This is a really big space station. We do a lot of various kinds

Hear the words of Scott Kelly, a voyager who dwelt among the stars and gazed upon the Earth from the silence of the heavens: “This is a really big space station. We do a lot of various kinds of work here, different kinds of science experiments; we have over 400 different experiments going on at any one time in different areas, from basic science research to medical technology, that hopefully will benefit more people on Earth.” His words are not boastful, but humble testimony to the greatness of human endeavor. They remind us that the labor of a few in the heights of space is meant for the blessing of the many who walk upon the Earth.

For what is the space station, if not a temple of knowledge, circling above us like a wandering star? It is not built for conquest, nor for the hoarding of treasure, but as a vessel where minds from many nations unite. Within its walls, men and women become custodians of over 400 experiments, tending seeds of discovery that may one day heal the sick, strengthen the weak, and guide us into a brighter tomorrow. Kelly’s words reveal the nobility of science when it is not confined to the pursuit of power, but opened as a gift to humanity.

History offers us echoes of this truth. Consider the great Library of Alexandria, where scholars once gathered from distant lands to share wisdom in many tongues. They did not labor for themselves alone, but for the advancement of all mankind. So too does the International Space Station, floating not as the possession of one empire, but as the shared inheritance of all peoples. Where once nations warred for dominance, here they labor together, showing that cooperation among the stars is possible, and that science can be a bridge where politics build walls.

Yet Kelly reminds us of something even greater: that the purpose of all this exploration is not escape from the Earth, but service to it. The experiments of which he speaks—whether in medicine, physics, or agriculture—are aimed at healing, at sustaining, at improving the lives of those below. Thus the station is not only a beacon of human progress, but a symbol of responsibility. To look at the Earth from space is to see its fragility, a blue jewel in the black void. The work of the station is meant to preserve that jewel, to guard the millions who dwell upon it.

Think, O seeker, of the courage of those who left the safety of their home to dwell in that great machine of the heavens. They live months in isolation, enduring weightlessness, hardship, and danger—not for personal glory, but to advance knowledge that others may never know came from their sacrifice. They labor as priests in a cosmic sanctuary, and their offerings are not gold or incense, but data, insight, and innovation that may save lives. Kelly’s words remind us that science, when rightly guided, is an act of love.

The lesson is clear: in your own life, let your labor serve not only yourself, but the greater good. Just as the station orbits tirelessly, gathering wisdom for the benefit of Earth, so must you pursue your work not for vanity, but for contribution. Whatever field you enter—be it teaching, building, healing, or creating—ask not only, “What does this give me?” but also, “What does this give the world?” For in service, work is transformed into legacy.

And let us also learn the power of cooperation. The station was built not by one hand, but by many; its experiments are tended not by one nation, but by several. If the great work of the stars can be accomplished only through unity, how much more can we, in our communities and nations, achieve if we set aside rivalry and work together? Let Kelly’s vision remind us that the horizon of progress is shared, and that no discovery truly belongs to one, but to all.

So let these words be remembered: “We have over 400 experiments… that hopefully will benefit more people on Earth.” Let us carry them as a charge to live in such a way that our efforts, great or small, ripple outward to bless others. For the truest measure of knowledge is not its complexity, but its capacity to heal, to strengthen, and to inspire. In this lies the nobility of science, and in this lies the nobility of life itself.