Dark Matter, Chaos, and the Quest for a Better World

My wife and I watched Dark Matter recently on AppleTV+. I happened to read the book years ago and wrote this articulate and pithy review, which drips with my usual charm and charisma. We really enjoyed the show, and I’d recommend it.

A particular scene stuck in my head, and oddly enough, it clicked with some reading and listening I’ve been doing on the books of Genesis, and Jonah. Odd trio of topics? Stick with me, I’ll do my best to make a connection.

The Scene

In Dark Matter, a character invents a device that lets you jump between parallel universes. You enter this weird metal box, take a drug that knocks you out, and wake up to find yourself in an infinite hallway lined with doors, with each one a gateway to a different reality. The reality you step into hinges on your mindset. If you’re full of fear or anxiety, it’s likely the universe will be chaotic and dangerous. But if you can hold it together, you might walk into something extraordinary.

In one episode, two characters end up in a utopian Chicago, made up of futuristic skyscrapers, noticeable prosperity, and people that seem exceptionally kind. One character asks the other what they thought about to get them into this world and the dialogue goes as follows:

Where have you brought us?

I’m not sure. I didn’t even describe the world. I focused on concepts I thought would make a world worth experiencing.

Such as?

People agreeing on basic facts, technology that doesn’t destroy the environment or humanity. Mostly, I wrote about empathy.

The show glides past this exchange, but it stuck with me. It’s an interesting glimpse into the writers subconscious at the very least: Consensus on truth, tech that heals, empathy as glue. Could that be the recipe for paradise?

The Utopian Wishlist: A First Crack

On the surface, it’s an ok pitch I guess. A world where we all sync up on “basic facts,” where tech heals rather than harms, and a dash of empathy to round it out? That gives me some warm and fuzzy feelings, but there are some cracks.

Facts don’t bend stubbornness. Green tech doesn’t tame greed. Empathy’s fragile in the face of pride. Something’s off.

To poke at this, I asked an AI to list ten “basic facts” we’d need to agree on for this utopia. Here’s what it spit out:

1. The Earth is round and orbits the Sun in a vast, expanding universe.
2. Humans evolved through natural selection, like all life on Earth.
3. Climate change is real and primarily caused by human activity.
4. Germs cause disease, and vaccines help prevent illness.
5. Mental health is real and as important as physical health.
6. Renewable energy (solar, wind, hydro) is sustainable; fossil fuels are limited and polluting.
7. Humans are social beings who thrive on cooperation and connection.
8. Misinformation is dangerous and distorts reality, harming societies.
9. Resources on Earth are finite and must be managed responsibly.
10. Empathy and kindness improve well-being and strengthen communities.

It’s a decent list. Smart, socially aware, very now. But it’s thin. Where’s the beef?

How do these ten items reconcile against humanity’s great capacity for evil or good? Granted, I believe the earth is an isosceles triangle, and I can’t be convinced otherwise, but that point aside, I fail to see how agreeing on these ten facts somehow yields any meaningful or long term change in human flourishing?

How does this list, or the prevalence of eco-friendly tech help us address morality, or the mess of human nature? Firstly, the list fails to include a point stating that truth itself is real and has meaning, which we would need to assume in order to accept it in the first place. What about why we have morals at all? Why do we crave meaning instead of just surviving? Why can’t we just chill out, sleep on the ground, and eat when we’re hungry like the animals? Why do we hoard resources, build like we’re mad, explore Mars, create gazillion dollar businesses, pursue every possible form of comfort and pleasure, and still somehow feel hollow? What role does this existential dread play in how we relate to other humans? Why is our history filled with war? Why do bad things happen to good people, and vice versa? I wonder the impact of being on the same page of these deeper questions could have? The AI list is a shiny car with no engine. This is where Genesis comes in.

Genesis: The Foundation of Who We Are

Genesis isn’t just old stories. it’s a lens on the human condition.

It opens with creation: God shaping the world from a formless void, a swirling chaos of darkness and water. He speaks, and order emerges—light, land, life. Then comes humanity, crafted in God’s image, imbued with dignity, creativity, and a moral spark. We’re not mere beasts; we’re wired for relationship with each other, with God, with a purpose.

But it doesn’t stay perfect. The fall crashes in with our choice to defy God, to grasp for control, to be our own “Gods”, and everything fractures. Genesis 3 paints a vivid picture. Shame, blame, and a world tilting toward chaos. Suddenly, we’re restless, torn between good and evil, capable of brilliance and brutality. This is why we can’t “just be.” It’s why we dream of utopias yet sabotage them. Our hearts are the problem, not just our tools or ideas.

This is why I feel that Genesis is so important. As they say in addiction treatment, the first step to recovery is admitting we have a problem. Genesis shows us our problem.

