Magnifica Humanitas: The Encyclical That Almost Said No

The first papal encyclical of the AI age has arrived. Magnifica Humanitas is brave, historic, and necessary — and yet David Engels finds the Church flinching at the question that matters most.

Image: Grok. Yes, we know how ironic that is.

The first encyclical of Pope Leo XIV has already generated considerable discussion on the very day of its publication, and, as usual, the media seem divided between popesplainers who defend every word of the encyclical tooth and nail, and the familiar critics who accuse the text of either too much or too little dogmatism, depending on whether the criticism comes from traditionalist or anti-clerical circles. Some have even gone so far as to suggest that the text itself was written with the help of AI — a claim for which there is very little concrete evidence, but which is nevertheless interesting insofar as it points to the impersonal, almost detached character of the writing, a point to which we shall return later.

What all these critiques seem to share is that they are less concerned with the actual subject matter — how we should respond to artificial intelligence, robotics, transhumanism, and posthumanism — than with confirming their own political-theological positions regarding the current pope. In what follows, we shall therefore attempt, sine ira et studio, to focus entirely on the matter itself and to identify both the remarkable insights and the weaknesses of Leo XIV’s first encyclical.

As a first point, it is necessary to underline what should be the most obvious observation, but has thus far been largely overlooked: Catholics may legitimately take pride in their Church. To date, the Catholic Church is the only world religion that has succeeded in formulating a comprehensive and authoritative magisterial assessment of the risks posed by new technologies. With the exception of the 2024 Hiroshima AI Ethics for Peace declaration, in which Buddhist representatives also participated, it has primarily been the Catholic Church that has shown a genuine desire to provide moral clarification regarding transhumanist tendencies. Even the Rome Call for AI Ethics of 2023, which included Jewish and Muslim representatives, was essentially initiated by the Vatican. Since those two declarations, the relevant technologies have advanced at breathtaking speed, and once again it is the Catholic Church that has taken the lead by attempting to move beyond the usual non-binding statements about human dignity and social justice toward a genuine inner understanding of the technological revolutions of our age.

Unfortunately, the final result is unsatisfactory, or at least only partially satisfactory. This is not intended to sound presumptuous, for the author of these lines would never presume to criticize the immense expertise and experience of the Holy Father and his advisers. Rather, it is meant to express that, despite many highly convincing passages and positions, the encyclical leaves several central issues untouched or addresses them only in passing. As for the reasons, we can only speculate. But first, let us turn to the text itself.

The Pope’s intention is exceedingly clear and has already been summarized countless times in the media, so we may confine ourselves here to the essentials. Artificial intelligence, transhumanism, and posthumanism are presented, by analogy with the technological and ideological revolutions of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, as new res novae that offer opportunities but also dangers for a genuinely Christian and humane existence. It is the task of the Roman Church, in these times of uncertainty, to provide a moral compass capable of inspiring orientation, stability, and, when necessary, the courage to resist. This alone is highly commendable and courageous in an age in which both the political right and left increasingly present AI as a universal solution to every difficult problem. The unconditional primacy of natural law and the Gospel over dubious Promethean and elitist promises cannot be emphasized and praised enough.

Leo XIV clearly wishes to place himself in continuity with his great predecessor Leo XIII, highlighting both the importance of Catholic social teaching and the social emphases of the Second Vatican Council for the great questions of our time, above all the rapid and threatening advances of artificial intelligence and various transhumanist and posthumanist technologies. Yet for precisely this reason, one often receives the impression that the evaluation of these modern problems is not the primary concern. Rather, the focus seems to lie in an internal ecclesiastical apologetic effort, one that seeks to replace the much-discussed rupture associated with the Second Vatican Council by a “hermeneutic of continuity” and “dynamic growth” of doctrine, while simultaneously smoothing over internal tensions by pointing to contemporary dangers. Only in this way can one explain why, of the encyclical’s 245 paragraphs, little more than a quarter actually deal with its stated subject, and even these sections are written in a somewhat mechanical, almost casual manner that contrasts strangely both with the urgency of the topic and with the often lengthy reaffirmations of earlier social teaching documents. At times one even gains the impression that the encyclical is theologically and dogmatically less clear than the preparatory document that we discussed in this magazine a few months ago, which appeared more precise and developed both in its exposition of the dangers of transhumanist and posthumanist tendencies and in its invocation of the Catholic doctrine of the human person.

