Evolution, Angels, and the Origin of Evil in Aquinas, Ratzinger, and Pendergast

Abstract

This essay confronts a classic tension: Christian tradition has long linked death in the world to human sin, yet evolutionary science reveals eons of predation, pain, and extinction preceding the emergence of Homo sapiens. In this essay, it is asked whether and how this history can be reconciled with belief in a good creation by the God who is love. After situating the stakes of this question with regard to evangelization, I examine Jesuit physicist Richard Pendergast’s ambitious proposal that fallen angels reshaped the material order and thereby seeded natural evil throughout evolutionary time. I set this account in critical conversation with major figures of the Christian tradition, including Augustine, but especially Joseph Ratzinger (Benedict XVI) and Thomas Aquinas, who—while upholding the fall and the need for redemption—locate suffering and death within natural order of creation and compatible with the divine goodness rather than as anomalies. It will be seen that Ratzinger, for his part, proposes a way to preach and live a “creation and evolution” synthesis in which the cross and resurrection illuminate, rather than erase, the hard facts of biological history. The essay concludes by assessing the metaphysical feasibility, scientific plausibility, and theological fittingness of attributing foundational and large-scale natural processes to angelic causation, noting that it risks dualism and the eclipse of creation’s fundamental goodness.

1. Introduction

For centuries, it was commonplace among ordinary Christians to assume that death entered the created order as a direct result of humanity’s fall into sin. Yet discoveries in evolutionary biology have shown that long before human beings appeared, the natural world had already been marked by predation and mortality for untold ages. Our own fragile species inherited this condition, being the descendants of earlier hominins shaped by that same evolutionary drama. Moreover, Darwin’s theory demonstrates that death itself—along with the struggle for survival it entails—was not incidental but rather integral to the emergence of life’s astonishing diversity, from microscopic organisms to the vast array of plants and animals inhabiting the earth today.

Might the evolutionary account of a world shaped by pain and mortality be brought into harmony with the Christian conviction that creation springs from a God whose very nature is love? This problem of evil is a challenge for everyone, but it is especially acute for the Christian believer and in particular the evangelist, as we seek to proclaim the goodness of the created order and yet constantly must face up to the apparent incongruity between this belief and the realities of our biology. In this essay, I will explore a number of noteworthy approaches to meeting the challenge of how the enigma of evolution’s bond with suffering and death might be opened up to understanding, with particular attention to the extensive proposal of late Jesuit physicist Richard Pendergast considered alongside Joseph Ratzinger (Benedict XVI) and St. Thomas Aquinas, both of whom stand as central figures for understanding the intersection of faith, creation, and reason.

2. The Stakes of the Debate: Theology, Science, and Theodicy

Before we proceed, a few words are in order regarding the extensive corpus of Fr. Pendergast, which until now has received little attention. Thanks to the enterprising efforts of Valerie Miké, the late Jesuit’s works have in recent years been published as part of the Christian Cosmology series with Herder and Herder. Miké herself has articulated the chief rationale for bringing these texts to print: “The Bible, eternal legacy of mankind, needs to be read in the light of what has been revealed about the world by science” (Miké 2024, p. xiv). Concerning Fr. Pendergast’s lifelong project of showcasing the harmony between faith and science, Miké has written that his deepest desire was to reach a general audience—especially young people—keenly aware that today believers often have the regrettable impression that faith and evolution are mutually exclusive domains.

This has also been a growing concern of the Church and of this scholar over the past two decades of college teaching: namely, that our Church’s brightest people end up leaving the faith when pressured to uphold what cannot be sustained: the denial of evolution in exchange for an overly wooden and, in the end, uncomprehending reading of the Bible. In this context, Miké recalls Augustine’s warning—later echoed by Galileo—that Christians discredit the faith when they are shown mistaken about matters of science that outsiders already know to be true (Augustine 1982, pp. 42–43; Galilei 1989, pp. 103, 112; Miké 2024, p. 45; Ramage 2022, pp. 3–9, 24–26). On this basis, our task is not to build walls against science but to engage it, so that faith may grow in depth and, in turn, offer light to scientific inquiry.

Fr. Pendergast articulates this challenge with poignant clarity in volume two of The Cosmic Hierarchy:

[S]ince Darwin difficulties have arisen. Modern science has shown us how deeply rooted physical evil is in the fundamental constitution of matter. The fundamental structure of this world originated long before the human race existed. Therefore, it is hard to believe that all the physical evil that afflicts humanity was due to human sin

(Pendergast 2024, p. 298).

In another location within this volume, Pendergast frames the matter as follows:

In Christian theology, the one God is the principle of unity and order in the world. How is it, then, that the world has so much disorder and suffering? And why are organisms, and indeed the whole biosphere, so clumsily designed? The world is good and beautiful, but it is also evil and ugly. What is the source of its good and what is the source of its evil?

