Science fiction is often dismissed as escapist entertainment—spaceships, aliens, laser guns. But the best science fiction is something much more important: a moral laboratory where we can explore ethical questions before they become pressing practical realities.
Consider Gattaca, which explores genetic engineering and discrimination. When the film was released in 1997, CRISPR didn't exist and genetic modification of humans was purely theoretical. Now, we're facing real decisions about gene editing. Should we eliminate genetic diseases? Enhance intelligence? Select for preferred traits? Gattaca explored these questions decades before they became urgent, showing how genetic determinism could create new forms of discrimination.
Or consider Her, Spike Jonze's film about a man falling in love with an AI. When it was released in 2013, AI assistants were primitive. Now, we have sophisticated language models that can engage in remarkably human-like conversations. People are already forming emotional bonds with AI chatbots. Her asked: Can love exist between human and AI? What constitutes a real relationship? These aren't hypothetical questions anymore.
This is what good science fiction does: it takes current technological or social trends, extrapolates them forward, and asks, "What happens then? How should we respond? What values should guide us?" It's moral philosophy in narrative form, making abstract ethical questions concrete and emotionally resonant.
Christians should be deeply engaged with this genre, not avoiding it as worldly fiction. The ethical questions science fiction explores are questions we'll actually face, often sooner than we expect. If we wait until the technology exists to start thinking about the ethics, we'll be unprepared. Science fiction gives us time to develop moral frameworks before we desperately need them.
Take Battlestar Galactica's Cylons—robots that become sentient and seek personhood. This seemed like pure fantasy, but AI development is raising similar questions. At what point does an artificial intelligence deserve moral consideration? How do we determine if it's truly conscious? What obligations do we have to synthetic beings? These questions will be urgent within decades, possibly within years. Science fiction has been exploring them for generations.
Or consider Blade Runner and the nature of humanity. The replicants are genetically engineered, have artificial memories, and will die after four years. But they exhibit all the markers of personhood: self-awareness, emotions, desires, fear of death. Are they human? Do they have rights? The film forces us to articulate what actually constitutes humanity beyond biological origin.
This matters as we develop synthetic biology, brain-computer interfaces, and genetic engineering. Our intuitive categories—natural vs. artificial, human vs. non-human—are becoming insufficient. We need principled ways to determine moral status that don't rely on biological essentialism. Science fiction explores these frameworks narratively, making them accessible and emotionally impactful.
As an autistic person, I particularly appreciate how science fiction often centers characters who think differently. Data from Star Trek, the Vulcans with their logical approach to emotion, the autistic-coded characters in many contemporary sci-fi—these characters show that different cognitive styles are valuable, even necessary, for solving complex problems. Science fiction normalizes neurodiversity in ways mainstream fiction often doesn't.
Science fiction also explores religious and theological questions. C.S. Lewis's Space Trilogy asks what redemption looks like on unfallen worlds. Mary Doria Russell's The Sparrow explores faith, suffering, and God's silence. Isaac Asimov's The Last Question explores entropy and ultimate questions about existence. These aren't secular stories with religious themes tacked on; they're serious theological explorations using science fiction as the medium.
Some Christians avoid science fiction because it seems to contradict Scripture—aliens, evolution, futures without Christ's return. But this misunderstands the genre. Science fiction isn't prophecy claiming to predict the actual future. It's thought experiment asking "what if?" What if we could clone humans? What if AI became conscious? What if we contacted alien life? These scenarios may never occur, but exploring them helps us clarify our values and develop moral frameworks.
Moreover, some science fiction scenarios are virtually certain to occur. We will develop more sophisticated AI. We will edit human genes. We will likely establish settlements on other worlds. We will create synthetic biology. These aren't hypotheticals; they're coming trends. The question isn't whether we'll face these ethical challenges, but whether we'll be prepared when we do.
This is where Christian engagement with science fiction becomes crucial. Secular ethics often defaults to utilitarianism or individual autonomy when addressing these questions. But Christian ethics has richer resources: human dignity grounded in being made in God's image, the value of the weak and vulnerable, the reality of sin and human limitations, the hope of redemption, the sovereignty of God.
When we engage science fiction from a Christian perspective, we can critique the assumptions embedded in these narratives while appreciating the questions they raise. We can ask: Does this vision of the future honor human dignity? Does it account for human sin? Does it recognize God's sovereignty? We can appreciate the moral exploration while offering Christian alternatives to secular answers.
I've found that discussing science fiction is often an effective evangelistic approach, especially with people in tech and science fields. Instead of abstract theological arguments, we can discuss concrete scenarios: Should we create sentient AI? How should we handle enhancement technologies? What makes someone human? These questions naturally lead to deeper theological issues about the image of God, the soul, and human nature.
Science fiction also cultivates moral imagination—the ability to envision outcomes we haven't personally experienced. This is crucial for ethics. We need to consider how our choices affect future generations, how technologies might be misused, how good intentions can produce harmful outcomes. Science fiction trains us to think in these terms.
The autistic ability to systematize and extrapolate makes science fiction particularly resonant for many autistic people. We enjoy exploring logical implications, imagining alternative systems, and thinking through "what if" scenarios rigorously. Good science fiction rewards this kind of thinking, making it both entertaining and intellectually satisfying.
Christians shouldn't dismiss science fiction as escapism or fear it as secularism. We should engage it as serious moral philosophy exploring questions we'll actually face. We should read it, watch it, discuss it, and develop robust Christian frameworks for responding to the challenges it presents.
Because the future these stories explore? We're going to live in it—or our children will. And we better have thought carefully about the ethics before the technology forces our hand.