack’, feeling omnipotent and capable of acquiring and achieving almost anything, but perhaps more significantly having the right to do this. Watch out cosmos, here we come. And this in turn has ramifications for our view of extra-terrestrial life and the governance of how we manage this centring on the desire to retain our notion of self-importance whilst at the same time consolidating the promise of power over the whole universe, together escalating the ‘narcissistic personality’. In the words of Dickens and Ormrod (2007a, p. 615), ‘a new kind of universal man is in the making. Space travel and possible occupation of other planets further inflates people’s sense of omnipotence’. We return to the notion of power and man’s role in the governance of outer space in the next section but meanwhile we have not forgotten about maritime governance and although its relevance has been noted a number of times earlier in this chapter there remain one or two more issues that should be pointed out. Whilst some important contributions have come from Bennett (1996) and Inaga (2013), much more significant is the work of Dawson (2007) but particularly Chiaroni (2016). Dawson (2007, p. 6) placed the philosophical importance of water into context quoting from Illich (1985) who, although not focussing on the maritime environment, still has something to contribute to the philosophical debate: In the imagination of the twentieth century, water lost both its power to communicate by touch its deep-seated purity and its mystical power to wash off spiritual blemish. It has become an industrial and technical detergent… Water throughout history has been perceived as the stuff which radiates purity. H2O is the new stuff, on whose purification human survival now depends.

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Dawson (2007, p. 6) adds: For Illich the waters of forgetfulness have washed away the capacity to dream. Illich’s (perhaps deliberately) absolute binary, using water for plumbing and washing and power generation abstracts it into the realm of utility rather than being a channel for reverie. Pure functionality takes the ear and senses away from what Bachelard (1983) termed the ‘language of the waters’.

Dawson goes on to emphasise the importance of water in percolating stories through time and culture as well as space, using the examples of water ‘beings’ in Western culture. Naiads, those nymphs of rivers, springs and lakes were associated with the conjoined waters of the Grecian world, in which ocean, river and subterranean spring were bound and percolated as one. But those naiads were particularly bound to one stream; if the current dried up, the naiad seems to have perished too (Fisher, n.d.). The Victorian representation of these (usually) benign and powerful beings tended to eroticise the image of the woman at the water while recalling a lost mythic era.

Waterhouse’s painting of Hylas and the Nymphs says it all (Fig. 7.1). Meanwhile Chiaroni (2016, p.  108) lamented that philosophy was almost always earthbound, focussing upon continents, grounds, islands, terrains, reference-points and touchstones despite the fact that we are ‘born into movement and subject to constant flux’. The relevance of this to governance is clear (see Roe, 2016) and the importance of also becoming philosophically water-bound is difficult to deny. Trubridge (2016, p. 1) said much the same and although the quote is long, it is worth it not least because he introduces the universe, stars and galaxies as well: The sea is a space beyond every coastline; a seemingly homogenous surface of restless, endless movement that connects all shores as a single, connected surface that bears no trace of the territories and names that we impose upon it. The body of water is said to be just as unknown to us as the stars and galaxies of our universe. However, it exists at closest quarters within our own ‘inner space’ and planetary atmosphere; as a place of submerged

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Fig. 7.1  Hylas and the Nymphs, J.W. Waterhouse (1896), Manchester Art Galleries, Manchester, UK

things, dark fantasies and intimate secrets. on land, our planetary cortex is alive with the flashing of synapses between cities and across the grids of terrestrial industry. Below this activity there is the ocean; our space within, where the odd fibre-optic cable is laid down, where occasionally a submarine blinks its lonely lights and wreckage drifts to rest. On the whole this space sleeps beneath us, detached and at a different speed. In this way the sea can be seen as our planetary subconscious, keeping secrets in darkness, and then revealing them with a theatrical power… In this way the sea exists for many as a cultural imaginary and a space of fantasy, since only a few go beyond its shallow edges and recesses.

And further: The churning mass of current and eddies that covers 75% of our planet has the potential to direct a new way of doing, thinking and being based upon a condition of perpetual motion, perpetual flux and uncertainty. Contemporary philosophy and practices have only just begun to touch upon these implications, and in the current trend for mobility, nomadism and fluid theory is a persistence of fixed, pastoral viewpoints that remain entrenched in the language and perspectives of leading philosophers and

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writers such as Deleuze and Guattari’s (1988) A Thousand Plateaus, and Rosie Braidotti’s texts on Nomadic Theory (2011) and Nomadic Subjects (1994). (Trubridge, 2016, p. 2)

Francois Laruelle (2008) suggested that philosophy needed to succumb to the waves that surround it, forming undulations. Thinking in waves, not in order to elaborate an elementary theory but to open ourselves to an elemental way of thinking, should be the goal of philosophy now. We must renounce all our earthbound foundations… and start to ‘penser la mer’, thus exchanging our being-in-the-world to being-­ in-­the-water. (Chiaroni, 2016, p. 108)

Chiaroni suggested this was fluid philosophy and although her context was one of performance studies the message remains the same for governance of the maritime sector. Poet Lisa Samuels (2010, p. 156) went even further suggesting that ‘wet’ contact was the ‘established paradigm for the imagined order in the twenty-first century’ whereas that of time and space was for the twentieth. This ‘membranism’ now involves every transfer of information and every exchange of energy that occurs within and between human bodies, as well as through the various electrical media on which humans increasingly depend for ‘sound travels faster in water’ and ‘electricity jumps liquid’. She sees our consciousness, instead of being rooted in the ‘sense of enormous dry land’, is hemmed in by non-access… The consequent mutuality of ocean and islands creates conditions of ‘interchange across inaccessible vibrant gaps, ocean as fact and idea’ (Samuels, 2010, p. 160). Hoare (2013, p. 7) makes the philosophical significance of the sea clear: The sea defines us, connects us, separates us… our available wilderness on… crowded island(s)… And although it seems constant, it is never the same… Perpetually renewing and destroying, the sea proposes a beginning and an ending.

And Chiaroni (2016, p.  110) brings this consideration of maritime philosophy to an appropriate conclusion:

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The perpetually renewing and destroying force we call the sea is not the sole proposer of beginnings and endings. Human intervention has warmed the ocean, flooding habitable surfaces of the Arctic pole, and traumatised the land, contributing to a shrinking supply of fresh water. Flooding and desertification are differential, mutually related extremes in a narrative of crisis. Desertification, or the absence of water is a negative fluid state that is one of the manifestations of the sea functioning as what Timothy Morton calls the ‘hyperobject’. ‘Massively distributed in time and space relative to humans’ (Morton, 2013, p. 1) it strikes dread into the imagination of the heart. The ocean, and Earth, the familiar blood and bones of the planet, are in process of becoming ‘disasters’, ‘dis-astron’, or dangerous stars, as Morton calls them in Romantic Disaster Ecology, and that signal a ‘quake in being’. (Morton, 2013, pp. 1–24)

The issue of power in outer space and its governance popped up earlier and we return to it here. Maritime governance also has close links with power, but we shall spend little time on it here as it has been covered extensively elsewhere (Roe, 2012, 2016, 2020). In the maritime sector, whilst power remains an important driver and consequently determinant of effective governance, its role has become progressively subtle compared with the many centuries of exploration and exploitation that were characterised by empire-building, subjugation and control by Western states. Outer space meanwhile is at the forefront of power and governance in the decades to come, manifesting itself through communications, monitoring, warfare and much more. Governance becomes ever more significant and difficult. Since the turn of the twenty-first century the interest in the relationship between governance, power and outer space has increased notably as it has become recognised as a forum where the ambitions of states and the private sector can be explored with the minimum of control. Dolman (2001), Tannewald (2004), Palkowsky (2017b), Aliberti et  al. (2019), Bowen (2020) and Goswami and Garretson (2020) provide useful contributions. Meanwhile Fox (2001) introduced relatively early the idea that positive and negative aspects of space power were identifiable—represented respectively by satellites placed to achieve specific ends and

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weapons directed from Earth against hardware. In the early years of the twenty-­first century, Sheldon (2002) suggested that: the realm of space studies is small, a fact that is in inverse proportion to the enormity of the potential implications of the exploitation of the space environment. Yet despite the relatively few numbers of people engaged in the serious study of space power and astropolitics, it is a field that is rapidly maturing in terms of rigor and method, as well as in the attention it commands in wider academia, politics, military and industry.

Dickens and Ormrod (2007a, p. 616) took a different view on power in space suggesting that common fantasies such as experiencing weightlessness and seeing the Earth from space were actually representations of power through the ability to break ‘the bonds of gravity’ (Ingold, 1993; Szersynski & Urry, 2006) or possession through gazing (Berger, 1972). They went on to put forward the idea that both fantasies represent freedom from restraint experienced in pre-oedipal childhood and return to the womb (Bainbridge, 1976, p. 255). White (1987) suggested that Earth from space stimulates the ‘overview effect’, based upon the life-changing experiences of astronauts. The issue of soft power is significant in outer space. Huntly (2007, p. 253) defined it as an ‘appreciation of broader potential power resources’ and a reflection of relative capabilities, wider than ‘muscular’ methods, but which together ‘contribute to a nation’s ability to benefit from the use of space’. Notable was his focus upon the power of the nation-state, increasingly debatable as space becomes more commercialised. Al-Rodhan (2016, p. 142) also referred to the soft nature of space power, in addition to its hard profile, suggesting it was the ability of a country to ‘obtain the outcomes it wants in world politics because other countries want to follow it, admiring its values, emulating its example, aspiring to its level of prosperity and openness’ (Nye, 2004, p. 8). Whilst too constrained in its definition of soft power, it remains valid. Lieberman (2017, p. 59) also focussed upon the soft power aspects of space noting Lewis (2015): ‘space programs are an element of soft power; they provide prestige and technological prowess that can be turned into influence and leadership on the international stage’.

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Burzykowska (2009, p. 187) considered the new freedom to enter the market that smaller states were beginning to experience, a market once dominated by only a few, large actors. The lowering of entry barriers and the development of new financial, technical, political and administrative structures for the outer space sector continue to increase the opportunities for smaller nations to exercise more space power. Shabbir et al. (2021, p. 2) along with Lupton (1988) supported these views whilst at the same time emphasising the abstract and ambiguous nature of space power. Pace (2011, p. 79) suggested that space power ‘encompasses all aspects of national power: military, economic, political, and even cultural as represented by the values that shape the nation’s space activities’. Meanwhile, Pfaltzgraff Jr. (2011, p. 17) saw space power as a multifaceted concept that is ‘complex, indeterminate and intangible’ (Hays, 2002) and includes both military and commercial dimensions. Hertzfeld (2011, p.  43) focussed upon the commercial aspect of space power viewing it from two sides: either as a way of encouraging specific commercial space ventures to be dominant in the world marketplace or by denying others access to that same marketplace. Hoerber (2018, p. 8) reflected on how ‘framing’ was actually a mechanism for defining and conceptualising power in outer space, where the process referred to current political discourse which lends legitimacy to only some political developments and defines the context within which issues are understood (Hall, 1989, p. 289). Newlove-Eriksson and Eriksson (2013, p. 279) emphasised the militarisation of space and its implications for the acquisition and application of power, with examples of the addition of military and security-­orientated objectives to civilian programmes in both Europe and Japan. Al-Rodhan (2016, p. 139) also noted the importance of outer space in power politics: The multiplication of actors in space, coupled with increased reliance on and use of space technologies, means that space has emerged as an important component of national power and an excellent indicator of the status of an actor in the regional and international arenas.

He continued by citing Oberg’s (1998, p. 10) definition of space power which although awkward does cover all bases:

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Space power is the combination of technology, demographic, economic, industrial, military, national will and other factors that contribute to the coercive and persuasive ability of a country to politically influence the actions of other states and other kinds of players, or to otherwise achieve national goals through space activity.

Al-Rodhan’s (2016, p. 144) conclusions on space power were that it needed to accommodate the unique character of space that differentiated it from land, sea and air; that it had to encompass dimensions that went far beyond the hard and military, for example, social and health, domestic politics, economics, environment, science and human potential, and international diplomacy amongst others; and that it had to address the effects that space power would have upon Earth. Lieberman (2017, p. 55) outlined how although space exploration had been popularised as a liberal activity with laudable aims of cooperation for humanity, in fact ‘popular opinion, popularisation, and the popular knowledge structure is less important to space power than other modes and structures of power—namely military power and security advantage’. Moltz (2019, p. 27) put forward two models of space power representing the situation before the end of the Cold War and one that had emerged since the beginning of the twenty-first century (Table 7.3). Although specific details are debatable, the differences are clear. And bringing us right up to date, Rementeria (2022, p. 1) emphasises how space is ‘tightly connected to the struggle for power’ and that the new space culture will have a marked effect on the power relationships that develop, previously state dominated in character and ambition and Table 7.3  Comparative space power models Cold War space power model (technocracy)

Twenty-first-century space power model (netocracy)

National Secret Military led Independent Few, large platforms (vulnerable) Slow, top-down innovation

International Transparent Commercially led Networked Many, small platforms Rapid, bottom-up innovation

Source: Moltz (2019, p. 27)

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now more focussed upon private commerce, revenue streams and economic growth (Denis et al., 2020; Palkowsky, 2017a). Power and governance are clearly very closely entwined in any sector and this includes both the maritime and outer space. However, surprisingly little interest has been expressed about the direct relationship, although much of the generic literature is applicable. The maritime context, looking in particular at the power implications for jurisdictions, has been extensively covered by Roe (2012, 2016, 2018, 2020), Selkou and Roe (2022) and Gritsenko and Roe (2019) amongst others but in outer space the situation so far is much different, one central motivation for this book. Whilst serious contributions to the governance in space debate include those by Dickens and Ormrod (2007b), Bormann and Sheehan (2009) and Johnson-Freese (2009), there tends to be a concentration of effort upon the issue of security and in the USA in particular. Meanwhile there remains scant else. Huntly (2007, p. 259) did put forward the idea that the governance of space will inevitably reflect that of Earth and dominant terrestrial relations, and consequently nation-states will always look after their own interests first. The problems that the mere existence of nation-­ states present for governance of all sectors has been well documented in the maritime sector by Roe and others as noted earlier and will not be repeated here. However, it is as well to be aware of the problems this will present for a jurisdiction such as outer space where there are few effective delimitations or recognisable boundaries and where the commons characteristics dominate the issues that need to be considered. Huntly not only emphasised the inevitable terrestrial qualities of outer space governance but also suggested that anarchy will be a long-term characteristic which will need to be both understood and accommodated, and that both of these features demand that nation-states will focus upon their own interests above all others. The issue of inevitable anarchy in outer space is a contentious one, and there are those who reject that ‘an overarching regime to preclude… competition in space is fanciful or utopian’ (Huntly, 2007, p. 259). However, he emphasises that the governance of outer space will never be a ‘simple choice between anarchy and order’ but will reflect characteristics of each.