(Pendergast 2024, p. 295)

To describe the biosphere as “clumsily designed,” however, is already problematic. From a scientific perspective, many features that appear awkward or wasteful serve adaptive purposes when viewed within evolutionary history, and from a theological perspective, creation’s complexity and apparent inefficiencies need not imply defect but can instead reflect the cruciform pattern of a world ordered toward growth through struggle. To label creation as “clumsy” is therefore a misnomer, and it easily predisposes one to posit an explanation by way of outside disruption—such as Pendergast’s fallen angels—rather than recognizing that difficulty and disorder belong within the providential structure of creation itself. In any event, these questions, so candidly posed by Pendergast, frame the broader context and vital importance of our inquiry: how faith can engage modern science without compromise, so as to illuminate the mystery of creation and the Christian promise of redemption?

3. The Fundamental Principles Needed to Address the Challenge of Evolution and Evil

At the outset of this inquiry, it is important to highlight several principles that Fr. Pendergast identifies in his framework for addressing the problem of evil in relation to evolution.

For starters, he discusses the phenomenon of secular individuals who reject faith on the basis that it is unscientific while seemingly unaware that their very claim is itself not scientific in nature. Indeed, it is an unfounded philosophical assumption that our popes refer to as “scientism.” On the opposite extreme, Pendergast remarks on “fundamentalists” or “creationists” who have failed to make sufficient use of God’s second book, the book of Nature, and the talents and skills of those who specialize in reading it.” As Pendergast observes, the failure on the part of this crowd “seems to be caused by excessive suspicion of the modern world, indeed, even of the Christian world outside their own circles. Because they have been unable or unwilling to accept the truth of others, they have lost part of their own truth” (Pendergast 2024, p. 45).

On this subject, Pendergast points to a pivotal text from Langdon Gilkey on the importance of having recourse to both of God’s “books.” Gilkey writes, “Many scientists share with the fundamentalists the confused notion that so-called religious knowledge and scientific knowledge exist on the same level and that, as science advances, scientific knowledge simply replaces and dissolves religious myth.” He continues with this incisive analysis:

Not only do the scientific naturalists and the fundamentalists agree in theory that religious truth and scientific theory are direct competitors and so mutually exclusive, but each perspective tends to breed and encourage the other. Much of scientific naturalism has gestated out of parental fundamentalism or orthodoxy. Correspondingly, the new fundamentalist reaction against evolution has arisen in part because of the frequently careless and uninformed way evolution science is being taught

(Gilkey 1986, pp. 47–48, 64–65).

While it is easy to privilege either faith or science against the other, it is important to recall that the Catholic Church has always maintained a both-and approach in this regard. Catholic theology does not pit creation against evolution but understands creation itself as a dynamic reality, one that unfolds through the very process of evolution. In the words of Joseph Ratzinger, “[W]e cannot really say ‘creation or evolution’…as these two things are responses to two different questions. What we should actually be saying is ‘creation and evolution’” (Ratzinger 1995, pp. 77–78; Ratzinger 2022, p. 43).

4. Fr. Pendergast on the Bible and Mythology: A Bridge Between the Old and New

Pendergast argues that biblical literalism has been rendered untenable for two distinct yet arguably equally powerful reasons: “[C]hanges in the Christian interpretation of Genesis have been prompted by biblical scholarship as well as by the physical and biological sciences” (Pendergast 2024, p. 43). On the empirical side, advances across disciplines have made it necessary to re-survey the assumptions held by the sacred authors regarding the physical world.

At the same time, developments in the empirical sciences and modern biblical scholarship have also compellingly challenged many longstanding Christian assumptions about the Bible. No longer do scholars generally assume that the Book of Genesis was written entirely by Moses in the second millennium BC, nor do most scholars subscribe to a divine dictation theory of inspiration anymore. Perhaps most importantly, archeological digs and vastly increased competence in the Semitic languages have demonstrated that the Bible’s creation accounts are not in the business of teaching science or in providing a strictly historical account of the origins of our universe.

Flannery O’Connor once said, “You tell a story because a statement would be inadequate” (O’Connor 1969, p. 96). For his part, Fr. Pendergast stresses that “the deepest truths have to be conveyed in terms of stories rather than in abstract Propositions” (Pendergast 2024, pp. 46–47). In league with Popes John Paul II, Benedict XVI, C.S. Lewis, J.R.R. Tolkien, and G.K. Chesterton, who all held this view, Pendergast locates the early chapters of Scripture as conveying Christian doctrine “in a full-bodied way” within the genre of mythology. Affirming Norman Perrin’s definition, he describes myth as “a complex of stories—some no doubt fact, and some fantasy—which, for various reasons, human beings regard as demonstrations of the inner meaning of the universe and of human life” (Pendergast 2024, p. 305).

