This is the third and final article in a three-part series. (Read Part I and Part II.)
In the first article of this series, we laid a theological framework for thinking about extraterrestrial life. In the second, we examined the rise of UFO mythology in popular culture and clarified how the scientific search for life differs from the images of little green men with ray guns. Now, in this final installment, we explore a more difficult task: how Christian theology might respond if we one day confirm the existence of life beyond Earth. Not because we know it exists, but because if it does, Christians should have something theologically grounded to say. Not something improvised, and certainly not something fear-driven. This is not an exercise in rewriting Scripture to accommodate science fiction. It is a careful attempt to apply biblical truth to a hypothetical question using a historical-grammatical method of interpretation.
This Earth-centric focus does not necessarily exclude the existence of life elsewhere, but it does emphasize that God’s revealed plan of redemption is directed toward humanity.
Before we begin our thought experiment, we must acknowledge something obvious but important: the Bible is a book about Earth, humanity, and God’s redemptive plan for both. The storyline begins in a garden (Genesis) and ends in a city (Revelation), but the setting throughout is the human experience of Earth. We are told that “the heavens declare the glory of God” (Psalm 19), but what exactly is meant by “heavens?” In Scripture, “the heavens” typically refer to the sky, the firmament, the celestial bodies—in short, the visible and invisible realms above the Earth. Sometimes the term refers to the dwelling place of God (as in the “third heaven” of 2 Corinthians 12:2); other times it refers to the physical sky and stars. Most relevant to our purposes here, the biblical use of “heavens” is not a shorthand for planets populated with alien civilizations. While Scripture acknowledges a layered and expansive cosmos, its narrative is consistently terrestrial and anthropocentric.
From the beginning, the Bible focuses on God’s covenant with humanity. Adam and Eve, Noah, Abraham, Israel, and finally Jesus—are all bound to Earth. The incarnation itself—the Word becoming flesh—is not a cosmic event in the sense of spanning galaxies. It is startlingly local. Christ was born in Bethlehem, to a young woman in Roman-occupied Judea, not on some distant exoplanet.
This Earth-centric focus does not necessarily exclude the existence of life elsewhere, but it does emphasize that God’s revealed plan of redemption is directed toward humanity. As such, our theology must begin from the conviction that the Bible tells a true story—one that is not meant to explain everything about creation, but one that explains enough to ground our understanding of who God is and what He has done.
If intelligent extraterrestrial beings were discovered—beings with intellect, self-awareness, and moral capacity—would they bear the image of God?
One of the foundational doctrines of Christian anthropology is the imago Dei—that humanity is created in the image of God (Gen 1:26-27). This doctrine is often expanded in systematic theology to include relationality, moral reasoning, creativity, rationality, and worship. These are valuable reflections, but in the immediate context of Genesis, the image-bearing identity of humanity is closely tied to humanity’s role in the garden: to exercise dominion, to subdue the Earth, and to serve as God’s stewards over creation.
The image of God, therefore, is not primarily about what makes us different from animals in a philosophical sense, but about our unique vocation in creation. It identifies human beings as royal representatives—vice-regents—of the Creator, tasked with cultivating and ruling the Earth in His name. The imago Dei is a calling rooted in embodied, terrestrial purpose.
That raises a theological question: if intelligent extraterrestrial beings were discovered—beings with intellect, self-awareness, and moral capacity—would they bear the image of God? The answer is not simple. If they possess qualities traditionally associated with personhood, it would not be unreasonable to infer some kind of analogous relationship with the Creator. However, the biblical image of God is applied specifically and uniquely to humanity in Scripture, and specifically within the context of Earth’s creation and stewardship. Thus, if other beings exist, they may be created for different purposes, under different covenants, or with different roles. It is possible they bear a different kind of image, or none at all, without this diminishing their created value—or ours. We must avoid anthropocentric assumptions, but also avoid theological overreach. Speculation must remain grounded in the text.
The idea that Christ’s death in some way initiates the renewal of all creation means that redemption is not limited to individual souls but affects the cosmos itself.
Another foundational doctrine intimately connected to this is the fall of humanity. Genesis 3 describes how sin entered the world through Adam and Eve’s disobedience. Romans 5:12 tells us that sin, and death through sin, entered the world through one man. But what does “the world” mean in this context? Is Paul referring to the entire cosmos? Or just the human world? The Greek word kosmos can mean “universe,” but often in the New Testament it simply refers to the world of humanity. In the context of Romans 5 and 8, Paul is clearly referring to the human condition.
Theologically, the fall has significant implications for the image of God. As many theologians have observed, the image of God in humanity was not destroyed by the fall, but was “marred” or “tarnished.” Human beings still bear God’s image after the fall (see Gen. 9:6 and Jam. 3:9), but that image is distorted. Our dominion is twisted into exploitation. Our moral reasoning becomes self-justification. Our worship is misdirected. In this sense, the fall did not remove the image—it damaged it. This raises new dimensions to our speculative question: if intelligent alien beings exist, and if they bear the image of God in a similar or analogous way, are they fallen? Have they sinned in rebellion against their Creator as we have? Or might they remain unfallen, bearing an unmarred image, preserved in a different covenantal relationship with God?
