Schneider’s Argument

In Animal Suffering and the Darwinian Problem of Evil, John Schneider (2020) addresses nature’s deep history of suffering, which he calls the “Darwinian World.” He identifies four defining features of the Darwinian World that intensify the problem of evil: (1) the vast timescale of evolution; (2) the existence of multiple successive worlds throughout Earth’s history; (3) the presence of microscopic organisms that cause widespread suffering; and (4) the deeply embedded nature of suffering in evolutionary processes. These characteristics indicate that much of the suffering due to natural evil—this is, evil emerging from impersonal natural processes—predates human existence, occurring long before the possibility of a human-caused Fall-event, and cannot be attributed to human sin. While this rules out human-Fall theodicies, it does not by itself exclude lapsarian accounts that appeal to an angelic Fall. Schneider treats angelic-Fall explanations as lapsarian accounts and argues that, like human-Fall theories, they cannot plausibly explain the deep-time scale, systemic character, or vast distribution of prehuman natural evil (Schneider 2020, 45, 82, 88). Instead, this suffering seems intrinsic to nature’s design, prompting a reexamination of God’s responsibility for animal suffering in the evolutionary context. Schneider thus rejects lapsarian theodicies, which are God-justifying approaches for explaining evil as a consequence of the Fall, such that the existence of suffering is tied to human free will and sin. He contends that the implications of evolutionary theory demand a nonlapsarian theodicy in which evil precedes the emergence of humanity. While earlier Christian thinkers often looked to cosmic harmony and balance as evidence of divine design, the Darwinian World appears instead to be shaped by violence and instability—marked by mass extinction events, the collapse of ecosystems, and the absence of any lasting equilibrium in evolutionary dynamics (Schneider 2020, 30–35). Can such a world plausibly reflect the design of a supremely good Creator?

Schneider critiques two common strategies for addressing the Darwinian problem. The first, neo-Cartesianism, denies that animals truly suffer, while the second, skeptical theism, argues that we are incapable of judging whether apparently unjustified evils are morally justified. Schneider finds both positions unconvincing: the evidence for animal suffering is too compelling, and the argument that God would remain silent about the reasons for permitting suffering undermines divine goodness. One prominent solution is the only-way theodicy proposed by Christopher Southgate, which claims that evolutionary processes were the only or best means for God to bring about the range of creaturely values that actually exist. It should be noted that Southgate’s argument is not premised on the primacy of human benefit; the creaturely values it invokes are distributed across the whole of the living world. Schneider’s (2020, 136; 2025, 217) critique targets a narrower version of this claim, questioning whether the goods of evolution, which he reads as accruing primarily to humans, are sufficient to warrant the suffering borne by nonhuman creatures. This criticism therefore engages a construal of the only-way argument that Southgate himself would not endorse, and this point should be borne in mind when evaluating the force of Schneider’s objection. Additionally, Schneider (2025, 135) acknowledges that only-way goods “somewhat reduce the atheistic force” of Darwinian evils and should “be taken into account in debate,” even though he does not accept the thesis as sufficient. He explicitly says the only-way goods “do considerably increase the plausibility that the Christian God would create life by the Darwinian means,” but his quarrel is that on their own, they cannot meet the three moral conditions all persons, including God, must meet in order to be justified in permitting evil (Schneider 2025, 231).

The first of these moral conditions, the necessity condition, stipulates that a morally good being allows evil only when it is unavoidable. The second, the outweighing condition, stipulates that any permitted evil be counterbalanced by a greater good. The third, the rights condition, stipulates that an agent has the rightful capacity to authorize necessary evils. Further, Schneider draws from Roderick Chisholm to introduce an additional criterion, the defeat condition, which holds that evil is justified when it becomes part of what makes possible the good of the integrated whole. Thus, God is morally justified in permitting evil not by necessity but by ultimately overcoming it, i.e., integrating it into a greater, more meaningful reality that could not exist without it. Schneider (2025, 11) points to Chisholm’s observation that though the defeat condition is seldom applied in human moral contexts, it is a common feature in art, where the incorporation of aesthetic “evils”—ugly elements—is justified by the overall beauty of the finished piece. While human moral agents are not afforded this latitude, Schneider suggests that God, who is not an ordinary moral person but is in a unique moral position as a divine moral agent, could be. In this way, Schneider moves away from a conventional theodicy toward an aesthetic one, claiming that a theodicy defending God’s actions based solely on moral grounds is unlikely to succeed.