Pendergast characterizes myths as having two dimensions, one formal and the other material. Almanacs provide countless details yet reveal little of their deeper order, while poetry discloses profound meaning in form but says little of material reality. By contrast, what Lewis called the “Chosen Mythology” of Scripture accomplishes both. For example, this approach affirms that the formal teaching regarding the Fall is clear insofar as it indeed happened in remote time. However, it also recognizes that the Bible does not present us with a strictly historical account of this episode—its material aspect is ambiguous (Pendergast 2024, p. 310). “In my view,” he elaborates, “we do not possess a high degree of certainty about the material aspect of the biblical teaching, and we convey its formal aspect in terms of the rather ambiguous material one … [W]e know no more about the circumstances of original sin than we do about those of the Last Judgment” (Pendergast 2024, p. 313)

Yet this does not mean that we cannot say anything at all on this subject. In a remarkably similar approach to that of Ratzinger, Pendergast considers that Adam (literally, “human being” or “dirtling”) might be better thought of less as the first man than as a corporate persona, i.e., Everyman. Specifically, he states, “I regard “Adam” not as an individual but as Rahner’s humanitas originans, that is, the human species in its process of being established in its modern form…I take it, therefore, that the fall of man was a process that may have been as long as that original phase of rapid evolution but no longer than that” (Pendergast 2024, p. 311). According to Pendergast, “[Mankind’s] ascent did not correspond to the full hopes of God our Father. He wanted more for us, particularly spiritually and socially, but also very likely even physically. Therefore, in the context of his hopes and the opportunities he afforded to us, it was a descent, a disastrous fall” (Pendergast 2024, pp. 311–12).

There are elements to the above position that might be questioned by the likes of Ratzinger, in particular with regard to whether a temporal equation of the Fall of man with the Ascent of man leaves sufficient space for original justice. Nevertheless, Pendergast’s archetypal reading of Adam bears striking similarities with Ratzinger’s view of Adam as archetypal of each and every man. It also bears resemblance to Ratzinger’s approach insofar as during his professorial days he emphasized that Genesis’s opening narrative “does not inform about details of the past” or “expand our knowledge of history into the prehistoric” (Ratzinger 1964, pp. 31, 253). Ratzinger later echoes this in writing, “[T]he Bible is not a scientific textbook … One cannot get from it a scientific explanation of how the world arose” (Ratzinger 1995, p. 4). As John Paul II wrote, “The theological teaching of the Bible, like the doctrine of the Church … does not seek so much to teach us the how of things, as rather the why of things” (John Paul II 1986a). According to the Catechism published under John Paul and edited by then-Cardinal Ratzinger, the earlier chapters of Genesis deploy a “figurative” (i.e., symbolic, poetic) mode of exposition in service of conveying the deepest truths about God and man (Catholic Church 1994).

5. Fr. Pendergast and Ratzinger on Teleology and Design in the Universe

Not only does Fr. Pendergast’s thought offer helpful correctives to a misguided biblical literalism, but it also has implications for refining another Christian response to modern evolutionary theory which is commonly discussed under the banner of “Intelligent Design,” or ID.

Distinct from the broader Christian conviction that evolution unfolds under God’s providence, ID refers to a particular movement that challenges evolutionary theory by pointing to stages in life’s history that, in their view, cannot be accounted for by natural processes alone. Its proponents appeal to Darwin’s own admission that his theory would collapse if a complex organ were ever shown to be beyond gradual modification: “If it could be demonstrated that any complex organ existed which could not possibly have been formed by numerous, successive, slight modifications, my theory would absolutely break down” (Darwin 1859, p. 189).

In response to Darwin’s own challenge, ID advocates maintain that certain biological systems display a level of complexity that natural processes alone cannot explain, implying the need for advance design by a transcendent mind. In the words of Fr. Pendergast, “ID theorists single out irreducibly complex systems in particular because they believe that their essential components had to evolve together, and therefore the odds for their doing so are much smaller than the odds of a process whose components evolved one by one” (Pendergast 2024, p. 272). As Pendergast saw it, one especially important contribution of ID has been to remind us that “Today, with regard to evolution, neo-Darwinists deny important philosophical and theological concepts, particularly, the notion of teleology” (Pendergast 2024, p. 278). This lack of teleology is evident at every level—organisms are reduced to chance assemblies of parts, species are explained apart from intrinsic purpose, and evolution as a whole is treated as blind. ID has drawn helpful attention to this absence of teleology, even if its proposals for how teleology should be reintegrated remain underdeveloped and sometimes philosophically inconsistent.

Ratzinger agreed with Intelligent Design only insofar as it highlighted the limits of evolutionary theory—namely, that science cannot yet fully explain every key transition in life’s history. Beyond this, he underscored the centrality of teleology and the cosmos’ foundation in the Logos, even describing creation itself as God’s “intelligent design” (Benedict XVI 2005). At the same time, however, Benedict also distanced himself from the ID approach, for he refused to ground divine action in gaps or breaks within nature’s causal order. As he once remarked to his former students, God is far too great to be reduced to a gap-filler (Benedict XVI 2008, p. 144). This stance also aligns with that of John Paul II, who spoke of an “ontological leap” marking the rise of the spiritual dimension in humanity. This pope maintained that the discontinuity or “ontological leap” separating us from our prehuman ancestors—seen in our capacity for metaphysical knowledge, self-awareness, self-reflection, moral conscience, freedom, esthetic and religious experience—does not cancel out the biological continuity traceable by the observational sciences, which chart life’s development with ever-greater precision (John Paul II 1996, p. 6).

