TO GET THE HEARTS AND MINDS of humans to the Moon, we’ve used many engines. Most have not been rockets.

But launching in early April, under nearly 9 million pounds of thrust, the Artemis II mission will send four humans to the Moon for the first time in more than fifty years. The vessel will fly by our favorite face in the sky at several thousand miles per hour, affording glimpses and scientific investigations of far-side features never seen by human eyes and traveling farther than anyone has gone before. Primarily an engineering test for the Orion capsule that will be part of our renewed space exploration, this mission offers the more poetic possibility of inspiring us the way Apollo 8 did, when it gave us the iconic “Earthrise” photograph.

But you don’t really need a pack of rockets to visit the moon. Other creative engines for lunar flights include geese, swans, ducks pulling wooden ships and chariots festooned with balloons; fireworks; storms; dreams. Jules Verne imagined a ship shot from a cannon while H.G. Wells concocted Cavorite, an anti-gravity material for his capsule. Beginning with Lucian’s “A True Story,” from the second century, humans have long dreamed of this celestial journey, and imagined voyagers have encountered everything from armed buzzards fighting solar troops to utopian cultures that showed us how little we’d made of life.

More important than politics or hardware is the soft technology of cooperation. We have the capacity to explore outward and nurture right here. We can do both.

Today, many of us give the Moon a glance only when it’s bright and full and therefore begging for our attention. But there remain those, from Indigenous cultures that worship the Moon, to western religions that organize calendars by its phases, to songwriters to poets—who still engage in and vivify our ancient lunar relationship. We have always kept time with its phases. We’ve hunted, sown, and reaped by such passage. We’ve chanted hymns and painted nocturnes.

Take the 1901 Japanese ballad, the “The Moon Over the Ruined Castle,” that shows what is moving and what is frightening: “Then up from the old pine, the Moon rose. But now, where is the brightness of bygone days? . . .  The Moon shone on the unsheathed swords.” Listen to Debussy’s “Clair de Lune” or Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata,”  or the Spanish lullaby based on the Man in the Moon.

And so many Moon poems! Koumanthio Zeinab Diallo writes in “African Moon”: “I have dreamed for you/ Friend/ A beautiful moon/ Beautiful as only the moon/ Of my village can be. . . ” In “O the White Moon Rose Over Us,” the poet celebrates the Moon and Allah. In Hawaii, there is a chant for the Moon’s phases, and Robert Frost playfully “put it shining anywhere I please./ By walking slowly on some evening later,/ I’ve pulled it from a crate of crooked trees,/ And brought it over glossy water./ . . . and seen the image wallow,/ The color run, all sorts of wonder follow.”

That wonder is voluminous. According to the anthropologist Mircea Eliade, “It was lunar symbolism that enabled [people] to relate and connect such heterogeneous things as birth, becoming, death, and resurrection; the waters, plants, women, fecundity. . . the cosmic darkness, prenatal existence, and life after death. . . . ”

To that last point, there’s the famous Chinese story of Chang’e, wife of Hou Yi, who shot down nine extra Suns to cool the Earth. Given the elixir for life as a reward, he gave it to Chang’e for safekeeping, but she had to drink it when threatened by a robber. Several Chinese lunar missions carry her name.

Who knows how many tales, poems, and songs the Moon has inspired?

The Moon is also, you know, a rock. Dramatic, sublime and with, it turns out, hidden water, which is responsible for the moment’s lunar revival. Despite the glib and unfortunate statements from some in the space community, such a resource will be limited. We cannot replace our precious Earth. But lunar water ice can lead to knowledge and to sustaining a community there. Where the sun hasn’t reached in billions of years, such ice has accumulated, one cosmic snowflake at a time. Don’t expect glaciers or even a frosty dusting though. A Lake Tahoe’s-worth of water may be lurking, but it’s mixed in with ground-up lunar dust, which is deadly sharp thanks to the splintering wrought by countless meteorite impacts. Processing it to extract viable water will take a valiant effort.

One might wonder why we’d bother and at what cost. NASA’s budget is less than one-half of a percent yet returns three dollars for every dollar spent, and the Moon’s ice is a scientific treasure trove that can help reveal the hidden histories of the Earth, Moon, and even the Sun. Knowing more about the conditions of our early solar system can help us understand distant stars with planets of their own. It can also help us “live off the land.” Water to drink, air to breathe, hydrogen for fuel. Lunar water ice might unlock the key to sustaining a human presence on the Moon. If that seems irresponsible given the many present crises on Earth, that’s another conversation. Here I’ll just say that, as others have claimed, solving for space helps solve for Earth. I’ve said this elsewhere: More important than politics or hardware is the soft technology of cooperation. We have the capacity to explore outward and nurture right here. We can do both.

But what does a Japanese folk song or a poem from Africa have to do with any of that?

Engineering will keep the Artemis explorers alive. Culture tells us why that exploration matters.

Everything. Planning our lunar future without knowing our lunar past is like renovating the Louvre without ever looking inside. The Moon is part of us, and if we are to be part of the Moon, we must remember that. Otherwise, we risk repeating the same mistakes we’ve made here on Earth. The Moon may lack Indigenous life but it does not want for beauty and possibility. We must respect both by remembering the Moon we love from the Earth.

No nation can claim the Moon, but humanity claimed it a long time ago. We need to cultivate awareness of the Moon’s many facets as part of our new lunar journeys. If we don’t, we will diminish the meanings of our lunar return. Engineering will keep the Artemis explorers alive. Culture tells us why that exploration matters.

The Latin root of “explore” means to “utter a cry.” Every song, every tale, every prayer, every painting about the Moon has been a flight to our companion world. It’s also kept us grounded on the Earth. Lunar culture is a double-perspective, then. We look up there from right here, and, in doing so, can see both more clearly.

Artemis II’s motto is “For all humanity.” It’s not a mere slogan. It’s a challenge.

Orion’s Lunar Reading List: 10 Moon Books recommended by Chris Cokinos