Schneider’s (2020, 162–63) aesthetic model of God as Artist offers two significant explanatory benefits compared to a strictly ethical view of divine moral agency. First, viewing theodicy through an aesthetic rather than an ethical framework allows for a modification of the moral conditions used to justify the allowance of natural evil, extending to God a distinctive moral freedom not available to human persons and legitimating a divine prerogative not bound by conventional moral limitations. Second, the narrative and aesthetic structure of evolution offers grounds for interpreting nature as a site of divine presence. In making these arguments, Schneider refers to Alfred North Whitehead’s and Wendy Farley’s virtue–ethical arguments for the God-justifying role of tragic moral beauty. Whitehead (1978), founder of process theology, proposes that God’s aim in creation is the production of “major beauty,” which arises from cosmic conflict and what he terms “conformal intensity,” a depth of aesthetic value superior to the “minor beauty” of mere harmony. This aesthetic vision treats natural evil not as something to be eliminated or merely outweighed but as defeated through its contribution to a higher artistic whole. For Farley, the tragic character of nature derives from the structurally inevitable tensions between its constituent goods. “The beauty of the world lies in its variety and diversity,” she writes. “From these conflicts, sorrows, and losses emerge the fierce beauty of creation . . . Creation is tragically structured, but tragedy is neither the barrenness of nothingness nor the wickedness of evil. Tragedy is the price paid for existence” (Farley 1990, 60–61). Farley suggests that the evolutionary emergence of compassion and justice functions as a redemptive counterbalance to the evils inscribed into the world’s design. Both Whitehead’s and Farley’s aesthetic models shift the requirement from the necessity condition to the defeat condition, in that the presence of evil is justified if it ultimately contributes to a more meaningful or “beautiful” whole. Yet Schneider concedes that the suffering of sentient beings is too great to be vindicated by aesthetic gain alone and thus there are insufficient grounds to believe that a morally perfect God would use sentient beings as instrumental means towards aesthetic ends.

Seeking firmer grounds for developing this line of thought, Schneider considers how sacred canonical sources might engage the Darwinian problem. Turning to the book of Job, he interprets the divine speech as articulating an aesthetic theodicy in which God works with nature’s seemingly disordered and chaotic phenomena toward intelligible and redemptive ends. Rejecting the prevailing interpretation of God as one who “conquers” chaos, Schneider instead presents a God who deliberately makes space for and incorporates chaos into the cosmic structure. He suggests that the text reimagines chaos as generative and embedded into creation rather than a threat to be eliminated. Further, he intimates that suffering and destruction function as essential components in God’s creative activity rather than anomalies within it. Schneider refers to this picture as the “messianic sublime,” an awareness of God working “in and through Chaos, rather than simply over and against it.”

Schneider repeatedly invokes chaos throughout his work. He cites Job’s (3:26 NRSV) declaration of distress at the rōgez that has overcome him, a word often translated as “trouble,” referring to external or internal disturbances. Rōgez functions as a thematic marker in Job, symbolizing the intrusion of “anti-cosmic chaos.” Job (3:8) invokes the Leviathan, a mythical sea monster, which assumes a symbolic role as the embodiment of the primordial chaos active within the ordered structure of the cosmos. The imagery cited recalls the mythopoetic language in Psalm 74:13–14, which depicts God’s defeat of chaotic forces by dividing the sea and defeating the Leviathan. Job’s outcry is directed against the unexpected intrusion of the Leviathan, or the experience of chaos, by which the boundaries between ordered creation and primordial disorder have collapsed. Schneider identifies the erosion of traditional distinctions between chaos and order as the “Joban Problem,” observing that this Joban world mirrors the Darwinian picture of life unfolding amid chaos and apparent divine absence. In light of all this, Job demands a moral explanation for his undeserved suffering.

At the conclusion of the Book of Job, the divine speaker responds by directing Job’s gaze toward the wild animals and the sea, which denote the intractable and incomprehensible dimensions of reality. In ancient Hebrew tradition, the sea specifically—perhaps as an extension of the Leviathan—functioned as a symbol of threatening forces that God subdued and contained within fixed limits marking the boundaries of their influence. What distinguishes this passage is the divine speaker’s affirming engagement with the sea as a generative part of God’s good creation. Rather than depicting the sea as God’s adversary in a cosmic battle (see Pslams 74:13–14, 89:10–14; Isaiah 51:9–10), the text portrays God as a midwife, birthing the sea into being and swaddling it with darkness and cloud (Job 38:8–11). This unprecedented tone of admiration and protection signals a radical reconstruction of the relationship between God and the sea. This reimagining transfigures the sea’s adversarial or antagonistic power into a life-giving one, reframing its boundaries as a form of divine guardianship. The implication is that God affirms the presence of this anti-cosmic force within creation as intrinsically good. This reversal extends to the animals invoked by the divine speaker, most of which are associated with the barren and hostile domain of the wilderness in symbolism of defiance and resistance to domestication. Yet, in emphasizing God’s care for these creatures (see Job 38:39–41; 39:5–8, 26–30), the text subverts conventional binaries between chaos and order, recasting these untamable beasts as integral to the divine economy of creation. For instance, although canonical Hebrew tradition often regarded predation as a deviation from creation’s original harmony, the divine speaker declares that God himself actively hunts for the lion and provides it with prey (Job 38:39–40); and although death was regarded as a corruption or anomaly, the divine speaker depicts God as supplying carrion for the ravens (Job 38:41). These depictions present death and predation not as aberrations of a fallen order but as integral expressions of divine providence through which God sustains life and draws cosmic order from the depths of chaos. Job, conditioned by a worldview expecting a messianic resolution of chaos into cosmic order, is led to a reimagined understanding of divine presence amid disorder.