While Fr. Pendergast had more sympathies for the ID project than Ratzinger and most Thomists, he nevertheless raises an important question to bear in mind even as we value the contributions of ID:

But is it possible that, just as neo-Darwinists’ philosophical and religious presuppositions led them to assert their atelic naturalistic theory with certainty, so ID theorists’ opposite philosophical and religious presuppositions may be leading them to assert their position with the same sort of certainty? The scientific debate about evolution is being heated up by an underlying religious conflict between theists and atheists. Could both parties be wrong?

(Pendergast 2024, p. 278)

Performing the same critical service of seeking to shore up the philosophical foundations of ID, another concern that Pendergast raises vis-à-vis the approach is that “ID theorists sometimes give one the impression that living organisms are accidental systems of atoms and molecules that divine influences are pushing and pulling from without” (Pendergast 2024, p. 27). Like Newton and Paley, ID advocates can give the impression of God being a “master mechanic who designs and constructs extraordinary machines,” whereas Pendergast notes, “[T]he Christian tradition portrays God as a Creator who imparts to his creatures as much of his own being as they can receive. They are not pushed or pulled but rather empowered. Thus, I fear that in opposing neo-Darwinism, ID theorists may be accepting a false philosophical horizon” (Pendergast 2024, p. 27).

In the same spirit, Ratzinger dismissed any notion of divine causality that treats God like a craftsman or engineer “tinkering” with creation (Ratzinger 2011, p. 141). His point was that God is not a machinist operating on the same level of being as creatures, as though merely a superior being among others. Such a view, he warned, reduces God to a demiurge who builds the world and then abandons it, intervening only occasionally to keep it running. These cautions, taken together with Pendergast’s, should be kept in view when considering how Intelligent Design might be situated within Catholic thought and classical metaphysics.

6. Cross and Resurrection Embedded in the Natural Order

Another worthy area of consideration in Fr. Pendergast’s treatment of evolution and evil concerns the question of what original sin has to do with it all. On this score, he writes, “The traditional Christian doctrine of original sin is important in my solution to the problem of evil. I believe that doctrine is fundamentally correct but needs updating in order to take account of contemporary scientific knowledge” (Pendergast 2024, p. 291).

The rationale for this aggiornamento is relatively straightforward. Some assume that human sin precipitated the onset of death in creation for the first time, both among humans and across all species. Today, however, this picture is no longer scientifically plausible. For example, consider that decay of once-living organisms is what produces fertile soil, rich in nutrients and alive with microorganisms (Berry 2002, pp. 290–91, 383; Wirzba 2019, pp. 40, 53, 127). Or take something even less appealing: animal waste. Though unpleasant, it is vital for the ecosystem, carrying and nourishing seeds that sustain plant life. In a way not unlike the paradox of the Gospel, these processes seem unseemly at first, yet through the slow work of heat, time, and microbes, they are transformed into something essential and life-giving.

A comparable pattern appears in some of nature’s most stunning marvels, such as the caterpillar, which dissolves itself into a kind of protein soup before emerging as a butterfly. Like a seed that breaks open underground, this transformation points—albeit symbolically—to the innermost structure of creation, where death gives way to life. According to St. Teresa of Avila, the silkworm’s liquefaction and subsequent transformation is a metaphor for the Christian journey: the disciple must bear the cross, die to the world, and at last rise as a radiant white butterfly (Teresa of Avila 1979, p. 93).

In light of the above, Professor Ratzinger drew a conclusion that runs along almost the very same lines as that of Fr. Pendergast: namely, that all the evidence we have at our disposal today “makes it impossible to uphold the said teaching (i.e., the connection between death and original sin) in the usual way” (Ratzinger 1964, p. 215). Ratzinger held that suffering belongs to the very fabric of creation, even asserting that both suffering and death are essential to authentic human flourishing. Their ultimate meaning, he argued, is not rooted in sin but in their role of uniting us to Christ in his passion and resurrection. So central is this conviction that Ratzinger once remarked: “Whoever wanted to take that away would dissolve the world as such.” Creation itself, in his view, was always meant to be cruciform, shaped according to the Paschal Mystery. This idea remained with him into old age, as seen in his final recorded homily, where he affirmed that while humans are destined for eternal life, they nonetheless “live in a world structure where death is essential” (Benedict XVI 2017, p. 250).

Ratzinger went so far as to claim that passing through suffering is a prerequisite for becoming fully human: “[A] person without suffering in the world in which we live would be a monster.” While suffering should be alleviated, he added, the will to do away with it completely would nevertheless entail “a ban on love and therewith the abolition of man. As pope, Benedict would say that “there can be no love without suffering” (Benedict XVI 2007). In saying this, the pontiff replicated almost verbatim the words of St. Bernadette, “Here below, love without suffering does not exist…for divine Love does not exist without suffering” (Benedict XVI 2007; Soubirous 2005, p. 32; John Paul II 1984, p. 31; Ramage 2022, pp. 242–44). Like his friend Hans Urs von Balthasar, Ratzinger held that theosis is only attainable by means of kenosis, and that kenotic suffering—like all things in this world—is a reflection of the inner life of God himself.

