Building Babel or Jerusalem? Magnifica Humanitas and Catholic AI
The question isn't whether machines are becoming more human. It's whether we are.
I have been devouring Pope Leo XIV’s new encyclical, Magifica Humanitas.
Like many Catholics—and non Catholics, it seems from all the buzz—I eagerly anticipated this encyclical, curious to see how the Church would characterize one of the defining technologies of our age. I expected cautions about ethics, reminders of the dignity of every human person, and particularly some discussion about the dignity and importance of work.
I have been delighted by what I have found, cheering with each new stroke of the highlighter. For example:
On the Morality of Technology
…technology is never neutral, because it takes on the characteristics of those who devise, finance, regulate and use it. Therefore, the primary choice is not between a “yes” or “no” to technology, but rather between constructing Babel or rebuilding Jerusalem; between a power that claims to dominate the heavens and a people who work together in the presence of God to rebuild the walls of fraternal coexistence. (9)
We must, then, avoid the “Babel syndrome,” namely the idolatry of profit that sacrifices the weak, a uniformity that neutralizes differences, and the pretense that a single language — even a digital one — can translate everything, including the mystery of the person, into data and performance. (10)
In the era of artificial intelligence, when human dignity is threatened by new forms of dehumanization, ours is the pressing duty to remain profoundly human. (15)
…the growing dominance of a technocratic paradigm in our globalized world [is] the tendency to let the logic of efficiency, control and profit alone shape personal, social and economic decisions. This makes it clear that technology is not simply a tool. When it becomes the standard by which everything is judged, it begins to dictate what matters and what can be discarded, reducing creation to an object of exploitation and human beings to mere cogs in a system driven toward ever greater efficiency. (92)
This paradigm has spread rapidly in recent years, fueled in part by the expansion of artificial intelligence, cognitive science, nanotechnology, robotics and biotechnology. In themselves, these innovations can greatly serve integral human development and the care of our common home. Yet precisely because of their power, they can also hasten the expansion of the technocratic paradigm and therefore require a new spiritual, ethical and political framework. More power does not necessarily imply something better. (93)
(Excited to be part of the conversation shaping these frameworks through the podcast and in my upcoming book with Ignatius Press!)
[T]echnological progress — valuable in itself — requires careful discernment of the anthropological vision that guides it and the ends it pursues. If technological development advances without a corresponding ethical and social progress, the result may be an increase in means without a growth in humanity: “having more” without “being more.” In such a scenario, there is a risk that individuals will be evaluated principally according to the outcomes they produce. (94)
On Artificial Intelligence
So-called artificial intelligences do not undergo experiences, do not possess a body, do not feel joy or pain, do not mature through relationships and do not know from within what love, work, friendship or responsibility mean. Nor do they have a moral conscience, since they do not judge good and evil, grasp the ultimate meaning of situations, or bear responsibility for consequences. They may imitate language, behavior and analytical skills, or even simulate empathy and understanding, but they do not understand what they produce, for they lack the affective, relational and spiritual perspective through which human beings grow in wisdom. Even when these tools are described as capable of “learning,” their way of doing so is different from that of a human person. It is not the experience of those who allow themselves to be shaped by life and grow over time through choices, mistakes, forgiveness and fidelity. Rather, it is a form of statistical adaptation based on data and feedback, which can be very effective, but does not imply inner growth. (99)
[W]e cannot consider AI to be morally neutral. In reality, every technical tool embodies choices and priorities through what it measures, ignores and optimizes, and how it classifies people and situations. If a system is designed or used in a way that treats some lives as less worthy, or excludes them without the possibility of appeal, then it is not merely a tool “to be used well,” since it has already introduced criteria that contradict the inalienable dignity of the human person. For this reason, ethical discernment cannot be limited to asking whether we are using a system for good or bad purposes; it must also examine how that system is designed and what vision of the human person and society is embedded in the data and models that guide it. (104)
[O]ur central question [is] what does it mean to safeguard our humanity? …the pervasive technocratic paradigm in which we are immersed, and that is amplified by the digital revolution and AI, threatens to normalize an anti-human vision. In that vision, the fullness of life is equated with having more, reducing weakness, eliminating uncertainty and exerting total control. When efficiency becomes the ultimate measure of value, human beings are tempted to see themselves as a project to be optimized rather than as persons called to relationship and communion. (112)
Does AI “make human life on earth ‘more human’ in every aspect of that life? Does it make it more worthy of man?” If the answer is yes, then we can recognize it as an opportunity to be embraced responsibly, on a path of patient, shared reconstruction, akin to the rebuilding of Jerusalem narrated in the Book of Nehemiah. If, however, power grows while the heart withers and human bonds fray, then we are faced with a new form of Babel — a construction that is grandiose, yet fundamentally dehumanizing. (129)
On Human Limitation and Suffering
If the human being is treated as something to be perfected or surpassed, it becomes easier to accept that some lives are less useful, less desirable or less worthy. In the name of progress, “necessary sacrifices” may begin to be justified, placing the burden on the most vulnerable in pursuit of a supposed optimization of the species. … indeed, scientific and technological advances, when detached from moral and social progress, end up turning against humanity…. It is one thing to integrate technology within a human-centered, relational vision; it is quite another to be guided by an outlook that devalues human limits and promises a purely technical form of “salvation.” (117)
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. (118)
[I]t is precisely within our limitations that the following find a place: compassion, as well as a sincere concern for the needs of others; a generosity that can emerge even in the midst of darkness and failure; spiritual experience and the worship of God. We see this at many moments when our limits become tangible: when we face rejection, when we suffer the illness or loss of a loved one, when we encounter our own weakness or failure. Mysteriously, it is precisely in such moments that we can discover a new wisdom, tangibly experience the closeness of others and encounter the presence of the Lord.
