Real Faith And Fictional Worlds
Preaching
Pulpit Science Fiction
(An edited version of this essay was published as "Religion in Science Fiction" in Forum Letter 27.5, 1998. The original -- though slightly corrected -- version is used here by permission.)
What will be the status of religion in the twenty-fourth century? With all the proliferation and intermingling of faiths today, it may be surprising that the answer will be so simple. Some extraterrestrials will have one religion that pervades their culture and is common to their entire species. Klingons have a warrior religion much like that of the old Norse, and at least the outward aspects of Bajoran piety look like Hinduism. And homo sapiens? Well, we've outgrown all that. We've conquered poverty and bigotry, and need no religion.
J. B. Phillips pointed out in his 1961 book, Your God is too Small, that writers can give an impression of the irrelevance of God and religion simply by presenting fiction in which they play no role. Science fiction, which at that time was only a fringe area of literature and film, can today serve as a clear example of Phillips' argument. The Star Trek sagas, from which my opening examples are taken, might be Exhibit A.
Before anyone shies away from this as a diatribe against science fiction, let me say that I've paid my dues in that club. In junior high and high school, I spent vast amounts of time reading and re-reading Heinlein, Asimov, Van Vogt, and other major and minor sci-fi authors, raced to see the classic, Forbidden Planet, in its first run, and still watch Star Trek spin-offs and some of the profusion of today's good and bad sci-fi films. As with any genre, many science fiction novels and films are mediocre. But at its best, the medium can give penetrating insight into the possibilities for science and technology and their impacts on individuals and cultures. Having lived through the time before Sputnik and Apollo when the idea of space travel was ridiculed, I have little patience with those who look down their noses at futuristic fiction.
Star Trek certainly has to be given a lot of the credit for mainstreaming science fiction. Some episodes of the original series and Star Trek: Next Generation (but fewer, I think, of the later series) involve themes which raise basically religious issues. There is, however, a clear avoidance of any human religious belief or practice -- other than the politically correct Native American spirituality of Chakotay in Voyager. We don't have to look very far for the source of this: Joel Engel's biography of Star Trek creator, Gene Roddenberry, makes clear his hostility to religion and belief that humanity will be better off without it. (Cf. pp. 246-247: "At the Episcopal marriage of Next Generation star, Jonathan Frakes, Roddenberry was so offended by the liturgy that he very nearly left before the I-do's. 'He was going nuts,' Rick Berman says.")
There is another feature of Star Trek which, I suggest, has some connection with this neglect of the religious dimension: Human culture in Star Trek seems, in the last analysis, to be rather boring. In fact, that culture seems to have little content other than the ongoing exploration of the galaxy. The blandness of human society is a marked contrast to those of the Klingons and Bajorans, whose religions are integral parts of their cultures. Perhaps humanity has outgrown the internecine struggles that mark these other cultures, but the result seems a bit like naive versions of Christian eschatology in which eternity is spent sitting on clouds playing harps.
And science fiction can also express overt hostility to Christianity through the same process of creating an imaginary reductio ad absurdum of the faith. Robert Heinlein's 1984 novel, Job: A Comedy of Justice, is a good illustration. (The later Heinlein, especially when unable to keep his literary pants zipped, is something of an embarrassment to many of his fans of the '40s and '50s.)
Having pronounced judgment on science fiction in good law-gospel fashion, I hasten to note the good news. Religion, and specifically Christianity, does not have to be ignored or ridiculed in this genre. Science fiction makes possible new and provocative explorations of ultimate concerns, even if religion is not an explicit theme. Some technophiles got upset about the climactic battle in Star Wars in which Luke turns off his targeting computer and lets himself be guided by The Force. This is part of the rather vague eastern mysticism that becomes more explicit in the later films of the trilogy. Though it is not Christianity, it is not explicitly hostile to it.
Forbidden Planet, which I mentioned earlier, resonates with issues related to the doctrine of original sin: Humanity is threatened by its own version of "the mindless primitive" that destroyed the advanced beings of Altair IV in their hour of greatest technological achievement.
(The current film, Sphere, uses a similar idea, but not very successfully.) This is by no means just a retelling of Genesis 3 or Romans 5. In fact, the idea that evolved humanity must carry an inherited load of "monsters from the Id" poses some real challenges for an adequate Christian anthropology and the traditional idea that humanity was created with the ability not to sin. Besides its entertainment value, this film can serve as a focus for some thoughtful theological discussion in a congregation -- once people get used to Leslie Nielsen in a serious role!
Science fiction can often function in that way, not by portraying a future in which Christianity is vindicated but by presenting thoughtful questions for traditional beliefs. The Christian protagonist of Arthur C. Clarke's short story "The Star," has to grapple with the discovery that the stellar explosion which was the Star of Bethlehem destroyed a magnificent civilization. In his whimsical fashion, Robert Sheckley in "The Battle" asked us to think about who the real victors will be if we use robotic armies to defeat the forces of darkness at Armageddon. And James Blish's, A Case of Conscience, makes interesting use of the Manichaean heresy as a plot device.