From this standpoint, the real issue is not the existence of suffering and death themselves, but how we relate to these unavoidable experiences. What humanity forfeited in the Fall was not an exemption from mortality, but the grace to embrace it rightly—with Christ and, like Mary, in a cruciform surrender to the Father’s will. Although a life lived in this way is not all roses, learning to receive our suffering as an integral part of God’s will for our salvation is a crucial component of the journey towards holiness. To put this in perspective, St. Faustina goes so far as to place the ability to suffer alongside the Eucharist as two of God’s essential graces—gifts so lofty that she writes, “If the angels were capable of envy, they would envy us for two things: one is the receiving of Holy Communion, and the other is suffering” (Kowalska 2003, p. 1804).

Of course, Ratzinger was aware that God could have prevented Adam and Eve from suffering and dying. As the Lord of creation, he could have anesthetized our first parents from feeling the pain of our teeth falling out, fevers from infections, getting bitten by mosquitos, being devoured by wild beasts, and the like. Yet, Ratzinger’s account leads us to ask of this scenario: First: does this account truly cohere with our knowledge of God and his action in the world especially in light of modern scientific discoveries? (It does not) and, secondly, is it even theologically fitting? To this author, at least, it is implausible that the Creator would have “de-natured” his own handiwork by constantly suspending natural processes through miracles just to shield early humans from insect bites, thorns, or storms. Such a picture—God disabling sweat glands, numbing nerves, erecting force fields, or redirecting tornadoes—would represent a distortion rather than a perfection of creation’s beauty.

7. Where Pendergast Diverges from a More Traditional Account of Natural Evil

Fr. Pendergast was also aware of this problem: “To say with the traditional account of original sin that at the beginning of our race God intended to exempt us from evil means that he planned to work a never-ending series of miracles in order to avoid the consequences of the system that he himself set up.” In this connection, Pendergast notes: “As Teilhard had pointed out, evil is not a mere accident in the universe but a necessary element in the structure of the system. It is something written into the basic laws of nature and the history of cosmic and biological evolution.” Pendergast here approves of “Karl Rahner and others have tried to update the theory of original sin in a way that preserves the essential elements of the traditional doctrine” (Pendergast 2024, p. 298).

Interestingly, however, Pendergast appears to associate Ratzinger’s perspective with that of the “radical revisionists” according to whom “we must assume that evil does not come from sin but from the physical nature of the world.” Yet, by setting up the discussion in this way, he risks obscuring Ratzinger’s more nuanced position, which neither attributes evil to the loss of a miraculous safeguard against natural processes (as in the traditional account) nor reduces it to the blind outworking of natural laws (as in radical revisionism). Rather, Ratzinger—following Aquinas—charts a middle path that acknowledges natural evil as woven into creation’s finite structure while still insisting that moral evil arises uniquely from human freedom and sin.

Notably, Pendergast recognizes that Thomas Aquinas advanced a comparable view, which would also situate him within the revisionist camp. According to the Angelic Doctor, God permits corruption and defects in nature in order to bring about a greater good, and much good would be absent without them. “Fire,” for example, “would not be generated if air was not corrupted, nor would the life of a lion be preserved unless the ass were killed” (Aquinas 1920, I, q. 48, a. 2 ad 3; I, q. 96, a. 1 ad 2; I, q. 19, a. 6 and ST, I, q. 22, a. 2; John Paul II 1986b; Ramage 2022, pp. 234–38; Pontifical Biblical Commission 2019, § 146). Importantly, St. Thomas recognized that death was present among animals before the Fall, even as he did not think that these creatures would have posed a threat to humans. In close alignment with what we have since confirmed through science, Aquinas emphasized that lions and falcons were never herbivores. Indeed, he deemed it altogether irrational to hold otherwise (Aquinas 1920, I, q. 96, a. 1 ad 2.).

Although Pendergast does not address them, Aquinas’s view was in fact that of many Patristic authors. For instance, this view was so evident for Fulgentius of Ruspe that he could ask: “Who, seeing the invisible things of God understood through creation, does not praise the Creator as much in the maggot as in the elephant, or in the flea as in the cow?” In response to the claim that flies, fleas, scorpions, and bedbugs arose only “after the fall of the angel, the unworthy Devil” and that “all these things were made by the Devil himself” (Fulgentius of Ruspe 1997, p. 446), Fulgentius admonishes his interlocutors to restrain rash speculation and insists that even the seemingly most insignificant of creatures manifest the beauty of God’s creation:

Just as there are things in which he delights, so also let him not doubt that these things by which he is offended were also naturally made by God. His wisdom which reaches mightily from one end of the earth to the other and orders all things sweetly [Wis 8:1] shows the beauty of his creation even in those things which corruption destroys, and in the tiniest animals reveals the splendor of each one of its kind. He made the tiniest flies, however much smaller they are than the great elephants, they are so much more agile. Although there is in each such a difference in the size of the members, there is no difference in the praise for the divine work

(Fulgentius of Ruspe 1997, p. 469).