Even when limitations are experienced as inner suffering, human wisdom teaches us not to deny or suppress it, but to integrate it. To eliminate suffering entirely would mean, in the end, extinguishing love and desire as well. Those who love and desire cannot avoid passing through trial and suffering; and over the years, we carry within us lessons that leave their mark like scars, the memories of a journey shaped by freedom and failure, dreams and disappointments. It is only thanks to the interplay of these elements that the wonders of the soul occur within us, allowing us to sense the richness of our humanity. To renounce this adventure, both tragic and splendid, in the name of a presumed transcendence of all limits, could mean many things, but it would no longer be human. (119-120)
We can embrace the technological progress that alleviates suffering and unlocks new possibilities, provided that we do not abandon the very essence of our humanity, namely the capacity for relationship and love. (125)
This leads to a crucial question: if an authentic “more than human” exists, where is it to be found? The Christian faith answers that question by pointing to a fulfilment that does not arise from a technological divinization, but through God’s grace received in Christ. (125)
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)
Babel or Jerusalem?
The central image is a striking one. Pope Leo writes that artificial intelligence is forcing humanity to choose between building Babel and rebuilding Jerusalem, to ask the fundamental question:
What kind of civilization are we building?
The tower itself is not the issue; what is at stake at Babel is the abandonment of God for the people’s own glory. Jerusalem, by contrast, represents a community ordered toward communion—with God and with one another.
AI isn’t merely a technological issue; it’s an anthropological one. The question isn’t whether machines become more intelligent (likely), or even conscious (never).
The question is whether we remain fully human.
This has become one of the central questions of my own work.
Artificial intelligence can draft our emails. Generate “artwork.” Summarize books. Write code. Compose something resembling music. Some predict it may soon perform many of the tasks that once occupied entire professions. These are remarkable (and depressing?) achievements.
But every new advance presents a temptation: to confuse efficiency with wisdom, information with understanding, communication with communion, optimization with human flourishing.
As Christians, we know that the deepest realities of life cannot be reduced to outputs. Friendship cannot be automated. Love cannot be synthesized. Prayer cannot be outsourced. Holiness cannot be downloaded.
One moment from my recent conversation with Tim, co-creator of CHATechism, has stayed with me. We found ourselves disagreeing about devotional writing. I confessed my uneasiness with AI-generated reflections on the daily Mass readings. As I spend much of my own life writing devotional material, one could dismiss my concern merely as professional self-interest. But my concern runs deeper than that.
Something profound happens when one member of the Body of Christ prayerfully writes for another. The writer prays, spends time in Scripture and in communion with the Holy Spirt. Those insights are distilled into words, a message. Another Christian receives those words, the Holy Spirit the animating force of prayer connecting two members across time and space. That exchange goes beyond the mere transfer of information.
Can a machine imitate the form? Absolutely.
Can it participate in that communion? That’s a harder question to unravel.
That isn’t a condemnation of AI. There is real need to be present in this space.
Throughout our conversation, Tim made a compelling case that Catholics should not retreat from this technology. Catholics cannot afford to ignore artificial intelligence. If AI is becoming what Pope Leo calls “a new continent to be evangelized,” then Christians should be among those helping shape it. If millions of people will seek answers through AI, Catholics should help ensure they encounter truth instead of confusion.
Will we use this tool to deepen communion, or replace it? Will it make us wiser—or merely more efficient? Will it help us become more fully human, or tempt us to outsource the very work that forms us into the people God created us to be?
The question is never whether we should build. The question is what we are building—and for whom.
Babel, or Jerusalem?
Human—or something else?
Listen to the Conversation
If you’re interested in wrestling with these questions alongside us, I think you’ll enjoy this conversation.
We discuss Pope Leo’s new encyclical, how AI actually works, why CHATechism was built the way it was, the promises and dangers of artificial intelligence, raising children in an AI world, and why I believe the deepest question isn’t whether machines are becoming more human—but whether we are.
In this episode of Brave New Us, Tim and I discuss:
Pope Leo’s Magifica Humanitas
Why AI is a moral question before it is a technological one
How CHATechism works (and how it tries to avoid hallucinations)
AI, evangelization, and the “digital continent”
Whether AI is making us stupid
Why I push back on AI-generated devotional content
How Christian families can navigate AI with wisdom and hope
🎧 Listen here:
And, since Tim co-created CHATechism with my husband, they are offering a full month FREE using code BRAVENEWUS. The tool is completely free to use; the code lets you experience all the upgraded features at no extra cost.
I would love to hear your thoughts: