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| Magnolia Pictures |
There’s an uneasy feeling I get on the rare occasion I stand under a moonless night sky—the Milky Way spread
thick, full of star-generating factories and galaxies, hot burning suns and all that … space. My chest gets tight. The weight is palatable. I am a speck in the dust of creation, and I feel myself brush against the edges of terror and wonder.
That feeling permeates Europa Report, a science fiction film
recounting an ill-fated manned trip to Jupiter’s moon using a docu-drama style with
found footage from the Europa One mission. It is an intriguing story full of contrasting
images of beauty and the hostility of space that explores the tension between wonder
and discovery and human hubris and fragility.
That tension is accentuated
by a surprisingly compatible use of a starkly realistic portrayal of space
travel and a horror-genre structure.
JPL and NASA scientists
consulted on the film, and critics have noted Europa Report as one of the most realistic portrayals of space
travel in film. The crew is made up of
fairly plausible scientists and seasoned veterans of the space program. Indeed,
it was a pleasure to watch a film and not have to suspend my disbelief scene
after scene.
The film’s realistic
portrayal includes the dangers and problems associated with human space travel,
which is accentuated by its horror-like structure as the hazards of space travel
pick off the crew members one by one. But the structure does not dominate the
film. Critics have noted that most of the deaths are realistic and plausible
events, and there’s a lack of melodrama associated with the genre. For the most
part, the structure is subtle and rarely overshadows the story (except for the
ending, which feels like it may fall prey to its structure).
The film’s coupling of the realism
of the space travel and the training and experience of the mission team against
the reality of a vastly unknown and inhospitable space confronts us with human
hubris. We too easily fall prey to the illusion that, with all our accomplishments
and advancements, we have tamed nature and mastered our planet. While the occasional
storm or earthquake makes us pause, we tend to think we are in control for the
most part. Interestingly, one of the focuses of modern science and legislation
is curbing man’s effect on the planet.
But space exploration reminds
us of our limitations. As the advancements and training of the Europa One crew unravel,
we are confronted with the illusions of our accomplishments, control and advancements
Europa Report
reminds us how frail we actually are. As an ancient poet once put it, “we are
dust”:
The life of mortals is like grass,
They flourish like a flower of the field;
The wind blows over it and it is gone,
And in its place remembers it no more.~Psalm 103:15-16
Or, as an ancient king once
reflected, “Surely the fate of human beings is like that of the animals; the
same fate awaits them both: As one dies, so dies the other. All have the same
breath; humans have no advantage over animals” (Ecclesiastes 3:19).
Faced with this reality, we
ask ourselves existential questions: what is the meaning of our existence? Or
perhaps more basic: is there meaning?
Interestingly, Europa Report’s answer could be seen as
a tribute of sorts to a gnostic worldview in which the highest virtue is
knowledge and the noblest human act is to sacrifice oneself in its pursuit.
One character reflects “Compared
to the breadth of knowledge yet to be known... what does your life actually
matter?” At the end of the film, a scientist reflects on the mission: “We now
know that our universe is stranger, far more alive, than we had ever imagined.
The crew of Europa One changed the fundamental context in which all of humanity
understands itself. I don't know what greater measure of success they could
have achieved.”
But even in the film itself,
those sentiments feel a bit hollow. It doesn’t seem to bring much comfort, if
any at all, to the crew or those who reflect on the mission back on earth. Another
character, as he works towards saving the mission, mutters, “It’s pointless.”
But the ancient poet and sage
tell a different story.
They tell us that there is
something greater than our own (illusionary) power and influence, the world
around us and even the heavens above. They tell us of One who hovered over the dark
depths in the beginning, spoke a word and the hot, dense stuff of life
exploded. All those galaxies, star generating factories and burning suns are
but a garment spread across the shoulders of a God who spoke the universe into
being.
Perhaps, then, what we see
when we stand at the edge of the universe—and how we answer those existential
questions of meaning—might have something to do with how we view the universe.
In Signs, Graham Hess breaks people down into two groups: those who
believe that “there is someone up there, watching out for them” and that “whatever's
going to happen, there will be someone there to help them” and those who
believe that “whatever happens, they're on their own.” Where you fall determines
whether you respond to the unknown with hope or with suspicion and fear.
In Everything New, Jeff Cook puts it in philosophical terms, saying the glasses
through which we choose to view the world will determine what we see. “Much of the
philosophy coming out in recent years show us that the way we look at the world
influences and affects what we claim is true,” says Cook. “That is, all ‘facts’
are theory dependent. As such, the glasses we first decide to wear (or choose
to change during the course of our lives) dictate what we believe is real.” This
explains why, says Cook, so many brilliant men and women fall on both sides of the
God question. Lack of evidence isn’t the problem, says Cook, but rather “how we
choose to look at the evidence.”
Europa Report
reminds me of those nights I stand on our small beach at the edge of the
universe, stripped of my hubris and illusions and bearing the weight of my fragile
and tiny existence. But eventually my wonder-terror is saturated by the awe
that the One who set it all in motion would not only take notice of such small,
fragile creatures on one planet among trillions, but also love us—with a love
that burns hotter and denser than the stuff of stars and suns, a love that is
remaking and restoring. And that floods the universe with hope and meaning.
It’s not pointless. It’s a
miracle.