In this way, Schneider proposes that God’s creative work unfolds not against chaos but by way of it: it is integral, not antithetical to the divine creative process. Schneider (2020, 189) suggests God has a “covenant” with the archetype of chaos. He argues that God is the origin of chaos but not of evil, recasting chaos as a morally neutral or even generative aspect of creation rather than an evil one. The divine speaker strategically employs a series of rhetorically structured images to expand Job’s imagination. They reveal God as actively present within hostile realities and powers, utilizing them as agents of creative and transformative cosmic good. Schneider evaluates the theodicy presented in Job against contemporary criteria for successful God-justifying accounts, arguing that it fulfills the epistemic standard required for rational acceptance as a causa Dei. God is accomplishing more than the traditional Deuteronomic act of crushing “Leviathan”; God is astonishingly incorporating chaos into the formation of the cosmos (Schneider 2020, 197). Thus, Schneider argues that God’s ongoing work to realize the messianic realm crucially involves “defeating” evils in Chisholm’s sense rather than merely expunging them. Although Schneider frequently invokes the concept of chaos, he does not explicitly connect the reimagining of the chaos–cosmos relationship with scientific chaos theory. It is important to note that throughout this account, Schneider’s invocation of chaos remains metaphysical and theological in character, rooted in ancient Near Eastern cosmological traditions and their biblical reception rather than in chaos theory as a scientific discipline. These are distinct registers, and their relationship to one another is a question this article takes up in subsequent sections. In the remainder of this article, I examine whether chaos theory can offer insight into Schneider’s claim that God creates through, rather than in spite of, evolutionary suffering.

Chaos Theory

Before turning to the scientific concept of chaos, it is necessary to clarify the sense in which this article employs the term. In the biblical and ancient Near Eastern traditions on which Schneider draws, “chaos” denotes realities that resist or precede ordered form and must be contained, bounded, or transformed by creative divine activity (Gunkel 2006; Levenson 1988; Smith 2001). By contrast, chaos theory considers how complex patterns and forms emerge from systems that display irregular, seemingly unpredictable behavior. These two registers are not interchangeable. Even so, both construe a fundamental insight that order emerges through processes in which instability and contingency are productive. My argument therefore treats scientific chaos theory not as a literal equivalent of biblical chaos but as a conceptual framework that may help articulate the ontological intuition the ancient chaos traditions expressed in symbolic form.

Chaos theory, a field within mathematics and science, investigates deterministic systems that exhibit extreme sensitivity to initial conditions, where minute changes can lead to vastly divergent outcomes (Gleick 1987). Its roots trace back to Henri Poincaré’s and Edward Lorenz’s discoveries of the inherent indeterminacy of complex dynamical systems, which challenged the Newtonian assumptions of determinism, predictability, and the structure of natural systems (Polkinghorne 2000a). Contrary to implying disorder, chaos theory exposes hidden order within apparent randomness, providing a framework to analyze complex, dynamic systems such as weather patterns, ecosystems, and evolutionary processes. This article limits the discussion of chaos theory to four key concepts: sensitivity to initial conditions, self-organization, strange attractors, and fractal structures (Oestreicher 2007). It considers how principles of chaos theory give rise to emergent complexity, offering insights into the unpredictable yet structured nature of life’s development.

Chaos theory departs from classical physics by focusing not on linear systems, which behave predictably, but on nonlinear systems, where simple rules can generate complex, often chaotic dynamics. Linear systems are those in which the output is directly proportional to the input, and their components interact additively; their behavior is predictable, and solutions can be superimposed (Strogatz 2015). In contrast, nonlinear systems involve interactions where outputs are not proportional to inputs, and vanishingly small changes can lead to disproportionately large effects. The behavior of deterministic nonlinear systems exhibits sensitive dependence on initial conditions (hereafter SDIC), a phenomenon where infinitesimal differences in starting points can yield vastly divergent outcomes over time (Lorenz 1963). As a result, their future behavior is unpredictable for any finite intelligence, despite developing deterministically according to nonlinear mathematical equations. Chaos theory refers to this limit of prediction in deterministic systems, which arises not from ontological indeterminacy but from epistemic constraints. In other words, the systems are under-determined relative to our capacity to know them, not inherently probabilistic or acausal.

In many respects, chaos theory is a misnomer for SDIC (Polkinghorne 2000a). Chaotic systems are neither predictable nor random. While their behavior defies precise prediction, it exhibits an underlying structure: an ordered form of disorder. This phenomenon was first formally identified by meteorologist Edward Lorenz in 1961 while running a simplified model of atmospheric convection (Lorenz 1963). In a now-famous experiment, Lorenz re-entered initial data rounded to three decimal places instead of six, only to observe that the resulting weather simulation rapidly diverged from the original trajectory, despite the seemingly negligible change. The concept was later popularized through the now-famous “butterfly effect” metaphor (Lorenz 1972), in which the butterfly’s wing represents a tiny perturbation that can alter the course of an entire system, making precise long-term forecasts infeasible (Lorenz 1993, 23). SDIC can be observed in climate systems, fluid dynamics, evolutionary and developmental biology, and ecological systems. In ecosystems, small environmental perturbations such as shifts in temperature, nutrient input, or the introduction of a single invasive species can cascade through food webs, reorganizing species distributions and altering ecosystem function, as visualized in Robert May’s (1973, 1976) mathematical models of ecological stability. In evolutionary biology, minor variations in initial genetic configurations or selective pressures can lead to radically divergent outcomes in species development, as demonstrated in Stuart Kauffman’s (1993) models of self-organization and adaptive landscapes. Such manifestations of SDIC across natural systems gesture towards a universe shaped not by mechanistic predictability but by dynamic interdependence.

