In his first Papal Encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas, Pope Leo XIV boldly speaks of the need to “safeguard” the dignity of human persons by “disarming” Artificial Intelligence (AI).
At first sight, this framing of technology as a weaponised phenomenon may appear hyperbolic. As Pope Leo explains, however, the dangers posed by AI to human harmony and wellbeing which must be diffused are not merely military in nature. Pope Leo warns of a future in which, by utilising AI in pursuit of geopolitical control and economic dominance, “the human being is treated as something to be perfected or surpassed”.
In such a world, Pope Leo warns, “it becomes easier to accept that some lives are less useful, less desirable or less worthy”, and therefore in “the name of progress, ‘necessary sacrifices’ may begin to be justified, placing the burden on the most vulnerable in pursuit of a supposed optimisation of the human species.” (117). Under this dystopian vision, AI becomes the means for marginalising and excluding those who are most vulnerable within human society.
It is with this concern in mind that Pope Leo cautions that “merely regulating” AI would be an “insufficient” response to what is at stake, which is nothing less than our vision for human flourishing and the world we live in — whether a “human-centred, relational vision” or one “guided by an outlook that devalues human limits and promises a purely technical form of ‘salvation’” (117).
This takes us to the heart of Pope Leo’s Encyclical. While the document is being spoken of, somewhat loosely, by many as an encyclical about AI, its ultimate focus is on theological anthropology —grappling with what really makes us human and, more specifically, what it means to be authentically human in the current age; an age defined, among other things, by a “technocratic paradigm” that is increasingly characterised by AI.
Magnifica Humanitas thereby provides us with a clarion call against the potentially devastating impact of AI technologies on human freedom, truth, communication, and democracy. The urgency of this call stems from the fact that AI is an environment—and a “digital ecosystem”—which is already to a significant degree “interwoven into the fabric of daily life” (4). In recognition of this, Pope Leo’s call for AI disarmament is not a call to reject this technology in absolute terms. Rather, it is a matter of “preventing it from dominating humanity” while employing it as part of the “construction site of hope that we call the ‘civilisation of love’’” (185).
In this constructive vision, Pope Leo imagines a world in which a “disarmed” AI is welcoming and accessible; a world in which technological intervention can truly be said to “represent human participation in the divine act of creation” as opposed to being defined by a “mentality of ‘armed’ competition” that benefits a few at the expense of the most vulnerable (110).
By acknowledging the positive potential of AI for humankind as well as its risks, Pope Leo places himself firmly on the via media – in the longstanding Catholic tradition of finding ‘the middle way’’ – which is not to be understood as ‘sitting on the fence’ but, rather, as reconciling, and thus avoiding, two extremes.”
In focusing attention upon the needs of those most at risk of exploitation within today’s “digital ecosystem”, Pope Leo urges a particular consideration for the effects of AI on children, adolescents, and our educational systems. This is epitomised by his call for “digital sobriety and the protection of minors, thus countering models that exploit vulnerability’” (170).
A world which safeguards the human person and disarms AI is therefore one in which all lives are deemed desirable and worthy; a world in which walls are built around the most vulnerable to protect, rather than to shut them out.
Dr John Kleinsman is Kaitohu/Director of the Nathaniel Centre for Bioethics – Te Kupenga.
Dr Greg Marcar is Senior Researcher/Kairangahau Matua at the Nathaniel Centre for Bioethics – Te Kupenga.
