The Encyclical's Argument
A faithful reconstruction of Leo XIV's reasoning, paragraph by paragraph
Click a §n reference: the original paragraph appears in the margin, to set against the commentary. The full text stays one click away from the insert.
I. The Framework: Why and How the Church Speaks about AI
The encyclical begins with an observation and a choice. Humanity, created by God in all its greatness, faces a decisive decision: to build a new Tower of Babel, or to build the city where God and humanity dwell together (§1). Each generation inherits the task of shaping its era, and each also runs the risk of producing a world that is inhuman and more unjust (§1). It is in this context that the present text is situated: taking up the momentum given by Rerum Novarum in 1891, whose 135th anniversary is being celebrated, Leo XIV places his reflection within the social doctrine of the Church, understood not as a fixed set of concepts but as a “living corpus” of truth in service of the human vocation (§3).
The point of departure is that one cannot be content to repeat past teachings: it is necessary to interpret the great tendencies of our time, in particular the advent of digitalization, AI, and robotics (§4). Technology is not in itself a force hostile to humanity; it has been part of our history from the very beginning as a “profoundly human reality” (§4). But a new situation has emerged: the power and omnipresence of emerging technologies are woven into daily life and affect the collective imagination, to the point that “never has humanity had such power over itself” (§4). The problem is not merely regulatory: one must ask who holds this power today and how they use it (§5). The principal drivers of development are no longer states but private actors, often transnational, whose resources exceed those of many governments; technological power thus takes on an unprecedented “private” character, more difficult to govern and to orient toward the common good (§5).
To discern this era, the encyclical invokes two biblical images (§7). The Tower of Babel: a people that decides to build a city and a tower to “make a name for itself,” an impressive project — one language, one technology, one direction — but conceived without reference to God, founded on pride and self-sufficiency, and leading not to unity but to dispersion (§7). The rebuilding of Jerusalem under Nehemiah: faced with a city in ruins, Nehemiah prays, fasts, imposes no solutions from above, summons the families, assigns each one a section of the wall, listens and coordinates; the city is reborn through the shared responsibility of all, in a work that has God at its center and that “rebuilds relationships before rebuilding with stones” (§8). From these two images, the encyclical draws the conclusion that the primary choice is not a “yes” or “no” to technology, but rather “to build Babel or to rebuild Jerusalem” (§9). Indeed, technology is never neutral in practice, for it takes on the characteristics of those who design, fund, regulate, and use it (§9). One must therefore avoid the “Babel syndrome” — idolatry of profit that sacrifices the weak, uniformity that neutralizes differences, the pretension to translate everything, including the mystery of the person, into data and performance — and choose “the way of Nehemiah” (§10).
Building for the common good then requires four things: founding the city on a firm relationship with God (§11); accepting human limits and weakness without treating them as an error to be corrected (§12); assuming shared responsibility, with each receiving “their section of the wall” according to the logic of subsidiarity (§13); and adopting an evangelical language, neither naively enthusiastic nor alarmist, translating criteria for discernment into concrete practices (§14). The pressing duty of the era, marked by new forms of dehumanization, is to “remain profoundly human” and to safeguard the greatness of humanity fully revealed in Christ, which no machine will ever be able to replace (§15). The call is addressed to all men and women of goodwill: to be builders of communion rather than architects of Babel (§16).
Before applying these principles, the encyclical justifies its approach by recalling how the Church stands within history. AI is not one more topic to study, nor a crisis to manage, but a development that challenges “from within” the categories of social doctrine and calls for their development in fidelity to the Gospel (§17). The Church recognizes the autonomy of earthly realities and the distinction between the ecclesial community and the political community (§18, §20–21): it does not claim to assume the functions of the state, but, following the example of the Good Samaritan, draws near to the wounds of humanity (§21). It listens to the “many voices” of its time in order to interpret them in the light of the Word (§22), dialogues with the human sciences without this diminishing the force of the Gospel (§23), and recognizes that truth is a gift to be shared, not a possession to be monopolized — “time is greater than space” (§25). Social doctrine thus appears not as a manual of norms to be applied, but as a “process of shared discernment” born from the encounter between the truth of the Gospel and the questions of history (§27).
