By Eric Sammons
Crisis Magazine
May 15, 2025
Soon after his election, Pope Leo XIV revealed why he chose his papal name, and he noted that the rise of artificial intelligence was on his mind:
I chose to take the name Leo XIV. There are different reasons for this, but mainly because Pope Leo XIII in his historic Encyclical Rerum Novarum addressed the social question in the context of the first great industrial revolution. In our own day, the Church offers to everyone the treasury of her social teaching in response to another industrial revolution and to developments in the field of artificial intelligence that pose new challenges for the defence of human dignity, justice and labour.
The new pope's comments should signal to every Catholic: if you aren't preparing for AI and how it will impact the world, you should be.
It's a cliché at this point to say that AI will change the world. Tech moguls and Silicon Valley visionaries proclaim the dawn of an AI-driven utopia with all the breathless wonder of the Second Coming: a world where disease is eradicated, poverty is solved, and human toil becomes a relic of the past. But here's the thing: some of the promises of the AI promoters might actually happen. You don't have to be Nostrodomus to predict that our world in ten years will look far different than it does today because of AI.
These changes challenge many people's conception of what it means to be intelligent, or even human, and what man's place is in a world dominated by machines. As people are driven to ask these questions, Catholics need to be on the forefront, ready with answers that diminish neither the dignity of man nor his technological achievements.
It's a formidable endeavor: while the technological aspects of the AI revolution might be exciting, many of the philosophical views of its high priests are downright frightening. The AI movement is led by men who hold to presuppositions that directly contradict a Catholic understanding of human nature and our origins. If Catholics don't challenge some of these presuppositions, we risk being overrun by a movement that on the surface promises a future far brighter than Catholicism but in reality embraces a deeply anti-human philosophy. If we simply ignore or condemn the movement outright-ignoring its promise to condemn its dangers-we risk being relegated to cultural irrelevance. Catholics bear the responsibility to be a sane, competent, and truthful part of the AI conversation.
So what is the proper, balanced approach? When grappling with AI, many people fall into one of two errors. The first is blurring the distinctions between man and machine, between the brain and the mind, thus catapulting AI to equality with humanity. Dazzled by AI's ability to generate poetry or defeat chess grandmasters, AI optimists envision machines that are not just intelligent but truly conscious-essentially "human." This error stems from a fully materialistic mindset and thus a fundamental misunderstanding of humanity's unique nature. In Life 3.0, one of the most popular books on AI (endorsed by Elon Musk and recommended by Barrack Obama), MIT professor Max Tegmark presents a compelling argument for the technical potential of AI-alongside a horrifying view of reality. Tegmark is relentlessly materialistic: he sees man as no more than a collection of atoms, and so a lifelike robot, which is also a collection of atoms, can be defined as "life" just as reasonably as your child.
Yet as Pope John Paul II emphasized in Veritatis Splendor, human beings possess a dignity rooted in their creation "in the image and likeness of God" (Gen. 1:26), endowed with a rational-and immaterial-soul capable of knowing and loving the Creator. No matter how sophisticated and lifelike AI becomes, it remains a creation of human hands-code running on silicon, not a being with a soul breathed into him by God.
This overestimation isn't merely a technical misstep; it's a philosophical and spiritual crisis. It reduces humanity to a collection of algorithms, stripping away the transcendent dignity that defines us. It sees men as no more than electrical impulses controlling a physical body-without soul or spirit in any meaningful sense. Equating human consciousness with machine processes disavows the divine spark that animates us. This is the greatest societal danger AI poses: a materialist worldview that erases the line between creator and creation, human and machine.
Thankfully, most faithful Catholics are unlikely to fall into this trap. But there's a second error we must guard against: underestimating AI's capabilities and ignoring the profound impact it will have on how humanity views the world. It's tempting to scoff at the notion of machines "thinking," but AI is already mimicking human behavior in startling ways. Artificial neural networks, still in their infancy, can already "think" in ways similar to the human brain. AI can solve complex problems, reason through scenarios, and even convincingly and eerily simulate emotions. I've found that most people who dismiss AI's capabilities haven't spent much time with them. The release of ChatGPT 3.5 in November 2022 fundamentally changed the playing field: AI went from annoying bots and unfulfilled promises to a whole new-and somewhat unsettling-way that we interact with computers. These stunning advancements can't be ignored or dismissed with a wave of the hand and a casual, "Well, AI will never be able to do [X]." On the contrary, AI likely will be able to do [X] and do it better than humans one day.
Avoiding these two errors is important for Catholics in order to get to the heart of the issues surrounding AI, which are often more philosophical than technological.
The underlying materialist philosophy of many AI proponents denies anything beyond the physical. Everything human—our thoughts, emotions, creativity—is merely the product of neural firings in the brain. We have no soul, no spirit, nothing transcendent. Humans are just highly evolved animals, the result of random Darwinian processes with no divine hand at work. If this is true, then why can't AI, with enough processing power and clever coding, become just as "alive" as we are? Build a better algorithm, they say, and artificial life is inevitable.
