The Evolution of "Gravity"

SPOILER ALERT: What follows is an interpretation and worldview critique of the recently released movie Gravity by Alfonso Cuarón starring Sandra Bullock. I will give away the ending, so save the link to this article for later if you want to see the movie first.

All geeks love space movies, so I've been eager to see Gravity. Based on the reviews by pros and amateurs, I anticipated a great movie, but I did not expect to wake up early the next morning figuring out the social commentary it made. I will spend exactly one sentence on what everyone else is writing great reviews about: the visual effects are stunning, the story tension makes you use body language in your seat trying to help out the characters, and the acting is strong. That's about as wordy as I can get as a movie critic. "Good movie; go see."

What started my attempt to unravel the subtext of the movie was the last scene. Bullock's character (Dr. Ryan Stone) flops out of the water onto the beach, struggles a bit (because she's been in zero gravity for many days), then makes it to her feet, and stumbles away. Cuarón focused in on that first step with such emphasis, it was clear he was trying to say something. It's almost certainly a microcosm scene of the "Evolution of Man" taking his first step. But I realized early the next morning, Cuarón was actually talking about the "Evolution of Woman."

The movie begins with Stone and Matt Kowalski (George Clooney) in a peaceful, idealic coexistence - "Adam and Eve," tending to the "garden" (the Hubble Space Telescope) in innocence and beauty. He the strong, experienced one, flying independently with a jetpack, charming and sincere, but interpreting all events to be about himself; she the inexperienced, weak (even nauseous), but brilliant one who is dependent on the space shuttle's arm. He was there long before she arrived (the only thing missing was a rib comment). Then tragedy intrudes suddenly, with a massive onslaught of space debris from a chain reaction accident of satellites. The Fall. Eden is ripped apart into chaos, and Adam and Eve are expelled. A third astronaut (Abel? the serpent? innocence?) is killed, and death has come.

Stone is thrust into space alone, completely unable to help herself, spinning out of control. But low and behold - the Man, the rescuer, saves her. He must tether her to himself, so that she is now utterly dependent on him for life and safety (this scene includes the only face-to-face close up with the characters, suggesting the sexual politics that woman are "tethered" to men also in this way). Where he goes, she goes, like the cave man dragging his woman around by the hair.

Eventually, the tether is cut, and the man floats away, forever out of her life. She is free, independent, and needing to be self-reliant for the first time. She makes her way into the abandoned International Space Station, and immediately curls up into the fetal position asleep, with the camera angle showing her gestating in the "womb," ready for birth. Via the Russian Soyuz spacecraft, she makes her way to the Chinese space station, also abandoned.

At this point, she does not need man. Kowalski is gone, she can't get Houston the radio, the Russians are gone, the Chinese are gone. She is untethered, independent, alone, no men to rescue her. Perhaps Cuarón gave her a strong man's name (not just "Ryan," but "Ryan Stone") to show she has effectively replaced men. After a strange howling scene (primal?) where a disembodied male voice sings her a lullaby, she nearly gives up, until an aberration of Kowalski sparks a brilliant idea from her independent, brilliant mind, and she is reawakened. From fetal to strong. I wonder if her opening scene nausea was just her being weak or if it was a form of "morning sickness" for her own rebirth.

More drama and tragedy and tensions carry the story through to Stone's fiery entrance into earth's atmosphere, eventually splash landing in the ocean in a capsule. The door pops open, and the capsule quickly fills with water and sinks. Underwater, she is "birthed" from this "womb," and as frog swims by (you know, the lab animals we studied in school to learn about evolution), she must shed her skin (spacesuit) in order to survive. She breaks the surface of the water and breathes air into her lungs.

She then evolves onto the beach, unable to walk. Earlier, she said she never prayed to God; here on the beach, she utters a simple "thank you." A few attempts, and she's finally bipedal, but shaky. Alone and female on a desolate land. No man. No other humans in sight. No one to rescue her. (A snarky little part of me was hoping she'd run into Tom Hanks with a Wilson volleyball.) Roll credits.