Anthropology and Interpersonalism

Two omissions are particularly striking. First, the condemnation of the dangers of modern transhumanist technology is far more cautious than one might have expected. Again and again, the text stresses quasi-apologetically the “opportunities” offered by modern technology, while in practice focusing almost exclusively on artificial intelligence. Robotics, genetics, cybernetics, transhumanism, and posthumanism are mentioned here and there, but only in passing and as enumerations, without any serious treatment of the respective relevant technological approaches and their concrete as well as spiritual consequences. This is as interesting as it is ultimately incomprehensible, for it is precisely the combination of these technologies that could usher in the transition from a human to a post-human society, thus creating an anthropological rupture far more profound than the technological revolutions of the industrial era. Those earlier revolutions merely refined tools and principles that had been known for centuries — the leg, the finger, the fist — without fundamentally altering human beings in their humanity. The technologies under discussion today, by contrast, could transform human beings themselves into something entirely different from what they have been for millennia, reshaping them physically and psychologically through cybernetics, genetics, and the fusion of neurological and digital networks into something no longer corresponding to what, according to Christian belief, was created long ago in the image of God.

The second omission concerns, as it were, the very field in which this revolution takes place. The encyclical focuses almost exclusively on interpersonal relations, viewing the transhumanist and posthumanist res novae primarily as threats to social justice. It is certainly true that these new technologies may well produce an unprecedented polarization of humanity, and that one of the Church’s noblest tasks is to oppose such concentrations of wealth and power, along with the exploitation of human beings under a new form of technological feudalism. Yet this is by no means the only dystopian consequence. Even more serious is the possibility of an internal, anthropological threat to the human being. On the one hand, the use of AI may negatively affect the potential, methods, and independence of human thought. On the other hand, the already mentioned “enhancement” of humanity through genetics, the fusion of neurological and digital systems, and ultimately the great illusion of uploading human consciousness into the digital realm may pose a genuine danger to the preservation of humanity’s likeness to God.

To this must be added the psychological dimension, which the encyclical addresses only in passing. Increasing interaction with at least outwardly “intelligent” systems may accustom human beings to forms of communication that not only radically reshape their own thinking but also estrange them from genuine human interaction. Such systems may trap individuals within networks of narcissistic self-affirmation, simulated empathy, and endlessly programmable accommodation of even their most negative and perverse instincts, longings and desires, making real human exchange appear frustrating and unsatisfying by comparison. This includes the foreseeable — and in China already highly advanced — fusion of AI and robotics, which will move interaction with customizable “intelligent” interlocutors from the abstraction of text and language into the concreteness of embodied presence. As science fiction has anticipated for decades, this development is likely to have revolutionary consequences for everyday life, education, the longing for human warmth, and, of course, sexuality.

All these foreseeable developments will necessarily lead not only to social impoverishment and polarization, as the encyclical rightly emphasizes, but also — something entirely omitted from the text — to profound changes in how human beings perceive themselves, their place in the world, their capacity for self-criticism, their awareness of contingency, and ultimately their ability to long for transcendence and to sublimate earthly limitations through the pursuit of fulfillment beyond this life. Humanity’s capacity to perceive God — that very characteristic which fundamentally distinguishes man from the “other animals” — can never be entirely extinguished. Nevertheless, the hubris of believing that technology can overcome or silence all earthly frustrations may lull humanity’s innate longing for transcendence to sleep and thereby deprive it of the most important possibility of self-fulfillment.

The Second Vatican Council, Boomerism, and Anthropic

One may therefore legitimately ask why the first papal encyclical devoted to posthumanist and transhumanist developments analyzes them primarily as a new industrial revolution and focuses on their social and material consequences, while almost entirely neglecting the anthropological dimension, which is ultimately far more important for the intimate realm of faith, one’s image of God, and therefore one’s salvation.

Some observers will undoubtedly find the answer in what they perceive as the Church’s increasing turn away from metaphysics and transcendence toward the social and material sphere, a tendency often associated with the Second Vatican Council. They may feel confirmed in this view by the peculiar dichotomy that is a recurring thread in the encyclical: the Tower of Babel on the one hand, and Nehemiah’s rebuilding of Jerusalem on the other. Despite occasional nuances, this framework often seems to blur Augustine’s distinction between the civitas terrena and the civitas caelestis, suggesting the possibility of an ideal, almost utopian reconciliation between earthly and heavenly Jerusalem. Such an implicitly Pelagian tendency risks transforming the sincere attempt to sacralize the present into a banalization of transcendence, directing the believer’s attention away from the heavenly and toward the merely immanent. That is to say: the encyclical risks suggesting that humanity may build its way to the heavenly Jerusalem through its own moral and technological efforts, rather than receive it as a gift of grace.

Others, however, will emphasize that this underestimation of the anthropologically revolutionary potential of the technological res novae may stem from the generational horizon of the Pope and his collaborators, who are anything but digital natives. Possessing a largely “analog” rather than “digital” perspective on the world, they may underestimate the destructive potential of AI, transhumanism, and posthumanism. This attitude is undoubtedly sympathetic, but it may also entail a certain naïveté regarding the possibility that the alleged “instrument” could quite literally develop a life of its own and transport humanity into an entirely new and spiritually dystopian world.