Chaos theory points to the structured patterns underlying nonlinear systems. Central to this is the concept of self-organization, the process by which coherent, large-scale patterns and structures spontaneously emerge from the local interactions of simpler components within a complex system without external direction or centralized control (Saha and Galic 2018). Self-organization often manifests in systems governed by nonlinear dynamics, where feedback loops and interactions among subsystems generate emergent properties that cannot be reduced to the behavior of individual elements alone (Nicolis and Prigogine 1977). Examples abound in natural systems: in physics, the formation of convection cells; in biology, the coordinated movements of bird flocks or the formation of cellular structures; and in ecology, the development of stable food webs and nutrient cycles. The hallmark of self-organization is that the system’s macroscopic order arises endogenously through iterative, decentralized processes rather than being imposed from above. Kauffman (1993) expands this understanding in biological contexts, demonstrating how gene regulatory networks and evolutionary processes can self-organize into stable yet adaptive forms, leading to the spontaneous emergence of order in living systems. He proposes that life evolves at the “edge of chaos,” where systems maintain a balance between stability and flexibility conducive to adaptation (Kauffman 1995). Such systemic order emerging internally from iterative, distributed, and decentralized processes undermines reductionist assumptions. Self-organization reveals a deeper, generative logic embedded in the dynamic relational processes of nature itself, in which creativity and order emerge from within.

Fractals are visible signatures of self-organization. They are intricate geometric structures characterized by self-similar irregularity across different scales, meaning their patterns repeat at progressively smaller or larger levels of magnification (see Figure 1). Unlike classical Euclidean shapes, which have integer dimensions (e.g., a line has one dimension, a plane has two), fractals often exhibit non-integer, or fractal, dimensions. The term “fractal” was coined by mathematician Benoît Mandelbrot in the 1970s, who demonstrated how these irregular yet patterned forms could model natural phenomena more accurately than traditional geometry. His foundational work, The Fractal Geometry of Nature, observed that coastlines, clouds, mountain ranges, blood vessels, and plant growth follow self-similar, scale-invariant patterns and enabled the precise quantification of natural complexity that traditional Euclidean geometry could not capture (Mandelbrot 1982). In biology, fractals describe the branching of bronchial trees and vascular networks (West et al. 1999); in ecology, they help model forest distribution and habitat patterns (Milne 1992); and in physics, they capture the morphology of turbulent flows and crystal formation (Sreenivasan 1991). Because fractals emerge from recursive feedback loops and local interactions, they offer a conceptual bridge between micro-level dynamics and macro-level structure in the natural world.

Figure 1: Examples of fractals.

The behavior of chaotic systems in their possible paths of development (the “phase space”) can be described as either dissipative or conservative (Tiwari et al. 2024). Conservative systems maintain a constant volume in phase space, meaning energy is conserved. The trajectory of dissipative systems, in which energy is lost over time, will contract and converge in a pattern known as an attractor. An attractor is a set of states toward which a dynamical system tends toward over time, regardless of its initial conditions. It is a “strange” attractor if it has a fractal structure that never repeats yet it is bounded and patterned (see Figure 2) (Grebogi et al. 1987). Lorenz’s (1963) simplified atmospheric convection model revealed a butterfly-shaped trajectory known as the “Lorenz attractor.” Although the precise trajectory of a chaotic system does not repeat exactly and cannot be predicted far into the future due to its sensitivity, the system’s behavior remains confined within the geometry of the attractor. A strange attractor represents a form of organized chaos: while short-term behavior is unpredictable, long-term behavior is constrained and structured. Subsequent mathematical formalizations by researchers such as David Ruelle and Floris Takens introduced the idea that strange attractors underlie turbulence and complex fluid flows, linking chaotic dynamics to physical phenomena (Ruelle and Takens 1971). In natural sciences, strange attractors provide a framework to understand how systems as diverse as weather patterns, cardiac rhythms, neuronal firing, and population dynamics exhibit unpredictable, richly structured fluctuations within a well-defined geometric constraint. Their apparent randomness is governed by deeper mathematical structures, gesturing at order within chaos.

Figure 2: Examples of strange attractors.

In summary, chaos theory demonstrates how the unpredictability of small initial differences that lead to vastly different outcomes can give rise to self-organization. In such cases, complex patterns emerge spontaneously from local interactions in the form of fractals, self-similar structures found across scales in natural systems. The long-term behavior of these systems tends to follow a chaotic trajectory that remains geometrically bounded within a structure known as a strange attractor. Collectively, these concepts reveal a cosmos in which complexity, order, and generative dynamics emerge intrinsically from within the system itself. This section has laid out a conceptual foundation for how Schneider’s vision of the Darwinian World can be reimagined not in spite of but through the generative possibilities of scientific chaos—understood here, as throughout this section, in its technical and value-neutral sense.

