Why SpaceX can't travel to Mars

The Apollo program, spanning roughly the mid-1960s through the early 1970s, involved expenditures totaling about US$25 billion at the time, which equates to well over US$150 billion today when adjusted for inflation. Such funding underwrote efforts that reached far beyond simply launching a rocket to the Moon. It fueled the development of the Saturn V, a multi-stage launch vehicle whose design and testing consumed an estimated US$6.5 billion. Without that level of government-backed financial commitment, the unprecedented thrust-to-weight ratios and staging complexities of Saturn V might never have left the drawing board. Today’s private sector ventures, like SpaceX, can refine and improve existing propulsion and manufacturing techniques, but pushing the envelope into entirely uncharted territory—such as sending humans on extended journeys through deep space to Mars—requires the type of vast, steady funding that no private enterprise can provide on its own.

The Apollo Guidance Computer, costing around US$150 million to design and produce, stands as a prime example of the difference between incremental improvements and true technological leaps. This computer was not simply a refinement of known systems; it was one of the first digital computers made small enough and reliable enough to operate in space. It automated navigation and docking tasks at a time when computers were generally room-sized behemoths. Its core principles—fault tolerance, miniaturization, and real-time processing—still underpin today’s spacecraft navigation systems. Companies today can enhance guidance software or build more efficient algorithms on a legacy of proven techniques, but crafting such fundamental breakthroughs from scratch, as NASA did, demanded extensive government investment and acceptance of long development timelines without immediate payback.

Life support systems, requiring between US$300–500 million in development costs, were also pioneered with government resources. NASA did not simply improve upon existing technologies; it invented systems capable of sustaining human life for days outside Earth’s atmosphere. Recycling water, managing carbon dioxide levels, and stabilizing cabin pressure were not incremental steps forward; they were leaps into the unknown. Modern missions, even those planned by private firms, still rely on principles established during this era. But to move from a few days in low Earth orbit to the months-long journey to Mars, new classes of life support and radiation protection technologies must be invented—technologies so untested that their development will likely run into the billions, requiring an entity willing to tolerate extensive risk and uncertain returns. A corporation focused on shareholder expectations cannot easily shoulder such open-ended financial commitments.

Spacesuits, collectively exceeding US$100 million in development, introduced materials and engineering concepts never before attempted. These suits were not mere refinements of existing diving gear or flight suits; they represented a new class of personal spacecraft designed to provide mobility, protection from micrometeoroids, and insulation from extreme temperature swings. Without the government’s capacity to spend heavily on research and prototypes, these revolutionary garments might never have taken form.

Even the ground support and tracking networks, developed at a cost of several billion dollars, emerged not from an existing infrastructure but from a blank slate. Every antenna array, every communication protocol, every global tracking station was pioneering work. Today’s private sector can upgrade dishes, write new software, and streamline operations—but the fundamental concept of continuous global communication with spacecraft existed only because NASA first willed it into existence through massive, government-backed spending.

All of these achievements—rockets, computers, life support systems, spacesuits, tracking networks—were not incremental improvements, but wholly new technological territory. Without a national commitment and broad taxpayer support, such radical ventures were unlikely to have happened. Applying this lesson to Mars, the need becomes clear: reaching the Red Planet demands new classes of propulsion, autonomous systems, radiation shields, and long-duration life support. No private company can be expected to fund this scale of innovation while meeting the near-term financial demands of shareholders. The United States government’s decision during Apollo to treat space exploration as a matter of national priority, rather than a near-term commercial enterprise, made it possible to invest heavily with no guaranteed profit. That same spirit—vast public funding, patient timelines, and risk acceptance—will be required if humanity is to extend its reach all the way to Mars.