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Morrison et al. (2019) consider governance in outer space from a polycentric viewpoint and with a particular focus upon the environment. Taking a lead from Ostrom et al. (1961), they take a polycentric approach as best defined in contrast to a monocentric one: An ideal type monocentric system is one controlled by a central predominant authority (e.g. a comprehensive governmental authority or private monopoly responsible for all goods and services). By contrast, a polycentric system comprises multiple governing authorities at different scales which do not stand in hierarchical relationship to each other but are engaged in self-organisation and mutual adjustment. (Ostrom, 2020)

We noted the potential significance of polycentricity to outer space governance in an earlier chapter, and Morrison et al. (2019, p. 2) spend some considerable time looking at the importance that this approach might have including identifying power gaps and why an understanding of power in governance matters. Meanwhile Shabbir et al. (2021) indicated the beginnings of moves towards more serious consideration of governance in outer space by noting Gibbs’ (2012) early contribution to the debate. He identified eight essential ‘elements or challenges’ common to spacefaring by all participating nations including: • The approach to governance of the national space agencies. • The degree and effectiveness of interdepartmental and agency cooperation. • The degree of space situational awareness. • The existence and characteristics of a code of conduct for responsible behaviour in space. • The approach to security and military utilisation of space. • The degree of international space cooperation. • Data policies. • The significance of policies for the hosting of payloads. Oberg (1998) suggested six fundamental characteristics of most spacefaring nations with implications for governance, largely derived from Mahan’s (1890) theory of sea power:

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Geographical size. Location. The level of national wealth. The size and educational status of the population. The appetite for technology. The level of political will.

The importance of the nation-state to the effectiveness and design of governance for outer space is clear and reflects the similar position that exists for the maritime sector where the nation-state retains an over-­ inflated position within a thoroughly globalised industry where issues of national borders, vessel registration and the conflicts between jurisdictions are apparent. Roe (2016, pp. 5–16) is particularly emphatic on the significance of these relationships in the maritime sector, and his discussion of the issues is easily transferable to that of outer space. In terms of outer space, the nation-state and governance were considered by Duvall and Havercroft (2008, p. 755) who suggested that US space policy under President Bush’s administration in 2006 was largely unacceptable, as it demanded the right: to be unimpeded in any of its activities in space, up to and including those that would involve weapons systems, but it reserves the right to deny other states—particularly adversaries—an equal freedom of operation. Resisting the impulse to smirk contemptuously, or perhaps to laugh derisively at the incredible arrogance of power represented in this policy, it is incumbent on us to treat such pronouncements seriously. They are, after all, expressive of a new geopolitical vision that is currently being actively pursued through the commitment of substantial reserves.

Times have moved on of course but the difficult governance relationship between nation-states and outer space activities apparent from this policy remains with us. Duvall and Havercroft (2008, p. 755) continued by placing the problems of effective governance into the military context, but with inevitable implications for all other space-related activities:

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The strategy of the empire of the future undermines the binary logic of a states-system predicated either on territorially bounded sovereign states or a globally, diffused decentralised and reterritorialized biopolitics Empire as proposed by Hardt and Negri (2000). Our analysis reveals a third possibility: in the empire the future space power combines a set of otherwise heterogenous processes. Space based missile-defence strips all states—except the possessor of the system—of their hard shells by eroding nuclear deterrence capabilities, while providing the possessor of missile defence with a territory more secure from nuclear attack. Space control denies all states with the exception of the controlling power, unfettered access to space. Furthermore it annexes orbital space as a territory of the space power. Finally force application from orbital space makes any point on Earth a potential target for the military force of empire of the future. This makes the traditional imperial imperative to project force through controlling territory no longer necessary. Empire of the future combines strategies of deterritorialization and reterritorialization to simultaneously undermine some features of state sovereignty and reinforce others.

The complexities that come from nation-state domination of governance in contexts such as the oceans and outer space are clear. De Montluc (2009, p. 21) identified an increasing nationalistic trend in space policy and governance, in contradiction to (or perhaps because of ) ‘an international environment in which the old order is contested and in which the balance of power (was) unstable’. National political and symbolic objectives were increasingly being adopted by China, Brazil, Iran, India, South Korea and the USA amongst others, at least partially as symbols of national pride. Think maritime flag protectionism and support contradicting globalisation forces, and then think what chaos this has brought to the maritime sector and its continued issues of safety, security, the environment and competition. De Montluc suggested that evidence of this nationalistic trend came from the growth of the number of space agencies to 25 including those undoubtedly still on the periphery (e.g. Nigeria, Algeria, Argentina, Malaysia and Indonesia) where their existence owed more to geo-governance rather than direct activity. Stuart (2013, p. 3) attempted to link the concept of regime theory to the politics, policy-making and governance of outer space and was concerned how the role of non-state actors in space governance had been

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little considered. The growth of commercialised space and the increasing role of environmental non-state organisations in all sectors made this omission all the more serious. Meanwhile Shabbir et al. (2021, pp. 2–3) also noted the important role of non-state actors in power and governance in space citing the work of Hyatt et al. (2019) as extrapolated by Wingo (2015). Moltz (2019) took this further suggesting that collaborative networks and technical innovation have had a significant effect on the governance of space outside the influence of the nation-state leading to what Shabbir and Sarosh (2018) describe as nascent space powers, nations lacking the resources and sufficient technical expertise to act independently, but with ambitions and plans to grow their space programme. The significance of geopolitics in both the maritime and outer space sectors is clear and in terms of governance the relationship is even clearer although the central issues are often very difficult to resolve. The importance of geopolitics has been noted much earlier but the emphasis deserves some repetition here. It also has generated some interesting discussion, not least that by Elden (2013, pp. 36–37) who along with Collis (2017, p.  295) cited Graham (2004) and his work on vertical geopolitics. Quoting Foucault (2007, p. 170) who examined Paul Rebeyrolle’s Dogs series of paintings: ‘in the world of prisons, as in the world of dogs… the vertical is not one of the dimensions of space, it is the dimension of power’. Foucault continues: It dominates, rises up, threatens and flattens; an enormous pyramid of buildings, above and below; orders barked out from up high and down low; you are forbidden to sleep by day. to be up at night, stood up straight in from of the guards, to attention in front of the governor; crumpled by blows in the dungeon, or strapped in the restraining bed for having not wanted to go to sleep in front of the warders; and finally, hanging oneself with a clear conscience, the only means of escaping the full length of one’s enclosure; the only way of dying upright. (Foucault, 2007, p. 170)

The issue of verticality in governance is for the future and undoubtedly offers some considerable opportunities. Meanwhile, MacDonald (2007, p. 610) stresses how space, and more particularly the example of space colonisation, is not a distinct break from the past but merely an

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‘extension of long-standing regimes of power’. Space should be seen as a part of Earth’s geography (Cosgrove, 2004, p. 222), while the ‘space’ of space is both terrestrial and extra-terrestrial and is ‘representative of the Earth to its firmament’ or using the ideas of Parks and Biemann (2003), our relationship with orbits is ‘about uplinking and downlinking, (the) translation of signals, making exchanges with others, and positioning the self ’. Klinger (2019b, p. 3) meanwhile contrasts the classical view of geopolitics applicable to terrestrial situations, to that of outer space the former ‘legitimising extra-terrestrial empire-building’ (Haushofer, 1925; Machiavelli, 1961; Mackinder, 1904). In space things are different. One view is that the nation-state that gains the greatest control of outer space inevitably gains the ‘higher ground’, something emphasised by Al-Rodhan (2016, p. 123) as making those states more likely to succeed in an increasingly interdependent world. International space cooperation is encouraged to ‘protect strategic interests’ (Johnson-Freese & Erikson, 2006) or to advance international agreements (Klinger, 2018; Soares et al., 2009). A unifying theme is how outer space can be used to enhance terrestrial geopolitical power. This is not a new phase: Emperors and monarchs claimed that ‘divine mandates’ installed them in their thrones (Marshall, 2001; Monod, 1999; Spence, 1988). Religious figures backed these claims to terrestrial control by anthropomorphising the evolution of the cosmos to claim privilege vested in them by a ‘God’ or ‘gods’ that ‘resided’ in ‘the Heavens’ (Brown, 2003; Crone & Hinds, 1986; Gordis, 2003; McAnany, 2001; Stopler, 2008).

Whiting (2003, p. 55) outlined how the exercise of space power also had a diplomatic side, largely through what he termed the ‘dissemination of imagery which could then be used to influence a diplomatic situation’. This indirect aspect of governance was once a significant part of the maritime sector and remains so to a certain extent still but is particularly so in the outer space context. However, Whiting (2003, p. 56) remained convinced that this power was underdeveloped despite its clear potential which continues to rise in association with globalisation and the extended use of prestige, technical partnerships, access to space services, legal tools,

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the provision of reliable data, the threat of retribution and punishment, and simply a space presence. And finally, Harding (2016, p. 48) noted the increasing importance of space power in developing countries and their adoption of programmes to provide enhanced security and economic development; and Rementeria (2022, p.  1) who outlined how the commercialisation of space has changed the characteristics of power: Today, the so-called ‘New Space’ movement, a liberalised and diverse ecosystem convergent with the digital economy and supported by a new spaceflight culture, is viewed as a disruptive transformation that questions key conceptual pillars of the space industry as understood and practised until recently. (Denis et al., 2020; Palkowsky, 2017a)

Rementeria (2022, pp. 7–10) suggested a number of ways in which the increasing commercialisation of space would affect the role of space power and its relationship to policy-making and governance. These included an increase in the strategic value of space, continuing restriction of space technologies to a limited number of agencies, a continuing if declining role of the state in space operations and further growth in the significance of incumbent space actors despite the rise of new entrants. We have not forgotten the maritime sector and its relationship to power, but as noted earlier, its importance, although once very significant, has waned by comparison. However, its impact as a growing factor in the process of globalisation was once very similar to outer space and the lessons to be learned and the dangers inherent in the process (and potential failures to come) are clear. We shall only briefly look at the issue here and only where the two sectors, maritime and outer space, explicitly overlap. For a considerably lengthier and deeper consideration, the reader should revert to Roe (2012, 2016, 2020) in particular. Klein (2004, pp.  35–36), supported by Straub (2015), emphasised that space power was a significant force with clear close relationships to ‘homes, businesses, schools, hospitals and government offices through applications related to transportation, health, the environment, telecommunications, education, commerce, agriculture, energy and military operations’. He continued to note Gray’s (1994, p. 126) association of

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outer space power and the sea. Both use comparative facilities: space has earth bases linking to satellites, planets and orbits; naval operations have home and destination ports, and vessels. As we have seen both act as commons, prompting Gray into suggesting that ‘the history of sea power… offer(s) true precedents for developing a space strategy’ (Gray, 1994, p. 133). Lupton (1988) even suggested that the best space strategy might even be achieved by simply substituting the word ‘space’ for ‘sea’. A relatively significant contribution comes from Burzykowska (2009, p. 189) who placed the whole issue of power and outer space into a maritime context: According to space power theory, which is derived from the realist school of thought, the proliferation of space technology is a foe rather than a friend, because it contributes to military and economic competition; and, above all, it empowers the exercise of the threat of force in, through and from outer space. Space power proponents may well here apprehend (sic.) Winston Churchill’s fateful remark on naval power. He once calculated that ‘(t)here are many small states who are buying or building great ships and whose vessels may by purchase, by some diplomatic combination, or by duress, be brought into the line against us. None of them need it to defend their actual safety of independence. They build them so as to play a part in world affairs. It is sport to them. It is death to us’ (Jervis, 1978). As a result of this unique predisposition to perceive threats, positive and promising developments, such as the efforts of smaller states to quickly develop national space programs (cf. Algeria, Chile, Egypt, Greece, Indonesia, Iran, Israel, Malaysia, Mexico, Nigeria, North Korea, Norway, Pakistan, Philippines, Portugal, Saudi Arabia, South Korea, Spain, Sweden, Taiwan, Thailand, Turkey, UAE, Vietnam), and to become launching states (South Korea, Taiwan, Brazil, Israel, Kazakhstan, Iran, North Korea) are frequently assessed vis a vis some countries hopes of going nuclear (Iran, North Korea, Israel, Gulf States, Syria, Jordan, Egypt, Algeria, Morocco, Chile, Nigeria, Vietnam, Turkey or Indonesia) and their general ambition to play a greater part in world affairs.

The coincidence of nation-state involvement in space activities and nuclear ambitions is reflected closely in the maritime power games played out over the nineteenth and twentieth centuries across the world. As

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Burzykowska goes on to suggest: ‘the fact that global nuclear deterrence has eventually been consumed by fragmented interests, despite the great powers’ rigid containment and control strategy, stands out as a warning that technology can serve any master, regardless of his past, current or future commitments’. Meanwhile Havercroft and Duvall (2009, p. 56) suggested that a fundamental principle of ‘classical geopolitics’ was that empires founded upon the sea, including those from Athens and Great Britain, tended to be more democratic than those which were land-based, with examples from Rome, Sparta and China. This stemmed from issues of power and control, as sea-based empires by necessity, dispersed their forces away from the imperial centre whilst those land-based could exercise power through occupation, and as suggested by Hintze (1975) and Deudney (2007), this reinforced elements of democratisation because of the failure to occupy so rigidly facilitated elements of democratisation. Dolman (2001, p. 29) transferred these ideas to space empires, contrasting land-­ based with both sea and space, the latter two both allowing at least in part control without occupation through surveillance. As Havercroft and Duvall note, ‘while space power may not result in the dictatorships normally associated with land power, it would be a useful tool in establishing a disciplinary society all over earth’. However, whilst both logical and rational, this latter ambition seems somewhat hopeful. Brown (2012, p. 237) compared the strategic influence of space power to that of Mahan’s (1890, p. 209) view of sea power written at the end of the nineteenth century: The noiseless, steady, exhausting pressure with which sea power acts, cutting off the resources of the enemy while maintaining its own, supporting war in scenes where it does not appear itself, or appears only in the background, and striking open blows at rare intervals, though lost to most, is emphasized to the careful reader by the events of this war and of the half-­ century that followed.