Chaos Theory and Schneider’s Aesthetic Theodicy

In Schneider’s framework, natural evil is defeated when it becomes an integral part of a greater whole, the overall value of which not only outweighs the evil but depends on it for that very value. While the evil remains genuinely evil, it is rendered morally justified insofar as it contributes to a “good-making” totality, on which grounds God has ultimately defeated it. Despite its innovative approach, Schneider’s aesthetic theodicy invites a range of critiques that challenge its theological coherence and implications. In the following section, I review the existing engagement with Schneider’s position, which has been limited, leaving several critical dimensions unexplored. Thus, I examine the limitations of his approach, focusing on the narrow scope of his textual evidence and the absence of engagement with broader theological perspectives on chaos. Lastly, I seek to overcome these shortcomings by offering a more thorough engagement with chaos theory, following Arthur Peacocke and John Polkinghorne. Whereas Schneider treats aesthetic value as a general metaphysical category, my account ties it to the emergent, dynamic properties of chaotic systems, offering a more precise mechanism for how disvalue can be integrated into a greater whole.

Extending Schneider’s Account

In light of the identified shortcomings, I aim to develop a more substantiated and critically engaged account that strengthens the core of Schneider’s theodicy. First, drawing on chaos theory, I demonstrate that chaos does not imply pure randomness but instead arises from deterministic processes that generate structured patterns within apparent unpredictability. Second, I observe that the evolutionary process operates within the interplay between chance and law, a dynamic held in delicate equilibrium “at the edge of chaos.” Third, the “creative” capacity of evolutionary emergence brings forth the new through the death of the old. Fourth, I offer the fractal patterns of chaos as a visualization of God’s kenotic creativity sustaining the universe from within. Lastly, I introduce value holism to show how my account better establishes how some natural evils are defeated. While I propose that Schneider’s theological notion of chaos shares resonances with scientific chaos theory, I acknowledge that the two are not wholly analogous: Schneider’s concept operates in a different register altogether—symbolic and metaphysical—and is not straightforwardly commensurable with the technical definitions of chaos theory. Indeed, Schneider does not invoke a scientific chaos framework at all; his treatment of chaos is drawn from ancient Near Eastern cosmological traditions and their biblical reception. Any engagement between his metaphysical chaos and scientific chaos theory must therefore be understood as a constructive theological proposal on the part of this article rather than an interpretation of Schneider’s own intentions. The language of chaos Schneider employs nonetheless invites deeper engagement with the scientific discourse, and it is this article’s contention that such engagement could enrich the theological implications he seeks to draw.

Before turning to these extensions, however, a methodological clarification is required concerning the sense in which chaos theory bears on the problem of natural evil. I do not claim that chaos theory explains suffering, that particular instances of harm are caused by chaotic dynamics, or that suffering is itself a chaotic phenomenon. Chaos theory contributes not by supplying a theodicy but by offering a scientifically grounded account of why generative natural systems cannot be optimized to eliminate harm without forfeiting the very dynamics that produce value. Its relevance lies in clarifying the structural limits within which natural causes operate in evolutionary contexts. Because evolutionary systems consist of living organisms, instability and unpredictability do not remain value-neutral features of system behavior but instead register as harm. Chaos theory helps to clarify why this harm should be expected in a world structured for open-ended creativity. It reframes suffering not as an anomaly but as a cost internal to the same dynamics that generate biological novelty and value. This reframing has a structural affinity with the only-way reasoning associated with Peacocke and Southgate, in which the same processes that give rise to biological value necessarily give rise to disvalue. It is important to distinguish Schneider’s position from that logic, however. Only-way arguments justify suffering by appealing to modal necessity: God could not have achieved the relevant goods otherwise. Schneider explicitly rejects this move, as noted. His justification is not that suffering was inevitable, but that it is ultimately defeated by being transformed and incorporated into a greater redemptive whole (rather than merely explained as the unavoidable price of creaturely value). On this view, the natural order reflects a structure God freely chose to establish rather than one imposed by a lack of alternatives. This is consistent with Schneider’s transition from moral accounting to aesthetic defeat. Appeals to necessity or proportionality assume a degree of control and optimization that complex, generative systems do not afford. Of course, God’s relationship to chaotic systems is not straightforwardly analogous to how creaturely agents relate to them. If God is not subject to these epistemic limitations, then criteria such as necessity or proportionality could still, in principle, apply to divine action and may even lend support to an only-way argument. While this article does not settle this issue, it notes that Schneider’s own theodicy sidesteps the issue by placing the basis of justification in the eschatological defeat of evil rather than in natural processes, without appeal to what God could or could not have done. Chaos theory does not justify suffering but clarifies why justification, if it is to be coherent, must take the form Schneider proposes: not the prevention or explanation of suffering but its aesthetic integration and ultimate defeat within a larger redemptive whole.

