The Stars Are Not Demons: A Catholic Exploration of ETI

There’s a kind of spiritual vertigo that sets in when we stare too long at the stars. The heavens declare the glory of God, the psalmist tells us, but sometimes they also whisper questions we aren’t sure how to answer: Are we alone? Could there be others? And if there are… are they from God or something more sinister?

In some conversations I’ve had among some devout Catholics, a troubling belief has taken hold; that all extraterrestrial intelligences (ETIs), if they exist, must be demons in disguise. Perhaps it’s a product of too many horror films, or perhaps it’s something deeper: an anxiety about a world no longer made in our image.

In recent years, I’ve encountered this mindset more and more, along with the claim that all non-human intelligences must be diabolical. As someone who works in Catholic ministry, as someone who tries to teach others how to love truthfully, I felt compelled to wrestle with this. Not to mock or dismiss, but to search, to pray, and to learn.

That’s when I came across Extraterrestrial Intelligence and the Catholic Faith by Dr. Paul Thigpen.

It was like finding fresh air in a room that had grown far too dark.

The Church Has Never Feared the Stars

Dr. Thigpen’s work is not a wild-eyed endorsement of alien conspiracy theories. It’s a careful, faithful, and deeply researched theological reflection on one of the most provocative questions of our time: What would the discovery of extraterrestrial life mean for the Catholic faith?

What struck me most was how rooted Thigpen’s reflections are in the tradition. He shows that some of the Church’s greatest minds, St. Augustine, St. Thomas Aquinas, Suarez, have pondered the possibility of other worlds and other rational creatures. None of them claimed such beings would have to be demons. They didn’t see wonder as a threat. They saw it as part of the vast symphony of creation.

And that’s the first key point: The Catholic Church has never taught that ETIs must be demons. In fact, she teaches very little on the subject at all, and that silence, Thigpen argues, is a form of reverence. It reflects the Church’s humility before the vast mystery of God’s creative power.

As the Catechism reminds us:

God created the world to show forth and communicate His glory (CCC 293).

If the heavens are His handiwork, why would we assume that every unknown voice among the stars must be the devil?

Not Every Mystery Is Malevolent

To be clear: the Church does affirm that demons are real. They deceive. They tempt. And yes, some alleged ETI encounters throughout history could very well be diabolical in nature. But to say that some are demonic is not to say that all must be.

St. John’s instruction is precise:

Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God (1 John 4:1).

If we were meant to automatically assume evil, why would we be told to test?

Dr. Thigpen calls for exactly this kind of discernment. He doesn’t deny the possibility of demonic interference, but he strongly cautions against a blanket condemnation. The devil is a liar, yes, but he is not the only voice in the cosmos.

One of the most destructive habits in theology is to assume that whatever we don’t understand must be evil. That reflex doesn’t come from faith. It comes from fear. And fear, though a powerful theologian, is rarely a truthful one.

The God of Plenitude

The next time someone tells you that there can’t be other intelligent species, ask them this:

“Do you believe God’s creativity is limited?”

Because if the answer is no, then there’s room for the question.

Aquinas, in his Summa Theologiae, writes that “the perfection of the universe consists in the diversity of creatures” (ST I, Q.47, a.1). Creation isn’t a monochrome painting. It’s a mosaic. It includes angels of fire and humans of dust. Why not something, or someone, else?

There’s a principle in theology sometimes called the “plenitude principle”: that God, in His infinite goodness, creates abundantly, freely, and with diversity. Pope Benedict XVI echoed this when he said:

The universe is not the product of chance… but expresses a plan and a love that we are discovering.

God isn’t scared of a universe that’s bigger than us. So why are we?

The Cosmic Christ

Perhaps the greatest concern that drives the “ETI = demon” view is Christological. People worry: “If there are aliens, does that mean they’re fallen? Can they be saved? Was Christ’s death on Earth enough for them too?”

These are good questions, and you know what? They’ve been asked before.

Thigpen devotes an entire section of his book to the cosmic implications of the Incarnation. He points to Colossians 1:16-17:

For in him all things were created: things in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible… all things have been created through him and for him.

Christ is not just the Savior of humanity. He is the Logos—the eternal Word through whom all things were made. His Incarnation is particular, but its effects are universal.

Could He redeem other species? Yes. Would it look exactly like our story? Not necessarily.

Vatican astronomer Brother Guy Consolmagno, S.J., has said:

If aliens exist, they are creatures of the same God who made us. Christ’s redemptive power would extend to them, too, even if we don’t understand how.

That’s not theological weakness. That’s theological awe.

Pondering Isn’t Heresy

It saddens me that in some circles, even asking these questions is considered dangerous. But Catholicism is not a religion of intellectual fear. We are commanded to love God with all our minds.

St. Bonaventure once said, “Contemplation is a journey into the infinite… until the soul is enraptured by the immensity of God.” There’s nothing wrong with looking up at the stars and wondering what other glories might be out there. In fact, it might be the most Catholic thing you can do.

We should be cautious. We should test every spirit. But we should not shrink from wonder.

Hyper-demonology, the habit of seeing devils behind every telescope lens, is not discernment. It’s paranoia in theological robes.

A Word to the Fearful

If you’re reading this and still feel uncomfortable, I understand. You want to protect your faith. You want to be vigilant.

So do I.

But vigilance doesn’t mean fear. It means faith.

Faith that God is bigger than any discovery. Faith that the Gospel is not threatened by knowledge. Faith that if we ever do meet another rational species, the first words out of our mouth can still be:

Peace be with you… in the name of Jesus Christ.

That’s the kind of Catholicism I want to live. One that’s not afraid of the heavens, because it already knows who made them.

And if the fear of extraterrestrial life reveals our unease with what’s out there, then the rising anxiety around artificial intelligence exposes our discomfort with what we’ve made right here. Just as some are quick to label ETIs as demonic simply because they are unknown, others look at AI, non-human intelligence crafted by human hands, and see only danger, deception, even diabolical influence. But is that the whole story?

Next month, we’ll explore what the Catholic Church actually teaches about AI, and why reflexively calling it “of the devil” might be more superstition than sound theology.

In the end, Catholicism has room for the stars. You don’t need to be afraid of mystery. It’s okay to wonder. And maybe, just maybe, in that wonder, you’ll find your faith expanding, not shrinking. Because the stars are not demons. They are signposts. And their light has always pointed us home.