Brown continued to emphasise that space forces could operate around the world in the same way that England’s sea power allowed ‘her forces to act on distant points, widely apart as Cuba, Portugal, India, and the

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Philippines, without fear of serious break in their communications’ (Mahan, 1890, p. 317). Space is seen by the great powers as a commons much as the sea. Corbett (1972, p. 89) reaffirmed this: You cannot conquer sea because it is not susceptible to ownership, at least outside territorial waters. You cannot as lawyers say, ‘reduce it into possession’, because you cannot exclude neutrals from it as you can from territory you conquer. In the second place, you cannot subsist your armed force upon it as you can upon an enemy’s territory.

Al-Rodhan (2016, pp. 140–141) continued the Mahan and Corbett themes relating space and sea power but also bringing in air power as well considering all three as ‘arenas for commerce, transport, observation and conflict’. He cited France’s (2000, p. 237) suggestion that both the sea and space are used for permanent civil and military bases, locations of political and material chokepoints, and areas of high potential economic expansion (Jusell, 1998, p. 12). Lieberman (2017, p. 54) also followed up the historical appreciation of the close parallels between sea power and that of outer space referring to Leissle et  al. (2017) who analysed international regimes for space through comparisons with naval power from the sixteenth to the early twentieth century. States legitimately require access to both milieu for ‘economic, social and security advancement and provision’. This approach is supported by a number of studies undertaken in recent years including that by Sumida (2015) who suggested that Mahan’s theory of sea power was eminently applicable to outer space and in particular that space states will need to form cooperative associations including both bilateral and multilateral agreements, much in the same way as occurs at sea. This in turn would lead to a reduction in state influence, again in the same way as has happened in the maritime sphere, albeit with the contradictions between nation-state and globalisation forces that we have noted earlier. Sumida goes on to reflect upon Mahan’s argument that sea power is determined by the relationship between the economy, state and military power and that these issues are the same for outer space. As Sumida suggested:

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interconnectedness and the ‘relationship between the economic basis of national strength and the development and effective use of a navy’ (Mahan, 1890) are reminiscent of the International Political Economy’s (IPE) assumptions regarding the interconnectedness of wealth, security, production and knowledge/ideas.

Pfaltzgraff (2011) adds to this proposing that the ‘geopolitical, theoretical constructs used to analyse nineteenth century naval power’ were largely related to issues of prestige and reputation and that these ideas were eminently transferable to an understanding of outer space power. Meanwhile Bowen (2019, p. 533) also emphasised the importance of power to space and its relationship to maritime power: ‘like the command of the sea, the command of space signifies the degree to which one party can use a medium for itself and/or deny it to another’. He went on to back this up using the theories of Corbett (1972). Therefore, the command of space forms a two-way connection between spacepower and grand strategy, much in the same way that the command of the sea makes the student or PR actioner think of the role of seapower in a wider way based on the control, denial and exploitation of the sea. (Bowen, 2019, p. 541)

And so to astropolitics. Consideration begins with Collis (2016, p. 270) who focussed upon the ownership of space—‘unstable, dynamic, and undecided’. Whilst Al-Rodhan (2016) and Cockell (2015) indirectly provide some suggestions, we turn to Sheldon (2002, p. 235) who cited Dolman (2001, p. 1) noting that it is: the extension of primarily nineteenth-century theories of global geopolitics into the vast context of the human conquest of outer space.

He continued, further defining astropolitics as ‘the study of the relationship between outer space terrain and technology and the development of political and military policy and strategy’ (Dolman, 2001, p. 15). MacDonald (2007, p. 606) also followed the Dolman definition but added that it is in effect and ‘in both theory and practice, geopolitics of

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outer space’ and heavily drew upon the work of Mackinder (1904), Haushofer and his rather dubious development of Nazi-inspired geopolitik, and most relevant here, Mahan’s (1890) consideration of seapower and history and the parallels with outer space. Havercroft and Duvall (2009, p. 44) similarly focussed upon the work of Mahan (1890), Mackinder (1904), and Dolman (2001) in their definition of astropolitics, whilst Salla (2014, p. 96 and 97) defined it as ‘the political study of stars, celestial bodies, and activities in outer space’, and further referred to its close relationship to outer space law and commonly ‘interdisciplinary analysis of civil, commercial, military, and intelligence space activities’. The history of geopolitics, and especially the contribution of Haushofer, is one that needs to be recalled when astropolitics is considered. Sheldon quotes Dolman (2001, p. 3): Therefore the term Astropolitik is chosen as a constant reminder to those who would read this book, and carefully weigh many of its claims, of the horrible depths to which geopolitical-based Realpolitik strategies of dominance ultimately degenerated. The German school of Geopolitik, despite the equivocal intention of its founders, became a racist and utterly unscientific invective about the superiority of the ‘Aryan’ race and its inevitable domination of the world. Geopolitik, too was a grand strategy, an action plan for conquest. The good intentions of the authors of the current work aside, the potential for misuse and abuse of Astropolitik is plain. The theory describes the geopolitical bases for power in outer space and offers suggestions for dominance of space through military means. Policymakers ignore such strategy at their state’s peril.

However, whilst Sheldon (2002, p.  236) has attempted to contrast astropolitics with the rather dubious history of geopolitics and in the process to differentiate between the two—and quite rightly so—there remain difficulties which continue to be recognised. He suggests that Dolman (2001) successfully applied the classical geopolitical theory of Mahan (1890), Mackinder (1904), Spykman (1944) and Gray (1977) to outer space, with a clear recognition of maritime influences, noting how the ‘space environment may affect the political behaviour of potential

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space colonists as well as terrestrial states’. The comparative relevance of the maritime context is also notable. The dangers of astrodeterminism are outlined along with the relationship between ‘orbitology, the space environment and terrain, and their relationship to geographical considerations on earth’, all of which suggests the significance of astropolitics at least as much as that which has occurred for the maritime geopolitical context. MacDonald (2007, p.  609) went much further using O’Tuathail’s (1996, p.  28) consideration of astrogeography and astropolitics as a framework for a critique, much of which once again focussed upon Mackinder and Mahan, including their maritime references, but also Dolman and Gray. Meanwhile Wang (2009) considered at some length the relationship of traditional geopolitics to astropolitics suggesting that the latter represented an ‘extension of classical geopolitics in which sovereignty and geopolitical interests satisfaction (sic) play the determinant role’. He went on to emphasise how important the role of astropolitics will be for international politics where: states struggle with one another for limited outer space resources and activity room (eg satellite ‘parking place’ of geostationary orbit or space station) with respective cost-effective strategies. Geopolitical interests in outer space can therefore be defined as the opportunities to achieve maximum action freedom, develop full outer-space capabilities, and seize pivotal positions and resources in outer space.

Much the same as maritime geopolitics; similarly: since outer space serves as a new ‘space’ for human exploitation, geopolitical variables largely dictate the formation of outer space policy and the development of outer space technology.

We finish this brief consideration of astropolitics, its maritime pretensions and its relationship to geopolitics with a similarly brief consideration of the issue of nation-states, central to governance of outer space and the maritime sectors. Sheldon (2002, p. 236) noted the importance

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of competition between nation-states in outer space: ‘spacefaring states compete with each other, be it economically, or militarily, and that the astropolitical model is a prism through which such competition can be analysed and explained’. He continued quite forcefully quoting Dolman (2001, p. 87): The rhetoric of harmony and cooperation that attends most popular accounts of humanity’s entry into outer space simply belied the historical record. Despite an on-going effort to make the cosmos an international commons… expansion into near-Earth space came not as the accommodating effort of many nations joined as one, but rather as an integral component of an overall strategy applied by wary superstates attempting to ensure their political survival. The technique these combatants chose was classically Mackinderian. They established an international regime that ensured that none of them could obtain an unanticipated advantage in space domination—for if any one nation did, the face of international politics might be changed forever.

Meanwhile Bormann and Sheehan (2009) stressed how exploration and utilisation of outer space in the twentieth century have had little effect upon the process and objectives which stimulate international politics determined as they are by the role of the nation-state—whether it be exploration, innovation, militarisation, weaponisation, colonisation or commercialisation. Wang (2009, pp. 437–438) in his consideration of sovereignty in outer space largely concurred: Sovereignty can be defined as the exclusive authority and autonomy of a political entity on its own affairs. The impact of globalisation decreases the extent of European and US autonomy in outer space activities, but not their authority for outer space policy making. Outer space remains a state-­ dominated and geopolitically demarcated realm, although non-state actors are active in international politics. Europe and the US, self-perceived as unitary sovereign actors, pursue geopolitical interests with respective cost-­ effective strategy. Transatlantic astropolitics is principally conducted by the institutions and governments of Europe and the US. Outer space facilities

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and resources are also under governmental disposition. Sovereignty remains a crucial component.

And the domination of nation-state interests does not recede as evidenced by Shabbir et al. (2021, pp. 4–5). The relevance of geopolitics to maritime governance has been clear for a very considerable time, and it seems doubtless that the emergence of astropolitics will mirror this as the sector grows and becomes more significant. Something that has risen in importance in both the maritime and outer space worlds and increasingly influenced their approach to governance has been the issue of ethics. Both have attracted attention including contributions from Arnould (2001, 2011), Campion (2011) and Baum (2009). The characteristics of commons inevitably raise ethical issues because of the absence of clear or definable ownership and consequently the opportunities that arise for abuse of property that actually belongs to no-one (or everyone) and the failure to recognise that this actually remains widespread. The remoteness of both space and the oceans increases the likelihood that ethical issues will not only arise but be exacerbated. Whilst this is widely recognised by those with an agenda for the governance of each sector, it remains very difficult to do anything about and the increasingly commercial nature of both the seas and space has made the situation even more difficult. Rather surprisingly, despite its clear interrelationship through such issues as the environment, safety and security, maritime ethics has attracted much less attention than outer space. Examples of key contributions come from Kim et  al. (2020, p.  23) who commented upon the problems which will be increasingly felt as technology in shipping advances. A fine example comes from autonomous shipping where it is clearly difficult to attribute wrong-doing to an algorithm with obvious legal ramifications. These types of ethical issues in the autonomous world have become clearer as the technology improves and applications increase. Meanwhile, Lansing and Petersen (2011, p.  511) provide examples of ethical dilemmas stemming from the activities of modern-day pirates where questions such as should ransoms be paid are clearly difficult to resolve. In the short term it may free a ship and its crew but in the longer term it may encourage further attacks. Corporately it may be

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advantageous to refuse to pay, but from a personal viewpoint this can be very different. From the space viewpoint, first a few preliminaries. NASA provides three basic principles that underly ethical consideration in both outer space and the maritime contexts: • Preservationism. Humans should not exercise their technological capabilities to alter the Earth and, by extension, the cosmos. • Wise stewardship, or utilitarianism. Humans can use, control and change natural systems, but must do so wisely and to maximise long-­ term human benefit. • Intrinsic worth. Human use is not the ultimate value, and living systems have intrinsic worth independent of human utility. All well and good. Peeters (2012, p.  32) relates these principles to Antoine de Saint Exupery’s (1943), The Little Prince. I have a flower, which I water every day. I have three volcanoes, which I clean out every week. I also clean out the one that is extinct. One never knows.

Williamson (2003, p. 48) provides us with a broad definition applicable to both the maritime and outer space governance: ‘the philosophical study of the moral value of human conduct, and of the rules and principles that ought to govern it, and a code of behaviour considered correct, especially that of a particular group, profession or individual’. Both sectors have clear overlapping ethical considerations which makes their comparison, and search for solutions, that much more rewarding. Take, colonialism, the treatment of extra-terrestrials/natives, the environment, climate change, debris/garbage, the exploitation of resources and many more. The parallels are obvious and consequently the inadequacies clearly displayed by the maritime sector provide guidance to be recognised as the exploration and exploitation of outer space accelerates. The consideration and consequential literature on ethics is both historically long and wide in scope, and we shall look only at those issues which directly relate to maritime and outer space and how they

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interrelate. However, that for outer space is, understandably, much smaller although growing at a serious rate. Marshall (1993, p. 227) is one of the earlier commentators to consider the importance of ethics to outer space, placing his discussion into the context of an exploration of Mars. Using this as a foundation for broader ethical consideration he went on: If such a serious commitment to exploring and colonising the solar system is planned without recourse to ethical and environmental considerations then, as Hargrove (1986) states, industrial and commercial projects for space may simply produce a new environmental crisis that dwarfs our current one.

Now this refers to 1986, and the environmental crisis on Earth has certainly not gone away since then and the assumption can be made that any similar crisis in space will also be similarly difficult to control—if not more so. He refers only to an extra-terrestrial environmental ethical crisis, but it is clear that other ethical issues remain unresolved. These principles were reaffirmed by Hempenius and Vofite (1985) who suggested that space exploration carries with it: the danger of domination by extrovert cultures. Proper development of space technology requires international cooperation, scientific creativity and technological innovation combined with socio-political, economic and cultural aims and objectives and ethical values… Norms and objectives have to take into account religious concepts, humanistic viewpoints and sociocultural criteria. The ethics of the conquest of space have to consider the benefit to all mankind and that of each individual, group and society as complementary and of equal importance.

Hagen and Scheffran (1999) suggested a series of ethical principles that should underly all outer space projects: • • • •

Exclude the possibility of severe catastrophe Avoid military use, violent conflict and proliferation Minimise adverse effects on health and environment Assure scientific-technical quality, functionality, reliability

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Solve problems and satisfy needs in a sustainable and timely manner Seek alternatives with best cost-benefit effectiveness Guarantee social compatibility and strengthen cooperation Justify projects in a public debate involving those concerns

They continued by suggesting that even when considering what might be termed ‘purely’ military or scientific space projects, whilst ethical issues might suggest that these are unacceptable, the beneficial health, social and environmental knock-ons must be considered, something Sax (1999) called ‘trans-utilitarian’. They continued by quoting Ruben Apressyan, Professor at the Institute of Philosophy of the Russian Academy of Sciences, at the same conference: Cosmos… meaning the universe as an ordered whole (is) the embodied integrity and it should be retained as a field for activities of people as representatives of the whole humankind under whatever national banners they are engaging into these activities.

Interesting to note from a governance perspective, and applicable to both the maritime and outer space sectors, is the deliberate movement away from a nation-state perspective to one more orientated towards humankind. Fogg (2000, p. 207) opened up the ethical debate even further when considering space settlements. The system under which we now live… is anthropocentrism which has ancient roots in both secular and religious philosophies. Only human beings have rights within anthropocentrism, which holds that the basis of intrinsic value is the individual’s capacity to think rationally and act morally… people should be treated as ends-in-themselves and not as means to an end. People have a right to exist, are entitled to their dignity and freedom from injustice.