I can hear a response to the above asking why some story in an ancient book should be trusted to explain the state of our nature. Why not chalk up the way we are to evolution or psychology? It’s a fair question that I come back to often myself (and by the way, I don’t think it has to be mutually exclusive, but that’s for another day). Here is my take at why its worth at least giving it the time of day in your mind.

Genesis is saying that when we defy God and attempt to seize control of our lives, we don’t just break some religious rule, we rupture our design. Genesis 3 illustrates our reaching to “be like God”, only ends up unraveling the harmony we were made for—connection with Him, with each other, and with creation itself. The result is shame floods in, blame divides us, and the world turns hostile (Gen 3:17-19). This isn’t mere mythology either, at least in the sense that it accurately portrays what we see everyday: A species haunted by guilt, chasing meaning in wealth, power, career, relationships, fill in the blank, yet still aching for something more. Tim Keller (a theologian and preacher who I listened to several of his podcasts on Jonah and Genesis) notes, our hearts become “idol factories,” crafting substitutes for God that inevitably fail us. Keller would argue that we all worship some “God”, whether we believe in a God or not.

Other explanations might describe our flaws, but the fall diagnoses them: We’re not just imperfect, we’re displaced from the One who anchors us. That’s a story worth believing, not because it’s provable in a lab, but because it names the longing no other theory fully grasps.

Look back at the utopian Chicago. Agreement on facts might align our heads, but Genesis warns our hearts would still drift. Green tech could help the planet, but greed could destroy it. Empathy might soften us, but envy sours it. We’re a paradox, glorious yet broken, and Genesis puts its finger on that tension. It’s not just diagnosis, though; it’s prognosis. From the chaos of the fall, God promises redemption. A seed of hope beginning in Genesis 3:14 that grows through the Bible. He brought order from chaos once; He’ll do it again.

Is there more to chaos than meets the eye? Can it be used for good? Let’s move to the book of Jonah to explore this question.

Jonah: Chaos as God’s Love

Jonah is a prophet told by God to warn Nineveh, a brutal city, of God’s judgment against them. A Sunday school reading of the book might suggest that Jonah runs away from this calling because he is afraid to go to Nineveh given how dangerous it is, but that is not the whole story. Jonah does not want to go because he hates the people, and he knows if he does what God asks of him, God will extend his mercy to them. Jonah does not believe they deserve God’s grace.

So Jonah runs, hopping a ship to Tarshish, which is the edge of the known world. This means he literally tried to get as far away as possible. He’s running from God, from purpose, from responsibility. Chaos follows fast. A storm flares up, threatening to sink the ship. The sailors with him panic, Jonah confesses, and they toss him overboard. Into the sea he goes. An ocean of chaos.

But there’s a twist. Chaos isn’t the end. In the chaos of the waters, God sends a fish, which swallows Jonah, spits him back on dry land, and sends him to Nineveh anyway. The storm and the sea serve not just as punishment but as God’s love in action, It’s relentless and unwilling to let Jonah go. The “ocean of chaos” is a strange mercy, a wake-up call that drags him back to his calling.

There is a connection In Jonah between the chaos of Genesis. There, God tames the chaos to create; here, He wields it to redeem. Jonah’s rebellion mirrors our own. We run from what’s good, chasing our own Tarshish, manufacturing our idols. Yet God pursues, sometimes using chaos or storms to pull us back. Our nature as humans, our restlessness, our flight from truth, our storms, they’re signposts of a deeper need. We’re made for more, and God doesn’t want us to settle for less.

External fixes like tech can’t heal what’s broken inside. Our moral struggles and existential itch suggest we’re built for God. Our tech, and agreement on facts might tweak the world, but without transformed hearts, it’s a sandcastle.

Back to Dark Matter

In Dark Matter, your headspace picks your reality. Fear opens doors to chaos; calm unlocks beauty. The utopian Chicago hinges on focusing on empathy and facts, but Genesis and Jonah suggest that’s half the equation. The show’s characters master their minds; Genesis and Jonah say we need mastered hearts.

We’re prone to storms because we run from purpose; we choose other gods. But what if our storms are not a dead end? Like Jonah’s sea, maybe it’s a path, a messy, wild love that reshapes us if we’ll let it.

Where This Lands

So, what does it take to build a world worth living in? Dark Matter dangles a tantalizing hint: mindset, empathy, agreement. Genesis digs deeper: we’re broken, glorious, and in need of redemption.

External fixes are bandaids; real change is heart surgery. It’s not a program or a tech upgrade. Genesis shows God meeting us in chaos; Jonah shows Him chasing us through it. Together, they whisper hope, not the fluffy kind, but the kind forged in storms. We’re not stuck or a hopeless cause. Transformation is possible, but it starts inside. That’s where the better world begins.