Positive presentations of Christianity in science fiction require some discipline. Scenarios of the future in which the author's version of orthodoxy triumphs may be just a mirror image of the areligious or antireligious themes that I have noted, and call for the same criticism. The novels and films representing what might be called "rapture fiction" come under this heading.
I think that C. S. Lewis' "space trilogy" escapes this criticism. In a sense what Lewis showed is that the "scientifiction" universe need not be devoid of spiritual realities, as it was in the work of writers like Wells and Stapledon. Human travel to Mars is less significant than the coming of Christ ["Maleldil"] to earth. And while the Tower of Babel built by science-based technology is toppled by a confusion of tongues in the final book, this is only one victory over evil and not the parousia.
Christianity can also play a central role in grittier plots. While angelic beings have a major role in Lewis' trilogy, A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller, Jr., made virtually no appeal to the overtly supernatural as it described the preservation of human culture by Christian monasticism after the nuclear Flame Deluge.
And where could we put Philip K. Dick in this picture? None of his work, which is sometimes brilliant and often confusing, could be considered an apologia for orthodox Christianity, but some of it (The Divine Invasion, for instance) is packed with bits of esoteric Judaeo-Christian lore. And one has to put in a good word for an author who could write a short story, "The Pre-Persons" (under twelve years old!), which enraged some of the abortion on demand crowd.
It might be nice to see the Eucharist celebrated on the next incarnation of the Enterprise, but don't hold your breath. Instead of hoping for a breakthrough like that, it might be profitable to think about ways in which the popularity of science fiction could be used for proclamation of, and reflection upon, the Christian message. I've already suggested that some films might serve as starters for worthwhile theological discussion. Preachers who feel more creative and serve congregations in which this is appropriate might think about developing a science fiction story sermon to put issues like cloning or extraterrestrial life in the context of the gospel. Try going where few have gone before.
For Further Reading
The fictional works I've referred to might be the best place to start. John Clute's Science Fiction: The Illustrated Encyclopedia (New York: Dorling Kindersley, 1995) gives an entertaining overview of the field, while Robert Short's The Gospel from Outer Space (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1982) focuses on the religious implications of some popular science fiction films. More specialized treatments are Joel Engel's Gene Roddenberry: The Myth and the Man behind Star Trek (New York: Hyperion, 1994) and David C. Downing's Planets in Peril: A Critical Study of C. S. Lewis' Ransom Trilogy (Amherst, Massachusetts: University of Massachusetts, 1992).
What will be the status of religion in the twenty-fourth century? With all the proliferation and intermingling of faiths today, it may be surprising that the answer will be so simple. Some extraterrestrials will have one religion that pervades their culture and is common to their entire species. Klingons have a warrior religion much like that of the old Norse, and at least the outward aspects of Bajoran piety look like Hinduism. And homo sapiens? Well, we've outgrown all that. We've conquered poverty and bigotry, and need no religion.
J. B. Phillips pointed out in his 1961 book, Your God is too Small, that writers can give an impression of the irrelevance of God and religion simply by presenting fiction in which they play no role. Science fiction, which at that time was only a fringe area of literature and film, can today serve as a clear example of Phillips' argument. The Star Trek sagas, from which my opening examples are taken, might be Exhibit A.
Before anyone shies away from this as a diatribe against science fiction, let me say that I've paid my dues in that club. In junior high and high school, I spent vast amounts of time reading and re-reading Heinlein, Asimov, Van Vogt, and other major and minor sci-fi authors, raced to see the classic, Forbidden Planet, in its first run, and still watch Star Trek spin-offs and some of the profusion of today's good and bad sci-fi films. As with any genre, many science fiction novels and films are mediocre. But at its best, the medium can give penetrating insight into the possibilities for science and technology and their impacts on individuals and cultures. Having lived through the time before Sputnik and Apollo when the idea of space travel was ridiculed, I have little patience with those who look down their noses at futuristic fiction.
Star Trek certainly has to be given a lot of the credit for mainstreaming science fiction. Some episodes of the original series and Star Trek: Next Generation (but fewer, I think, of the later series) involve themes which raise basically religious issues. There is, however, a clear avoidance of any human religious belief or practice -- other than the politically correct Native American spirituality of Chakotay in Voyager. We don't have to look very far for the source of this: Joel Engel's biography of Star Trek creator, Gene Roddenberry, makes clear his hostility to religion and belief that humanity will be better off without it. (Cf. pp. 246-247: "At the Episcopal marriage of Next Generation star, Jonathan Frakes, Roddenberry was so offended by the liturgy that he very nearly left before the I-do's. 'He was going nuts,' Rick Berman says.")
