In Pope Leo’s visit to France, he warns political leaders and young people not to be captivated by the “paradise of machines” in the time of artificial intelligence.
“If we are to avoid losing our humanity,” he says, “amid a ‘paradise of machines’ invading and conditioning our daily lives, there is an urgent need for education in ethical discernment and the capacity to acknowledge the moral good.”
Though I agree with the pope, I am afraid the metaphor of “paradise” might be too optimistic. I do not want to be a prophet of doom, but what people are slowly experiencing is a “hell” where technology and algorithms unknowingly lead us to violence.
Beyond overt violence in war zones, there is hidden violence in digital technology. Literature describes it as the “Rage Economy.” This “outrage industry” can lead to road rage, classroom shootings or world wars. For the first time in history, bombs that kill innocent people are delivered by unmanned drones, manipulated by computers from afar, and vividly experienced on our digital screens.
Let us start with everyday experience on social media. We know that digital algorithms reward strong negative emotions like anger, fear, and fury. Financial and psychological incentives come with increased “following,” “likes” and “shares.” Research shows that these negative emotions generate the highest engagement. And on social media, engagement is the name of the game.
Content creators and influencers easily motivate people to react to “anger feeds” rather than to “joyful” posts. “Rage baits” are more attractive and engaging. Divisive, shocking and exaggerated tribalistic memes — no matter how false — certainly guarantee an audience.
A contemporary philosopher, Yuval Noah Harari, author of the book “Nexus” (A Brief History of Information Networks from Stone Age to AI), argues that internet rage is an engineered byproduct of social media algorithms designed to hijack the human brain for profit. In short, the more engagement, the more gain for technology’s owners and controllers.
And in order to lure people into engagement, we are fed with “anger” and “rage.” Without our knowing it, these have already become part of our everyday culture. Harari thinks of the mind as an ecosystem directly shaped by its digital diet. If users continuously consume an information stream carefully optimized for hate by algorithms, our minds will inevitably be filled with the same.
We wonder: From where do the pupils of a Mindanao school learn hateful words when the president visits them? “Sana sumabog [yong helicopter]” (“I hope [that helicopter] explodes”). “Nagmamadali yan, baka mabaril” (“He’s in a hurry; he might get shot”). “Bangag!” (“High on drugs!”) Answer: from adults’ internet rage all over social media! Duterte vloggers and trolls have already mastered this since the 2016 presidential campaign.
From where do the Tacloban or Zamboanga pupils get their motives to kill? Maybe they started with games like Roblox or Gorebox — something common among those students. While it is true that games like Roblox have safety protocols, they are circumvented by malicious online predators like “764” and “TCC” (True Crime Community), leading them to nihilistic violent extremism (NVE).
The “grooming” starts with getting their personal information — age, phone number, address or school name — in exchange for the online currency used in these apps. The malicious tasks move through different levels — from self-harm to animal abuse to extortion, and more. Once a task is done, the players need to upload it on the app to show that they obeyed. This may explain why the recent school shootings were broadcast on Facebook Live.
If vulnerable children refuse to comply, they are blackmailed using the personal information they shared earlier or threatened with having their accounts deleted. And because players use fake names and fake photos, anonymity also emboldens them to do whatever tasks they are asked to fulfill. While investigations into Philippine school shootings are still ongoing, we know that these are the usual paths to “grooming” vulnerable victims.
The danger must be real, as the EU already bans social media until 14 years of age; and if it permits personal accounts for those ages 15 to 18, they should be subject to strict security controls.
Pope Leo’s latest encyclical, “Magnifica Humanitas,” has already warned us of this danger in contemporary digital technologies. He tells us that these “new dependencies” curtail human freedom, leading to new forms of slavery in our times. As lonely and isolated young people seek their own identities and sense of belonging, these apps and online violent communities lock them into new addictions. They do not form them; they enslave them.
These subtle forms of addiction linked to what the pope calls the “digital attention economy” should not be underestimated, since “platforms and services are often designed to capture users’ time and attention, exploiting their vulnerabilities and weakening their inner freedom” (MH 170). This algorithmic capture of the minds of the young leads to new dependencies and societal control — much of it involving violence, anger and hate.
“When business models thrive on human weakness,” the pope continues, “the person is treated as a means rather than as an end; those who design or finance such systems bear a moral responsibility that cannot be ignored. There is an urgent need to promote technologies that strengthen interior freedom by fostering education in digital sobriety and the protection of minors, thus countering models that exploit vulnerability.”
What underlies this whole algorithmic structure is not only moral or practical — that is, that we need to teach discipline or train them in critical thinking, for example. What is really at stake is deeper: it is anthropological — how we think of the human in the time of AI.
“At the root of these problems lies a technocratic and post-humanist mentality,” Pope Leo says, “that tends to regard the human person as an object to be manipulated or a resource to be optimized, removing all safeguards against the unchecked pursuit of profit. What prevails is efficiency, rather than respect for freedom and human dignity” (MH 172).
In the end, some unoptimized and deficient human beings will be considered “second-class” and ultimately discarded, controlled, subordinated, manipulated or killed. In a digital age, we are no better than in the medieval and colonial eras.
Instead of liberating, we are ironically forming new kinds of slaves “fueled by economic chains and digital infrastructures.”
Despite these warnings, however, Pope Leo does not want us to be technophobic but cautions us always to be discerning.
“Our attitude towards technology,” he says, “can never be hostile, because ‘technological progress is part of God’s plan for creation’… But it requires discernment in didactic planning, evaluation, platforms, data protection, and equitable access” (cf. Drawing New Maps of Hope).
Because “a world in which machines, albeit sophisticated and faster than us, are the ones to decide to bomb defenseless people, would be truly frightening,” he writes in “Magnifica Humanitas.”
The Christian way is the way of peace. Our words can be brutal, violent and “armed.” So, we start by disarming our words, our daily language, our every speech. A kind word, a gentle smile, a generous hand is a simple yet effective antidote to a violent world.
“The first contribution we can make toward a more humane civilization,” Pope Leo says, “is to be mindful of our words. Let us disarm words and we will help to disarm the world” (MH 214).
Today — September 27 — is the feast of St. Vincent de Paul, one of the great missionaries of all time. The question posed to us is: How do we do mission in the age of AI?
In the movie “Monsieur Vincent,” the old man Vincent gives his last advice to Jeanne — a fictional character, a young Daughter of Charity who is about to go out for the first time to give soup to the poor. I like that her character is fictional because she represents us all.
He said: “Jeanne, you will find that charity is a heavy burden to carry, heavier than the kettle of soup and the basket of bread. But you must keep your gentleness and your smile. Giving soup and bread isn’t all that the rich can do. You are the little servant of the poor—the servant of charity—always smiling and in good humor.
“They are your masters—terribly sensitive and exacting as you will see—but the uglier and dirtier they are—the more unjust and bitter—the more you must give them of your love. It is only because of your love—and only your love—that the poor will forgive you the bread you give them.”
Only through kindness and gentleness — not through violence and power — can we heal this wounded world.
Happy feast day to all!
Father Daniel Franklin Pilario, C.M., is the President of Adamson University in Manila. He is a theologian, professor, and pastor of an urban poor community on the outskirts of the Philippine capital. He is also the Vincentian Chair for Social Justice at St. John’s University in New York.