Now apply this to maritime and space exploration and exploitation, and to everything from climate change to mineral extraction, from slavery to extra-terrestrial encounters and the scope and complexities of the

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ethical issues become apparent. Fogg went on to add complexity— anthropocentrism is only one view of ethical considerations—he noted the growth of zoocentrism, where the rights of animals should be taken into consideration, which as a minimum, should include those he termed ‘higher’ animals, subject to what Rachels (1990) called a ‘biographical life’. He continued to ecocentrism where all life is assumed to have rights, where humans are not regarded as ‘superior species, but as just one part of this greater whole’ (Fogg, 2000, p. 207). However, he went one stage further proposing the idea of cosmic preservationism, where everything in the cosmos has rights (including rocks) and also the right not to have human values placed upon it and consequently should be preserved from any human interference. Rolston III (1986) backed all this up suggesting that ‘intrinsic value is not imposed by human beings, but merely involve (sic) human recognition of value’. These principles are equally applicable to the maritime and outer space worlds and make innumerable decisions for each both complex and commonly unclear but no less significant. Livingston (2003, p. 93) also proposed an ethical code for what he termed ‘off-Earth commerce’, which was also entirely applicable to maritime exploitation and exploration. • Value the unique nature of outer space (read the oceans and/or overseas territories) and pledge to respect its special qualities at all times. • Agree to develop off-Earth (read ocean and overseas territories) resources in ways that provide maximum benefit to the greatest number of people. • Agree to be responsible and accountable for how we develop and use the resources found off-Earth (read ocean and overseas territories). • Conduct all business dealings with integrity, honesty and fairness. • Strive to promote a positive work environment that supports the spirit of this code. Note the absence of any social considerations and the focus on maximising benefits to the human component. Williamson (2003, p. 47) reflected upon how the space environment was appearing more frequently on policy agendas—and therefore how important it was becoming from a governance perspective—and although

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having a long way to go to catch up with maritime governance, warts and all, and its environmental agenda, it was getting there. He continued to outline both pragmatic and philosophical reasons why an ethical dimension needed to be recognised for the space environment. Pragmatically these are included because it is inherently valuable from a commercial viewpoint but also scientifically, where the benefits may be some time in coming but ultimately can be substantial. Issues stemming from prejudicing future benefits also raised pragmatic concerns. Philosophically, space (and the ocean) represented: freedom, by providing an almost unlimited expanse for mankind to explore, understand, and if he wishes, to conquer. So if, for some reason, a part of that expanse—such as a planetary surface—became inaccessible, a part of that freedom would be lost. Placing a value on footprints and historic sites of exploration is difficult, but if it can be done for the Earth, it can be done for the Moon. (Williamson, 2003, p. 48)

And of course, beyond. Williamson (2003, p. 52) was confident that both pragmatic and philosophical aspects are essential ingredients of governance, and from our perspective clearly need to feature for the maritime sector as well. However, he was also clear that: Discussions of ethical issues arising from space activities can be very broad and far-reaching—in both space and time—but such discussions are little more than a way to pass the time if they remain philosophical and academic.

Meanwhile Lin (2006, p.  282) was convinced that space travel was soon to be not just for the elite with commercial space travel ‘just over the horizon. But lost in all this excitement is a crescendo of ethical dilemmas building up that may hinder our adventures, if not considered early in our journey’. He was worried about the limited consideration being given to responsibilities. He continued pessimistically: One of the first and natural reactions of many is to ask: should we be encouraging private space exploration, given what we have done to our own planet? What is to prevent problems on Earth from following us into

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outer space, if we have not evolved the attitudes, and ethics, which have contributed to these problems? As examples, an over-developed sense of nationalism may again lead to war with other humans in space and ignoring the cumulative effects of small acts may again lead to such things as the over-commercialization of space and space pollution.

Much the same could be said with regard to maritime ethics. He followed this up by providing examples of space debris and safety concerns for space travellers and suggesting that perhaps we should be redirecting our significant investments to solve economic underdevelopment, alleviating poverty and hunger, ensuring clean water and energy for all, and addressing human rights violations. Billings (2006, p. 253) also saw the need for an ethical code for space with particular focus upon the need to protect the environment, and therefore avoid perpetuation of ‘the greed and power models so prevalent today’ (Livingston, 2001, p. 1). Sachdeva (2010, p. 52) offered much more to suggest otherwise: A survey of economic history of the world—slavery, colonialism, capitalism, and labour—is blemished with insatiable greed and exploitation, as well as unfair competition. The economic psyche of humans has always been flawed with self-interest first and foremost. As such human behaviour has not always been just and righteous, nor have human actions exhibited a constant sense of equity, business morality, and social responsibility.

She continued further by considering the future for manufacturing in space: What then, will be the nature of industrial relations between labour and management? Should the safety and welfare of employees gain primacy, rather than profits or capital? (Sachdeva, 2010, p. 50)

Schwartz (2011, 2013, 2014) meanwhile contrasted what he saw as a strong moral justification for space science with the much weaker justification for space development in the form of exploitation and settlement. Space science and the exploration it requires is considered ‘a moral obligation or duty’ (Milligan, 2014, p.  183). Shelhamer (2017, p.  40)

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questioned the moral and ethical justification for sending humans into space at all, especially with the development of increasingly sophisticated robots, although concluding that the benefits still exceeded the costs, particularly expanding the ‘human experience’, a view similarly expressed by Spudis (1992). The importance of space ethics remains a significant debate evidenced by Milligan (2016, 2018), Schwartz and Milligan (2016), Arnould (2020) and Green (2022) amongst others. The relationship between space ethics and policy and governance has been considered only sporadically and in little depth despite its clear relevance exemplified by Lin (2006, p. 285), who outlined the importance of looking at the ‘economic, political and social impact of space exploration and settlements’, whilst Cockell and Horneck (2006, p. 256) considered: the robotic and human exploration of Mars, the Moon and other planetary bodies (which) poses questions about how we should conduct ourselves on these bodies. It is widely accepted that we cannot regard them merely as barren surfaces to treat in any way we choose. Just as on Earth, humans must develop some type of consistent ethic, and thus policy, for their use.

Meanwhile, Galliott (2016) provided a rare in-depth consideration of many of the central policy issues relating to space ethics and even then focussed almost exclusively upon the commercial aspects of space. Apart from this, the discussion of the relationship between policy and ethics in outer space can only be described as thin. The role of institutions in the governance of outer space ethics is exemplified by the activities of the UN which has expressed some clear concern as space exploration and exploitation have grown. Lupisella (1997, p. 92) was a relatively early commentator reflecting on the potential for discovering extra-terrestrial life and how ‘the United Nations could address these issues as they relate to existing and/or new treaties and agreements. If some inclusive approach is not attempted, those who have been excluded might, and perhaps should, prove to be a significant obstacle for future exploration’. Billings (2006, p. 250) noted the role of the UN through COPUOS (Committee on the Use of Outer Space), part of UNOOSA (United

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Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs) and its oversight of the various outer space treaties and in particular the OST (Outer Space Treaty). One of the fundamental principles of the OST was that outer space would not be appropriated by any nation-state and was there for the benefit of all. However, in the early twenty-first century, these principles were increasingly challenged by the USA amongst others placing ethical strains upon the OST and in particular its ambition that outer space was to be explored and developed for all humankind and not solely for the commercial interests of a limited number of nations. This was exemplified by the comments of the US political appointee to NASA, Michael Griffin, that: when human civilization reaches the point where more people are living off Earth than on it ‘we want their culture to be Western’. Western civilization, he asserted, is ‘the best we have seen so far in human history’ and the values spacefaring people should take with them into space should be Western values (Boyd, 2005). (Billings, 2006, p. 250)

Billings also made a number of comments concerning planetary protection and the ethical issues which space exploration raises citing other parts of the OST that refer to avoiding ‘harmful contamination and also adverse changes in the environment of the Earth resulting from extra-­ terrestrial matter’. Lin (2006, p. 287) confirmed much the same reflecting on the failure of the property rights regime which is societally dominant on Earth. Consequently, in an attempt to improve upon their inadequacies, an administrative body is needed for new space territories with jurisdiction powers and an enforcement agency, and even suggesting that new space societies might not want to be Earth’s socio-scientific experiment or newest vacation spot. Why should humans on Mars think of themselves as an extension of any state today, if they can form and defend their own government and start from a clean slate?’ (Lin, 2006, p. 288). Is this not more ethical? Cockell and Horneck (2006, p. 259) meanwhile remained confident in principle to the value of the existing OST, applying its rules relating to the avoidance of contamination to potential ‘planetary parks’. They also suggested that the Moon Treaty could play a similar role in providing an ethical foundation, but as we have seen, the failure of the large majority

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of nations to support this Treaty makes this less viable. Arnould and Debus (2008, p. 1090) affirmed the role of the UN through UNESCO in considering the ethical consequences of space exploration and exploitation (Pompidou, 2000; Tort, 2005), emphasising the importance of the OST as forming the basis. They also noted the work of the UN COSPAR (Committee on Space Research) with its responsibility for defining recommendations in the area of planetary protection. Vidaurri et al. (2020, p. 2) were emphatic that with increasing space exploration activities there was an urgent need for the UN committees with responsibility for ethical standards in space (in particular, UNOOSA and COSPAR) to take a more proactive position and: create and enforce planetary protection standards, cultivate a pathway with delegated authority for crewed and uncrewed space exploration campaigns, including tourism and commercial activities. In addition to setting international norms to be used in space law, all leaders and participants in space exploration must also adopt anti-colonialization standards and protocol in the form of agency-wide guidelines to ensure equal and fair participation in space. Creating the norm of fair and ethical participation in space from the scientist level, as well as the adoption of ethical guidelines on the agency and government level, will allow for purely peaceful scientific purposes for exploration while ensuring minimal contamination.

Vidaurri et  al. (2020, p.  2) felt that the existing institutions were unlikely to be adequate and that new ones would need to be developed aimed at improving international space law and policy. In addition they emphasised the importance of inter-agency cooperation and coordination if ethical standards were to be maintained (Vidaurri et al., 2020, p. 3). Ethical issues also feature prominently in any consideration of outer space and the environment, and whilst the same cannot be said for the maritime sector this is less because they are unimportant, and more a case of maritime’s current lower profile and the effect that long-term familiarity with the ocean’s ethical concerns brings. Many of the issues overlap— pollution, resource usage and depletion, aesthetics and the like—but accommodating the implications for the maritime sector, to a certain extent, has been at least partially achieved, and is actively discussed with

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the problems recognised if not resolved; see, for example, Miller and Kirk (1992) who were early commentators, Lansing and Petersen (2011), who considered the ethical issues when dealing with modern-day pirates, and Kim et al. (2020) who looked at the development of autonomous ships and the problems with associating blame with algorithms. Outer space is different—less understood, more easily dismissed and still seemingly remote as an issue. We shall only briefly consider the issues here for outer space but many of them clearly reflect the maritime context. Marshall (1993, p. 231) was early in emphasising the need to consider environmental ethics in space suggesting that: If such a serious commitment to exploring and colonising the solar system is planned without recourse to ethical and environmental considerations then as Hargrove (1986) states, industrial and commercial projects for space may simply produce a new environmental crisis that dwarfs our current one.

Williamson (2003) continued the theme with a consideration of the relationship between space ethics and protection of the broader space environment and this was followed by Reiman (2009) who questioned whether space was an environment at all and consequently whether there were any ethical considerations necessary. Other wide-ranging discussions included Losch (2016) and the ethics of planetary mining and Beisbart (2019) and the application of sustainability to planetary exploration and exploitation. Losch (2016, p. 260) also looked at the problems raised by the growth of private involvement in space and those generated by individual nation-­ states working outside of global (and consequently wider) institutional governance of outer space. Both issues are central to current maritime governance inadequacies and present similar problems. Private companies are incentivised by profit more than anything else and consequently ethical issues commonly take a back seat. Whilst this is also true at times for state involvement in both maritime and space activities, there remains an ethical dimension that is clear from the policies introduced by the UN, individual nation-states and the European Union, amongst others.

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The recent emergence of national space policies with particular respect to resource exploitation from planets and asteroids raises similar ethical issues which lack global coordination and risk ethical inadequacies as a result. The examples of Luxembourg and the USA we have noted before and may reflect future trends in outer space governance and certainly are reminiscent of past (and to a certain extent existing) maritime governance difficulties including those relating to national appropriation and exploitation of the seabed, the definition of and access to territorial waters and the varied standards applied to marine pollution. Arnould and Debus (2008, pp. 1089–1090) questioned the issue as to whether there should be any consideration of the ethics of planetary protection and which should be considered with a particular emphasis upon biological contamination through human interference. These ‘broader philosophical questions facing human societies’, they saw as ethical in nature and a likely consequence of space exploration including transfer in both directions, from Earth to planets and from planets to Earth. In their view ‘the vast issue of planetary protection must, more than ever, spark an ethical debate’ (Arnould & Debus, 2008, p. 190). Meanwhile Reiman (2009, p.  82) also considered planetary protection but questioned whether a whole new set of ethics would be needed for outer space compared with those which are commonly applied on Earth. One example was in relation to large-scale environmental transformation which generally would be unacceptable on Earth (at least in principle) whatever the environmental characteristics. However, what would be the appropriate ethical standards to apply to an entirely dead asteroid when transformation might permit its use to support life as we know it or to develop new and valuable resources (Losch, 2019, pp.  262–263)? Reiman (2009, p. 86) concluded that the ethical principles to be applied in outer space were not necessarily the same as for Earth but should be based upon high standards of sustainability and sensitivity. All well and good, but then the problems arise of how to design and operationalise a governance framework to achieve this, something as maritime governance has shown, is not easy. Losch (2016, p.  261) introduced the idea of a cultural and social dimension to environmental ethics in space without which there could be ‘important issues of sustainable development that are missed’ (Soini &

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Birkeland, 2014, p. 215). Hawkes (2001) viewed the cultural dimension as an ‘additional pillar’ to sustainability. Losch continued by suggesting sites with a cultural dimension which would contribute to the ethical profile for outer space, which might include the Apollo landing site on the Moon, or Olympus Mons on Mars representing the highest mountain in the solar system. Ethical issues could then be raised if, for example, mining for precious metals was proposed. Reiman (2009, p. 85) had raised issues relating to ethics and the social context for outer space questioning whether it was reasonable to assume that aliens (if they existed) would have ‘inherent virtues’ just because they existed—and consequently what were the ethical considerations concerning communication, abuse and their survival? Reiman (2009, p. 85) was fairly forceful in her views on the relationships between ethics, society and outer space, and based on considerable evidence for maritime exploration and exploitation in the past considered a similar and inevitable process by humans in outer space to be nothing short of a ‘galactic plague’. A staple of science fiction imagery are tales of Earth being attacked by a ruthless spacefaring conqueror species. Noble humans then rise to fight and finally beat the invaders. These latter, technically advanced species trample through the galaxy leaving destruction and death behind. Everyone agrees that it is only good and right to stop such a galactic plague by any means necessary. But if we abandon the idea of space as an environment that we must explore responsibly and view the ethics of space exploration only as a subspecies of the ethics of science, are we not well on our way to becoming a galactic plague ourselves?