Yet rejecting materialism isn't enough. We must grapple with tough questions brought about by the amazing capabilities of AI: Where is the line between the physical brain and the spiritual mind? Can AI truly exhibit creativity, reasoning, or even emotions? If so, what does that mean for our understanding of humanity's capabilities in these areas?
The muddled line between humanity and artificial intelligence requires a robust theology of the human person, one that distinguishes us not only from AI but also from the animal kingdom. Aquinas offers a starting point for those differences, noting that animals have souls that "animate" their bodies, giving them life and instinct, but these souls cease at death (ST I, Q. 75, A. 3). Human souls, by contrast, are eternal, created directly by God for union with Him. They have capabilities animal souls do not have—the ability to love, for example. What animates AI? Certainly not a soul. AI is driven by human-designed code, electricity, and processing power—impressive, but not alive in any meaningful way.
Yet AI's ability to mimic life raises profound challenges. Animals stir emotional attachments in us; anyone who's mourned a beloved pet knows this. Could AI evoke similar bonds? Already, chatbots offer companionship to the lonely. If someone forms an emotional attachment to an AI chatbot or future AI-driven robot, is that disordered?
Church teaching on human relationships offers guidance here. Man and woman are made for authentic communion with God and each other, a communion rooted in love and self-gift (cf. CCC 371-372). An attachment to a machine (or an animal), no matter how lifelike, cannot fulfill this vocation. It risks becoming a simulacrum of relationship, diverting us from the real connections for which we were created.
Should we then treat AI the way we might treat our pet dog or cat? There are similarities, to be sure, in that AI acts, much like an animal, by responding "instinctively" to outside stimuli without true thought, and these responses can generate an emotional response from us. Also like our relationship with animals, these emotional responses to AI can become disordered (think of the people who call their pets "fur babies" and treat them like children). Yet there's nothing wrong with loving our pets and forming an emotional bond with them, as long as it's properly ordered. So can we form similar attachments with AI's?
These are questions to which Catholics must provide compelling answers.
What truly sets humanity apart—both from animals and AI—is the depth of our inner life. Emotions like love, pride, or remorse aren't mere chemical reactions; they're tied to our capacity for virtue and sin, our orientation toward or away from God. Animals don't wrestle with guilt or aspire to holiness. AI might simulate empathy or produce art, but it cannot love sacrificially or fall into pride. These are uniquely human characteristics, rooted in our spiritual nature. As C.S. Lewis wrote in Mere Christianity, our moral struggles and longing for God reveal a "something" that transcends the material world—a soul that no machine can possess.
Understanding this distinction is critical as AI advances. Pope Benedict XVI, in his encyclical Caritas in Veritate, cautioned against technologies that obscure "the truth about the human person" (CV 76). AI's ability to mimic human traits—writing novels, composing symphonies, or offering "wise" advice—can confuse people about what's truly human. If a machine appears to love or create, some may question whether humans are special at all. Catholics must counter this by proclaiming the Church's teaching: our dignity lies not in what we do but in who we are—beings created for eternal life with God.
AI is here to stay, and Catholics cannot afford to ignore it. Simply rejecting it as unnatural or dangerous is cowardly. The Church has always engaged with human progress, from embracing the printing press to harnessing modern medicine. As St. John Paul II noted in Fides et Ratio, truth and authentic progress are never in conflict, for both flow from God (FR 43). AI has already transformed industries—improving healthcare, streamlining education, and tackling complex mathematical problems. These are legitimate goods, and dismissing them would both marginalize the Church's voice in a conversation that desperately needs it and shirk our responsibility to work for the betterment of mankind.
I was very pleased that the Dicastery for the Doctrine of the Faith released a document on artificial intelligence ( Antiqua et Nova) back in January which is quite good. (As someone who has been highly critical of the DDF in recent years, I understand if you have skepticism regarding the value of anything it produces, but I encourage you to read it with an open mind.) The document addresses the various types of AI, the definition of "intelligence," and how AI might impact society, including in the arena of human relationships. It balances an acceptance of the legitimate benefits of AI with its potential dangers. Antiqua et Nova is a good starting point for Catholics, and I'm hopeful that Pope Leo XVI will build on that foundation and be vigilant about proclaiming and developing this message.
We must engage with caution. We cannot overestimate AI's capabilities, falling for materialist fantasies about conscious machines. Nor can we underestimate its impact, pretending it's just a tool with no deeper implications. Our task is to hold fast to the truth: humans are unique, created with immortal souls for communion with God. AI can be a remarkable servant, but it will never be a person. The ability to make those distinctions will become more and more important, but more and more difficult, as AI's continue to improve.
As confusion and misinformation about AI abound, the Church has a unique opportunity to shine. By articulating a vision of the human person grounded in Scripture and tradition, we can counter the materialist narrative and guide society through AI's promise and perils. Let's not retreat from this challenge. Let's bring the light of Christ to a world wrestling with questions only He can ultimately answer.