So strongly does Fulgentius hold to this view that he offers the following reductio ad absurdum, which appears to address precisely the proposal made by Fr. Pendergast:

Let none of the faithful say that any nature could have been created by the Devil at the beginning; lest, while he affirms that certain animals arose with the Devil as creator, they consequently also ascribe those things from which they take their origin to the workings of the Devil. For certain types of flies originate either from the excrement of bodies or from rotten plants or flesh. Often we see some flies born even from vegetables. The corn weevil is accustomed to exist in corn. Whoever asserts that animals of this sort were created not by God, but by the Devil, why does he not also assert that wood, grains, vegetables, plants, and flesh from which they are born, have been made by the Devil? Consequently, when he sees worms taking their origin, not only from human cadavers, but also from living bodies, since sometimes the meaning of carnal human mortality is shown by worms, he will claim without a doubt that the Devil is also the author of human bodies

(Fulgentius of Ruspe 1997, p. 468).

In a similar vein, if less polemically, St. Athanasius insisted that sin did not fundamentally alter the integrity of creation’s natural processes:

Nothing in creation has erred from the path of God’s purpose for it, save only man. Sun, moon, stars, water, air, none of these has swerved from their order, but, knowing the Word as their Maker and their King, remained as they were made. Men alone, having rejected what is good, have invented nothings instead of the truth, and have ascribed the honor due to God and knowledge concerning Him to demons and men in the form of stones

(Athanasius 1993, p. 74).

Notably, theological giants from antiquity like St. Augustine maintained that creatures like the poisonous viper and the worm that causes rot have always exhibited respective traits that humans tend to experience as problematic. Yet sin, the Doctor of Grace explains, causes us to be repulsed in the same way that sickness leads a man to find healthy bread distasteful and sore eyes to perceive light as repugnant (Augustine 1888, 7.17). The fact that organisms kill and cause decay is not a result of human sin altering their nature but rather a deliberate feature of the world’s design, allowed by God to temper our pride (Augustine 1952, pp. 219–20). Accordingly, if we are unable to perceive this, it is self-inflicted (Augustine 1952, p. 252). This conviction was shared by Fulgentius of Ruspe, whose thought we have already surveyed but which is germane here once again as he elaborates on why God made creatures that prove troublesome to us:

[We] know that all natures have been created by God’s work. Whenever we are harmed it is not nature that ought to be declared evil but found unpleasant to us because of our weakness. Hence the fitting admonition is applied to us so that with a humble heart, we fear the justice of divine power. No wise person either believes or says that not only the bad but even the good angels are creators of natures. For God, as we said above, made all things in wisdom, which wisdom “reaches mightily from one end of the earth to the other, and orders all things well.” Therefore, he orders all things because in it the Father made all things. Therefore, just as God in wisdom created the angels in heaven, so in it he created maggots on earth; and he who placed thrones, dominions, principalities, and powers on high, on earth made scorpions, fleas, and bedbugs. He who created the hen, created the fly as well; but he gave the latter by which the proud one is put to confusion; the former by which strength is restored to the weak. Hence, it is that willingly one gets food from the former, unwillingly one suffers a feeling of disgust from the latter; so that at least this one receives not only comfort from God from the former; but also is forced to recognize what his sin deserves in the latter

(Fulgentius of Ruspe 1997, pp. 465–66).

It is worth noting that this way of interpreting creation’s more perplexing features was already well established among the Fathers. On this point, it is illuminating that even Origen of Alexandria—unusual among the Fathers not only for reading Genesis 6 as a historical account of angels mating with human women, but also for proposing that they bore responsibility for the origin of natural evil itself—acknowledged that “there are things in creation hard to understand, or even undiscoverable for human beings.” From here, this pivotal player in the early Church remarked:

We are not in consequence to condemn the Creator of the universe just because we cannot discover the reason for the creation of scorpions or other venomous beasts. The right thing for a man who is aware of the weakness of our race and who knows it is impossible to understand the reasons of God’s design even when most minutely examined, is to ascribe the knowledge of these things to God, who will later on, if we are judged worthy, reveal to us the matters about which we are now reverently in doubt

(Origen 1995, p. 75; Origen 1885, pp. 599, 651).

Expanding on this Patristic view, Stanley Rosenberg highlights physical phenomena like hurricanes, earthquakes, plagues, and noxious pests, which are perfectly natural yet nevertheless tend to torment humans (Rosenberg 2018, p. 242). Without denying that other creatures can be a source of real pain in our lives, Rosenberg ably captures the heart of the Church’s ancient approach when he adds: “[I]t is because of something wrong in humans that we find such creatures to be a problem. Vipers, in other words, did not change … Rather what changed was humans’ relationship to them” (Rosenberg 2018, p. 237). In short, the goodness of God and his creation remains intact despite the realities of suffering, death, and decay that are inherent to the cycle of life.

More recently, this same point has also been captured by noted Christian environmentalist Wendell Berry. Commenting on St. John’s teaching that all things were made by the Logos (John 1:3), Berry writes:

And so we must credit God with the making of biting and stinging insects, poisonous serpents, weeds, poisonous weeds, dangerous beasts, and disease-causing microorganisms. That we may disapprove of these things does not mean that God is in error, or that the creator ceded some of the work of Creation to Satan; it means that we are deficient in wholeness, harmony, and understanding —that is, we are “fallen”

(Berry 1993, p. 96).

