The Catholic Church is globalist by definition. Its very name, translated from Greek, means “universal.” The Church has a single authority which oversweeps the planet, and, indeed, applies in theory to the whole cosmos. Its theology is grounded on the idea that the human race forms a sort of unity, a single family, beloved by God. In the realm of ethics, then, it has increasingly called for a more and more universal solidarity and brotherhood throughout its 2000 years of history. It is not possible with consistency to be a Catholic and a nationalist, a jingoist, or a racist.
This presents an interesting challenge for those who are by default skeptical of globalism and global organizations. The Vice President of the United States is perhaps of this sort; one who rails against globalism, international alliances, treaty organizations, and obligations to persons outside one’s own national community. Such a view is incompatible with the global solidarity of Catholic social teaching, which sees nations, and citizens of nations, as related in a “family” and as responsible to and for one another. The globalism of the Church is not the economic globalism which would erase cultures and borders for the sake of maximizing profit–far from it–it is rather a solidarity which means that rich nations cannot wash their hands of global poverty or the sufferings of foreigners.
The Church, particularly since the Second World War, has seen the need for international collaboration, and, indeed, for a common international forum for the resolution of disputes. It was devout Catholics who formed the European Union for purposes like this, in order to keep the peace in Europe. The popes have generally seen a need for something like the United Nations, even if, today, that organization is weak in many respects and in need of serious reform. Without an effective international forum, there is no space for peaceful adjudication of disagreement, too often leaving war as the only means available to nations to settle serious disputes. In the era of nuclear, biological, and chemical weaponry, the popes have put emphasis on the need for increased international collaboration to prevent catastrophe.
Such international agreements and cooperation, Pope Leo has said, are also necessary for a just governance of so-called artificial intelligence. Left totally unregulated, the immense power of these technologies will consolidate in the hands of a few hyper-powerful companies, unaccountable to the public. These companies cannot be trusted to ethically regulate their own conduct, and so what is needed is a collaborative, democratic process of governance to establish rules and laws that will apply to all AI companies. This is the dichotomy he sets up in framing the distinction between Babel and Jerusalem. Will technology be developed in a way that erases all individuality, subjecting the planet to the egos of a few, or will it be a collaborative process that includes all?
In the context of AI, it is not enough for one country to establish just laws. There is a concern that if a nation like the United States unilaterally “disarms” on AI by placing limits on its development and use, other nations, like China, will grow disparately powerful. It may seem unlikely that nations could agree on a common framework, but Pope Leo points to the international agreements that have, up to now, led to a reduction in total nuclear arms and avoided the bellicose release of any nuclear weaponry since those first two bombs in Japan.
Almost anything you predicate of the Catholic Church has to be qualified. Italians have a phrase “si, ma anche no”—”yes, but also no.” And so after describing the ways in which the Church is necessarily globalist, it is important to say “also, no.” As much as the Church is internationalist, it is also intensely localist. To the extent that it is universalist in ethics, it is also particularist. This is the Catholic frame of mind, sometimes also referred to as the “et-et” or “both/and.” Body and soul, man and God, heaven and earth, spirit and matter, freedom and responsibility, order and liberty, grace and free will.
And so, in Catholic social thought, global solidarity is always balanced by the principle of subsidiarity. This is the principle that power and decision-making should always devolve to the lowest and most local level appropriate. The reason the Church wants something like a United Nations is that nothing smaller can facilitate international accords. But it does not desire that such an organization interfere with the integrity of national self-determination, let alone with local, familial, or personal decision-making. Subsidiarity, the Pope writes, is “the principle according to which the role of individuals, families, local communities and intermediary organizations should not be supplanted by higher-level authorities.”
Both global solidarity and local subsidiarity are needed if we are to address the emerging technology of so-called AI in sane and humane ways. In order to regulate the tech giants, the power of international agreements and national legislation are required, but the responsibility for the reception of AI in local communities, schools, and families, require responsibility and freedom from individuals, too. The state may set general guardrails, but local authorities must decide how to implement new technologies in their own contexts. These technologies must not be forced on families or schools or churches.
Although the Church embraces an ethic of global, universal concern, in which each and every person is the subject of inviolable human rights, regardless of ethnicity, class, ability, or other conditions, its interest remains profoundly particular. What must not be lost in the age of AI is the individual value, dignity, and creativity of the unique human person: “The quality of a civilization is measured not by the power of its means, but by the care it is able to offer, by its ability to recognize the other as a face not merely as a function.”
The great risk of AI is that we reduce the human person to nothing but his function. If that is all man is, then why not replace him with a machine? On the grand scale, this might mean displacing the human being from his work, from his power of judgment, from his decision-making, even from his responsibility in war. On the personal level, this might mean replacing real relationships with the isolated hell of simulated friendship and fake belonging.
The Pope’s encyclical merits reading for its response to these problems, but also for its humane and balanced approach to globalism and localism. I was reminded of the approach that the philosopher David McPherson takes in his book The Virtues of Limits, which argues for a “humane localism.” The modifier “humane” is the adjective that keeps localism from devolving into bigotry and selfishness. Such a localism recognizes the principle of subsidiarity and the legitimacy of particular attachments. One really should be particularly attached to the land and the people immediately around them. One is responsible for the people and things that are “there” in their lives.
There is a great deal more that could be said on these themes and their concrete application to AI technology, but for that, I recommend a patient reading of the Pope’s recent letter. For the average reader, who is not a policymaker, the responsibility is to take action in one’s own most local context. International rules or laws are not enough. Whether these are passed and established or not, it is the responsibility of the person to protect his own humanity and to facilitate the humanity of his or her family, neighborhood, and town. The Pope says we have a “duty to remain profoundly human.” For most of us, this will be a very personal and local task. What can we do to keep ourselves and our communities close to one another and close to reality? Responsibility and creativity are required in each of our small, hidden lives.
Beneath the story of regulation and international agreements, the Pope says there is a “hidden and more decisive story,” the local, concrete stories of millions choosing to live well or badly. The good of the world depends on “the ‘martyrs of everyday life’ who care for, educate, accompany and comfort without fanfare, such as parents, nurses, doctors, volunteers and those who remain alongside an elderly person or an outcast. Their testimony demonstrates that goodness does not advance automatically, but requires the perseverance, memory and interior conversion necessary to begin anew, even after defeat.” The responsibility of remaining profoundly human belongs to all of us at every level. This is a hopeful thought, because it means that wherever you are, there is something that you can do, and do today, that can protect the greatness of the human person in the face of our current challenges.
The humane localism of Pope Leo is expressed in what he says must not be lost, which, ultimately, is the care, love, and attention found in concrete human relationships: “The ability to care for one another is a fundamental dimension of our humanity, one that is learned and mastered through lived experience. Reading stories to a child, offering company to an elderly person and arranging a home so that it is welcoming are simple gestures often rooted in family life. They teach us to value care at a societal level and train us to recognize others as persons worthy of attention.”
I think the holy father might agree with the Kentucky farmer, Wendell Berry, that it “all turns on affection.” Only those who have paid close attention to what is around them will learn to love and properly value what is around them. Only the attentive person becomes affectionate, and only the affectionate person becomes good. Lawmakers and businessmen must be shaped by affection for certain particular persons, and, indeed, certain particular woods, fields, and lakes, if they are not to become destructive. And we, too, if we are not to let the computers swamp, isolate, surveil, and manipulate us, must pay attention to what is real around us and learn to love it.
Image Credit: Robert S. Duncanson “Blue Hole, Flood Waters, Little Miami River” (1851)