With this clarification established, the relevance of chaos theory to Schneider’s account can be specified more precisely. Schneider’s theological construal of chaos as an integral, non-random element of divine creation exhibits a formal resonance with contemporary chaos theory’s rejection of strict binaries between order and disorder. In his reading of Job, Schneider challenges the Deuteronomic expectation that divine order excludes disorder (see Deuteronomy 28:1–14, 15–68; 1 Kings 8:35–36; Quick 2017), emphasizing instead that chaos is not a force external to God’s will but is incorporated into God’s ongoing creative purposes. As he puts it, “there is no such thing as causally random chaos in God’s world,” and God is “incorporating Chaos into a forthcoming Cosmos,” integrating rather than simply overcoming it (Schneider 2020, 176, 197). Chaos theory, understood in its technical and value-neutral sense, likewise undermines the assumption that unpredictability implies disorder or absence of structure. Twentieth-century work on nonlinear dynamics shows that deterministic systems can display sustained unpredictability while remaining constrained within stable patterns of behavior. As noted earlier, chaotic systems are not entirely random, as their behavior, though unpredictable, remains confined within a range of possibilities known as a “strange attractor.” A key question is whether chaos and unpredictability stem from epistemic limitations or ontological features of reality itself. Classical Newtonian physics assumes the former, but given that its laws themselves function as approximations for the real world, it is likely that unpredictability proceeds from the very structure of reality. This inference—that epistemological indeterminacy licenses a conjecture of ontological indeterminacy, or that “epistemology models ontology”—is Polkinghorne’s (2000a; 2011, 87–88) own speculative proposal, and it attracted significant criticism in the Vatican/CTNS divine action project, where several contributors questioned whether the move from epistemic to ontological indeterminacy is warranted (see Russell et al. 1995; 2000). This article draws on the inference cautiously and does not treat it as established. Chaotic systems, where minute disturbances can radically alter system dynamics and result in drastically divergent outcomes, disclosing a form of natural order that resists reduction to mechanical determinism. Both Schneider’s theological account and chaos theory resist the identification of order with complete predictability. Chaos theory indicates that unpredictability need not imply disorder, which supports Schneider’s position that chaos can be a feature of, rather than a threat to, divine creative order.

Second, Schneider’s theological picture of the chaos–cosmos relationship can be clarified at the level of natural process by drawing on the work of Peacocke and Polkinghorne. Both thinkers emphasize that the “creative” capacity of evolutionary systems arises from the interplay between two complementary tendencies: contingency and constraint, described by Peacocke (1993, 65) as chance and law, and by Polkinghorne (2011, 57) as chance and necessity. Chance refers to the openness of outcomes within a system, while law or necessity names the stable structures that constrain and channel those outcomes. In evolutionary contexts, this interplay is commonly described in terms of stochastic genetic variation and the regularities of natural selection, which together enable adaptive novelty without dissolving into disorder. Without chance, the cosmos would be rigid and unchanging; without law, it would preclude enduring form. Polkinghorne notes that contexts “in which truly novel possibilities can emerge are always ‘at the edge of chaos’, that is to say, they are situations in which contingency and regularity, Chance and Necessity, interlace in delicate balance with each other” (Polkinghorne 2011, 59; also Peacocke 1993, 118). Peacocke’s and Polkinghorne’s contributions function to specify process-level dynamics, without serving as grounds for theodical justification or metaphysical necessity. They articulate the kind of generative system Schneider presupposes: one in which order emerges through constrained openness rather than through the elimination of disorder. In this sense, Schneider’s metaphysical portrayal of the chaos–cosmos boundary as fluid and productive finds a structural parallel in the behavior of nonlinear dynamical systems, in which instability plays a constitutive role in generating new forms of order.

Third, in both Schneider’s theology and contemporary chaos theory, it is this dynamic of chance operating within a lawlike framework that underpins the “creativity” of the natural order, i.e., the propensity for emergent forms, structures, and patterns. Research on dissipative systems demonstrates how, within thermodynamic constraints, complex order can emerge in open, nonlinear systems far from equilibrium (Peacocke 1993, 52–53). However, the processes that enable the possibility of life also permit congenital anomalies and cancers. Polkinghorne (2011, 59; 2005, 45) points out that “if there were no genetic mutations, there would be no new forms of life; if genetic mutations were too frequent, no species could become established.” The genetic mutation that drives biological evolution also underlies disease and dysfunction, in that to allow for mutations that yield new forms of life is to accept that other mutations may result in malignancy. Both Polkinghorne and Peacocke reiterate that one cannot exist without the other. Rather, “God wills into existence the kinds of living creatures that depend on the operation of the same factors that produce those particular ‘natural’ evils” (Peacocke 1993, 126). It is the “necessary cost of the evolving complexity of life” (Polkinghorne 2000b, 22–23). It should be noted that this “necessary cost” language is characteristic of the only-way reasoning Peacocke and Polkinghorne themselves espouse, and which this article employs in a limited and circumscribed sense. As clarified earlier, their process-level descriptions are drawn upon here as resources for articulating the structure of the natural order that Schneider presupposes, not as endorsements of the theodical conclusions they draw from it. Chaos theory demonstrates that in nonlinear dynamic systems, order and disorder are intertwined such that stable patterns emerge amidst inherent unpredictability, and neither can be fully isolated from the other. This insight underpinned a major twentieth-century theological development that, by a kenotic act of self-limitation, God allowed creatures to make themselves (Polkinghorne 2001; see also the critical response by Coakley in Polkinghorne 2001, and Kilby 2020, for sustained critique of kenotic accounts of divine action). In this way, Schneider’s aesthetic theodicy seeks to account for a God continually active within and through the ongoing processes of creation. That patterns and order emerge from apparent disorder supports a theological model in which God collaborates with chaos.

