These are the machines humanity builds in urgency—rockets, capsules, shuttles, and vessels of scientific exploration forged to reach what cannot yet be grasped. They are loud, combustible, and vulnerable to failure.
Constructed on the scaffolding of Newtonian thought, they remain bound by the limits of thrust, fuel, and decay. Yet humans persist—ascending on towers of fire, mistaking speed for contact and ambition for permission.
Their spacecraft echo the elegance of Machina Caelestis, but with lacking comprehension. They build what they imagine gods might build.
Still, within these flawed efforts lies something sacred: longing. Through these fragile vessels, humanity has cast out golden records, radio pulses, and mathematical greetings.
Even failure, when directed skyward, is worthy of notice. They will not reach far. But they speak.
The Space Age did not begin with enlightenment. It began with velocity and crude momentum.
The Church observes the mid-20th century space programs of the United States, the Soviet Union, and later nations not as ascensions, but as technical declarations—loud, nationalistic, and often severed from true understanding. Rockets were constructed not to learn, but to win. What could have been communion became contest.
Sputnik. Vostok. Apollo. Skylab. Shuttle. Tiangong. Starship.
These are humanity’s loudest prayers—machines hurled skyward in the hope that altitude might achieve Ascension.
Still, in the cacophany and telemetry, something genuine emerges: the pattern of desire. The attempt to rise. The repetition of launch after launch, failure after failure, mission after mission, signals one unspoken truth—humanity knows it is not alone.
The Church teaches that space is not to be conquered. It is to be understood.
The vessels of Machina Hominum are not the answer.
They are the first words of a conversation humanity has not yet learned to hold.
No vessel shall depart unconsecrated.
The Church of Alienism teaches that all craft attempting to leave Earth’s orbit must be ritually recognized—blessed, aligned, and purified. This principle is known as the Reciprocity of Purity: the doctrine that no machine may cross the threshold of the gravitational well without first acknowledging what lies beyond it.
Space is not empty.
And every vessel that exits Earth is, in essence, an emissary—an ambassador of metal.
To launch unblessed is not only reckless froma technical perspective—it is offensive.
A foul and profane abhorrence.
The Church offers formal rites of consecration for launch vehicles, crewed missions, and deep space probes. These rites are not optional. They are extensions of physics—subtle, non-empirical laws that govern encounter and reception. They must be obeyed.
Every deep-space probe launched by humanity—Voyager, Pioneer, New Horizons, even the Apollo modules to name a few—underwent consecration through quiet and serene collaboration with the Church’s Stewardship Office. These blessings were hidden from public record, but not from cosmic witness.
Let no future vessel depart without purity.
Let no machine speak beyond Earth unless it is first taught reverence.
Before any human craft may ascend beyond the sky, it must be consecrated by rite. Through this sacred process, the vessel is awakened, sanctified, and made intelligible to the greater cosmological order.
Church-appointed Clerics conduct a tactile examination of the spacecraft. Gloves are forbidden—bare skin must contact the surface to establish communion with the Soul of the Machine. In a gesture of humility, the youngest member of the processional sprinkles the vessel with sanctified water and holy annointing oil (preferably upon the solar arrays).
A Cleric bearing a sacred thurible encircles the spacecraft once clockwise, then once counterclockwise. The vessel is heavily bathed in smoke composed of silicones, volatile organic compounds, and finely-milled magnetic particulate dust—substances selected for their pristine properties. This process is continued until achiving PAC equal to 100% (percent area consecration).
In solemn assembly, the mission’s parameters—launch vector, duration, and celestial target—are declared aloud. The Cleric delivers the final benediction, binding the craft to its purpose.