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I went to the midnight showing of District 9 last night (this morning). It was a remarkable movie, one of the best of the year. It wasn’t too heavy on the special effects, it actually had a decent plot (unlike certain other sci-fi films this summer — *cough* Transformers *cough*), and it dealt with compelling socio-political themes. In a departure from my previous “film theology” posts (on Watchmen, Star Trek, and Terminator, respectively), I’m going to focus more on the political message of the film, rather than the strictly theological implications, though the political issues involved are deeply concerned with social justice and thus do have profound theological import as well. 
Two key political issues are integral to the plot of the movie: legalized apartheid, separation, and discrimination; and exploitative corporate greed.
1. Apartheid
The film is set in post-apartheid South Africa, where an alien spaceship has coasted to a lumbering halt over the city of Johannesburg. Three months pass before first contact is made, and then it is discovered that the aliens are sickly, malnourished, and lacking leadership and initiative. The South African government ferries them all to the surface, where they are given an area of “Joburg” all their own: District 9. But the movements of the aliens, colloquially called “prawns”, become restricted, and their freedoms begin to disappear under the administration of Multi-National United, the global weapons manufacturer put in charge of the District. The aliens’ “safe haven” quickly becomes a slum.
Thus, in post-(human)-apartheid South Africa, a new system of (nonhuman) apartheid emerges. The lives, livelihoods, and rights of the aliens are ignored daily: forced abortions occur frequently; aliens are shot in miscommunications and disagreements with humans; searches and crackdowns are commonplace.
Implicit in the film are several issues of both political and theological import. How do we define “the other”, and how do we respond to it? What is the basis of “rights”? How do we engage with, accommodate, or respond to unwelcome immigrants?
2. Corporate Exploitation
Multi-National United is the corporation charged with administering District 9 in the film. MNU claims to be operating the District with good of both humans and non-humans alike in mind; but it is soon revealed that the company is actually after the aliens’ powerful weapons, which human scientists have been unable to operate. MNU is a weapons manufacturer and mercenary company, making millions of dollars from the sale of guns and from the use of its private armed forces. It soon becomes clear that MNU values its bottom line much more than the rights (and even the lives) of both the “prawns” and any humans who stand in their way.
Multi-National United thus exemplifies what has become a literary archetype unique to our time: the exploitative, greedy, all-powerful corporation. Like all archetypes, this one has its basis in reality. We see it around the world, in corporations that stretch across national boarders, escaping the rule of law and exploiting local peoples and resources for their monetary gains. The fearful specter of MNU in the film is unmistakably grounded in the real experiences of local peoples around the world (at least outside of the West, which often stands to benefit in the short term from this sort of exploitation).Thus, in its unflinching portrayal of the reality of corporate greed in the world, District 9 strikes at some of the prevailing myths of our exploitative society, and implicitly challenges us to re-examine the way our dollars affect the lives of others.
Conclusion
Like any compelling narrative of artistic merit, District 9 raises questions that clearly speak to the issues of the day. The film offers no neat, clean answers to these questions; rather, it seeks only to present them, for us to ponder, consider, and engage in the context of our own lives. Let us hope that we will treat the film not only as an entertaining and intriguing summer sci-fi flick, but also as a serious exploration of themes and controversies that affect us all and that should be foremost in the social and political consciousness of the Church.
It is a year of really awesome sci-fi movies: First Watchmen, then Star Trek, and now Terminator Salvation. It’s a smorgasbord of dorkiness for a geek like me. In fact, for a very long time my career ambit
ion was …science fiction writer. I love the stuff. I’ve moved on to other long-term interests (theology and social justice), but somehow even in that area I keep returning to my original nerdy self. Thus my ongoing and intermittent “Film Theology” series, which has explored the theological ramifications of the issues posed by recent movies, all of them, thus far, scifi flicks. In March I wrote about the “Theology of Watchmen“, and just a couple weeks ago I pondered the “Theology of Star Trek“. Well guess what: I just saw Terminator Salvation.
The basic premise of the entire Terminator franchise is simple: in a post-apocalyptic future, humanity is fighting for survival against machines. The most recent film tells the story of John Conner, the prophesied leader of “the Resistance”, who appears to be the great hope of the human race in the desperate struggle.