The encyclical then traces the genealogy of this doctrine to demonstrate its dynamic character. Rerum Novarum by Leo XIII establishes the dignity of labor and workers, the just wage, and the value of the person over capital (§30). Quadragesimo Anno by Pius XI systematically formulates subsidiarity and denounces the concentration of economic power (§31). Pius XII contributes through his messages on an international order founded on justice and law (§32). John XXIII, with Mater et Magistra and Pacem in Terris, broadens the global dimension and the language of rights (§33). The Second Vatican Council, through Gaudium et Spes, presents a Church close to humanity, and Dignitatis Humanae grounds religious freedom in dignity (§34). Paul VI understands development as “the new name of peace” (§35). John Paul II deepens the theology of work (Laborem Exercens), denounces “structures of sin” (Sollicitudo Rei Socialis), and evaluates democracy and the market (Centesimus Annus) (§37–39). Benedict XVI places charity in truth at the heart of social doctrine (§40–41). Francis develops integral ecology, fraternity, and the link to a personal relationship with Christ (§42–44). From this survey, the encyclical concludes that social doctrine is the fruit of a harmonious, non-linear development, whose core of truths endures while being reinterpreted in each era (§45).
II. The Foundations: Dignity and Principles
The Dignity of the Person
At the heart of the faith lies the mystery of the Trinitarian God, who is love in relationship; the human person, created in his image, truly discovers herself only in the gift of self (§48). This dignity depends neither on capabilities, nor on wealth, nor on position, nor on just or erroneous choices: it is a gift that precedes and transcends each person (§50). The encyclical distinguishes several registers — moral, social, and existential dignity — but above all emphasizes ontological dignity, that which belongs to every human being by the sole fact of existing, of having been willed, created, and loved by God; no sin, failure, or exclusion can diminish it (§52). Taking up Dignitas Infinita, the text affirms that every person possesses an “infinite” dignity, inalienably grounded in their being (§53).
From this, the encyclical draws a warning: one must ensure that this appreciation of dignity is not obscured by ideologies or powerful interests. Particularly insidious is the ideology suggesting that each person must earn or justify their value, attributing greater value to the most efficient or high-performing — thereby reducing the person to a means of obtaining results (§51). Yet the value of a person does not depend on what they produce. Human rights are not an external addition to the person but the expression of their intrinsic dignity (§54). Among these rights, the first is the right to life, from conception to its natural end (§55). The protection of rights faces two dangers: their purely formal proclamation, and above all the inability to recognize the foundation of their universality — for if one abandons “the search for solid foundations,” rights considered untouchable today could one day be denied (§56). Finally, it is concrete persons who matter: collective proclamations are worth something only if they lead to the flourishing of persons with their inalienable rights (§58).
The Five Principles
The encyclical then sets out five principles, to be considered together, as criteria for interpreting the “new things” of our time (§46).
The common good is the social expression of the dignity recognized in each person (§59). According to Vatican II, it is the ensemble of social conditions enabling persons to attain their flourishing (§60). It is not the sum of individual interests: the whole is “more than the sum of its parts,” an irreducible “more” born of interdependence (§61). It falls to the state to ensure cohesion and to harmonize interests with the demands of justice, without leaving aside the most vulnerable (§63). This applies also to international politics: any attempt to eliminate or subjugate a nation is gravely immoral (§64).
The universal destination of goods recalls that the goods of the earth are given by God to the entire human family (§65). Private property, which has its own proper meaning, remains subordinate to this destination, the “golden rule” of the social order; the Christian tradition has never recognized the right of property as absolute (§66). Today, this universal destination also applies to immaterial goods: patents, algorithms, platforms, technological infrastructures, and data; when these goods remain concentrated in few hands, a new imbalance is created, widening the gap between the included and the excluded (§67).
Subsidiarity holds that the role of individuals, families, local communities, and intermediate organizations should not be supplanted by higher authorities, which must instead recognize and support their freedom (§68). Subsidiarity does not justify state disengagement, but orients its action (§69). It applies particularly to the digital revolution: here, the highest level is not the state, but the major economic and technological actors who exercise a de facto power over the conditions of daily life (§71). Subsidiarity requires that these processes not be imposed from above in an opaque manner, but oriented toward the common good with transparency, accountability, and participation — including algorithmic transparency, equitable access to data, and avenues for recourse (§71). One cannot allow a handful of actors to dictate alone the governance of data and algorithms (§72).
