When God placed humanity in Eden, He gave us a mandate: "Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth" (Genesis 1:28). For most of Christian history, "the earth" seemed to exhaust the scope of this calling. But we now stand at a threshold where humanity might extend to other worlds. Does the dominion mandate extend to Mars?
The question isn't merely academic. SpaceX, NASA, and other organizations are actively working toward Mars colonization. Within our lifetimes, humans may establish permanent settlements on the Red Planet. And the long-term vision—terraforming Mars to make it Earth-like—raises profound theological questions about humanity's role in the cosmos.
Some Christians react negatively to space exploration, seeing it as prideful ambition or a distraction from earthly responsibilities. They point to the Tower of Babel as a warning against such ventures. But I think this misreads both Scripture and the nature of the endeavor.
The problem at Babel wasn't technology or ambition per se. It was the motivation: "Let us make a name for ourselves" (Genesis 11:4). The tower was about human glory apart from God, about creating unity through human effort rather than divine calling. Space exploration, properly understood, is something different entirely.
The dominion mandate isn't about exploitation; it's about stewardship and cultivation. Adam was placed in Eden "to work it and keep it" (Genesis 2:15). The Hebrew words suggest both productive development and careful preservation. Humanity's calling is to take what God has made and, through creative work, develop its potential while honoring its intrinsic value.
This is precisely what terraforming Mars would involve. Mars exists in a barren state—no life, thin atmosphere, frozen water, harsh radiation. Terraforming would be the ultimate act of cultivation: taking a dead world and making it capable of sustaining life. This seems continuous with, rather than contradictory to, the dominion mandate.
Moreover, Scripture's vision extends beyond Earth. The prophets speak of new heavens and a new earth. Revelation describes the New Jerusalem coming down from heaven, suggesting a transformed material cosmos, not an escape into pure spirituality. If God's ultimate plan involves redeeming and transforming physical creation, then human work toward extending life to other worlds might participate in that cosmic redemption.
There's also the practical consideration. Earth faces real challenges: climate change, resource depletion, asteroid risks. Having a backup location for humanity isn't cowardice or lack of faith; it's prudent stewardship. We put on seatbelts not because we lack faith in God's protection, but because wisdom dictates using available means of preservation.
From a scientific perspective, Mars terraforming is theoretically possible. We'd need to warm the planet to release frozen CO2 and water, creating a thicker atmosphere. This could be achieved through mirrors, greenhouse gases, or even redirecting comets. Over centuries, we could potentially create a breathable atmosphere and liquid water on the surface. It would be the largest engineering project in human history, requiring multiple generations and immense resources.
But isn't this exactly the kind of long-term, multi-generational project that reflects being made in the image of a Creator God who works on cosmic timescales? Isn't there something deeply human—and therefore deeply reflective of our divine image—in envisioning a flourishing human civilization on another world and then working across generations to achieve it?
The autistic part of me loves the systematic thinking required for terraforming: the precise calculations, the long-term planning, the attention to complex interconnected systems. It's engineering and science at their most ambitious, requiring exactly the kind of focused, detail-oriented thinking that neurodivergent minds excel at.
I don't believe Mars colonization means abandoning Earth. We must be responsible stewards here first. But I do believe that the impulse to extend life beyond Earth—to take a barren world and make it flourish—is deeply consonant with humanity's created purpose. We were made to be creative cultivators, extending the garden, bringing order from chaos, and life from lifelessness.
If and when humans stand on a terraformed Mars, looking up at blue skies, breathing air that wasn't there before, walking beside flowing water where only ice once existed, they'll be exercising the same dominion Adam exercised in Eden: taking what God made and, through creative work, developing its potential for life and flourishing. That's not pride. That's fulfilling our design.