This suspicion finds some confirmation in the encyclical itself through the numerous references to socially engaged themes characteristic of the rhetoric of the ecclesiastical “Boomer” generation, themes that seem oddly out of place within the futuristic context of transhumanism. Examples include the almost mechanical support for migrants as “the weakest of the weak,” emphatic condemnations of the oppression of women, concerns about climate change, the Pope’s rather abrupt apology for the Church’s historical attitude toward slavery, the equally abrupt declaration that the theory of the just war should now be considered obsolete, relatively conventional reflections on fake news, and, finally, the somewhat disappointing recommendation that the dystopian consequences of AI, transhumanism, and posthumanism should primarily be addressed through state regulation and international agreements.

This appeal seems not only anachronistic in light of the profound discrediting of precisely those institutions over recent decades — often precisely because of their progressive and fundamentally anti-Christian agendas — but also like a conscious evasion of the Church’s own responsibility. The concern for humanity’s future is effectively delegated to political authorities, rather than prompting the Church itself to provide believers with concrete guidance regarding the acceptable limits of these technologies. Should Christians today and in the future make use of AI, genetics, cybernetics, robotics, and the fusion of consciousness with digital systems, or should they not? And if they should, where are the limits? Apart from a few general moral platitudes and the rejection of autonomous weapons systems, the text unfortunately fails entirely to answer these questions and thus avoids concrete — and therefore inevitably “anachronistic,” even unpopular — positions, passing the buck to the political sphere.

This points to a third possible explanation for the text’s weaknesses and omissions: the rather curious fact that the encyclical not only contains several allusions — particularly through its references to techno-feudalism — that amount to a direct critique of influential circles surrounding Peter Thiel and Elon Musk in the United States, thereby continuing the increasingly visible conflict between the papacy and the Trump administration, but that its official presentation was followed by a short response speech by Chris Olah, co-founder of Anthropic, who also was sitting in the immediate neighbourhood of the Holy Father himself. Anthropic is far from being a Christian conservative think tank of the sort frequently found in Vatican circles; it is one of the most influential American AI companies and pursues its own agenda — one that can scarcely be described as Catholic, as it embodies a vision of atheistic, Promethean, libertarian self-improvement. To be sure, Anthropic shares certain concerns regarding the dangers of these technologies, particularly in military contexts, and thus probably represents the closest ally the Vatican could muster in terms of an allegedly “responsible” brand of AI. Still, Anthropic’s symbolic association with the Vatican as a counterweight to OpenAI’s ChatGPT or Musk’s Grok inevitably evokes the old proverb about putting the fox in charge of the henhouse.

One possible, though perhaps overly reductive, explanation would point to the intense conflict that has existed since February between Anthropic and the Trump administration, which regards the company as unsafe and a risk to national security, prohibiting government agencies from using its technology because Anthropic refused to permit military applications or the management of surveillance data. It may be understandable — and perhaps even morally prudent — for the Vatican to support Anthropic in this struggle and thereby oppose the state instrumentalization of AI. Indeed, should Anthropic prevail in the ongoing legal dispute, the consequences would likely extend to the independence of other companies from the American military-industrial complex. In the long term, however, this cooperation grants a certain papal legitimacy that may prove problematic, and whose future costs may well outweigh its short-term benefits within the context of the Vatican’s disagreements with the White House.

The Strength of Saying “No”

None of this means, of course, that Leo XIV’s first encyclical should be regarded as a failure or as insignificant. On the contrary: precisely because it is the first papal encyclical to engage seriously with the questions raised by AI, transhumanism, and posthumanism, it marks a historic step whose significance may only become fully apparent in years to come. Its weaknesses may therefore reflect not a lack of will but rather the transitional nature of an age in which even the Church is still searching for the concepts, images, and categories needed to grasp developments unfolding at a speed previously unknown in human history.

Nevertheless, one may hope that the debate opened here is only the beginning of a broader theological reflection that will eventually provide clearer answers and more decisive recommendations. For the true challenge of the coming decades will not be to chase after the rapid development of machines with perpetually outdated demands for political regulation, but to remind human beings of what they are.

The decisive question is not what artificial intelligence may one day be capable of in guaranteeing — or threatening — social harmony, but whether human beings, amid its promises and temptations, will still possess the courage to remain human by turning toward God. Yet this is precisely the Church’s true mission. Its strength has never primarily lain in cautiously and discursively containing dystopian developments, but, when necessary, in saying “No” — and in urging the faithful to embrace that decision as binding, regardless of whatever worldly consequences it may entail.