The question of who will inherit the cosmos is more urgent and complex than many realize—yet it’s rarely discussed openly. But here’s where it gets controversial: as humanity pushes deeper into space exploration and exploitation, fundamental ethical concerns about power, ownership, and fairness come to the forefront. Enthusiasts often paint a picture of the future where millions live and work among the stars—thanks to advanced robotics and cost-effective mission designs. But recent insights challenge this optimistic vision, raising questions that deserve our attention.
Back in October, during a prominent technology conference in Italy, Jeff Bezos—founder of Amazon and Blue Origin—publicly predicted that within just a few decades, millions of people could be inhabiting space. He argued that most of these residents would be there out of their own desire, not merely because of technological necessity. According to him, robots will handle most of the work in space because they will be significantly cheaper than human labor. This might sound like a straightforward, logical projection, but it’s not the whole story.
A few weeks later, at TechCrunch Disrupt in San Francisco, Will Bruey, the founder of Varda Space Industries—a startup focusing on manufacturing in space—made a statement that stunned some in the audience. He suggested that within 15 to 20 years, it might be more affordable to send a ‘working-class’ human worker into orbit for a month than to develop more sophisticated machines. While many listeners didn’t react strongly at the moment, these words raise profound questions about the future of work among the stars.
To delve deeper into what these predictions imply about our ethical responsibilities and the societal impacts of space colonization, I reached out to Mary-Jane Rubenstein, who is a distinguished scholar and the dean of social sciences at Wesleyan University. Rubenstein specializes in religion, science, and technology studies—and her recent work critically examines the moral dimensions of space expansion.
She immediately highlights a critical issue: the imbalance of power. 'Workers on Earth are already struggling to pay their bills, stay safe, and secure health coverage,' she explains. 'Their dependence on their employers extends beyond wages to essential resources like food, water, and air. When we think about space as a workplace, that dependency only becomes more intense and troubling.'
Rubenstein is quite direct about the harsh realities of spacework: despite the romantic notions of pristine, weightless environments floating among stars, space is far from idyllic. There are no lush oceans, mountains, or cheerful birds—only vacuum, extreme temperatures, and radiation. She emphasizes, 'It’s not nice up there. It’s not comfortable or safe.'
But her concerns extend beyond the welfare of individual workers. She questions the legal and ethical frameworks governing resource ownership in space, which are becoming increasingly contentious. The 1967 Outer Space Treaty clearly states that celestial bodies—like the Moon, Mars, and asteroids—are the shared heritage of humanity, preventing any nation from claiming sovereignty over them. However, in 2015, the United States passed the Commercial Space Launch Competitiveness Act, which essentially allows companies to own what they extract from space, like minerals or resources.
Rubenstein illustrates this by comparing it to saying you cannot own a house, but you can own everything inside it—an analogy she admits is even more problematic. 'In reality, it’s worse than that. It’s more like claiming ownership over the house’s beams or floorboards; the moon itself is inseparable from its resources. The materials found there are the moon, and there’s no meaningful difference.'
Major space companies are already positioning themselves to benefit from this legal loophole. For instance, AstroForge aims to mine asteroids, and Interlune plans to extract Helium-3 from the Moon—an isotope vital for future nuclear fusion power. The challenge is that these resources are non-renewable; once one country seizes them, others are blocked out, creating potential international conflicts. The reaction from the global community was swift: Russia called the 2015 law a violation of international law, while others expressed concern about global economic imbalances.
In 2020, the U.S. responded with the Artemis Accords, agreements with allied nations that reinterpret space law to permit resource extraction, provided it doesn’t constitute national appropriation. Today, about 60 countries have signed these accords, but notable players like Russia and China remain outside. Many critics argue this is an example of the U.S. setting the rules and inviting others to follow—or risk being excluded entirely.
Rubenstein suggests a simple but unlikely solution: transfer authority back to the United Nations and the Committee on the Peaceful Uses of Outer Space (COPUOS). Without such international oversight, she advocates revoking the Wolf Amendment, a law that restricts NASA from collaborating with China without explicit approval, fearing that space activities are increasingly driven by national interests rather than shared humanity.
When people argue that cooperation with China is impossible, Rubenstein counters that it’s inconsistent to envision colonizing Mars and building space hotels—scenarios that seem fantastically ambitious—while claiming that international collaboration, especially with China, is off the table. If we’re capable of imagining such grand endeavors, she suggests, we can certainly engage in meaningful dialogue.
Her bigger worry lies in what we’re prioritizing in space. Currently, the dominant narrative sees space as a new frontier for conquest—akin to the colonial expansion of past centuries—where nations or corporations aim to dominate resources and establish military presence. She calls this approach 'profoundly misguided.'
Rubenstein categorizes science fiction into three broad thematic streams: first, stories of conquest, which portray space as a new battleground for national or corporate expansion; second, dystopian narratives warning of disastrous consequences if certain paths are taken—which, unfortunately, some tech companies seem to misunderstand or even inadvertently perpetuate; and third, speculative stories imagining alternative societies that embody different values of justice, care, and community.
When she noticed that space development was predominantly following the conquest model, she felt disheartened. 'It’s a missed opportunity to extend our better values—cooperation, sustainability, compassion—into the cosmos,' she laments.
While immediate policy changes may be unlikely, Rubenstein points to practical measures that could help steer space activities in a more ethical direction. She advocates for stricter regulations on environmental impacts—such as rocket emissions and debris. Currently, Earth’s orbit teems with over 40,000 objects traveling at lightning speed, risking a Kessler syndrome—a cascade of collisions that could indeed make orbital space unusable for future missions. The entire space industry—and society at large—has a vested interest in avoiding such a catastrophic scenario.
To tackle this, she’s proposing an annual gathering of scientists, policymakers, and industry leaders aimed at fostering ethical, collaborative, and mindful approaches to space exploration. Whether this initiative gains traction remains uncertain, especially given the political climate. Notably, in July last year, Congress introduced legislation to reinforce existing restrictions on China cooperation—highlighting that national interests still largely dominate space policies.
Despite these obstacles, space entrepreneurs and startups are rapidly advancing plans for asteroid mining, lunar resource extraction, and perhaps most controversially, the idea of employing low-paid workers in orbit. Will Bruey’s vision of 'blue-collar' workers living and working in space remains unresolved. It’s a bold, provocative idea—a stark reminder that the future of space isn’t just about exploration and discovery but also about who gets to decide, who profits, and who bears the risks. Are we ready to confront these ethical dilemmas, or will our ambitions in space eclipse the morals that should guide us? The conversation is just beginning, and your voice could help shape it.