Solidarity emerges from the vision of the person as part of a network of relationships; fraternity is not merely an aspiration but a reality to be embodied, for “no one is saved alone” (§73). Subsidiarity and solidarity are intimately linked: without solidarity, subsidiarity protects particular interests; without subsidiarity, solidarity degenerates into dependency (§73). We already live a “solidarity of fact” through digital interconnection, but it becomes solidarity in the full sense only when it becomes a conscious choice (§74). Solidarity is both principle and virtue (§75). In the digital age, the “digital ecosystem,” like the natural environment, can be preserved or exploited, shared or monopolized; solidarity requires that decisions about data, algorithms, and AI take into account the impact on all peoples and future generations (§76).
Social justice is a concrete way of following Christ, who identifies himself with the least of these (§77); it begins with the most vulnerable — the poor, migrants, refugees, victims of violence (§78). It helps to recognize that injustices also arise from structures that produce inequality almost automatically — the “structures of sin” (§79). It assumes a restorative dimension: repairing broken bonds, reintegrating the excluded, taking into account the wounds of past injustices (§79). In the digital age, it requires preventing new forms of exclusion: denial of access to basic technologies, invasive surveillance, opaque algorithms perpetuating discrimination (§80). The treatment of migrants is a “decisive test”: it reveals whether a society’s sense of justice is driven by fear or by fraternity (§81).
Integral Development and an Examination for the Church
These principles find their implementation in integral human development, which concerns “every man and the whole man” (Paul VI) and all dimensions of existence (§82). Development is truly human only if it places the person at the center rather than the accumulation of wealth (§83). It becomes the framework through which to interpret the changes of our time, including those of the digital revolution: innovations, including AI, being not neutral, must be evaluated by a crucial question — do they genuinely help persons and peoples to become more human and more fraternal, in respect for the common home and for future generations? (§85).
Finally, social doctrine is not only a message addressed to society: it is also an examination of conscience for the Church itself (§86). In the ecclesial context, the common good takes the form of a synodal approach (§86), subsidiarity becomes a principle of governance (§87), solidarity is rooted in the Eucharist (§88), and living justice means purifying ecclesial relationships and structures — including by listening to victims of abuse (§89).
III. Technology, Power, and the Nature of AI
The encyclical then addresses the concrete challenges, under the image of the construction site: on one side Babel, where collective effort follows a plan that dominates and dehumanizes; on the other the ruins of Jerusalem, rebuilt piece by piece in shared responsibility (§90).
Taking up Laudato Si’, the text denounces the domination of the technocratic paradigm: the tendency to let the sole logic of efficiency, control, and profit shape decisions (§92). Technology is not a simple tool; when it becomes the measure of everything, it dictates what counts and what can be set aside (§92). “More power does not necessarily imply something better” (§93), and according to Guardini, contemporary man has not been formed to make good use of power (§93). Paul VI had warned that progress, without corresponding moral and social progress, ends by turning against man: an increase in means without growth in humanity, “having more” without “being more” (§94). The text recalls here that, in the digital context, control of platforms, infrastructures, data, and computing power does not belong to states but to major economic actors, and that this opaque concentration increases the risk of dependencies, exclusions, and manipulations (§95). The criteria for discernment in the face of this concentration are the principles of social doctrine (§96).
The encyclical then specifies what AI is. It begins with two caveats: any assertion about AI risks becoming outdated quickly, and everyone, including those who design it, has only a limited understanding of it — current systems are more “cultivated” than “built,” with developers creating a framework in which intelligence “grows,” so that their internal processes remain partly unknown (§98). Above all, one must avoid assimilating this “intelligence” to that of the human being: these systems imitate certain functions of human intelligence and surpass it in speed and computational capacity, but their power remains entirely tied to the processing of data (§99). AIs do not have experience, have no body, feel neither joy nor pain, do not mature through relationship, have no moral conscience; they can simulate empathy but do not understand what they produce (§99). Even their “learning” differs from that of the person: it is not the experience of one who allows herself to be shaped by life and grows through choices, errors, forgiveness, and fidelity, but a form of statistical adaptation, efficient yet without interior growth (§99).