The tethered scene, it appears, pictures the hierarchical view of men and women. Men with the power, women dragged behind with no control for a very unpleasant ride, going wherever the man decides to go. By the end of the movie, the fully evolved woman is not just equal to man, but completely without need of him. Her only companion here is the "missing link" frog. It is like Irina Dunn's statement made famous by Gloria Steinem, "A woman needs a man like a fish needs a bicycle." Was her "thank you" for being alive, or for no longer needing a man? (Noticeably, her daughter is mentioned in the movie a few times, but never the girl's father.)

But both views of gender are unbiblical. Perhaps Cuarón believes the Bible teaches the hierarchical view, but he clearly eschews that model (as do I). But neither view properly displays the biblical concept of "one flesh." The hierarchical view is more like "one flesh - with an appendage." The manless view is "one flesh - hers." Rather, the concept of one flesh is male and female, equal in their standing before God and importance, but with some roles that are gender-specific based on the marriage covenant. Truly equal, but complementary. It is the only way to be "one flesh."

Of course, I may be reading too much into Cuarón. Some people online think the tether represents an umbilical cord, for example. However, starting from the ending scene and working backwards, give this view a shot. Good movie; go see.

Grace and Human Effort

Point: Jesus says that apart from Him, we can do nothing (John 15:1-11). The consistent Christian message is that we cannot accomplish anything significant by our own effort: salvation, sanctification, holiness, converting others, and so on. A significant portion of the narratio Dei (the narrative of God) is demonstrating that man cannot repair the damage inflicted upon himself by his sin or reach the presence of God by his own devices.

Counterpoint: Diana Nyad, 64, swims from Cuba to Florida in 53 hours. Felix Baumgartner reaches Mach 1.25 jumping from a balloon at nearly 128,000 feet and lands safely. Men and women gather their collective abilities to launch rovers to land on Mars then explore and send back mountains of data. An international team collaborates to determine how to decode DNA. Man can do amazing things with or without calling upon God for any help.

Two of the many questions these observations bring to the surface are:

1. How can both be true?
2. Should I or should I not try hard with the activities of the Kingdom?

How can both be true? Do we have conflicting observations, or are they complementary? Can we or can we not do something significant on our own? There's no denying the amazing feats accomplished by believers and unbelievers alike - physical achievements, mental achievements, and even overcoming challenges to personal fortitude.

For both to be true, there must be one other observation: Making ourselves eternally significant is a feat more difficult than even the most amazing human accomplishment. Rather than downplay or deny the significance of what humans have accomplished "on their own," the magnitude of what we can do only shows just how impossibly difficult it is for us to even approach "good enough" by God's holy standard. In other words, Observation 2 (the greatness of man's accomplishments) demonstrates by comparison the height of Observation 1 (the greatness of God's accomplishment in us).

The greatest things we've done are still less than what Jesus accomplishes by meeting God's standard. And then, by grace through faith, He gives to us as a gift that kind of perfection! Not our own, but His accomplishment cloaked around us, crediting it to us as if we had accomplished it ourselves.

Should I or should I not try hard with the activities of the Kingdom? If even the greatest acts of the most amazing men and women cannot advance the Kingdom, then what good are all the acts of us less amazing people? If the strongest man can't push a rock into heaven, why should the rest of us push at boulders? And yet God effectively commands us to push at boulders ("make disciples," "exceed the righteousness of the Pharisees," "love God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength").

In order for our Kingdom-minded actions to mean anything, there must be one other observation: God's commands are not for what we produce, but rather for what He produces in us. He commands us to push at boulders not because He wants us to move boulders without Him, but that He wants us to be the kind of people who push boulders. By putting our every effort into pushing boulders, God changes us into the kind of people He wants us to be. He wants us to be fully committed boulder-pushers, the kind of people who pour every ounce of sweat into His business, even though we can't push boulders into heaven.

He'll take care of moving the boulders. But He wants us to be fully engaged in His work, rather than a bunch of boulder-watchers who are disengaged from His work. He wants us to resemble Him by being as involved in His work as it takes to swim from Cuba to Florida.

Man's greatest feats and God's Word are not at odds - the weakness of our "greatness" demonstrates how necessary the Cross is, just like the magnitude of the universe only demonstrates how much more vast God must be.