Beisbart (2019, p. 2) continued the ethical theme focussing upon the failure of humans to incorporate sustainability into moral thinking more generally. While terms such as ‘rights’, ‘well-being’ and ‘justice’ are key to theorizing within normative ethics, ‘sustainability’ is not… As far as outer space (or planetary) sustainability is concerned, prominent moral theories have the resources to take it into account.

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Returning to outer space, the issue of democracy was raised by Burwell (2019, p.  47) who noted Virgin Galactic’s website (dated 2019) which stated: (t)hose few, fortunate astronauts, cosmonauts, and taikonauts who have flown do not represent the astounding diversity of humanity. Government astronauts have tended to be similar to each other; historically they have very little diversity in terms of age, gender, ethnicity, language, or professional background. If few people have ever met an astronaut, even fewer have met an astronaut to whom they can truly relate, who looks and sounds like they do.

Burwell sees this as suggesting that Virgin offers a ‘Utopian image of space travel as a potential avenue for realizing the kind of multicultural coming together that arguably has eluded the United States’. This democracy continues the themes that dominated the Cold War space race representing the opposition to Communism and the new ‘democratic principle is invoked in relation to the rights of the individual, in particular their right to have access to the personal experiences and profit-­ generating opportunities now opening up through space exploration’, something mirrored in the maritime world. However, efficient and meaningful governance of these processes is something less well-defined. Seguin (2005, pp. 980–982) outlined the relationship between space travel and mental health emphasising the clear psychological dysfunction that can arise during a space mission. The European Space Agency (2001) summarised the issues: ‘All the conditions necessary for murder are met if you shut two men in a cabin measuring 5m by 6m and leave them together for two months’. Despite this, little has been done to address the issues which take two generalised forms: Psycho-physiological stressors including loss of hearing, smell, taste, visual acuity and depth perception, loss of bone density and muscle mass, weightlessness, motion sickness, the fear of depressurization and collision, and the potential for excessive radiation. (Larson & Pranke, 2000)

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Psycho-environmental stressors contributed by spacecraft design. Suedfield and Steel (2000), p. 242) note that whilst most volunteers for thrill-seeking exploits such as space travel want adventure and challenges, they are commonly presented with ‘monotonous, routine, boring tasks in a monotonous, confining environment, cooped up with the same unvarying group, and they cannot get out’.

Much the same could be said of the maritime sector. Seguin (2005, p. 981) goes on: The monotony of such invariant habitats significantly degrades astronauts’ psychological effectiveness in space and can possibly lead to ‘long eye’, where one suffers from memory loss, different identities and performs irrational acts (Suedfield & Steel, 2000, p.  237). Sensory deprivation is so incapacitating and psychologically destructive that it is a recognised method of interrogation and torture. In addition, the sleep and sexual deprivations of extended space habitation cannot help matters (Stuster, 1996, p. 237).

This brings us to a short diversion on aliens bringing together some of the earlier discussion in Chap. 3. This may seem a long way from the maritime environment and things that are wholly characteristic of outer space but in fact there are parallels. The consideration of indigenous populations of many territories discovered and explored through the development of ocean space over many centuries and in particular by the European colonisers was much as we might consider the discovery of alien populations from other planets through a similar process of empire-­ building today. Much has been written about the relationship between colonialism, empire-building and shipping—see, for example, Steinberg (2001, pp. 68–109) as a fine introduction referring in particular to the UK but with lessons from many other countries—and we can use some of the clear patterns of development from the maritime sector to clarify the impact of the exploration of outer space on the resources but especially any alien life that might be found. The literature on planetary colonisation has also grown rapidly in recent years, especially considering that the whole issue remains

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theoretical so far. However, its significance is no less because of this and the impact of human exploration of space and potential relationships with aliens has not been over-stated. Heppenheimer (1977) and Robinson (1986, 2004) are examples of how the issue of colonisation of space has been considered over the years. Meanwhile Lupisella (1997, p. 91) went right to the heart of some of the issues relating to outer space exploration, colonisation and the significance of the discovery of life on other planets referring to the right to colonise and the rights of aliens and using Mars as an example. He put forward both sides of the argument referring to Sagan (1980, p.  130) who suggested that ‘if there is life on Mars, we should do nothing with Mars even if they are only microbes’, whilst Zubrin (1996) was of the opinion that the existence of ‘extra-terrestrial organisms’ should not get in the way of colonising. Golley (1986, p. 225) continued by stressing that the colonisation of Mars (and by implication all other planets) was unavoidable since it was consistent with Western civilisation and would require a ‘fundamental reorientation of our culture’. Redfield (2002, p.  796) provided a clear introduction to the whole issue of outer space and colonies quoting Pecker (1987, p. 3): When discussing the conquest of space, it is automatic to refer to Christopher Columbus.

… whom we all know conducted his exploratory activities by sea (Frank, 2011). Redfield (2002, p. 797) continued by emphasising how European colonial expansion had been such an important metaphor for space exploration with advocates representing what he saw as the ‘last unabashed enthusiasts of imperialism’ and ‘hesitating not a whit before employing the term colony’. He contrasted the advocates’ view of space exploration as characterised by nation-building and risk-taking and not invasion, domination and genocide and even went on to cite two relatively early fictional accounts of space colonisation—Jules Verne’s fantasy of 1865, From the Earth to the Moon and Fritz Lang’s 1929 film Frau im Mond (Woman on the Moon). Verne’s account is clear in its approach to space exploration, and many traits remain to this day:

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Why? exclaimed Michel, jumping a yard high, ‘why? To take possession of the Moon in the name of the United Sates. To add a fortieth state to the Union; to colonize the lunar regions; to cultivate them, to people them, to transport hither all prodigies of art, of science, and industry; to civilize the Selenites, unless they are more civilized than we are; and to constitute them a republic if they are not already one’… ‘The empire of the Moon belongs to us’, said Nicholl. Jules Verne (1958 [1865], pp. 140–142)

Redfield (2002, p.  799) continued to suggest that whatever violent and oppressive form this exploration of outer space and its alien community might take, the ultimate aim of humanity is consistently to settle with all the peaceful implications this implies. However, whether this is supported by the maritime exploits of the previous centuries is open to question. Lin (2006, p. 283) saw clear correspondence between space exploration and colonisation: If we are taking another giant leap into the space frontier, our position is not too different from that of colonialists, as we have the unique opportunity to start a new world, but in doing so, there may be important ethical and social issues we should consider first.

This ethical stance was reiterated by Vidaurri et al. (2020, p. 4) who reflected upon the principles that underlay the design of the Outer Space Treaty (OST) which had a central objective of providing guidance for space exploration and avoiding colonial competition, and: at least for a period of time with which humanity can properly study forward and backward contamination, ensure a majority of the area explored remains for science, and until proper governance and methods of human settlement are discussed and adopted internationally with all global communities that do not explicitly represent the will of one government or community. It is critical that international law adopts a custom of good faith in anti-imperialism, similar to militarization.

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Hickman (2010, p. 65) alluded to Lenin and his suggestion that competition for colonies in general would be a pretext for war and that the ‘Marxist intellectual tradition of treating territorial sovereignty as atavistic continued into the latter half of the 20th century’ and maybe continues today in outer space exploration. Meanwhile Capova (2016, p. 309) referred to Harding’s (1992) reflections on European ‘expansionism’ and suggested that in terms of the new space age was nothing short of colonialism and mirrored the: continuous geographical exploration, such as search for sea routes and passages (which) served not only to satisfaction of curiosity, that is science, but to pursuit of trade and desire for political power, and perhaps to make money from the beginning. (Capova, 2016, p. 309)

Cosgrove (1994) also suggested that outer space was now subject to imperial colonialism signifying ‘the expansion of a specific socio-­economic order across space’, and that outer space had become a new supply of assets and a source of economic power, both of which are the driving forces of recent developments, of neo-colonialism’ (Capova, 2016, p. 309). Klinger (2019a, p. 321) meanwhile reflected that the whole issue of space colonialism had found a sympathetic audience in ‘elite political, scientific and financial circles’ in the form of introducing new private practices in space and channelling large sums of financial support into the new space industry. The relationship between capitalism, colonialism and both maritime and outer space exploration has been well documented and presents some of the more interesting issues for effective governance. Puchala and Hopkins (1981), p. 68) placed it all in the context of regimes outlining one of the most significant periods of colonisation to have been between 1870 and 1914 and founded entirely upon the strength of maritime fleets. Prime examples came from England, France, Germany, Italy and lesser so the Netherlands, Belgium, Spain, Portugal and Russia. They continued by describing the distinctive patterns of this maritime-­ dominated colonial period:

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Flows of trade and money were typically ‘imperial’ in the sense implied by Hobson or Lenin; extracted raw materials flowed from colonies to metropoles, light manufactures flowed back, investment capital flowed outward from European centres, and profits and returns flowed back. Elites also flowed outward as administrators, soldiers, entrepreneurs and missionaries. They went abroad to rule new lands, make new fortunes and win converts to their political, economic or religious causes.

Much the same can be said now for outer space. DeFilippis and Smith (1997, p. 505) placed the whole issue of colonisation and space exploration into a different context reflecting upon the relationship between the reversion of Hong Kong to Chinese rule and the NASA Pathfinder expeditor to Mars both of which took place in early 1997. They suggested that both events were notable by their colonial implications despite the times being supposedly ‘postcolonial’ although the colonisation of Mars was expressed in what they saw as ‘a kindlier, gentler colonialism… lubricated into the public imagination via science with steady revelations about the geological makeup of the planet of dreams’ (DeFilippis & Smith, 1997, p. 506). Mars was actually, underneath the spin, seen as ‘wasted territory’ and therefore ‘begging for capitalization’ (DeFilippis & Smith, 1997, p.  507). They continued pointedly: On-Earth, reservoirs of potential accumulation such as Eastern Europe do not appear every day, and other spaces that are largely empty to capital (such as most of sub-Saharan Africa) are filled with local people who have a habit of wanting to control their own futures. But Mars is different: neither competitors nor capital have yet sullied the place. We can surely anticipate that the emptiness of Mars will quickly be filled not just with a frantic commodification already deftly presaged by the Pathfinder extravaganza, but with pieties about classless and raceless frontiers where true earthly aspirations can blossom. The capitalization of Mars will be accompanied by some of the most gushing humanism because the planet’s supposed emptiness offers no resistance.

They question how long it will be before ‘the realities of capital accumulation will take to defeat the on-earth platitudes born of Martian

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emptiness’. Suggesting the inevitability of global corporations hatching plans for Mars they remind us that: In the first days of the Pathfinder landing McDonalds began running radio advertisements about the wonder of Mars: since the planet has 637 days in the Martian year, the ad argues, there are 637 days a year to eat Big Macs: ‘Let’s colonize! Let’s franchise! Let’s eat McDonalds!’

Or as Herman (1999, p. 80) put it, albeit in reference to place naming in Hawaii but with clear parallels for the exploration and exploitation of outer space: Western man, at the pinnacle of this (civilized) hierarchy, embarks on a cultural colonization in which the existing mode of representing space is replaced by that of the colonizer and adapted to the needs of the new economic, political and social order.

The Pathfinder expedition also generated considerable excitement in the media. Dittmer (2007, p.  126) outlined the important role it had assumed in US TV and radio, commonly making reference to famous historical explorers with close ties to colonialism. He cited Moore (1997): ‘It’s a little bit like the great explorers, Magellan, Vasco da Gama, Columbus, going to search for new worlds’. Other examples from TV were more aggressive if less overtly colonial and included: This independence day, it’s the US that invades another planet—Mars. (ABC, 1997) Never forget, America’s a nation of explorers. I believe that we have exploration written into our genetic code in America. The boundary now is on Mars and the Moon and other planets. (NBC, 1997) Exploration is the lifeblood of our civilization. Our civilization is like any living thing. There’s a birth period, a growth period, and… a death period There’s no better example that we are in the living, thriving phase of our civilization’s life than the fact that we are exploring and expanding our boundaries. (CNN, 1997)

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And one more quote from Dittmer (2007, p. 125) which although to a certain extent irrelevant, just could not be left out: With each new colour photograph from Mars Pathfinder, scientists are recognizing the awesome magnitude of a deluge that swept over much of the red planet billions of years ago, a catastrophe that perhaps only Noah could appreciate. (Wilford, 1997)

Well. Enough said. Arrighi (2004, p. 531) outlined ‘accumulation by dispossession’, effectively what would happen as planetary exploration would result in acquisition of space territory, a process of colonisation through creating exclusive property rights and the ‘suppression of alternatives to the capitalist use of human and natural resources’. Harrison (2013, p. 34) meanwhile emphasised the significance of the idea of colonisation of space, bringing us back to the close relationship with maritime space: When President John F. Kennedy, a former military boat captain and avid recreational sailor, committed the United States to the Moon landing program in 1961, he drew an analogy between sailors in the Age of Exploration setting forth in ships to find new lands and astronauts setting forth in spacecraft to explore heavens.

Cervera (2016, pp.  266–268) also emphasised the colonial role of outer space exploration but took an unusual approach through performance art, referring to a play by Mexican Albert Villareal (Deserto Bajo la Escenografia Lunar) which depicts the first extraplanetary human settlement and suggests the colonial benefits that have been realised. He goes on to outline other projects such as MarsOne, which was a corporate enterprise aiming to put the first human crew on Mars by 2026, with the explicit aim of territorialising Mars for the ‘benefit of terrestrial enterprise’, the colonisers selected by reality TV and destined to remain on Mars for the rest of their lives (Do et al., 2014, 2016). By 2016, those interested had been through three elimination rounds and yet there were

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still 100 finalists. By 2021 the project was declared bankrupt, however its mere conception is both highly postmodern and overtly colonial. And so once again to aliens. We will not spend much time here because much has been considered earlier along with colonisation, although the literature and debate that surrounds the impact and implications of ever finding life on another planet is immense. The task is merely to remind ourselves how both the maritime and outer space sectors deal with the potential for discovering alien life of all forms and how these considerations and their characteristics reflect the same ideals and ambitions. It may sound odd to suggest that the maritime sector would ever come across aliens but there is considerable evidence that explorers over many centuries considered native tribes as the equivalent of alternative life forms and whilst this is certainly not the situation today and a result largely of ignorance, it was a central theme. The slave trade dominated throughout the British Empire and was sustained by British flagged shipping which considered its cargo effectively as an alien species. At the same time the potential of discovering aliens in space, whilst difficult to measure or even estimate, has been in a strange way considerably larger, albeit it remains possible that there are no life forms to discover elsewhere. This has not reduced the level of discussion which the possibility of outer space aliens has generated and the importance of considering the issue now was emphasised by Callicott (1990, p. 245): Who knows, somewhere in the solar system, we might just find some extra-­ terrestrial life. In case we do, it would be better for us, wouldn’t it, to be morally prepared for our first close encounter with extra-terrestrial life than to shoot first and ask questions after?