I’d like to use the whole “war against the machines” concept as a jumping-off point for this post. In Terminator, the necessity of the use of violence against sentient machines is taken for granted. But as a pacifist and as someone very much interested in the study and use of nonviolent tactics, I don’t take that for granted. Thus, the question I’d like to explore, very speculatively of course, is this: What is the relevance of nonviolent ethics in a “war against the machines”?
The ethical necessity for nonviolence within a Christian theological framework is grounded in the idea that life is sacred because human beings are made in the image of God. Similarly, the demonstrated efficacy of nonviolence can be understood within the Christian context to result from the action of the imago Dei in our consciences and minds. As Walter Wink puts it, Christian nonviolence speaks to “something of God in everyone”. Both of these ideas can be translated into pluralistic and non-Christian terms and are present in some form in most religions. For example, the Indian advocate of nonviolence Narayan Desai speaks of a “level of humanness — however low it may be, in every human being” (quoted in Wink’s The Powers That Be).
The issues of necessity and efficacy (central to any discussion of the use of nonviolent strategy in a potentially violent conflict) are thus critically linked. How, then, to consider nonviolence in the “war against the machines”?
Clearly, the central question, as framed in Christian theology, would be this: “Do the Machines bear the image of God?” The initial answer for most people would be a quick no for seemingly obvious reasons. But the issue may be more complicated than it appears. It is quite possible that any artificial intelligence designed by humans in the future would have human characteristics, for every invention in some way reflects the character of the inventor. At a more fundamental level, it may be that the “image of God” (or the equivalent concept within a non-Christian religious or philosophical system) constitutes a necessary component of whatever “intelligence” is. In other words, it may be impossible have actual thought or to be “intelligent” (in the sense of the word that sets humans apart from other animals, or in the “artificial intelligence” sense) without having some component of a “conscience”, or “humanity”, or “imago Dei”.
To summarize, two possibilities become clear:
- The Machines in no way bear bear the image of God. Nonviolence, except in perhaps very limited circumstances, will probably be niether an ethical necessity nor a pragmatic possibility. This is likely the theological assumption in the world of Terminator.
- The Machines do, in fact, bear the image of God. In this case, nonviolence may indeed be a moral necessity — and fortunately, the effect of the imago Dei would also probably make it a pragmatic tactic.
The exploration of the imago Dei question (or non-Christian analogue) would be critical to philosophers, theologians, and ethicists during an actual war against machines. It may also prove to be an important ethical issue over the next decades as scientists improve current AI technology. For obvious reasons, the final resolution (if there is one) of this question is best left to the theologians of the future, and ultimately, the efficacy and necessity of nonviolence against “the machines” cannot be determined until the situation should actually arise.
Let us hope it never will.
Being the dork that I am, I went to see Star Trek last night. 
It was very well-done; the effects were spectacular, the characters were instantly recognizable, the acting was superb. The movie gave new life to Kirk, Spock, and the other heroes of the original series, and opened up a lot of possibilities for future exploration. In my Theology of Watchmen post a couple months back, I wrote that “like any narrative of artistic merit, Watchmen, as both film and graphic novel, raises profound theological questions.” The same, of course, is true of the new Star Trek film.
The new movie tells an alternate backstory of the original heroes’ early days. Focusing largely on the young James T. Kirk, the film explores his transformation from Iowa’s only “genius-level repeat delinquent” into the captain of the Starship Enterprise. Portions of the plot take place at the Starfleet Academy in California, and it is there that Kirk, as part of his training and studies, must take the infamous “Kobayashi Maru” test. This training exercise, designed by Spock, is intentionally designed to be unwinnable, a certain defeat for the cadets who take it.
On his third attempt at taking the test, Kirk succeeds, startling Spock and his other superiors at the academy. It emerges, however, that he only succeeded by inserting a new piece of programming into the system beforehand, changing the test to allow him to win. Kirk defends his actions with a famous statement that first appeared in the earlier film Wrath of Khan: “I don’t believe in the no-win scenario”.
I don’t believe in the no-win scenario.
