Remaining Human in an Age of Artificial Intelligence
A few days ago, I read about Pope Leo XIV’s first major encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas. With pastoral clarity, the Holy Father calls for artificial intelligence to be “disarmed.” He warns that AI does not erase the intrinsic inhumanity of war, but can make conflict quicker, more impersonal, and easier to initiate by reducing human lives to data points and lowering the threshold for violence. He also raises concern about deepfakes and manipulated media that erode trust and distort truth.
As a Catholic mother and writer, these words landed heavily in my heart. The Church has always invited us to careful discernment — neither rushing headlong into every new thing nor rejecting it out of fear.
Yet I also sat with these words while reflecting on my own daily experience. I use AI the way I once used a paintbrush, a typewriter, or a simple photo editor — as a tool that helps me illustrate children’s stories, refine poems, and turn heartfelt words into gentle songs. It is not a replacement for my vision or my maternal heart; it is an extension of it.
History’s Repeating Pattern
This tension is not new.
When Gutenberg invented the printing press, many monks and Church leaders viewed it with suspicion. Knowledge had been carefully guarded in monasteries — hand-copied, expensive, and accessible to only a few. The press threatened that monopoly. It risked spreading dangerous ideas rapidly and raised genuine fears of misinformation and upheaval.
And yet, in God’s providence, something beautiful unfolded. Books became affordable. Literacy grew among ordinary families. Ordinary men and women could now read Scripture in their own language. Education expanded far beyond the privileged. The Renaissance and the Enlightenment drew life from this democratization of knowledge.
The same pattern appeared with photography and digital tools. Artists initially dismissed the camera as mechanical and soulless. When Photoshop and digital editing arrived, the cry was often the same: This isn’t real art — it’s cheating.
Today we accept these tools as legitimate instruments of creativity. They have not destroyed the human longing for beauty; they have expanded who can participate in its creation, lowering barriers so that mothers, teachers, and everyday people can create and share in ways once reserved for the elite.
In each case, technology gradually moved from the hands of the few into the hands of the many.
An Important Aside
Interestingly, last month First Lady Melania Trump hosted the “Fostering the Future Together” Global Coalition Summit, bringing together spouses of world leaders — including Brigitte Macron — to explore how AI can empower children through education and personalized learning. Their conversation highlighted the hopeful potential of these tools to make knowledge more accessible and learning more tailored to each child’s needs.
This perspective sits alongside the Pope’s caution. Together they remind us that the same technology can be used in very different ways.
A Call to Discernment
I am not here to preach that AI is wholly good or wholly dangerous.
The pace of change today is indeed breathtakingly fast compared to the printing press. The concentration of power in a few companies, the risks of misuse in warfare or politics, and the very real economic and cultural disruptions deserve serious attention and prudent guidance.
But I have also seen the other side in my own little corner of the world. When I use AI to bring a children’s story about honesty and courage to life, or to set a poem of faith to music, the final work remains deeply human. The vision, the heart, the motherly editing and intent — these are still mine. The tool does not replace the soul that directs it.
Yet perhaps the deeper question is not simply what AI becomes, but what we ourselves become while using it.
Every generation faces this tension in new forms. A tool may assist human creativity, communication, and learning — but it can also tempt us toward speed without reflection, information without wisdom, and convenience without responsibility. The danger is not only that technology may grow more powerful, but that human beings may gradually surrender discernment, imagination, patience, and even genuine human encounter to systems designed for efficiency and endless consumption.
As Christians, we are therefore called not merely to ask what a machine can do, but what kind of hearts we are forming while using it. Do these tools help us become more truthful, compassionate, creative, and attentive to one another? Or do they slowly pull us away from silence, contemplation, responsibility, and the sacred dignity of the human person?
This, I believe, is where we as Catholic mothers — and fathers — are especially called: to discern with prayer and wisdom.
To ask:
- Does this serve the dignity of the human person made in God’s image?
- Does it help me love my neighbor and form the hearts of children?
- Is my intent grounded in truth, beauty, goodness, and love?
As long as our hearts remain anchored in Christ and we walk the Narrow Way, we can use these new instruments without losing what matters most.
A Mother’s Quiet Prayer
I do not know exactly what the future holds for AI.
But I do know the God who has walked with humanity through every age of invention. The same God who remained present through the age of Gutenberg, through the rise of photography, film, and the digital world, remains with us still — in our kitchens, our creative moments, our vocations, and our daily choices.
May we create with love.
May we walk wisely.
And may we always remember that the most beautiful treasures are not found in the most advanced tools, but in brave and honest hearts — the hearts of little children learning to speak truth, and the hearts of mothers learning to discern the signs of the times.
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