Alien life forms may still be part of the created order (Col. 1:16), but not necessarily under the curse of Adam. Or perhaps the effects of the fall ripple out in some way unknown to us. The key point is this: we cannot assume that all intelligent life would be in need of redemption simply because we are. Interestingly, both fiction and theology have explored these questions imaginatively. C. S. Lewis’s Space Trilogy—particularly Out of the Silent Planet and Perelandra—imagines unfallen alien species who live in harmony with their Creator, contrasting Earth’s rebellion. Lewis presents a universe in which Earth is the exception, not the norm, and where Christ’s redemptive act is unique to our fallen condition.
Similarly, Mary Doria Russell’s novel, The Sparrow, wrestles with the consequences of cross-cultural contact between humans and an alien civilization. It explores the misunderstandings and moral weight of carrying a gospel message across species and worlds, raising poignant questions about suffering and redemption and whether every sentient race is meant to be evangelized. Though fiction, both works serve as valuable exotheological thought experiments.
Both texts reach for the theological heart of the matter: the gospel is the good news that Christ died for sinners, was buried, rose again, and now offers salvation to all who believe. But how far does that redemption extend? Colossians 1:19-20 is a powerful text in this regard, wherein Paul seems to envision Christ’s work as having cosmic dimensions. The language of reconciliation “whether on earth or in heaven” may suggest that Christ’s atonement has broader implications than just human salvation. But again, we must be cautious. “Heaven” in Paul’s usage often refers to the spiritual realm, not necessarily other planets. Still, the idea that Christ’s death in some way initiates the renewal of all creation (cf. Rom. 8:19-22) means that redemption is not limited to individual souls but affects the cosmos itself.
This cosmic scope echoes the Old Testament messianic expectation of a coming King who would crush evil, deliver justice, and reign over all creation. The Messiah was not only to restore Israel, but to judge the nations, bring order to chaos, and establish a righteous rule. Revelation picks up this vision and expands it. Christ is not just the slain Lamb—He is the cosmic Warrior King who rides forth to defeat the dragon, renew creation, and bring the nations into submission (Rev. 19-21).
If other beings exist and are in need of redemption, is Christ’s death sufficient for them? Theologically speaking, yes. Christ’s sacrifice is infinite in worth. But would they need their own incarnation? Their own revelation? A different covenantal structure? We don’t know. What we do know is that God acts justly, and that He is sovereign over all creation. If He has other sheep in other folds, as some have playfully (that’s putting it nicely) interpreted John 10:16, we trust that the Good Shepherd knows how to bring them home.
Like when Galileo challenged the geocentric model, or Darwin introduced evolutionary theory, theological reflection will need to expand, but not collapse.
It is tempting to try to find aliens in the Bible. Some point to the Nephilim in Genesis 6, others to Ezekiel’s vision or the “wheels within wheels.” But these teachings are speculative at best, and often distort the text. We must not force Scripture to speak where it is silent. Instead, we acknowledge the Bible’s silence on this question and take that silence as permission to speculate responsibly. Scripture was given to reveal God’s character and redemptive plan for humanity. It was not meant to be an astronomical catalog.
This also means distinguishing between categories. Scripture clearly affirms the existence of non-human, spiritual beings (angels, demons, principalities, powers, etc.). These spiritual entities operate within God’s created order but are categorically different from hypothetical biological life on other planets. Their roles are defined within the context of divine revelation. While the Bible gives us room to explore unseen realities, it does not equate those realities with extraterrestrial life.
As Christians (and contrary to what some, like Robert Lawerence Kuhn, assert about us), we do not need to panic if alien life is discovered. The Bible has already taught us that God is Creator of all, that He is sovereign over all, and that his purposes are ultimately good.
Even if alien life is discovered—even if it is intelligent, sentient, and morally aware—certain doctrines remain untouched: God is Creator of all things (Gen. 1:1; Jn. 1:3). Human beings are made in God’s image (Gen. 1:27). Christ is Lord of all creation (Col. 1:15-20). Salvation is by grace through faith (Eph. 2:8-9). The Bible is God’s authoritative revelation for humanity (2 Tim. 3:16). Contrary to Kuhn’s assertions, none of these truths are threatened by the existence of alien life. What might change is our understanding of the scope of God’s work. Like when Galileo challenged the geocentric model, or Darwin introduced evolutionary theory, theological reflection will need to expand, but not collapse.
The discovery of alien life would be historic, but not unprecedented in the realm of theological expansion. Christians have always been asked to rethink how ancient truths speak to new contexts. And what’s most likely to be discovered—at least initially—won’t be a sentient species capable of communication, but something small: microbial life under Martian ice, or an amoeba-like organism suspended in the clouds of Venus, or maybe even some form of exotic vegetation clinging to the crust of a planet.
The incarnation doesn’t have to happen on another planet to be effective for us. And we don’t have to invent new doctrine to make room for others in God’s creation. Speculation can be healthy when it is tethered to sound theology. It allows us to think and to wonder and to prepare. The Church should not be caught off guard if alien life is confirmed. We don’t need to shove it into Ezekiel’s wheels or Revelation’s beasts. We just need to remember what Scripture teaches us, that the God who made the Earth also made the stars.
As Christians, we can be both cautious and curious. We don’t know what’s out there. But if someone—or something—is, the gospel isn’t fragile, and our theology is big enough to handle it.
