What might AI reveal about our own humanity?

How do we make sense of AI? In what sense is it human? What might AI reveal about our own humanity? What do we gain and lose when we use it? Here is one perspective. 

"It is not possible to provide a single, comprehensive definition of AI. What can be stated, however, is that we must avoid the misconception of equating this type of “intelligence” with that of human beings. These systems merely imitate certain functions of human intelligence. In doing so, they often surpass human intelligence in speed and computational capacity, offering tangible benefits across many fields. Yet this power remains entirely tied to data processing. So-called artificial intelligences do not undergo experiences, do not possess a body, do not feel joy or pain, do not mature through relationships and do not know from within what love, work, friendship or responsibility mean. Nor do they have a moral conscience, since they do not judge good and evil, grasp the ultimate meaning of situations, or bear responsibility for consequences. They may imitate language, behavior and analytical skills, or even simulate empathy and understanding, but they do not understand what they produce, for they lack the affective, relational and spiritual perspective through which human beings grow in wisdom. Even when these tools are described as capable of “learning,” their way of doing so is different from that of a human person. It is not the experience of those who allow themselves to be shaped by life and grow over time through choices, mistakes, forgiveness and fidelity. Rather, it is a form of statistical adaptation based on data and feedback, which can be very effective, but does not imply inner growth.

This is taken from the Encyclical Letter, "Magnifica Humanitas", of Pope Leo XIV,  "On Safeguarding the Human Person in the Time of Artificial Intelligence", paragraph 99.

It continues, with a heading "A valuable tool that requires vigilance".

In light of what has been said, we can better understand why AI can be a valuable tool and, at the same time, why it calls for a measured and vigilant approach. In recent years, its private use has expanded significantly, prompting growing reflection on both the opportunities it offers and the risks tied to its rapid spread. In personal use, three aspects in particular deserve careful consideration: the ease with which results are obtained, the impression of objectivity and the simulation of human communication. The speed and simplicity with which information, complex analyses, media content and practical assistance can be accessed undoubtedly makes life easier. Yet they can also encourage excessive reliance and the search for ready-made answers, and weaken personal creativity and judgment. The apparent objectivity of the responses and suggestions these systems provide can lead us to overlook the fact that they reflect the cultural assumptions of those who designed and trained them, with all their strengths and limitations. The artificial imitation of positive human communication — words of advice, empathy, friendship and even love — can be engaging and at times genuinely helpful. However, for less discerning users, it can also be misleading, creating the illusion of a relationship with a real personal subject. When words are simulated, they do not build genuine relationships, but only their appearance. The artificial imitation of care or support can become particularly risky when it enters contexts where real relationships and emotional bonds are lacking. Here, the danger is not so much that a person may believe they are communicating with another person, but rather that they may gradually lose the very desire to form genuine human connections.

This beautifully says something about what it means to be human and to have human relationships, with all their vulnerability, warmth, confusion, and beauty.

A philosopher who is honest about the source of his atheism

My favourite living philosopher may be Thomas Nagel. I found his book, What does it all mean? A Very Short Introduction to Philosophy very helpful.

In a 2003 he wrote a fascinating essay about the relationship between physics, biology, and his atheism. In the following, he is refreshingly honest.

"Even without God, the idea of a natural sympathy between the deepest truths of nature and the deepest layers of the human mind, which can be exploited to allow gradual development of a truer and truer conception of reality, makes us more at home in the universe than is secularly comfortable. The thought that the relation between mind and the world is something fundamental makes many people in this day and age nervous. I believe this is one manifestation of a fear of religion which has large and often pernicious consequences for modern intellectual life.

In speaking of the fear of religion, I don't mean to refer to the entirely reasonable hostility toward certain established religions and religious institutions, in virtue of their objectionable moral doctrines, social policies, and political influence. Nor am I referring to the association of many religious beliefs with superstition and the acceptance of evident empirical false‐hoods. I am talking about something much deeper—namely, the fear of religion itself. I speak from experience, being strongly subject to this fear myself: I want atheism to be true and am made uneasy by the fact that some of the most intelligent and well‐informed people I know are religious

believers. It isn't just that I don't believe in God and, naturally, hope that I'm right in my belief. It's that I hope there is no God! I don't want there to be a God; I don't want the universe to be like that.

My guess is that this cosmic authority problem is not a rare condition and that it is responsible for much of the

scientism and reductionism of our time. One of the tendencies it supports is the ludicrous overuse of evolutionary biology to explain everything about life, including everything about the human mind. Darwin enabled modern secular culture to heave a great collective sigh of relief, by apparently providing a way to eliminate purpose, meaning, and design as fundamental features of the world. Instead they become epiphenomena, generated incidentally by a process that can be entirely explained by the operation of the nonteleological laws of physics on the material of which we and our environments are all composed. There might still be thought to be a religious threat in the existence of the laws of physics themselves, and indeed the existence of anything at all—but it seems to be less alarming to most atheists."

The Last Word (Oxford UP, 2003), Chapter 7, "Evolutionary Naturalism and the Fear of Religion, pages 130-1. 