On his blog “Hacking Christianity” (one of my longtime favorites), Rev. Jeremy Smith recently shared an innovative metaphor for the Resurrection. Relating a conversation with an MIT student, Jeremy quotes the student as saying: “You know what I think? I think if Death was a system, then Jesus hacked the system of death. … He broke it open for everyone.” In this metaphor (which reminds me of my “Techno-Christology” essay from a while back), the Incarnation is an innovative software hack in the “system” that makes up the universe.
Before the Resurrection, human death was like the Kobayashi Maru test. It was unwinnable, unbeatable, certain doom. We were trapped in our own sin and bound by Principalities and Powers — forces of oppression bigger than we could hope to overcome. But the incarnate Christ changed that. Just as Kirk hacked the Kobayashi Maru test, Jesus hacked death itself. He doesn’t believe in the no-win scenario either.
The Apostle Paul knew this, though he obviously wouldn’t have framed it in quite those terms. For Paul, “to live is Christ and to die is gain” (Philippians 1.21), and this hope is made possible only by the Resurrection (1 Corinthians 1512ff). Paul is telling us that for the Christian, because death has been overcome, there is no such thing as a no-win scenario. That’s why we can face death without fear, and that’s how we know that the Kingdom of Heaven will, in the end, win a victory far greater than anything even Starfleet could hope to accomplish.
I went to see Watchmen last night, having read the comic book graphic novel some months back. The novel is a work of art; it’s richly interlayered, accomplishing literary effects and conveying subtleties of meaning that are impossible in straight prose. It was of course impossible for the movie to live up the original, but the film nevertheless was well done. And incidentally, though many fanboys will protest over the film’s changed ending, I thought it made the finale stronger. 
Like any narrative of artistic merit, Watchmen, as both film and graphic novel, raises profound theological questions. Lengthy papers could be written on the “Theology of Watchmen“, but this post will seek merely to briefly consider and draw attention to a few of the issues the story raises.
Dr. Manhattan, the only superhero in Watchmen with genuine superpowers, is seen by many as a godlike being. He can manipulate matter; he perceives his entire life, past and future, as a continuous present (mostly); he can walk on the surface of the sun; he can grow to titanic size.
In the story, when the existence of Dr. Manhattan is made public, newspapers record a prominent official as saying “The Superman exists, and he’s American.” The official later clarifies that he was misquoted; his actual statement was “God exists, and he’s American”.
It is interesting to note how close this statement is to the implicit attitude of many in America. The state’s established religion of American Nationalism is all too often cloaked in the language (and, tragically, the institutions) of Christianity, using phrases like “One nation under God” and “In God we trust”. An examination of the radical, subversive message of Christ should make it clear that the God of Christianity is not the same as whatever deity the government “trusts”; but nevertheless, many in America ascribe to a political theology that in some sense assumes that “God exists, and he’s American”.
Of course, this is not a problem limited to the US. As Walter Wink has noted, Christian moral discernment in national affairs “tends to follow the flag”. But in America, it is exacerbated by the fervent, obligatory, patriotism that colors everything in public life.
[Spoiler warning] The film version of Watchmen reaches its climax when one of the superheroes wreaks destruction in major cities around the world, framing Dr. Manhattan for the dastardly deed in order to force America and the USSR to make peace and unite against this new common threat (the film is set during an alternate-history Cold War). To the American government, it is as if God has suddenly turned against them. God still exists, but now he is anti-American.
Could real-world America face such a crisis? Though the God of the New Testament is not a God of empire, the conception of Deity embraced by Christian Nationalism could never turn on the US. There are millions of American Christians who, attending churches that obscure the cross with the flag, have rarely considered the possibility that God could oppose the United States in any substantial way (though many millions more elsewhere in the world have rarely doubted God’s un-Americanism!). It is inevitable that someday these two conceptions of God will run smack-dab into each other (as they did in Nazi Germany, for example), creating massive cognitive dissonance for man, and shaking the religious foundations of American society.
Perhaps, then, Watchmen in some way echoes the archetypes of biblical apocalyptic literature, wherein all the nations of the earth come together against God in the “last days”. In the film, the warring nations of the world unite to counter a hostile superhero. In “real life”, the nations continue to war physically, but spiritually they are united in countering the peace of God with the cult of Empire.
This post was featured on the CCBlogs Network, and was also crossposted at Crossleft.org