It is notable that these issues are commonly in principle at least and with a little adaptation, transferable to the maritime sector. We noted earlier in considering colonisation of space, Lupisella’s (1997, p. 91) in-­ depth consideration of the rights of Martians examines the position they would hold in our ethical and political framework. His view on this life if found on Mars or elsewhere was clear:

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a fundamentally different kind of life found elsewhere would be a treasure beyond measure—a unique jewel of the rarest sort—and its extinction, caused either intentionally or otherwise, would be a crime of cosmic proportion. (Lupisella, 1997, p. 94)

This fundamental concern was a foundation of the Outer Space Treaty adopted by the UN in December 1966. Arnould and Debus (2008, p. 1090) quote an Article which exemplifies the global position on the treatment of aliens and which forms a basis of their proposals for governance: States, Parties to the Treaty shall pursue studies of outer space, including the Moon and other celestial bodies, and conduct exploration of them so as to avoid their harmful contamination and also adverse changes in the environment of the Earth resulting from the introduction of extra-­terrestrial matter and, where necessary, shall adopt appropriate measures for this purpose. (Outer Space Treaty, Article IX)

Meanwhile, they also quote COSPAR (UN Committee on Space Research): Although the existence of life elsewhere in the Solar System may be unlikely, the conduct of scientific investigations of possible extra-terrestrial lifeforms, precursors and remnants must not be jeopardised. Moreover the Earth must be protected from the potential hazard posed by extra-­terrestrial matter carried by a spacecraft returning from another planet. (COSPAR, 2002)

Some agreement on the same principles, however unlikely, might have been helpful during the times of serious maritime exploration. It is notable as well how the well-being of extra-terrestrial life is also placed in the same context as protecting Earth and humans from contamination from that same life. Rather less altruistic than pragmatic. Persson (2014, p. 225) meanwhile outlined why it was important to establish for certain whether a planet was uninhabited or not before exploration took place, as the existence of extra-terrestrial life would ‘severely complicate the project and might even put an end to the

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exploitation plans’ because of the extensive ethical implications. How seriously some of these issues are taken is shown by the fact that all spacecraft travelling to Mars are thoroughly sterilised to protect any life that does exist there from contamination from Earth even at the level of microbe (Nicholson et al., 2009). Commercial issues also feature in our consideration of ethics, governance and the outer space and maritime sectors, with the former generating most of the interesting debate. Marshall (1993, p. 228) was an early commentator with an extra-terrestrial perspective who provided a useful link with the discussion on the rights of alien life but in a commercial context. He introduced the concepts of ‘libertarian extension’ and ‘ecologic extension’ to show how the exploration of other planets (and incidentally how this occurred for terrestrial exploration) had become increasingly sensitive to the rights of life beyond humans (Tables 7.4 and 7.5). Libertarian extension rights go beyond those of animals to all ‘organisational entities’. Ecologic extension reflects how ‘all the components of a living ecosystem, along with the abiotic components, are interrelated and dependent on the well-being of one another’. Whilst the accuracy of some of the dates might be questionable, the general trend towards a more severe regime for the rights of extra-­ terrestrial life is clear and will present increasing difficulties for outer space governance. Table 7.4  Libertarian extension Abiotic rights

?

Microbe rights Plant rights Animal rights Rights of ethnic minorities Women’s voting rights Abolition of slavery Independence of colonies Enlightenment; egalitarianism Classical democracy

? 1960s–? 1970s–1990s 1950s–1990s 1890s–1920s 1700s–1800s 1700s–1800s 1700s Fifth century BC

Source: Marshall (1993, p. 228) adapted from Nash (1989)

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Table 7.5  Ecologic extension

Abiotic objects Microbes Plants Animals Humans Source: Marshall (1993, p. 228)

Marshall went on to suggest that the Libertarian ethic will present increasingly complex predicaments for space exploration and exploitation, especially in a commercial context: A libertarian may feel the need to halt space exploration for the fear that it may kill a living organism… However, libertarians may not wish to violate the right of terrestrial organisms to explore. It can be argued, though, that since it is the aim of libertarian extension to give equal rights to all organisms regardless to which species they belong, a microbe has the right to live on its own land free from invasion and domination by others—a right asserted by human beings on their own behalf. (Marshall, 1993, p. 233)

Billings (2006, p. 250) meanwhile introduced a political dimension to this debate about the ethical exploitation of outer space and its governance, quoting one space development advocate who suggested that ‘one of the major roadblocks to space development is the lack of off-planet property rights, and the socialist mindset engendered by the 1967 Outer Space Treaty’ (Simberg, 2004). And another who in the context of the Pilgrims that emigrated from England to the now USA who ‘had something that modern space enthusiasts don’t—they were pretty sure that once they got here, they could claim land without government interference’ (Reynolds, 2004). Marsh (2006, p. 1823), considering the development of space tourism, warned that ethical issues are always significant in any new ‘ground-­ breaking’ business of which outer space is a classic example characterised by sizeable grey areas ‘separating the minimum required by law and what is ethically responsible’. Around the same time, Sachdeva (2010, p. 50) was sceptical about the mix of ethics and commercialism in space; ‘whilst commerce has increased exponentially on the Earth, it has caused no

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appreciable amelioration in the welfare of humanity. Neither have humans attained any greater peace of mind or degree of happiness, nor have their sense of satiation for wealth been doused’. Much the same should be expected in outer space. Johnson (2016, p.  255) was much more positive but in terms of the public good that was expected to arise from the exploration and exploitation of outer space, for example, delivering pedagogic and educational benefits. Others included disaster prevention and relief and the promotion of international cooperation rather than competition (Hempenius & Vofite, 1985). They felt that these benefits do not rely upon commercialisation of space bringing ethical qualities to the sector, although more recent private space activities may place doubt against this assumption. Meanwhile, Robinson (1986, p. 2) suggested that commercialism and outer space would always face ethical problems of governance as there are no human rights in space. ‘Presently the emerging space societies are significantly devoid of governance principles that assure our envoys of humankind that are living and working in space will carry with them such individual and societal values as freedom of speech, peaceable assembly, and then right to petition governments for redress of grievances’. And finally in terms of ethics, governance and space, we come back to God. Lin (2006, p. 291) was clear: without invoking God or some metaphysical right, it is very difficult to explain why human interests are more valuable than non-human interests, making our space quest seem much less noble and much more selfish.

Losch (2016, p. 409), supported by Lin (2006, p. 291), and before going on to suggest that much more needs to be done in this area, left us with a number of questions that remain unanswered: • What is life? • Which value does human life possess in cosmic dimensions? • Where does the ‘ought’ come from in space exploration? All along the emphasis in the discussion has been how to widen the scope of how governance is considered in all sectors and more specifically

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that of maritime and outer space. Roe (2012, 2016, 2020) has repeatedly reminded readers of the need for a wider appreciation of context and suggested that maritime governance remains obsessed by ownership and constrained to a limited range of influences in particular the role of the state, the dominance of vessel and port/terminal owners, the over-­ importance of a limited range of stakeholders, a similar over-emphasis on the institutions that dominate governance and a failure to accommodate flow and process. The close relationship of outer space to maritime governance which we have explored over the earlier chapters suggests that this might be repeated in the outer space sector as it grows. As a result it is pertinent to attempt to place the issues of governance, outer space and the maritime sector into a broader cultural context and to address issues from art, architecture and music. We only see what we look at. To look is an act of choice… We never look at just one thing; we are always looking at the relation between things and ourselves. (John Berger, Ways of Seeing, 1972, pp. 8–9)

We introduced artistic notions and their relationship to governance in Chap. 1 touching upon ballet and sculpture in particular in the context of constructivism. There are a number of contributors who have stressed the significance of culture to outer space, its development and ultimately its governance, albeit commonly indirectly. Steinberg (2001, p.  32) referred to the representation of ocean space through ‘literary creations, visual images, and other media’, and ‘in art, law, cartography, literature, public policy and advertising’. Cervera (2016, p. 259), for example, suggested that ‘new scholarship is addressing the societal, political and cultural impacts of the current orientation towards space, its histories and probable futures’. Meanwhile Cockell (2015, p. 6) considered the relationship of science, art and liberty and how these interlinked through the adoption of frameworks of governance: an undeniable link exists between liberty and science (Ferris, 2010). Scientific culture depends absolutely on a culture that allows freedom of thought, and in the long-term this is linked to systems of political institutions that do not coerce and manipulate scientists and the scientific

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e­nvironment. To a great extent, an open society is also dependent on a successful and productive environment of free scientific thought, which is part of the wider health of open, expansive intellectual enquiry.

He went on to refer to James Schwartz who assessed how science should be supported to sustain free thinking extra-terrestrially and how the technical complexity of extra-terrestrial life might encourage technocratic control and the denial of liberty. Art in all its forms has the ability to ameliorate these potential problems. Beattie (2014) suggested that artistic practices could be used positively to advance personal development, freedom of expression and social interaction. Each of these is under great stress in an extra-terrestrial environment, whether on another planet or within a highly constrained space-ship where open and free expression should be used as an instrument for good governance and be incorporated into the political instruments of the settlement (Cockell, 2015, p. 7). Raitt (2007, p.  49), for example, suggested that art was a source of information for the public about outer space, making it eminently more accessible: Art about space has not only been an integral part of space exploration since its beginnings, it has also played a vital role in its development as well. Visual artists and writers have created fictional images and scenarios on the development and evolution of space flight and such visions are one of the primary ways that the general public has been introduced to the ideas about space exploration. Artists and writers, in fact, have laid and are still laying the foundations which will make the future space activities understandable by the general public and thus help secure the necessary political support.

Consequently, art has a significant role to play in the governance of outer space, something that Raitt (2005) noted and went on in 2007 to emphasise through a series of examples such as the ceramic tile decorated by Andy Warhol carried by Apollo 12 in 1969, the collection of four oil paintings sent into space from the Space Shuttle Columbia in 1986, and a figurine by Belgian artist Paul van Hoeydonk which was carried by Apollo 15 in 1971 and left on the Moon.

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Arnould (2009, p. 714) questioned why art should be concerned with space and vice versa: Art is born out of a fascination for the elusive, a rejection of everything derivative, and humans’ desire to grasp the forms of this world and bring them under control. (Andre Malraux, 1951)

He noted how the cosmos had always been a fascination for artists because of its claims to originality and risk. The sky ‘symbolizes’ transcendence, strength and timelessness. It exists because it is of a higher order, infinite, immutable, powerful. (Mircea Eliade, 1959)

Consequently providing inspiration, and reflecting its distant origins, ‘the limits of art are never reached’ (Comte, 2003, derived from Ptahhotep, The Maxims, 25 BC). Arnould (2009, p. 717) also noted parallels with the sea and how art provided a stimulus for governance of the oceans with examples from France and the origins of an official Navy Artist in the sixteenth century including painter, sculptor, engraver, illustrator and even extended today to photographer. However, we can look much further and although it is impossible, and probably unnecessary, to try to provide an extensive catalogue of every artistic genre and its relationship to the maritime or outer space sectors, we can make some suggestions which the keen reader might like to follow up. Tables 7.6 and 7.7, for example, indicate a range of music that is relevant to each sector. Clearly not exhaustive, however, the range is notable and its cultural significance, and hence its relationship, even to governance, if undoubtedly indirect, is undeniable. The relationship between governance and maritime painting was explored by Roe (2012, pp. 380–381, 2016, p. 82, 2020, pp. 4–5, 45, 47–49, 53–55, 324–325). Further examples of maritime painting (Figs.  7.2, 7.3, 7.4, 7.5, and 7.6) and then extended to outer space (Figs. 7.7, 7.8, 7.9, 7.10, and 7.11) are here. Don’t be deceived, there are

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Table 7.6  Some examples of maritime music Title

Artist/composer

Year

The Ocean Yellow Submarine How Deep Is the Ocean? Surfin’ USA Ocean Eyes Octopus Garden Sitting on the Dock of the Bay Oceans Sailing La Mer A Sea Symphony Sea Pictures La Mer The Hebrides. Fingal’s Cave Overture to the Flying Dutchman Un Barque sur L’Ocean Four Sea Interludes

Lou Reed The Beatles Frank Sinatra Beach Boys Billie Eilish The Beatles Otis Redding Pearl Jam Rod Stewart Charles Trenet Ralph Vaughan Williams Edward Elgar Claude Debussy Felix Mendelssohn Richard Wagner Maurice Ravel Benjamin Britten

1969 1966 1946 1963 2016 1969 1968 1991 1975 1946 1903–09 1894 1905 1832 1843 1905 1945

Source: Author

very many more that could be cited but these again give some idea of the diversity and relevance to the issues of governance (Figs. 7.10 and 7.11). We are not alone in considering the relationship between art and governance. Outer space, in particular, provides some interesting examples, and the range of cultural diversity that has influence on governance in that sector is far-reaching. Music and painting are clearly vital but there is also sculpture considered through the examples of Gabo and Tatlin in Chap. 1, and architecture, where to take just one sector there are innumerable examples of the intersection of churches and outer space (see Table 7.6 for a selection of sites). H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds (1898) and The First Man on the Moon (1901), along with Hergés’ Tintin and Destination Moon (1953), provide a limited introduction to the sizeable, established literature that exists referring to outer space. Meanwhile Baxter (2015) assessed the role of science fiction literature with reference to the development of a lunar base, and Raitt (2007, p. 51) introduced the role of literature competitions centred upon the cosmos noting the 2003 and 2007 Clarke-Bradbury Science Fiction Competitions, the latter attracting 109 story entries from 29 different countries.