Thus, AI can be a valuable tool that requires vigilance (§100). In personal use, three aspects merit attention: the ease of obtaining results, the impression of objectivity, and the simulation of human communication (§100). These traits can encourage excessive dependence and weaken judgment; above all, the artificial imitation of care, when it enters contexts where real relationships are lacking, poses a danger not so much of believing one is speaking to a person, but of gradually losing the very desire to form authentic human bonds (§100). In social use, the efficiency gains are real, but rapid and uncritical adoption exposes to risks, including environmental impact: current systems require enormous quantities of energy and water and a resource-intensive infrastructure (§101).
A major consequence follows: AI is not morally neutral, for every technical tool embodies choices and priorities through what it measures, ignores, and optimizes, and the way it classifies persons (§104). If a system treats certain lives as less worthy or excludes them without recourse, it has already introduced criteria contradicting dignity (§104). Ethical discernment therefore cannot be limited to asking whether one uses a system well or poorly: it must examine how the system is designed and what vision of the person is embedded in it (§104). For AI to respect dignity, responsibility must be clearly defined at each stage, and accountability becomes crucial: being able to identify who must account for decisions, to justify them, contest them, and repair wrongs (§105). Calling for prudence and even a slower pace in the adoption of AI is not to oppose progress, but to exercise responsible care (§106); it is not enough to invoke an abstract ethics: robust legal frameworks, independent oversight, and a political system that does not abdicate are needed (§106). One cannot be satisfied with the mere “moralization of machines” — the “alignment” of AI with human values — without having the courage to discuss publicly the ethical frameworks at stake and to submit them to shared standards of social justice; otherwise, those who control AI will impose their own moral vision, and a more moral AI is not sufficient if that morality is determined by a few (§107).
AI tends to amplify the power of those who already possess resources, expertise, and access to data (§108). The principles of social doctrine offer a framework for understanding this reality: to speak of the common good is to name the “new AI monopolies”; of the universal destination of goods, is to ensure access to technologies and the necessary education; of subsidiarity, is to protect the capacity of communities to decide; of solidarity, is to recognize hidden and exploited workers; of justice, is to question the global distribution of power that decides who trains these models and who is merely subjected to them (§109). The encyclical then introduces an expression dear to it: to “disarm” AI means to free it from the mentality of “armed” competition — not only military, but economic and cognitive — to free it from monopolistic control and open it to discussion; not to reject technology, but to prevent it from dominating humanity (§110). The task is not only ethical or technical, but “ecological in the deepest sense,” for AI is already an environment in which we are immersed (§110). A particular call is addressed to developers: every design choice reflects a vision of humanity, and they are called to inscribe values in their projects with transparency and responsibility (§111).
The encyclical then returns to its central question: what does it mean to safeguard our humanity? (§112). The risk goes beyond misuse: the technocratic paradigm, amplified by the digital revolution, threatens to normalize an anti-human vision where the fullness of life is assimilated to having more, reducing weakness, and exercising total control (§112). To absolutize a single dimension of existence is always an error: intelligence, when absolutized, eclipses affection, will, commitment, and relationships; technical power, when unbalanced, isolates and renders one more vulnerable (§113). The quality of a civilization is measured not by the power of its means, but by the care it is capable of offering, by its capacity to recognize the other as a face and not as a function (§114).
The text then illuminates the underlying narratives of transhumanism and posthumanism (§115). These form an “archipelago” of currents linked by common presuppositions: the central role of technology and the aspiration to transcend the limits of the human condition (§116). Transhumanism aims at the augmentation of the human being through technologies; posthumanism, in its radical forms, envisions the hybridization of humans, machines, and the environment, anticipating a surpassing of humanity (§116). For social doctrine, the issue is not technology as such, but the vision underlying it: if the human being is treated as something to be perfected or surpassed, it becomes easier to accept that certain lives are less worthy, and to justify “necessary sacrifices” in the name of progress (§117).
Then comes the anthropological core. Our relationship to life seems in crisis: everything that appears as a “limit” — incapacity, illness, old age, suffering, vulnerability — tends to be seen as a defect to be corrected, whereas humanity often flourishes through its limits, and not despite them (§118). It is precisely in our limits that compassion, generosity, and spiritual experience find their place (§119). To want to eliminate suffering entirely would be to extinguish love and desire as well (§120). Even the moral corruption of our limits leaves openings for good; as Frankl observed, in horror one encountered man as he is — the one who invented the gas chambers, but also the one who entered them upright, a prayer on his lips (§121). Finitude, truly accepted, does not diminish us but opens us to recognize the face of God and of the other (§122). History is not only the narrative of human violence: it also testifies to the capacity to create institutions that protect common life — the Red Cross, the abolition of slavery, the United Nations, the Universal Declaration of 1948, the 1951 Convention on refugees (§123) — and to figures who have changed history, from Martin Luther King to Nelson Mandela, as well as the “martyrs of everyday life” (§124–125). For this reason, humanity, in its greatness and its wound, must never be replaced or surpassed (§126).
