This week, I’m summarizing and reviewing Pope Leo XIV’s Encyclical Magnifica Humanitas (MH), which addresses the question of artificial intelligence (AI) in the world today. Last time, I looked at the first half of this important work, which sets the stakes of the project and lays the theological foundation for the argument to come. There we saw that he grounds his reflections in the last 130 years of Roman Catholic social teaching, which consistently emphasizes essential human dignity, including the value of work, the right to living wages, and the promotion of genuine peace, which includes justice. Today we’ll turn to how he applies these principles to the questions of AI and its place in the world.
As Leo XIV sees it, the basic problem with AI today is the same as that identified by his predecessor for the global economy. As Pope Francis wrote in his 2015 encyclical Laudato Si’, this is “the tendency to let the logic of efficiency, control and profit alone shape personal, social and economic decisions” (92). Technological progress is a good thing, but only when it serves humanity as a whole, and not just the interests of the few. AI holds incredible possibility in science, particularly for pharmaceutical and medical research, ecological technologies, predicting weather and other complex systems, and building resilience amidst climate change. But as it is currently presented to us, these benefits will be, at least the short term, greatly outweighed by the loss of jobs (without a plan for either creation of new well-paying jobs or some sort of universal income policy), further environmental degradation, increased costs of technology, and the diversion of electricity and water away from the communities that rely on them. Moreover, even the less overt negatives could be severe and dehumanizing:
The use of AI is never a purely technical matter: when it enters processes that affect people’s lives, it touches on rights, opportunities, status and freedom. Important and sensitive decisions — concerning employment, credit, access to public services or even a person’s reputation — risk being fully delegated to automated systems that do not know “compassion, mercy, forgiveness, and above all, the hope that people are able to change,” and can therefore give rise to new forms of exclusion. There are clearly harmful uses, such as the manipulation of information or violations of privacy. Yet there is also a subtler danger, for when AI systems present themselves as neutral and objective, they end up reflecting and reinforcing the stereotypes or ideological bias of their designers and developers. (102)
One interesting detail in Leo XIV’s argument that is, I think, unique to Roman Catholic social teaching is the idea that AI also reduces human dignity by undermining the value of work. I’m not quite sure what to think about this. If we leave it as ‘work’, I’m not sure I’d agree as it’s framed. I don’t think ‘work’ is valuable in and of itself, especially as work is conceived today in late capitalism. However, if we turn that into contribution, then I’m all for it: If new technologies open up more free time, I don’t think that’s a bad thing at all. We would just have the responsibility in that case to ensure that we use that ‘free time’ constructively and for those same good purposes described in the rest of the Church’s social teaching as summarized above. (Much in the same way that childless persons have the added responsibility to ensure our lives are ‘fruitful’ in other ways.)
At any rate, the Encyclical concludes that AI is “a valuable tool that requires vigilance” (100). And sadly it’s precisely that vigilance that seems to be lacking in the world right now. Leo XIV argues that the correct course is not to stop AI, but to “disarm it”:
Disarming AI means freeing it from the mentality of “armed” competition, which today is not limited simply to the military context, but is also an economic and cognitive phenomenon. This entails a race for ever more powerful algorithms and larger datasets, driven by the desire to secure geopolitical or commercial dominance. To disarm means discrediting the assumption that technical power automatically confers the right to govern. To disarm does not mean rejecting technology, but preventing it from dominating humanity. It means freeing technology from monopolistic control and opening it to discussion and debate, therefore making it human-friendly and restoring it to the plurality of human cultures and ways of life. (110).
The argument then shifts to an interesting, theologically-grounded, anthropological critique of the AI models available to us. This critique has three prongs: the nature of intelligence, the nature of limits, and the question of super-humanity.
On intelligence, Leo XIV notes:
[I]ntelligence, when absolutized, overshadows other essential dimensions of life, such as affection, the will, commitment and relationships. Similarly, technical power, if left unbalanced, does not make us more capable; it makes us more isolated and more vulnerable to being dominated and excluded. (113)
In other words, smarts only gets us so far. And if we give power and agency to something whose smarts are not balanced by other integral facets of human development — especially empathy and understanding — it will be disastrous, like the proverbial bull in the china shop on a global scale.
This problem with unfettered intelligence is part of the larger issue of how we understand limits more generally. In one of the Encyclical’s most insightful sections, he writes:
Our relationship with life seems to be in crisis today. Everything that appears as a “limit” — incapacity, illness, old age, suffering, vulnerability — tends to be seen primarily as a defect to be corrected, rather than as a reality through which our humanity matures and opens itself to relationship. And yet we must remember that humanity flourishes not despite limitations, but often through them. The light of faith offers a perspective on reality that helps us recognize what we call the “contingency” of the things of this world. (118)
And:
Finitude, when truly accepted, does not diminish us but opens us to recognizing the face of God and others. Indeed, precisely because we experience limits — vulnerability, suffering and failure — we can recognize the inviolable dignity of every person, both our own and that of others. In this same experience, we remain capable of intuiting a fraternity greater than ourselves and of perceiving injustice as a scandal. (122)
In this way, seeking an intelligence that surpasses human cognitive abilities but lacking other fundamental aspects of human nature is a recipe not for trans-humanism but for disaster. It should be noted that this is not fear-mongering by an out-of-touch religious leader. The very people leading development in these technologies have warned in recent months that they fully expect them to have disastrous impacts in the near future.
