When ministers from the member states of the European Space Agency (ESA) met in Berlin last week, they made a number of good decisions. They unexpectedly agreed to provide the agency with all of the 2.5% funding boost that it had requested for science missions. They also agreed to funds for additional missions for Mars surface exploration and Earth monitoring. All of this is welcome. Even more surprising, and equally welcome, is their decision not to spend money on the development of a new Russian-led space-plane, Clipper — a decision that surprised some observers but that should be seen as a smart move. Europe does not need the ability to launch humans into space, and should resist further attempts by Russia to solicit funds for it.

Whether Clipper can actually work is an open question. The history of small space-plane programmes is long and unhappy, with ESA's abortive Hermes programme being as big a let-down as all the others. Many believe that there are fundamental flaws in the idea of adding to the mass of spacecraft by giving them wings with which to fly, rather than just settling for a controlled plummet in the manner of Russia's Soyuz capsules and the United States' proposed Crew Exploration Vehicle. But even if Clipper stood a realistic chance of working, its development would be a hugely inappropriate use of European taxpayers' money.

The idea of human space flight is an inspiring and noble one. Unfortunately, achieving it means devoting vast resources to some markedly unproductive goals in a way normally only possible under political systems that are neither inspiring nor noble. The United States is the only democracy that has risen to the challenge, and remarkable though its achievement in this sphere has been, it has left an ambivalent legacy.

The fact that the United States cannot bring itself to give up human space flight is no reason for Europe to join in with a programme of its own.

The Apollo programme was politically sustainable because it resonated with various aspects of America's self-image as a nation that is technologically peerless, internationally exceptional and defined by the notion of frontiers. These resonances persist today. Few Americans are passionately devoted to the space programme, but many think of it, on the occasions they have cause to, with affection. Given the great cost of its limited benefits, this popular support seems a touch perverse.

For any US president, the political cost of being the person who abandons the dream of space flight outweighs the financial cost of “keeping the dream alive” (the term under which this sort of support for the aerospace establishment is invariably masked). At the same time, the financial costs that would have to be borne in order dramatically to expand the role of astronauts in space exploration are seen as outweighing any possible political rewards from such an expansion. So there is a compromise: the United States is left with an extraordinarily expensive and simultaneously rather unambitious programme, the main purpose of which is its own continuation.

This may not be a very good deal for US taxpayers, but it does have benefits for the world at large. It means that human presence in orbit, a largely symbolic matter, is not restricted to the citizens of one-party states (China) and their cash-strapped successors (Russia, a country which in terms of gross domestic product per capita ranks between Chile and Malaysia). It is good to know that, if there are men and women beyond Earth, some of them should be from democracies. But unless the US political landscape undergoes a radical shift, that will remain the case whatever Europe does, and it is hard to see what extra value is to be gained by any other democracies deciding to join in the venture. There are better ways to convince the world of your technological prowess.

The fact that the United States cannot bring itself to give up human space flight is, at the end of the day, no reason for Europe to join in with a programme of its own.