Fourth, fractal structure offers a helpful point of conceptual contact for thinking about how order can persist under conditions of constraint and self-limitation. In chaos theory, fractals describe patterns that recur across scales despite local irregularity, capturing how coherence can be maintained without centralized control or exhaustive determinism. They render intelligible how stable forms can arise and endure within systems that remain open, contingent, and dynamically constrained. This feature resonates with Schneider’s kenotic account of divine creativity, according to which God does not secure order by overriding creaturely processes but by allowing them to unfold within limits that make genuine otherness and novelty possible. Read in this limited sense, fractal structure functions as a conceptual analogue for Schneider’s depiction of divine action as immanent and patient, operating from within the processes of creation rather than imposing order from without. It is worth noting that this use of fractal imagery as a window into divine creativity in evolutionary processes has a precedent in the literature. Sollereder (2019), in God, Evolution and Animal Suffering, develops what she describes as a fractal video mosaic as a means of visualizing how individual creaturely lives, however apparently peripheral or suffering-laden, contribute to a larger pattern of value whose coherence is only visible at a higher level of resolution. Southgate (2025, 559) himself draws an explicit connection between Schneider’s project of theistic sight and Sollereder’s fractal imagery, treating them as complementary attempts to render the Darwinian world perceptible as the work of a creator God. The present article’s use of fractal structure operates in a similar register, as a conceptual resource for articulating how structured beauty can emerge from and encompass the disorder and suffering of individual components.

Lastly, any theodicy presupposes a basic axiology: an account of the kinds of value that could justify divine permission of evil. In particular, it presupposes value holism, the view that the value of a whole can exceed (or fall short of) the sum of its parts. In an additive model, goods and evils are treated as discrete units whose values simply accumulate. Holism, by contrast, holds that value arises from the integration of parts—what G. E. Moore (1903) calls the principle of organic unities. Moorean holism underwrites the theodical concept of defeat: evils are not merely outweighed by goods but included in a larger whole that has greater value because of their presence. This framework makes possible the view that a life, or world, that includes suffering may nevertheless be more valuable than one without it, depending on how the parts relate. I suggest that Chisholm, Adams, and Schneider all adopt this notion of defeat. Chisholm claims evils can be defeated if they are logically necessary for a greater good. Adams argues that horrors can be defeated through their integration into a personal narrative that becomes a great good for the person. Schneider locates defeat not in personal meaning but in aesthetic structure: the integration of suffering into a richly ordered, beautiful cosmos. My model builds on Schneider’s by specifying how natural evils—such as entropy, extinction, and ecological fragility—function within generative chaotic systems to produce aesthetic and moral goods. In doing so, I clarify how chaos provides a scientifically robust framework for understanding defeat, and thereby strengthens the theological justification for divine permission of evil. It must be acknowledged, however, that value holism as a systemic framework is vulnerable to the objection that suffering is borne by individual creatures, and it is not obvious that a good accruing to the whole can justify it to the particular animal that suffered. This is Ivan Karamazov’s point in Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov: no future harmony can redeem even one child’s tear. Applied to the present context, the objection is that no emergent aesthetic order, however beautiful, can justify the suffering of the individual creature whose pain contributed to it. This objection is not dissolved by chaos theory, which strengthens the holistic dimension of Schneider’s account but does not address the problem at the level of individual experience. It is important to note, therefore, that Schneider’s theodicy does not rest on value holism alone. Crucially, it depends on an eschatological dimension: individual animals are not merely subsumed into an aesthetic totality but are themselves restored and honored within the messianic heaven (Schneider 2020, 267). It is this personal eschatological defeat—the rectification of suffering for the individual creature that bore it—that ultimately bears the theodical weight in Schneider’s account, supplementing and grounding the holistic framework this article has developed. The chaos–theoretic extension offered here operates at the level of systemic and aesthetic defeat; Schneider’s eschatological vision is what answers the Karamazovian challenge.

Schneider’s aesthetic account treats the value of God-justifying beauty in general terms, whereas the chaos–theoretic framework specifies beauty through precise mechanisms like strange attractors and self-organization, demonstrating how natural evils are structurally necessary for the emergence of complex and valuable phenomena. First, fractal beauty shows how infinitely nested, self-similar patterns like coastlines or fern leaves emerge from micro-level irregularities contributing to macro-level coherence. Second, systems at the edge of chaos such as weather fronts or neural networks generate maximal diversity, adaptability, and aesthetic surprise unavailable in strictly ordered or random systems. Third, participatory creativity highlights how chaotic systems enable agents to co-create within dynamic environments (e.g., improvising in music or shaping ecosystems). Chaos theory enables the identification of distinct aesthetic goods by providing precise, interdisciplinary examples of how beauty arises from structured complexity and dynamic tension, moving beyond vague or purely abstract appeals to aesthetic value.