There then arises the question: if an authentic “more than human” exists, where is it to be found? (§126). The answer of faith is that it does not come from technological divinization, but from the grace received in Christ (§126). The “more than human” is not the exclusive domain of the technological promise: the Christian tradition holds that the human being is called to self-transcendence, not by fleeing or despising its limits, but by their fulfillment in love (§127). According to Thomas Aquinas, this elevation “surpasses every capacity of created nature” and it is God himself who bridges the disproportion (§127). Therein lies the radical rupture with Promethean dreams: what saves humanity is not an augmented self-sufficiency, but a relationship that liberates (§128). For an algorithm, error is a defect to be corrected; for a person, it can be a catalyst for change, for a person’s future is not calculable but depends on their freedom elevated by grace (§128). Christianity does not oppose science and technology, but anchors them in a higher vocation (§129). The true alternative is not between enthusiasm and fear, but between two ways of development: a progress that serves persons, or a progress that subjects them to the mentality of power (§129). The question remains that of John Paul II: does AI make life “more human”? If so, it can be welcomed; if not, one is faced with a new Babel (§129). Ultimately, as Augustine wrote, two loves have built two cities — the love of self to the contempt of God, and the love of God to the contempt of self: in the age of AI, the building of Babel or the rebuilding of Jerusalem begins in the heart of each person (§130).
IV. Safeguarding Humanity: Truth, Work, Freedom
When languages and tools change, daily actions and social relationships change as well; it is therefore necessary to consider the domains where these transformations have concrete consequences: truth, work, freedom (§131).
Truth as Common Good
The use of platforms and AI transforms public and political communication; tools that could foster dialogue often serve to construct distorted narratives (§132). Disinformation did not begin with AI, but finds in it a powerful amplifier (§132). The truth of facts has a rational dimension — verification, cross-checking of sources, argumentation — and a relational dimension, founded on trust; only the shared search for truthfulness, perceived as common good, can ground just communication (§132). Those who hold powerful technological and economic resources can influence a great number of people regarding the truth about humanity, the world, and the meaning of existence: this is a power detached from truth (§133). At the root lies a “malady”: modern man wrongly believes himself to be the sole author of himself (§133). The search for truth is an essential element of democracy; indifference to truth slowly leads to totalitarianism, whose ideal subjects, according to Arendt, are those for whom the distinction between true and false no longer exists (§134). Communication is not merely the transmission of information, but the creation of a culture (§135); those who control the platforms therefore have a considerable capacity to shape the collective imagination (§136). Hence the need for an “ecology of communication”: norms of transparency, the strengthening of serious journalism and intermediate bodies, education in critical use, and the integration of knowledge at the university (§137). Christian communities themselves are called to transparency, and the text thanks journalists who have brought to light injustices and abuses, including within the Church (§138).
Education
In the face of the distortion of truth, education becomes decisive, even as the technological transformations reveal how poorly prepared we are for it (§139). Education is a long journey that requires patience and engagement with reality; to educate for AI is to learn to decide when and for what reason one should not use it (§140). The ease with which answers are obtained risks extinguishing the desire to ask questions; as Plato wrote, the deepest things are learned only after much time and effort, in discussion with others (§140). Psychological literature documents how early and unsupervised exposure to digital devices can harm sleep, attention, emotions, and relationships, and expose children to violent or degrading content, grooming, harassment, and exploitation (§141). Since it is difficult for parents to resist alone the business models that monetize attention, an alliance among policymakers, educational institutions, and families is essential, with age limits and the accountability of providers (§142). The school is the place where new generations learn to seek and love truth (§143). Three challenges present themselves: socio-political (inequalities of access, §144), pedagogical (obsolete curricula, teacher training, §145), and intellectual — an incessant flow of information replacing the exercise of research and discernment, with the risk that one “knows a great many things” without finding any direction (§146). Social doctrine calls for a renewed educational alliance, with the school called not to follow the pace of the digital world but to offer what the digital cannot give: a shared time of learning and reliable relationships (§147).