I first became aware of this quotation through a sermon at church by Jeremy Wales in August 2025.

Engaging Biblical narratives of violence against women

This month at the theology reading group, we are discussing "Texts of Terror: Literary-Feminist Readings of Biblical Narratives" by Phyllis Trible. I read the 40th Anniversary edition that has a beautiful foreword by Gale Yee, highlighting the enduring influence of the book.

It is not a comfortable read due to the content. Trible expounds four Old Testament texts that recount terrifying violence against women:

1. Hagar: The Desolation of Rejection (Genesis 16:1-16, 21:9-21)

2. Tamar: The Royal Rape of Wisdom (2 Samuel 13:1-22)

3. An Unnamed Woman: The Extravagance of Violence (Judges 19:1-30)

4. The Daughter of Jephthah: An Inhuman Sacrifice (Judges 11:29-40)

Her methodology combines a feminist reading with rhetorical (literary) criticism. The former

interprets stories of outrage on behalf of their female victims in order to recover a neglected history, to remember a past that the present embodies, and to pray that these terrors shall not come to pass again. In telling sad stories, a feminist hermeneutic seeks to redeem the time. (page 3)

With the latter

"accent is upon the inseparability of form, content, and meaning; the rhetorical formation of sentences, episodes, and scenes as well as overall design and plot structure; and the portrayal of characters, most especially the violated women.

If literary criticism is the methodology and feminism the perspective, Jacob’s wrestling at the Jabbok provides the story for our journey (Gen. 32:22– 32)...

As a paradigm for encountering terror, this story offers sustenance for the present journey. To tell and hear tales of terror is to wrestle demons in the night, without a compassionate God to save us. In combat we wonder about the names of the demons. Our own names, however, we all too frightfully recognize. The fight itself is solitary and intense. We struggle mightily, only to be wounded. But yet we hold on, seeking a blessing: the healing of wounds and the restoration of health. If the blessing comes—and we dare not claim assurance—it does not come on our terms. Indeed, as we leave the land of terror, we limp." (pages 3-5)

Each chapter has a frontpiece of a sketch of a gravestone memorialising the afflicted woman featured in the chapter. 

The most striking thing about the book is just how disturbing these texts are. The violence itself is chilling but made even more disturbing by the context and fallout, and the duplicity, deception, passivity, and rationalisation of some of the protagonists and observers. Furthermore, where is God?

The two things I appreciated most about the book was how Trible is so respectful of the Biblical text and how attentive she is to details (particularly in the original Hebrew) in order to wrestle with it and extract something from it.

Here are some examples. The first shows the use of names/identities in the interactions between Sarah and Hagar.

The presence of Ishmael in Canaan plagues the future of Isaac, whose inheritance is threatened. In her move to eliminate the danger, Sarah debases Hagar and Ishmael while exalting herself and Isaac. The phrase “her son,” without the name Ishmael, counters “my son . . . Isaac.” The description “this slave woman,” rather than “my maid” (cf. 16:2), increases distance between Hagar and Sarah. Not only is the possessive adjective my missing, but also a change in nouns connotes a change in status. From being a maid (šipḥâ) to Sarai in scene one, Hagar has become a slave (’āmâ), serving the master of the house as his second wife. By contrast, Sarah, the first wife, enjoys power greater than ever because she has born a son. As the life of the mistress has prospered, the lot of the servant woman has worsened.

With a disturbing twist, the words of Sarah anticipate vocabulary and themes from the Exodus narrative. When plagues threatened the life of his firstborn son, Pharaoh cast out (gr!) the Hebrew slaves. Like that monarch, Sarah the matriarch wants to protect the life of her own son by casting out (gr!) Hagar the slave. Having once fled from affliction (16:6b), Hagar continues to prefigure Israel’s story even as Sarah foreshadows Egypt’s role. Irony abounds. (pages 20-1)

 A second example involves noting feminine verb forms that are not present in English.

Hagar wept. Pointedly, the Hebrew text says, “She lifted up her voice and she wept” (21:16c). From ancient times, however, translators have robbed this woman of her grief by changing the unambiguous feminine verb forms to masculine constructions. Such alterations make the child lift up his voice and weep. But masculine emendations cannot silence Hagar. A host of feminine verb forms throughout this section witness unmistakably to her tears: she departed and she wandered in the wilderness; she found a place for the child to die; she kept a vigil; and she uttered the dread phrase, “the death of the child.” Now, as she sits at a distance from death, she lifts up her voice and she weeps. Her grief, like her speech, is sufficient unto itself. She does not cry out to another; she does not beseech God. A madonna alone with her dying child, Hagar weeps. (pages 24-5).

A third example is the use of a chiasmus (a symmetrical literary structure where something (words, concepts,...) is repeated in the reverse order). This is used in the description of the rape of Tamar by her brother Amnon.