In summary, I have sought to strengthen Schneider’s aesthetic theodicy by bringing it into critical conversation with chaos theory and thinkers such as Peacocke and Polkinghorne. First, I observed that chaos is not mere randomness but entails patterns within unpredictability. Second, I considered how Peacocke (1993, 65) and Polkinghorne (2011, 59) both attribute the generative capacity of the universe to the dynamic interplay between chance and law, held in delicate balance “at the edge of chaos.” Third, I observed that a creative condition of the process of evolutionary emergence is the making of new forms of life through the death of the old. Fourth, I proposed fractal patterns as a visualization of God’s kenotic creativity within the patterned chaos of becoming. Finally, I argued that value holism makes the defeat of evil conceptually possible by showing how suffering can contribute to a greater whole whose value exceeds the sum of its parts. While Schneider’s appeal to aesthetic goods such as beauty is sweeping, the chaos-informed model anchors aesthetic value in specific phenomena and structures of reality.

Conclusion

This article explored how chaos theory informs Schneider’s interpretation of God’s role in animal suffering and the Darwinian problem of evil. First, I located Schneider’s aesthetic theodicy within the landscape of responses to the problem of natural evil. Second, I introduced chaos theory and its relevance to nature’s indeterminacy and order, with Polkinghorne’s work providing a theological precedent. Third, I critically assessed Schneider’s approach, arguing that although the concept of chaos is central to Schneider’s aesthetic theodicy, his engagement with it is notably limited and insufficiently addressed. Lastly, to address these limitations, I developed Schneider’s account by drawing on scientific understandings of chaos so that it is better equipped to satisfy the internal demands of his theodical project. My model refines Schneider’s general account of aesthetic value by grounding it in the emergent patterns of chaos, thereby offering a clearer explanation for how disvalue contributes to overall goodness. I conclude by clarifying how the aesthetic picture and chaos theory each contribute to the problem of evil.

First, the aesthetic picture adds a distinctive dimension to the problem of evil by introducing irreducible aesthetic values—such as beauty, harmony, complexity, and artistic richness—that contribute to the overall goodness of the world independent of moral or purely experiential goods. In the context of theodicy, this means that some evils or sufferings might be permitted not only because they enable moral goods (like free will or virtue) but because they contribute to the aesthetic fabric or narrative depth of the world. The aesthetic picture thus expands the range of values God might prioritize, offering reasons to allow certain evils that are not reducible to moral or hedonistic calculations. For example, the existence of tragedy, contrast, or complexity may be necessary for the world to manifest certain aesthetic or narrative values that could not exist otherwise. This helps complicate traditional theodicies by showing that the presence of evil might contribute to a richer, more meaningful, or more beautiful whole, thereby justifying divine permission of evil on grounds beyond mere moral utility.

Second, chaos contributes to defeat by operating within the same deep mereological (part–whole relationships) structure that undergirds axiological holism. At the heart of both chaos theory and value holism is the idea that interacting parts can generate emergent properties that are not apparent in the parts themselves, nor predictable from them. In chaos, this takes the form of combinatorial complexity: micro-level unpredictability (e.g., sensitivity to initial conditions) gives rise to macro-level order, patterns, or structure. In theodicy, defeat refers to the idea that evils can be included in a life or world in such a way that the overall whole is more valuable than it would have been without them. Chaos provides a conceptual model for this: seemingly disordered or disvaluable components may contribute to a higher-order structure that possesses a kind of emergent value inaccessible at the level of the individual parts. When chaos gives rise to aesthetic properties, it becomes a bearer of non-moral value. These properties emerge from or supervene on chaotic physical processes, grounding a distinct kind of goodness that can justify God’s permission of such processes, even when they entail suffering. Thus, chaos enables disvaluable elements (e.g., predation, entropy, evolutionary dead-ends) to contribute to higher-order goods by integrating them into a valuable whole (e.g., narrative, aesthetic, or moral). I have shown that Schneider’s theodicy rests on a pluralist, non-additive value theory in which divine creativity involves balancing tensions among diverse goods. On this view, the world’s tragic and chaotic dimensions are not incidental flaws but integral to its final beauty and meaning.

Schneider appeals to aesthetic value in broad terms, whereas my account roots it in the emergent order of chaotic systems to show how disvalue is integrated into greater value. While Schneider’s theological use of chaos extends beyond scientific definitions, the analogy between them offers fertile ground for theological engagement. Chaotic systems are not rare anomalies but fundamental features of reality, revealing the limits of determinism and the intrinsic unpredictability of nature. Once dismissed as mere disorder, these phenomena are now recognized as central to nature’s emergent order—creation, it seems, arises from chaos. If so, then chaos does not stand in opposition to divine purpose but participates in it. In the continuous generation of novelty and form, chaos functions not as creation’s adversary but its collaborator.

Competing Interests

The author declares that they have no competing interests.