Work
Since Rerum Novarum, the Church has protected workers and recognized in work “the essential key” to the social question (§148). Work is not a simple instrument: it expresses and increases the dignity of life, and it is a path of maturity and fulfillment (§149). Yet the convergence of automation, robotics, and AI is rapidly transforming the structure of work; contrary to the announced benefits, current approaches can deskill workers, subject them to automated surveillance, and relegate them to rigid tasks (§150). Systems centered on the person and not on performance alone must therefore be designed (§150). Mass unemployment is a genuine social calamity (§151); it is desirable that technology relieve man of burdensome tasks, but the protection of employment and the irreplaceable role of the person must remain the rule, for the person is an end and not a means (§152). Every transition is unequal and fragmented: there is no universal solution; wealthy societies automate chaotically while vast regions remain caught in hybrid economies with underpaid labor (§153). Work remains a fundamental dimension of human experience; access to work for all must therefore be a priority of public policy (§154). The instruments inherited from tradition — associations, unions, cooperatives — are no longer sufficient alone, and new collaborative efforts are needed (§155). In the time of transition, it is not enough to react when jobs disappear: it is necessary to anticipate the transformation, through social criteria for innovation, continuing training policies accessible to all, and a commitment from companies to count the quality of work among their indicators of success (§156).
The encyclical then calls for an economy that values dignity. Economic freedom is not absolute: it is measured by the common good and by dignity (§157). Francis had warned against an economic freedom proclaimed in words while conditions prevent many from benefiting from it (§158). A just society requires a state and civil institutions capable of moving beyond the mentality of efficiency alone and ensuring that growth is inclusive from the outset (§158). It is important to move beyond GDP as the sole measure of development, by elaborating complementary parameters that take into account the dignity of work, the reduction of inequalities, and the protection of the environment (§159). Finance, marked by innovation and cryptocurrencies, can produce systemic crises when it operates without moral foundations; its social function, through credit to the real economy, remains irreplaceable (§160). Global wealth, though rising, is concentrated in few hands: “there are some who have too much, and too many who have too little” (§161). Justice concerns every phase of economic activity, and not a redistribution intervening only after wealth has been produced (§162). In the age of AI, one can no longer rely on the sole “invisible hand” of the market: politics has the task of orienting economies and technologies toward the common good (§163). Concretely, this requires three criteria: transparency and accountability, inclusion and access, and equity measures through taxation and social protection (§164).
The encyclical finally addresses families and young people as social conditions of hope. The family, founded on the lasting union between a man and a woman, is the primary social good and the fundamental cell of every communal organization (§165). It is, however, a fragile good, immediately affected by the transformations of work, and one that requires cultural, legal, and economic support (§166). For young people, job insecurity is particularly devastating, for work is also the place where identity and vocation are formed (§167). Hence a public responsibility: to support activity, to promote and defend work (§168). Supporting families and young people requires choices that make stability possible: continuity of employment, work-life balance, accessible education and retraining, and support for social bonds (§169).
Freedom
Finally, one must consider the impact of the digital revolution on human freedom (§170). The subtle forms of dependency linked to the “attention economy” must not be underestimated: when business models thrive on human weakness, the person is treated as a means, and those who design or fund these systems bear a moral responsibility (§170). A less visible risk is that of social control made possible by the massive collection of data and profiling: a power to predict and influence behavior, exercised also by the “architecture of visibility” that favors conformism and self-censorship (§171). At the root lies a technocratic and posthumanist mentality that regards the person as an object to be manipulated or a resource to be optimized, with some currents going so far as to envision “second-class” human beings (§172).