Echoing Augustine, Berry insists that the Fall did not alter the basic fabric of creation so as to produce pests, weeds, or the toil of labor. What changed was humanity’s relation to the created order. Sin provokes us to resist these conditions rather than accept them, though in truth they can be received as gifts that draw us more deeply into the paschal rhythm of creation and, ultimately, the life of the Trinity (Ramage 2022, pp. 258–65).

Parting ways with the perspective shared by Ratzinger and classical figures like Aquinas and Augustine, Fr. Pendergast’s position is that their approach renders the problem evil “a mere pseudo-problem” (Pendergast 2024, p. 299). In response, he argues: “I argue that physical evil, including natural evil, is indeed genuinely evil. It should not exist, and the fact that it is genuinely evil implies that it is in opposition to God’s will. Therefore, it must come ultimately from sin, that is, from the perverse free decisions of creatures in opposition to God’s will for good” (Pendergast 2024, p. 302). Aware of the position taken by Ratzinger, implicit in Aquinas, and explicit in many modern Thomists, Pendergast notes:

The usual objection is that the order of the world was directly created by God and so natural evil, including evil human inclinations, which evolution has “written into our genes,” cannot be a consequence of sin. I refute this argument by directly denying its major premise. The present order of the world is partially evil. It is not the one that was originally intended by God, one that would have been not only sinless but would even have been free of all evil

(Pendergast 2024, p. 302).

Pendergast is not comfortable with something in the work of St. Thomas, namely: “It appears, then, that for Aquinas there is a sense in which God causes physical evil. He does so inasmuch as he intends a higher good, that of the universe, which cannot be achieved without his ‘indirectly’ causing lower level evils” (Pendergast 2024, p. 301). Yet, considering just how much evil there is in the world (he calls to mind some of the more atrocious examples of natural evil in connection with Ivan Karamazov), Pendergast concludes, “If Aquinas were able to enter into this debate … Nevertheless, Aquinas might also rethink his own position” (Pendergast 2024, p. 302).

8. Fr. Pendergast’s Alternative Theodicy: Fallen Angels Fundamentally Reconfigured Nature

Pendergast finds it theologically unfitting to hold with the likes of Aquinas, Augustine, and Ratzinger that suffering and death have been a part of the cycle of life from its inception. However, he also finds the broad strokes of modern science’s evolutionary narrative—in which death plays a central role—to be largely accurate. The question, then, becomes how to reconcile these two positions. “[I]n order to do so,” he argues, “it is also necessary to reflect upon the role in the world of the superhuman beings the Bible calls “angels” (Pendergast 2024, p. 291). According to Fr. Pendergast, the various choirs of angels—“cherubim,” “seraphim,” “thrones,” “dominations,” “principalities,” “powers,” and so on—“are important in the evolution of the universe and of the human race in particular” (Pendergast 2024, p. 315).

In his own words, the reason Pendergast posits this thesis is that it would be incompatible with the nature of a loving, omnipotent God to permit natural evil in his universe eons before free creatures inhabited it. Yet, seeing as modern discoveries have manifestly demonstrated this to be the case, it “suggests that there must be creatures older and more powerful than Man who have disturbed the original order of creation.” By saying this, Pendergast suggests that angelic influence—good or evil—shapes the unfolding of evolutionary history. Conjecturing that “the good of evolution is partially caused by good angels, just as its evil is partially caused by evil ones,” Pendergast proceeds to elaborate:

Superhuman principalities and powers influence the general functioning of nature. The defection of some of them, Satan and his subordinate demons, introduced natural evil into the world and thus created a defective context, one of evil and concupiscence, within which the consequent evolution of the human race occurred

(Pendergast 2024, p. 315).

Significantly, Fr. Pendergast does not stop there but ventures a very specific explanation of how the angels wrought this alteration in the universe, at least as far as mankind is concerned:

What I am proposing is an analogy with human artificial breeding that seems to be better than Darwin’s. Cosmic powers more intelligent and powerful than Man shape the potential variation inherent in natural processes to produce the goals they desire, including the existence of the human race. In this case the analogy drawn from human breeders’ artificial selection retains its teleological character and is not marred in the way that Darwin’s is

(Pendergast 2024, p. 316).

Even as he affirms that God as Creator “plays the primary and decisive role in evolution,” Pendergast thinks that the limitations of a materialist account of the universe “proves that God is not solely responsible” for the “limited and imperfect character of the evolutionary process.”

Yet, this raises the question: what, precisely, makes the evolutionary process “imperfect”? If Pendergast means that it is full of detours, waste, and apparent disorder, one might ask what a “perfect” process would even look like—perhaps an unbroken, painless progressive emergence of creatures into being? Yet such an ideal is foreign both to the witness of nature and to salvation history, which is also marked by setbacks, failures, and suffering. The “messiness” of Israel’s covenantal journey does not disprove divine providence but rather manifests how God brings good out of struggle. By analogy, evolution’s apparent imperfections may be integral to its role in the unfolding of creation’s good. In this broader frame, it is striking to note that Pendergast goes further in attributing the world’s ills to angelic causation. Meanwhile, not only have humans not been around long enough to account for the natural evil that pervades our universe, but neither are we “powerful or malignant enough to be its principal causes.” As for our species, continues Pendergast, “The malevolent influence of Satan and the other fallen powers has created the context of concupiscence and temptation in which human beings make their foolish and sometimes perverse choices” (Pendergast 2024, p. 317).