There is another feature of Star Trek which, I suggest, has some connection with this neglect of the religious dimension: Human culture in Star Trek seems, in the last analysis, to be rather boring. In fact, that culture seems to have little content other than the ongoing exploration of the galaxy. The blandness of human society is a marked contrast to those of the Klingons and Bajorans, whose religions are integral parts of their cultures. Perhaps humanity has outgrown the internecine struggles that mark these other cultures, but the result seems a bit like naive versions of Christian eschatology in which eternity is spent sitting on clouds playing harps.
And science fiction can also express overt hostility to Christianity through the same process of creating an imaginary reductio ad absurdum of the faith. Robert Heinlein's 1984 novel, Job: A Comedy of Justice, is a good illustration. (The later Heinlein, especially when unable to keep his literary pants zipped, is something of an embarrassment to many of his fans of the '40s and '50s.)
Having pronounced judgment on science fiction in good law-gospel fashion, I hasten to note the good news. Religion, and specifically Christianity, does not have to be ignored or ridiculed in this genre. Science fiction makes possible new and provocative explorations of ultimate concerns, even if religion is not an explicit theme. Some technophiles got upset about the climactic battle in Star Wars in which Luke turns off his targeting computer and lets himself be guided by The Force. This is part of the rather vague eastern mysticism that becomes more explicit in the later films of the trilogy. Though it is not Christianity, it is not explicitly hostile to it.
Forbidden Planet, which I mentioned earlier, resonates with issues related to the doctrine of original sin: Humanity is threatened by its own version of "the mindless primitive" that destroyed the advanced beings of Altair IV in their hour of greatest technological achievement.
(The current film, Sphere, uses a similar idea, but not very successfully.) This is by no means just a retelling of Genesis 3 or Romans 5. In fact, the idea that evolved humanity must carry an inherited load of "monsters from the Id" poses some real challenges for an adequate Christian anthropology and the traditional idea that humanity was created with the ability not to sin. Besides its entertainment value, this film can serve as a focus for some thoughtful theological discussion in a congregation -- once people get used to Leslie Nielsen in a serious role!
Science fiction can often function in that way, not by portraying a future in which Christianity is vindicated but by presenting thoughtful questions for traditional beliefs. The Christian protagonist of Arthur C. Clarke's short story "The Star," has to grapple with the discovery that the stellar explosion which was the Star of Bethlehem destroyed a magnificent civilization. In his whimsical fashion, Robert Sheckley in "The Battle" asked us to think about who the real victors will be if we use robotic armies to defeat the forces of darkness at Armageddon. And James Blish's, A Case of Conscience, makes interesting use of the Manichaean heresy as a plot device.
Positive presentations of Christianity in science fiction require some discipline. Scenarios of the future in which the author's version of orthodoxy triumphs may be just a mirror image of the areligious or antireligious themes that I have noted, and call for the same criticism. The novels and films representing what might be called "rapture fiction" come under this heading.
I think that C. S. Lewis' "space trilogy" escapes this criticism. In a sense what Lewis showed is that the "scientifiction" universe need not be devoid of spiritual realities, as it was in the work of writers like Wells and Stapledon. Human travel to Mars is less significant than the coming of Christ ["Maleldil"] to earth. And while the Tower of Babel built by science-based technology is toppled by a confusion of tongues in the final book, this is only one victory over evil and not the parousia.
Christianity can also play a central role in grittier plots. While angelic beings have a major role in Lewis' trilogy, A Canticle for Leibowitz by Walter M. Miller, Jr., made virtually no appeal to the overtly supernatural as it described the preservation of human culture by Christian monasticism after the nuclear Flame Deluge.
And where could we put Philip K. Dick in this picture? None of his work, which is sometimes brilliant and often confusing, could be considered an apologia for orthodox Christianity, but some of it (The Divine Invasion, for instance) is packed with bits of esoteric Judaeo-Christian lore. And one has to put in a good word for an author who could write a short story, "The Pre-Persons" (under twelve years old!), which enraged some of the abortion on demand crowd.
It might be nice to see the Eucharist celebrated on the next incarnation of the Enterprise, but don't hold your breath. Instead of hoping for a breakthrough like that, it might be profitable to think about ways in which the popularity of science fiction could be used for proclamation of, and reflection upon, the Christian message. I've already suggested that some films might serve as starters for worthwhile theological discussion. Preachers who feel more creative and serve congregations in which this is appropriate might think about developing a science fiction story sermon to put issues like cloning or extraterrestrial life in the context of the gospel. Try going where few have gone before.
For Further Reading
The fictional works I've referred to might be the best place to start. John Clute's Science Fiction: The Illustrated Encyclopedia (New York: Dorling Kindersley, 1995) gives an entertaining overview of the field, while Robert Short's The Gospel from Outer Space (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1982) focuses on the religious implications of some popular science fiction films. More specialized treatments are Joel Engel's Gene Roddenberry: The Myth and the Man behind Star Trek (New York: Hyperion, 1994) and David C. Downing's Planets in Peril: A Critical Study of C. S. Lewis' Ransom Trilogy (Amherst, Massachusetts: University of Massachusetts, 1992).