This distorted vision is reflected in new forms of slavery linked to the digital economy (§173). Nothing in the world of AI is immaterial or magical: every apparently immediate response results from a long chain of mediation involving natural resources, infrastructures, and above all, persons (§173). A great part of the functioning of the digital economy rests on the silent labor of millions of people — data labeling, model training, the moderation of often traumatizing content — often young women, in demanding conditions for minimal wages (§173). To this is added the labor of extracting resources necessary for devices, where children work in dangerous conditions (§173). Criminal networks also use platforms to recruit and control victims of trafficking (§173). In continuity with Leo XIII, the Church renews its condemnation of every form of slavery and the commodification of persons (§174). Trafficking must be recognized as a contemporary form of slavery (§175). The Church goes on to acknowledge the delay with which it itself condemned slavery: it was not until the nineteenth century, notably under Leo XIII, that a formal and universal condemnation came; this delay constitutes a wound in Christian memory, and, in the name of the Church, Leo XIV asks for forgiveness (§176). The memory of this past complicity becomes a call to present vigilance (§177). Colonialism today takes new forms: it no longer dominates only bodies, but appropriates data, transforming lives into exploitable information — health data and genetic profiles becoming the new “rare earths” of power; failing this awareness, the digital age will not be post-colonial but colonial in another form (§178). Action is required on several fronts: transparency of supply chains, ethical due diligence by companies, and cooperation from platforms (§179).
These domains — truth, education, work, families, slavery — are not isolated: they reflect a single underlying issue, namely that if technology becomes the ultimate criterion, the person risks being reduced to a datum, a cog, or a commodity (§180). Social doctrine therefore calls for shared responsibility: institutions that regulate without stifling, companies that measure their success by the dignity of work, intermediate bodies that rebuild trust, and citizens who cultivate responsibility (§181).
V. Culture of Power and Civilization of Love: War
The text turns finally to the more tragic question of war. The risk is not only the efficiency of new tools, but that technology, detached from ethics, makes decisions of life and death faster and more impersonal, and presents the use of force as an immediate option (§182). The digital revolution changes the nature of conflict: alongside conventional warfare appear cyberattacks, information manipulation, and the automation of strategic decisions (§183). AI acts as an accelerating factor; it can lower the threshold for the resort to force, remove accountability, and foster a culture where the enemy is reduced to a statistic and the victim to “collateral damage” (§183). Again, the principles of social doctrine serve as criteria (§183). The chapter sets two approaches in opposition: the temptation of Babel, founded on power and pride, and the patience of Nehemiah rebuilding piece by piece (§184).
The encyclical diagnoses the spread of a culture of power characterized by polarization and violence (§185), which grows by normalizing war, by pursuing ever greater military power, by profiting from the crisis of multilateralism, and by feeding a false realism (§188). On the normalization of war: despite Paul VI’s “never again war” to the United Nations in 1965 (§189), one witnesses today a paradigm shift, with a troubling return of war as an instrument of international politics (§190), a loss of historical memory (§191), and narratives amplified by algorithms that reward conflict (§192). The text then reaffirms, without prejudice to the right of self-defense in the strict sense, that the theory of the “just war,” too often invoked to justify any war, is now surpassed (§192). On force without limits: the growth of the military-industrial complex produces an “armed nation” (§193), nuclear arsenals receive renewed attention, and the mistaken belief in deterrence fuels a new arms race (§194); new armed actors mark the end of the state monopoly on force (§196).
The text deals specifically with weapons and AI. The Holy See has observed that the ease of deploying autonomous weapons systems makes war more “feasible” and less subject to human control (§197). Moral judgment cannot be reduced to calculation: it is therefore not permissible to delegate lethal or irreversible decisions to artificial systems, and no algorithm can render war morally acceptable (§198). Three criteria for discernment are required: personal responsibility, identifiable and verifiable; the moral temporality of judgment, speed never being the supreme motive for irreversible decisions; the identification and protection of civilians (§199). Three non-negotiable requirements follow: the traceability of decision-making processes, the maintenance of effective human control over lethal force, and an international framework to contain the arms race (§200).
The encyclical links this to the crisis of multilateralism: the institutions established to safeguard a common future appear weakened (§201). After 1989, a primarily economic globalization lacked a political framework, leading not to genuine multilateralism but to a disorderly and defiant multipolarity (§201); the force of international law is being replaced by the idea that “might makes right” (§202), and the building of peace is relegated to the background (§203). The text finally denounces false realism (§204): at the root lies the belief that war would be an inevitable part of human nature (§205). What is truly irresponsible, the encyclical argues, is the Realpolitik that sows resignation to the inevitability of war and dismisses peace and dialogue as utopian; for peace is neither a naive hope nor the mere absence of war, but the fruit of justice and charity (§205). A particular responsibility weighs on researchers who, confining themselves to their own sector, may believe they are acting neutrally and unknowingly cooperate with projects that nourish violence (§209).