9. Evaluation of Fr. Pendergast’s Proposal and Final Thoughts

Fr. Pendergast’s core claim and most interesting hypothesis with regard to evolution and evil is that the raison d’être of suffering and death in this world lies in the malignant activity of fallen angels whose interventions in the material world fundamentally altered the structure and laws of the universe. This is a clever way of making sense of Wisdom 2:24, in which the sacred author teaches that “through the devil’s envy death entered the world.”

Having said that, I would like to conclude by identifying a couple of problems with Fr. Pendergast’s proposed solution.

The first regards the scope of what is entailed in Pendergast’s proposal. This is not to say it is impossible, but we should think this through and make it very clear on the following: The laws of the universe that Pendergast sees as having been altered by malignant angelic powers are far more fundamental than it may at first appear. It is not merely a matter of tweaking human DNA (which scientists can now do), or even the DNA of our evolutionary ancestors whatever their position on life’s 3.5+ billion-year timeline. This is because the law of the grain that must fall to the earth and die in order to bear fruit (Jn 12:24) stretches much further back before the origin of life. As indicated above, the cataclysmic events of fires, volcanoes, earthquakes, and meteorites have been crucial in shaping our universe’s development for billions of years—back to the very origin of our universe with the Big Bang. While it is admittedly possible that violent processes among living organisms resulted from the activity of Satan, from a scientific perspective these events are one of a piece with the broader dynamics of the universe such as it has been operating for nearly fourteen billion years.

In this connection, a concern that one might have with Fr. Pendergast’s position is not that it is technically impossible. Rather, it is that it could be difficult to perceive its fittingness. For instance, while Aquinas thought that angels could manipulate matter in a variety of ways and contribute to individual instances of suffering, he rejected the idea that corporeal matter responds to an angel’s will “to transmute matter from one form to another,” seeing as angels do not enjoy “the same connection with natural bodies” that physical creatures do (Aquinas 1920, I, q. 110, a. 2; q. 114, a. 4 ad 2). Further, we have already seen that he viewed it as “altogether irrational” to think that lions were once herbivores, thus excluding the possibility of angelic influence over their natures. Of still deeper significance, the Angelic Doctor observed that “transformations which cannot be produced by the power of nature cannot in reality be effected by the operation of the demons,” noting further that if such a change appears to occur, “it is not real but a mere semblance of reality” (Aquinas 1920, I, q. 110, a. 2; q. 114, a. 4, sc.).

In short, angels cannot effect what lies beyond the capacity of nature, for to alter the very essence of a creature—so that it becomes corruptible, violent, or destructive—would effectively make the angels divine. On Pendergast’s view, however, Satan would be responsible for the onset of fundamental traits like carnivorism—and for the accompanying and presumably sudden change in teeth and gut structure needed to make it possible (Aquinas 1920, I, q. 96, a. 1 ad 2). What this account overlooks, however, is that features often experienced as “evils”—such as pain—are in fact necessary for survival in a physical world. The inability to feel pain leaves creatures highly vulnerable, since pain is what alerts us to injury and compels us to protect and care for our bodies. The question, then, is whether or not Pendergast’s view that Satan tweaked the fundamental rhythms of the physical universe is the most fitting, taking into account our overall knowledge of how God works in the world.

Another difficulty in Fr. Pendergast’s resolution is that it some might perceive it as bearing too close a resemblance to certain aspects of Gnostic dualism or to the doctrine of total depravity. To be sure, Pendergast’s perspective staunchly professes the goodness of original creation from the hand of God. At the same time, however, his approach might be perceived as denying the fundamental goodness of the present order. If what Fr. Pendergast asserts is true and the world of nature at large exists in a disordered state, it makes it hard to see how the Book of Wisdom and St. Paul are correct in pointing to the created order as a veritable proof of God’s existence (Wis 13:2; Rom 1:20).

Having made these observations is by no means to detract from Fr. Pendergast’s noble efforts. Indeed, lingering questions are inevitable regardless of the solution we propose to the challenge of evolution and evil. Whatever the case, the reality remains that suffering and death are inevitable aspects of our earthly existence, and Fr. Pendergast has rendered us a great service by reflecting deeply on this truth with charity and creative fidelity to Christ in his Church. Regardless of whether one is convinced by Pendergast’s appeal to the fallen angels as a solution to the problem of evolution and evil, it remains a striking embodiment of faith’s quest for understanding in a domain where such a witness is more necessary today than ever. Placed in conversation with Joseph Ratzinger’s vision of creation as bearing within itself the imprint of the Paschal Mystery, Pendergast’s hypothesis challenges us to probe afresh the mystery of suffering and death. Whether seen as intrinsic to the cruciform structure of creation, arising from human sin, or the result of angelic interference, these perspectives ultimately converge in directing us back to the cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ as the key to discovering meaning in the face of the suffering and death we inevitably must endure in our earthly condition.