The thing is, Leo XIV points out, surpassing human nature is not a claim solely about technology, but has been part of Christian theology and spirituality for a long time:
For centuries, the Christian tradition has maintained that human beings are not confined by the boundaries of their own nature; rather, they are called to self-transcendence, not through an escape from reality or a contempt for their limitations, but through their fulfillment in love. Faith recognizes an openness toward the “beyond,” which originates as a gift from God … [A]s Pope Francis explained, “We become fully human when we become more than human, when we let God bring us beyond ourselves in order to attain the fullest truth of our being.” Herein lies the radical departure from Promethean dreams: what saves humanity is not enhanced self-sufficiency, but a relationship that liberates, a communion that transforms. In this light, a technology that merely classifies and optimizes what already exists can, however unintentionally, become an obstacle to change and growth. For an algorithm, an error is a flaw to be corrected; for a person, however, an error can be a catalyst for profound change. (128)
He concludes:
Christian humanism does not reject science or technology, but embraces them with gratitude and realism, and grounds them within a higher vocation. The creative intelligence of humanity is a gift that can alleviate suffering and open up new possibilities, but it must remain ordered toward the common good, justice, the care of the vulnerable and creation. In this sense, the true alternative is not between enthusiasm and fear, but between two paths of development: a progress that serves individuals and peoples, or a progress that subjects them to the mentality of power. (129)
And to that, I can only say “Amen!”
Chapter 4 turns to the question of what we can do to safeguard human dignity and rights during this time of profound change. The first issue he raises here is the question of truth, or more precisely, the discernment of truth. He quotes Hannah Arendt here, who noted in her Origins of Totalitarianism that such regimes rely not so much on ‘true believers’ in their cause as on “people for whom the distinction between fact and fiction (i.e., the reality of experience) and the distinction between true and false (i.e., the standards of thought) no longer exist” (quoted on 134). This concern resonates strongly for me, since teachings on critical thinking, interrogating what is presented, and analyzing the validity of sources were integral in my education. When it comes to truth, what’s important is not the answer but the process of arriving at it. Even in its most mundane uses, AI eliminates that whole process, making getting an answer the sole point, with little consideration required of where that answer comes from:
Without careful attention, an educational system lacking in a love for truth may emerge, in which an incessant flow of information replaces the essential exercise of research, reflection and discernment. As knowledge becomes increasingly fragmented, it becomes difficult to grasp reality as a whole, to ask profound questions about meaning, or to develop authentic, critical and creative thought. (146)
Moreover, if our systems actively discourage critical thinking into where given answers are coming from, it will, as per Arendt’s point, lead to a situation where people will credulously accept the message that profits and efficiency are more important than human dignity and uplift.
And again, as per the foundations laid in the first half of the Encyclical, it’s to this value that our economic and political systems, including the education system, must aim:
[A] just society requires a vigilant State and civil institutions that are capable of overcoming the singular mentality of efficiency, and of ensuring that resources, creative solutions and regulations favor the most vulnerable. Instead of waiting for the benefits of growth to reach the poor “eventually,” decisions need to be taken to ensure that growth becomes inclusive from the outset. The experience of recent decades shows that in economic and financial crises, it is always the poor who pay the highest price, while the theories that promise automatic general prosperity often prove to be illusory. (158)
The answer to all this, as Leo XIV insists in chapter 5, is love. This is an almost laughably predictable answer from a Christian. But it is far from naive. Love is hard work:
In [the Cold War] context, the Church proposed an alternative path to that of ideological opposition between systems, and envisioned a social order in which justice and charity are intertwined and love becomes the guiding principle of economic, political and cultural life. Today, we must resolutely recover this vision, for the civilization of love is no naïve utopia, but a demanding project, which consists in translating charity into structures of justice, giving institutional form to fraternity and regarding others — whether individuals or peoples — as allies necessary for building the common good. As the Encyclical Letter Fratelli Tutti reminded us, only this social love is capable of becoming a culture and a norm, and thereby of bringing about a stable international order, transforming mere armed coexistence into a community with a shared future. (186)
And in this way, the Encyclical ends where it began, by asking the big questions of what are we building, why, and whose benefit. He returns to the image of the rebuilding of Jerusalem, which is itself evokes the apocalyptic vision of the New Jerusalem:
The image of rebuilding Jerusalem evokes the New Testament promise of the holy city, which is given to us first and foremost as a gift. In the Book of Revelation, the new Jerusalem descends as a gift for all God’s people, “prepared as a bride adorned for her husband” (Rev 21:2). The walls of Jerusalem are no longer defensive fortifications, but the precious adornments of the Bride of the Lamb. Its gates, which Nehemiah guarded so diligently, remain permanently open to all nations. God’s presence offers light and life to all. The city is a new Eden, with its living water offered to the thirsty, and its tree of life whose leaves “are for the healing of the nations” (Rev 22:2). As we await its fulfillment, this vision is set before us as an encouragement — a call to overcome our divisions and to work together — for this is the way of Jesus Christ, yesterday, today and forever. (242)
There can be no doubt that AI presents the world with heretofore unimaginable issues. it is a technology filled with both incredible promise/possibility and unfathomable risk. In Magnifica Humanitas, the Pope has shown genuine leadership in insisting that any adoption of AI be for the good and benefit of all humanity, and not just serve the interests of the privileged few. Hopefully, and God willing, this message will not fall on deaf ears.