In response, the encyclical calls for building the civilization of love. The Christian perspective does not limit itself to denouncing evil: it sees history in the light of the risen Christ and holds the present as an occasion for conversion (§210); even in the darkest nights, grace inspires an active resistance to evil (§211). A subtle temptation may arise — thinking that the problems are too great and our choices without effect —, but no one is without responsibility: each person has their domain of action where they can choose between the mentality of force and that of peace (§212). As Tolkien writes, it is not for us to master all the tides of the world, but to do what is in us for the years in which we are set (§213). The civilization of love will not be born of a spectacular gesture, but from the sum of small faithful acts (§213). The encyclical then proposes five paths of daily and public responsibility (§213): disarming words, for “let us disarm words and we will help disarm the world” (§214); building peace through justice, following Augustine’s word that justice and peace embrace each other (§215); adopting the perspective of victims, by “touching the wounded flesh” of those who suffer (§216–217); cultivating a sound realism, which avoids both idealism and cynicism and seeks viable paths toward peace (§218); and rekindling dialogue, the primacy of coexistence (§219–220), the passage from the “culture of power” to a “culture of negotiation” (§221), with the call addressed to rulers — “let us meet, let us talk, let us negotiate!” (§222) —, the role of interreligious dialogue and the “spirit of Assisi” (§223), and the necessity of diplomacy and multilateralism, including in cyberspace and through the reform of the United Nations (§224–227). These paths are sustained by prayer, for peace comes first from God (§228).
VI. Conclusion: A Program of Christian Life
At the conclusion of the reflection, the encyclical proposes a “sober but demanding” program of Christian life for navigating this change of era, articulated around four pillars: contemplating God’s plan, living ecclesial unity through the Eucharist, building a world centered on the common good, and praying in union with Mary (§229).
At the heart of everything lies the mystery of the Incarnation, the Word made flesh (§231). Where transhumanism seeks an augmented and almost disembodied humanity, the Incarnation opens a different way: the living God descends into our history to free us from every slavery, takes upon himself our weakness and transforms it into a place of salvation (§232). What saves humanity is the divine love that descends to the most fragile point of our history and renews it from within (§232). Leo XIV therefore invites us to contemplate, on the face of the Son of God, the greatness of humanity that illumines the age of AI as well (§233). No computational system, however sophisticated, can create a heart that gives itself or a conscience that discerns good from evil; a human face remains the center of history (§233). This is the mystery of “recapitulation”: the Father has decreed to bring all things back to Christ, and nothing authentically human will be lost (§233).
The required spirituality is Eucharistic, a spirituality of ecclesial unity in love: in the Eucharist, the Lord gives himself and gathers the Church, the source of Christian solidarity (§234). The Eucharist opens to justice and sharing, with a preference for the poor; whereas networks can engender exclusion and dependency, the Church is called to make visible another paradigm, one that preserves human bonds and gives a voice to the invisible (§235).
The construction site of our time calls for the spirituality of the “wise architect” who builds the world for the common good (§236). Four imperatives follow: remaining faithful to truth, by cultivating hearts that love the true (§237); investing in education, by considering the digital world as a new continent to be evangelized (§238); cultivating relationships, by cherishing the places where physical presence remains crucial (§239); loving justice and peace, by examining the chains of digital production and the mechanisms that profit from war (§240). The encyclical then takes up the figure of Nehemiah as a parable of vocation: not to be passive spectators of social fractures, but to enter the construction sites of history — laboratories, technology companies, schools, media, institutions — to rebuild what has collapsed (§241). The image of the reconstruction of Jerusalem evokes finally the New Jerusalem of the Book of Revelation, given as a gift, with its gates open to all nations (§242).
The fourth pillar is prayer, and the song that accompanies commitment is the Magnificat (§243). Mary sees all of history in the light of revelation: nothing has changed around her, but everything has changed within her, and she perceives that God has already scattered the proud, brought down the powerful, and lifted up the lowly (§243). She learns to look at the world “from below,” from the gaze of those who suffer, and becomes “poet and prophetess of the Redemption” (§244). With the faith of Mary, the encyclical calls us to become “weavers of hope,” so that, even in the age of AI, the Holy Spirit may bring about the civilization of love, and that one may bear witness to the greatness of humanity in which God has made his dwelling (§245).