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Table 7.7  Some examples of outer space music Title

Artist/composer

Year

Space Oddity Life on Mars Walking on the Moon A Spaceman Came Travelling Spaceman The Race of Space Girl From Mars Dark Side of the Moon Out of Space Space Cowboy We Are All Made of Stars Rocket Man Stars Across the Universe Telstar I’m The Urban Space Man The Planets Andromeda There’s a Star for Everyone Bad Moon Rising

David Bowie David Bowie The Police Chris de Burgh Babylon Zoo Public Service Broadcasting Ash Pink Floyd Prodigy Steve Miller Band Moby Elton John Roxette The Beatles The Tornados Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band Gustav Holst Paul Weller Aretha Franklin Creedence Clearwater Revival The Byrds Britney Spears Frank Sinatra Deep Purple Europe The Killers Richard Strauss Joseph Haydn

1969 1971 1979 1976 1996 2015 1996 1973 1992 1969 2002 1972 1999 1969 1962 1968 1914–17 2008 1981 1969

Mr Spaceman Alien Fly Me To the Moon Space Truckin’ The Final Countdown Spaceman Also Sprach Zarathustra Il mondo della luna (The World on the Moon)

1966 2013 1954 1972 1986 2008 1896 1750

Source: Author

Architecture also features examples of the relationship between the maritime and outer spaces. Roe considered a number of maritime cases including those particularly relating to modernism and postmodernism (Roe, 2012, pp.  273–274, 368, 2016, p.  239, 2020, pp.  326–327). Monuments to outer space achievements are at times spectacular and perhaps obviously concentrated in the Former USSR and the USA. These include The Monument to the Conquerors of Outer Space in Moscow,

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Fig. 7.2  The Fighting Temeraire, tugged to her last berth to be broken up, JMW Turner, 1838, National Gallery, London

The Monument to Yuri Gagarin also in Moscow and The Space Mirror Memorial in Florida. In addition, some of the finest examples of the relationship between outer space and architecture can be found in religious buildings across the world (Table 7.8) and exemplified perhaps best of all by Hallgrimskirkja in Reykjavik in Iceland. And of course there is cinema—and how could we leave out Stanley Kubrick’s (1968) 2001: A Space Odyssey; Paul Verhoeven’s (1990) Total Recall, Antony Hoffman’s (2000) Red Planet, Steven Spielberg’s (1977) Close Encounters of the Third Kind and (1982) E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial, Andrei Tarkovsky’s (1972) Solaris, Andrew Stanton’s (2008) WALL-E, George Lucas’s (various years) Star Wars, Afonson Guaron’s (2013) Gravity and Ridley Scott’s (1979) Alien. Which leaves us where? Well the value in looking at the maritime and outer space contexts for governance is clear. There are many and overlaps

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Fig. 7.3  A First Rate Man-of-War Driven Onto a Reef of Rocks, Floundering in a Gale, George Philip Reinagle, 1836, Royal Albert Memorial Museum, Exeter, UK

but perhaps the most significant conclusion to reach is that there remain so many problems; so many inadequacies in the way that each is designed and operationalised, and that these issues are largely ignored. The failures of the maritime sector should be a stimulus to those responsible for outer space governance to look at these inadequacies and to learn how a new approach could resolve some, but there is little if any evidence of this occurring. The classic problem issues of the maritime sector—nation-­ state domination, institutional constipation, owner bias, and general stagnation and inflexibility are all there to see in outer space. The central issues of the design of the policy-making institutions in both sectors and the bloated role of the nation-state coupled with the undoubtedly

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Fig. 7.4  Red Boats, Argenteuil, Claude Monet, 1875, Fogg Art Museum, Harvard University, USA

complex characteristics of trying to deal with commons of any sort where artificial boundaries have been placed around uncontrollable media (the sea and space) make governance what it is—all-embracing, complex, ever-changing and vital. Perhaps Mishima sums it up: For Ryan the kiss was death, the very death in love he always dreamed of. The softness of her lips, her mouth so crimson in the darkness he could see it with closed eyes, so infinitely moist, a tepid coral sea, her restless tongue quivering like sea grass. In the dark rapture of all this was something directly linked to death. He was perfectly aware that he would leave her in a day, yet he was ready to die happily for her sake. Death roused inside him, stirred. (Yukio Mishima, The Sailor Who Fell from Grace with the Sea, 1999, p. 55)

To be continued…

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Fig. 7.5  Breezing Up (A Fair Wind), Winslow Homer, 1873–1876, National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC

Fig. 7.6  The Raft of the Medusa, Theodore Géricault, 1818–1819, Louvre, Paris

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Fig. 7.7  The Starry Night, Van Gogh, 1889. Museum of Modern Art, New York

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Fig. 7.8  Moonlight. Wood Island Light, Homer, 1874. Museum of Modern Art, New York

Fig. 7.9  The Meteor of 1860, Church, 1860. Private Collection

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Fig. 7.10  Nocturne in Black and Gold—The Falling Rocket, Whistler, c1875. Detroit Institute of Arts

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Fig. 7.11  Star of Bethlehem, Burne-Jones, 1890. Birmingham Museum and Art Gallery, UK Table 7.8  Examples of outer space religious buildings Country

City

Church

Feature

Brazil USA UK UK USA Italy Romania Iceland Romania USA UK USA Poland USA UK USA USA USA UK

Maringa Washington, DC Hatfield, Yorkshire London Doylestown, PA Rome Giurgiu Reykjavik Suceava Racine, WI Annahilt East Lansing, MI Nova Huta Dayton, OH York Washington, DC Los Angeles, CA Phoenix Airport Christchurch

Cathedral of Maringa Washington National Cathedral St Lawrence St Paul’s Our Lady of Czestochowa St Peter’s Draganescu Church Hallgrimskirkja Mother of God Mt Pleasant Lutheran Church of the Ascension St Thomas Aquinas Mother of God St George’s Minster Chapel of the Pentagon St Mary’s Episcopal All Faiths’ Chapel Priory

Architecture Window Window Wood panel Facade Door Fresco Tower Tower Architecture Window Window Tabernacle Window Stone boss Panels Window Window Hassocks

Source: Author

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Index

A

Abstract space, 105, 109 Actors, 178, 184, 187, 192–194, 206, 209, 211–216, 222 Adaptive governance, 264 Adult infantile narcissism, 113 Agencies, 31, 35, 39, 40, 45, 65, 67, 68, 80 Alien, 406, 408–410, 415–417 Amazon, 293, 311 Anarchy, 176, 218, 380 Antarctic, 314 Antarctica, 36, 81, 82, 241, 242, 254, 277 Anticommons, 238 Apollo, 107, 116, 119, 122, 123, 130, 135–138, 160, 363, 406 Apple, 311 Architecture, 102, 120, 420, 423–425

Arctic, 247, 259, 265, 275 Aristotle, 241 Art, 105, 116, 121, 125, 141, 365, 367, 374, 410, 414, 420–423 Artemis Accords, 347 Asian Space Organisation (ASO), 44, 45 Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), 37, 43–46 Asteroid, 307, 320, 322–324 Astrogeography, 392 Astronaut, 368, 377, 407, 408, 414 Astronomy, 120, 144 Astropolitics, 377, 390–394 Atmosphere, 36, 82, 241, 243, 245, 250, 254, 256, 260, 262, 266, 271, 277 Atomism, 133 Australia, 43 Autonomous shipping, 394

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2023 M. Roe, Governance of the Global and Extra-Terrestrial Commons, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-31613-5

447

448 Index B

Ballast water, 245 Ballet, 420 Ballets Russe, 2, 17, 18 Bible, 120, 122, 129, 132, 138, 152 Black Sea, 371 Blockchains, 320–322 Border(s), 114, 189, 247, 258, 261, 268 Bosporus, 371 Boundaries, 177, 193, 194, 203, 206, 219, 247, 251, 253, 257–263, 267, 274, 276, 277, 380, 413, 427 Brazil, 43, 46, 63, 78 British Aerospace, 305 British Airways, 305 British Ports Authority, 305 Bulk carriers, 38 Burial, 159 C

Canada, 43, 72, 259 Capital, 182, 207–209, 291–297, 302–304, 307, 312, 315, 344 Capitalism, 292–295, 299–303, 313, 314, 346, 369, 370, 400, 411 Capitalist, 105, 109, 171, 181, 187, 209, 216, 217, 292, 293, 295–299, 302, 304, 305, 329, 345, 346 Cargo preference, 275 Catholic, 136, 150, 160 China, 27, 43, 52, 63, 64, 77, 78, 246, 271 Cinema, 425 Circuits of capital, 293, 296 Classification societies, 175

Climate, 24, 27, 81 Climate change, 184, 222, 241 Codes, 102, 103 Cold War, 128, 131, 135, 139, 140, 190, 217, 222, 379, 407 Collision, 65 Colonial, 303, 346, 348 Colonies, 296, 302, 331 Colonisation, 196, 367, 384, 393, 408–412, 414, 415 Commercial, 102, 104, 108, 109, 363, 378, 391, 394, 396, 399, 401–404, 417, 418 Commercialisation, 386, 393, 419 Committee on Space Research (COSPAR), 35, 403, 416 Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (COPUOS), 29, 33–36, 46, 65, 66, 216, 246, 254, 256, 257, 265, 266, 275, 363, 368, 401 Commodification, 312, 314, 315, 317–320, 322, 335, 342–345 Commodify, 181, 209 Commodities, 292, 294, 295, 297–299, 302, 309, 314 Common heritage, 242, 243, 268 Common pool resource, 192, 208, 220 Commons, 24, 26–28, 36, 51, 52, 65, 81–84, 101, 104, 113–115, 171, 176, 180, 181, 191, 202, 203, 205–209, 212, 217, 218, 220, 221, 223, 237–277, 292, 301, 303, 314, 316, 320–322, 327, 332, 334, 335, 341, 343, 345, 362, 377, 380, 381, 387, 389, 393, 394, 427

 Index 

Communications, 184, 204, 209, 213 Communist, 7, 112, 128, 129, 140, 141, 368 Communist Manifesto, 298, 299 Competition, 37, 38, 42, 44, 50, 66, 67, 70, 80 Constructivism, 2–20, 420 Contradiction, 301–303, 346 Coordination, 31, 32, 38, 41, 42, 44, 50, 72, 81 Copernicus, 115, 126, 153 Cosmic, 240 Cosmism, 135, 140, 142, 143 Cosmobiopolitics, 207 Cosmonaut, 118, 129, 141, 142, 145, 157–159 Cosmopolitan, 174 Cosmos, 108, 109, 111–115, 118, 125, 129, 131, 156 Creationism, 133 Cubism, 3, 11, 12 Culture, 118, 139, 294, 329, 346, 369, 373, 379, 386, 396, 402, 409, 420 D

Debris, 241, 243, 245, 249, 270, 395, 400 Deep seabed, 242, 268 Defence, 41, 45, 51, 52, 66, 103, 148, 308, 328, 329 Democracy, 407 Deregulation, 50 Dessau, 10 Developing countries, 324, 334 Diaghilev, Sergei, 1–20 Disaster relief, 51 Disease, 327

449

E

Eastern Europe, 412 Economic growth, 103 Efficiency, 27, 29, 49–51, 76 Empire, 376, 383, 385, 388, 408, 410, 415 Employment, 44 Enclosure, 237, 244, 254, 256 Energy, 184 Engels, F., 141, 298, 299 Environment, 25, 27, 31–33, 36, 37, 45, 68–70, 74–77, 81, 240, 241, 247–249, 266, 273, 275, 277, 366, 371, 372, 377, 379, 381, 383, 386, 391, 392, 394–396, 398–400, 402–404, 406, 408, 416, 421 Ethics, 104, 108, 109, 111, 211, 333, 366, 394–396, 400, 401, 404–406, 417–419 European Commission (EC), 39, 45, 68 European Space Agency (ESA), 39–42, 45, 190, 191, 193, 196, 204, 214, 215, 407 European Union (EU), 27, 29, 30, 37–43, 46, 49, 52, 65–68, 71, 252, 276, 277, 362, 363, 404 Exploitation, 239–245, 247, 249, 251, 260, 263, 264, 269, 364, 365, 371, 372, 376, 377, 390, 392, 395, 397, 398, 400, 401, 403–406, 413, 417–419 Exploration, 293, 294, 305, 308, 309, 315–318, 320–322, 326, 327, 332, 333, 338, 345, 347, 363–368, 370, 371, 376, 379, 393, 395–414, 416–419, 421

450 Index

Extra-terrestrial (ET), 101, 116, 127, 143, 147, 149–155, 181, 205, 240, 246, 273, 368, 372, 385, 395, 396, 401, 402, 409, 415–417, 421 F

Failure, 172, 176–178, 189, 194, 215, 219, 220 Far East, 301 Ferries, 38 Fishing, 243, 249, 371 Flags, 38, 51, 69–73, 76, 77, 175, 187 Floating cities, 254, 267, 268 Flow, 28, 29, 412, 420 Forum-shopping, 274 Fossil fuels, 249 Framing, 378 Framing theory, 275 Free-ride, 245, 251 Freedom of the sea(s), 181, 195, 197, 201, 203, 207, 260 Futurism, 3, 7, 12

Globalisation, 28–30, 70, 75, 78, 79, 81, 293, 295, 296, 298–301, 304, 313, 317, 319, 332, 346, 370, 371, 383, 385, 386, 389, 393 God, 101, 106, 108, 117–120, 122, 123, 126–137, 141, 142, 144, 148–152, 154–160, 367–369, 385, 419 Governance, 23–84, 100–109, 113–116, 120, 121, 131, 135, 137, 139, 143, 146, 148, 150, 152–155, 160, 161, 171–223, 238, 239, 241–248, 250–277, 292, 293, 296–300, 304, 310, 311, 317–322, 324, 327, 330–336, 340–343, 345–348, 362–365, 367, 370–373, 375, 376, 380–386, 392, 394, 395, 397–399, 401, 404, 405, 407, 410, 411, 416–423, 425–427 Greenhouse gas, 275 Grotius, H., 181, 195, 260, 271 G7, 178 H

G

Gagarin, Yuri, 128, 157, 158 Galileo Galilei, 115, 126, 153, 156 Garbage, 38 Geopolitics, 26, 180, 384, 385, 388, 390–392, 394 Geostationary, 240, 243, 274, 304, 315, 316, 345 Ginzburg, Moisei, 2, 9 Global governance, 175, 177, 178, 193, 209, 210, 219, 222

Hard law, 182 Heaven, 368–370, 385, 414 Hegel, G.W., 299, 302 Hegemony, 191, 220 High seas, 36, 37, 51, 82, 83, 102, 105, 114, 240, 241, 243, 269, 270 Hijacking, 267 Hilton Hotel, 337, 344 Historical materialism, 292 Hitler, Adolf, 119

 Index  I

Identity fraud, 267 Imperialism, 302, 346 Impressionism, 3 India, 43, 63, 78, 213 Individualism, 369, 371 Infantile narcissism, 371 Infrastructure, 43, 64, 69 Inner dialect, 302 Institution, 24, 25, 30, 32, 36, 41, 42, 47, 80, 81, 176–178, 185, 192–195, 204, 214, 216, 219, 221, 393, 401, 403, 420, 426 Institutional architecture, 177 Instruments, 63 Insurance, 180 Integrated Maritime Policy, 38 Integration, 32 Interest group, 363 International Maritime Organisation (IMO), 27, 31, 37, 38, 46, 63, 72, 246, 256, 275, 363 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 177, 178 International relations, 255, 273 International Space Station (ISS), 183, 196, 274, 306 Iran, 213 Islam, 143–145, 148 Israel, 213 J

Japan, 43, 46 Jesuit, 153 Job creation, 103 Jones Act, 66, 70

451

Judaism, 145, 148 Jurisdiction, 23, 27, 31, 36, 37, 46, 47, 49, 50, 63, 69, 70, 72–74, 76, 238, 240, 241, 253, 254, 267–269, 380, 382, 402 Juxtaposition, 185 K

Kepler, Johannes, 115, 126, 153, 156 Khrushchev, Nikita, 129 L

Labour, 292–294, 296, 297, 302–304, 313, 345 La Chatte, 16, 18–20 Lang, Fritz, 409 Law, 23–26, 40, 43, 44, 51, 66, 67, 77 Law of the Sea, 203 Lenin, V.I., 293, 346, 411, 412 Lewis, C.S., 144, 145, 148, 149 Liability Convention, 183, 190, 365 Libertarian, 417, 418 Liner, 27, 38 Lisbon Treaty, 213 Literature, 100, 121, 141 Locational friction, 301 M

Malevich, Kazemir (Realistic Manifesto), 3 Marine Accident Investigation Bureau (MAIB), 68

452 Index

Maritime, 23–25, 27–31, 36–38, 43, 45, 46, 50–64, 68–72, 74–82, 101, 105, 106, 108, 110, 115, 120, 139, 146, 160, 171–223, 237–277, 362–366, 372, 375, 376, 380, 382–387, 389–392, 394, 395, 397–400, 403–408, 410, 411, 414–417, 420, 422–426 Maritime and Coastal Agency (MCA), 68 Market forces, 250 Markets, 38, 43, 47, 63, 64, 66, 69–71, 73, 76–78, 295–298, 302, 303, 307, 308, 319, 321, 324, 326, 332, 337, 340, 345, 346 Markova, Alice, 17–19 Mars, 254, 396, 401, 402, 406, 409, 412–415, 417 Marx, Karl, 141 Materials, 291, 295, 296, 298, 303, 304, 313, 322, 323, 329, 335, 343 McDonalds, 413 Media, 210 Mental health, 407 Mercury, 130, 133, 134, 139 Military, 26, 30, 36, 41, 65, 80, 102, 105, 107, 109, 111, 179, 180, 183, 187, 189, 195, 201, 213, 219, 223, 295, 304, 309, 316, 324, 325, 338, 340, 343 Mineral(s), 107, 178, 181, 201, 240, 249, 397 Mining, 307, 320, 322–324, 331, 332, 335, 336 Moholy-Nagy, Laszlo, 2, 10, 12 Monopoly, 66

Moon, 115, 120, 122, 129, 132, 134, 136, 138, 141, 144, 153, 159, 160, 239, 252, 270, 399, 401, 406, 410, 413, 414, 416, 421 Moon Treaty, 183, 189, 331, 402 Moral(s), 331, 333, 334, 366, 395, 400, 401, 406 Multinational, 26, 31, 37, 72 Music, 365, 420, 422–424 Musk, Elon, 110, 118, 119 Mutual coercion, 263 N

Narkomfin, 9, 10 NASA, 306, 307, 311, 312, 317, 322, 324, 335, 338, 395, 402, 412 Nation, 174, 179, 183, 187, 191, 195–197, 201, 202, 205, 206, 213, 219, 220, 242, 247, 248, 254, 259, 261, 266, 276 National, 25, 27, 29–34, 39, 41, 45, 46, 48, 49, 51, 52, 66, 68–76, 237, 238, 240–243, 246, 252–257, 260–264, 267, 268, 273, 276 National flag, 110 Nationalism, 174, 179 National Lake Concept, 257 National Lakes model, 203 Nation-state(s), 29, 30, 37, 43, 46–49, 52, 63, 70, 71, 73–77, 79, 104, 246, 251–257, 259, 263, 266, 267, 271, 377, 380, 382–385, 387, 389, 392–394, 397, 402, 404, 426 Natural resources, 239, 247, 268

 Index 

Needs, 24, 26–29, 32, 35, 41, 42, 44, 50, 51, 66–68, 72–74, 77–79, 81 Nested governance, 256 Nested institutions, 274 Netherlands, 115 Nicholas of Cusa, 126, 153 Nomadism, 374 Non-state actors, 265 Norms, 182, 185, 206, 213, 221 North America Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), 37, 45, 46 North Korea, 213 Northern Sea Route, 72, 371 O

Objectives, 30, 32, 35, 40, 42, 51–53, 63–65, 79, 80 Ocean, 239–241, 243–247, 250, 251, 254, 256–262, 265–271, 370, 371, 373–376, 383, 394, 398, 399, 403, 422 Ocean-space, 408, 420 Orbital, 25, 36 Outer space, 23–27, 31, 33, 34, 36, 37, 39, 42–47, 49–66, 69, 71–73, 77, 79, 82–84, 99–161, 237–277, 292–336, 340–342, 344–348, 362–368, 370–372, 376–378, 380–387, 389–398, 400–426, 432 Outer Space Treaty (OST), 23, 24, 34, 44, 80, 82, 182, 183, 190, 206, 208, 222, 243, 244, 256, 266, 274, 315, 320, 329, 331–333, 338–340, 342, 345, 347, 365, 402, 403, 410, 416, 418

453

Outer spatial fix, 370 Over-accumulation, 293, 294, 303 Over-population, 249 Overview Effect, 123–125 Ovid, 133 Ownership, 181, 185, 188, 195, 209, 217, 220 P

Panama Canal, 72 P and O, 305 Pacific Rim, 209 Panama Canal, 371 Paul VI, Pope, 122, 137, 139 Philosophy, 110–112, 116, 118, 121, 123, 125, 126, 134, 140, 142, 362, 365–368, 373–375, 397 Piracy, 195 Pirates, 394, 404 Pius XII, Pope, 148 Plastic, 241 Policy, 24, 25, 27–33, 35, 37–42, 44–46, 49–52, 63–74, 76, 77, 80, 81, 173, 178, 179, 187, 196, 204, 205, 214, 218, 219, 221–223, 363, 365, 381–383, 390, 392, 393, 398, 401, 403–405, 420 Policy-making, 24, 25, 27, 29, 30, 34, 37, 39–42, 45–47, 51–63, 67, 69, 71, 72, 76, 77, 79, 81 Political, 102, 105, 109, 111, 112, 121, 130, 160, 361, 363, 367, 368, 378, 382, 383, 389–391, 393, 401, 402, 411–413, 415, 418, 420, 421 Political parties, 178, 212

454 Index

Politics, 25, 68, 77, 80 Polity, 25 Pollution, 241, 245, 260, 269 Pollution resources, 294 Polycentric, 192, 216, 252, 256, 266, 270 Port, 175, 188, 362, 387, 420 Postmodern, 415 Poverty, 103 Power, 110–112, 115, 117, 118, 130, 137, 142, 152, 153, 156, 180, 187, 189, 192, 195, 196, 204–206, 210, 212, 213, 215, 217, 218, 221, 291, 294, 297, 302, 303, 309, 310, 323, 334, 343 Precious metals, 324 Preservationism, 395, 398 Pressure groups, 178, 212 Prestige, 51, 306, 324, 329 Prisoner’s dilemma, 26, 69, 71, 241, 250, 251 Private property, 237–240, 245, 252, 256, 262, 263 Private sector, 304, 305, 307–312 Privatisation/privatise/privatised, 50, 63, 68, 78, 188, 239, 245 Process, 171, 173, 178, 185, 189, 190, 195, 203, 205, 208–210, 212, 216, 218, 370, 376, 378, 383, 386, 391, 393, 406–408, 414, 420 Property, 99, 107, 130, 134, 296, 298, 303, 310, 314, 320, 327, 329–332, 345, 394, 402, 414, 418 Property rights, 237, 239, 244, 251, 254, 262, 263 Protestant, 139, 149

R

Radio, 413 Radio frequency, 245 Rational choice, 277 Regime, 242, 244, 246, 248, 251, 254, 255, 257, 261, 262, 270–275, 277 Regime complex, 81, 177, 192 Regime theory, 271–274, 383 Regional local, 39 Register, 110, 116 Registration Convention, 183, 190 Regulation, 106 Religion, 119–123, 125–127, 129–131, 133–144, 150, 152, 154, 156, 157, 160 Religious, 364, 385, 396, 397, 412, 425, 432 Renaissance, 106, 114, 133, 134, 300, 362, 365, 369, 371 Reputation, 28 Res communis, 238, 241, 247, 266 Rescue Agreement, 182, 190 Rescue and Return Treaty, 365 Resource, 370, 371, 377, 384, 388, 392, 394, 395, 398, 403, 405, 406, 408, 414 Res publica, 239 Rhodes, Cecil, 346 Rivers, 249 Rodchenko, Alexander, 2, 3, 7, 8, 11 Royal Dutch Shell, 311 Russia, 35, 43, 52, 63, 72, 246 S

Safety, 27, 29, 31, 37, 38, 42, 43, 50, 51, 63, 64, 66, 68, 70, 74–77, 383, 387, 394, 400

 Index 

Satellite(s), 103, 107, 109, 130, 142, 143, 146, 178, 180, 190, 201, 207, 220, 243, 249, 254, 267, 270, 274 Saudi Arabia, 387 Schwitter, Kurt, 2, 11, 13 Science, 364–366, 379, 400, 406, 410–412, 420, 421, 423 Sculpture, 420, 423 Scuttling, 267 Security, 27, 29, 33, 37, 41, 43, 50, 51, 63, 70, 74–77, 79, 103, 104, 160, 311, 315, 329, 378–381, 383, 386, 389, 390, 394 Self, 369, 370, 372, 385 Shipowner, 28, 29, 74–77, 172, 173, 175, 187 Shipping, 370, 394, 408, 415 Short-sea shipping, 38 Shuttle, 363 Social, 23, 24, 26, 30, 51, 63, 77, 102, 105–109, 111–113, 119, 121, 126, 131, 132, 135, 137, 142, 160 Social construction, 173, 216 Socialism, 188 Socialist, 9, 10 Social media, 315 Socrates, 366 Soft law, 216 Solar power, 323, 324 Solar System, 294, 308, 317, 322 South China Sea, 371 Sovereign, 383, 393 Sovereignty, 110, 174, 180, 195, 217, 310, 318–320, 338, 339, 341, 343

455

Soviet Union (USSR), 33, 118, 125, 128, 135, 139–142, 158 Space, 1–20, 99–161 The Space Industry Act Civil Aviation Authority, 64 Space Shuttle, 304, 337 Space-time, 297, 300, 301 SpaceX, 30, 67, 69, 306, 312, 314, 315, 320, 343 Spain, 115 Spatial, 291–348 Spatial fix, 293, 294, 296–306, 308, 312–315, 346 Spatial planning, 38 Spessivtseva, Olga, 1–20 Sputnik, 141 Stakeholder(s), 28, 29, 42, 172, 173, 175, 181 Stalin, Josef, 129 State-centric, 273, 311 Static, 29, 173 Stepanova, Varvara (Russia Soviet Union), 2 Subsidiarity, 179 Suez Canal, 72, 371 Supply chain, 320, 329 Supranational, 27, 31, 37, 42, 43, 45, 46, 49, 52 Sustainability, 404–406 T

Tatlin, Vladimir, 2, 4, 6, 7 Technology, 292, 294, 297, 305, 307, 312, 319–322, 326, 328, 330, 331, 335, 336, 343 Telecommunications, 307, 316, 325, 328

456 Index

Terra nullius, 240 Terrestrial, 79, 80, 292, 293, 305, 306, 324, 333, 335, 337 Territorial, 253, 254, 256, 262, 267–269, 271, 274 Territorial sovereignty, 37 Territorial trap, 48 Territories, 295, 296, 298, 320, 323, 327, 331, 334, 342, 345 Tesla, 118 Time, 1–20, 100, 104, 117, 118, 120, 121, 123, 129, 131–135, 137, 138, 140–148, 151, 153–156 Time-space compression, 300, 345 Tonnage tax, 67, 74 Tourism, 104, 108, 130, 306–309, 324, 336–345, 403, 418 Tradition, 28, 43, 65 Tragedy of the commons, 244, 248–250, 263, 264 Training, 44 Transaction costs, 272 Transit, 69, 71, 72 Transnational, 174, 178, 196, 212, 213, 219 TV, 413, 414 U

UK Space Agency, 65, 67, 68 UN Convention on the Law of the Sea (UNCLOS), 221, 331–333, 335, 336 United Kingdom (UK), 35, 37, 49, 63, 64, 67, 68, 72

United Nations (UN), 24, 29–37, 46, 49, 52, 65, 66, 70–74, 243, 246, 252, 254, 256, 257, 265–267, 269, 270, 363, 368, 401, 403, 404, 416 United Nations Office for Outer Space Affairs (UNOOSA), 29, 33, 190, 402, 403 United States of America (USA), 27, 29, 33, 35, 38, 43, 50, 52, 63–67, 69, 70, 72, 78, 79, 246, 268, 363, 380, 382, 383, 402, 405, 413, 418, 424 Universe, 99, 107, 108, 110, 112–117, 121, 124, 125, 127, 129, 131–135, 139, 142, 150, 151, 154, 155, 160 Universities, 363 Urban planning, 362 US Space Resources Act, 335 V

Velocity, 104, 117 Venus, 254 Verne, Jules, 409 Vertical, 384 Vienna, 10 Virgin Galactic, 30, 69, 110, 306, 312, 315, 320, 343, 407 Von Däniken, Erich, 152, 153 W

Walmart, 311 War, 102, 108, 148

 Index 

Warfare, 362, 376 Water supply, 245 Weapons satellites, 377 Weather forecasting, 51, 63, 184 Weimar, 10, 11 Welfare, 51, 63 Wizard of Oz, 110 World Bank, 178

457

World Space Organisation (WSO), 204 World Trade Organization (WTO), 31, 46, 177 Z

Zoocentrism, 398