In this central unit, form and content yield a flawed chiasmus that embodies irreparable damage for the characters. Amnon’s commands and various responses to them mark the beginning and the end. Within the inclusio Amnon and Tamar are the sole participants. In the first half come his command and her response, followed by a conversation between the two. In the corresponding section of the second half, their conversation collapses into his command and her response. The rape itself constitutes the center of the chiasmus. This design verifies the message of the preceding circular patterns: Tamar is entrapped for rape.

a Amnon’s command to the servants and their response (13:9de)

b Amnon’s command to Tamar and her response (13:10– 11a)

c Conversation between Amnon and Tamar (13:11b– 14a)

d Rape (13:14b– 15b)

c′- b′ Conversation between Amnon and Tamar: Amnon’s command to Tamar and her response (13:15c– 16)

a′ Amnon’s command to a servant and his response (13:17– 18)  (pages 43-4)

Trible's attention to these details helps us appreciate more the careful construction of the Biblical texts. Moreover, we experience the power of the text.

 

 

 

 

Renovation of the heart by Dallas Willard

 Last month at the theology reading group, we discussed Renovation of the Heart: Putting on the Character of Christ by Dallas Willard. I read the 20th anniversary edition, which includes a glowing appreciation by John Mark Comer.

I had wanted to read something by Willard for a long time, since I had heard so many positive things about him and his books. I was also interested because, although he was a popular Christian author and speaker, he was also a serious academic at a secular university.

He argues that to become like Jesus, we need VIM

Vision: a picture of what this looks like for us 

Intention: a desire for this vision to become a reality 

Means: an idea of the practicalities needed for the intention to translate into personal change

Willard argues that there are six dimensions to a human person.

1. Thought: images and concepts

2. Feelings: sensations and emotions

3. Choice: will, decisions, character

4. Body: actions, physical interactions

5. Social context: personal and structural relations

6. Soul: it integrates all of the other dimensions.

One can argue about characterisation, merits and relative importance of each of these dimensions. All models are wrong, but some are useful. However, I found this helpful as it acknowledges the multi-faceted nature of personhood. Too often, I hear reductionist arguments that claim that one of these dimensions is far more important than any of the others and that if you get that right, then the others will fall in line. For example, right theology leads to right thinking, which leads to right emotions and behaviour. I think we are much more complex than that, and there is a subtle and mysterious interplay between all the dimensions.

On the one hand, I did find the book helpful and personally challenging. For example, the discussion of how our heart can be evil, deceptive, selfish, bitter, and resentful. On the other hand, I was a little disappointed as it did not live up to my high hopes and expectations. For me, there was too much discussion and analysis of problems in the USA church and society. Bible verses were frequently quoted, but there was little Biblical theology. Sometimes made statements that seemed too black and white for me.

My dear wife, Robin, is more practical (and godly) than me. She did not read the book, but instead has been working through

Renovation of the Heart in Daily Practice: Experiments in Spiritual Transformation, a study guide by Jan Johnson.

She loves it!

How might love shape scholarship?

The Global Faculty Initiative is a wonderful enterprise to stimulate the interaction of university scholarship with theology. They employ the following methodology.

"Theology Brief: a longer essay by a leading theologian on a key theme in Christian theology

Disciplinary Briefs & Disciplinary Notes: short essays by research scholars that explore connections between their scholarly specialty and a Theology Brief"

The most recent Theology Brief is by Oliver O'Donovan, The Sovereignty of Love.

Here is my response, a Disciplinary Brief, 

The Radicalness of Love—for the Natural Sciences and the Research University.

The link above gives a PDF of my full article.  It is also available on the GFI website.

Here is the beginning.

Love should be primary for a Christian scholar

I was both surprised and challenged by O’Donovan’s argument that love should be primary for a Christian scholar. My prior perspective was that universities are primarily about thinking. Integrity, both intellectual and moral, should be the main characteristic of Christian scholars. This includes integrating disciplinary knowledge with theology. However, I now see that love should subsume integrity, just a Jesus challenged us.

O’Donovan states: “Those for whom specialised knowledge constitutes their sphere of work thus face a challenging question: how may they love that one aspect of the world which they know very well, while focussing their love finally upon God and their neighbours?” This challenge of a dual focus must be related to the question: how does one resist the temptation to worship the creation not the Creator (Romans 1:18-25)? As I discuss below, modern physics is truly amazing and beautiful. This has led some theoretical physicists (for example, authors of popular books such as Sean Carroll, Paul Davies, and Frank Wilczek) to follow the example of Albert Einstein and be in awe of nature and our ability to understand it. Unfortunately, they either deny the existence of God or at least his personal nature.

Love for others is particularly challenging as it includes love for enemies. A scholar may encounter many enemies (both real and perceived): colleagues who oppose their ideas, anonymous reviewers who make unjustified criticisms, bureaucrats who frustrate, impede, and burden with dubious administrative requirements, and increasingly members of the public or politicians who make ill-informed criticisms of their work, its value, or its applications.  

The concern for love enlivened a liturgy (from Every Moment Holy) that I often pray before commencing work. Here are a few lines 

“May I learn to love learning, O Lord,

for the world is yours,

and all things in it speak

-each in their way – of you:

of your mind,

your designs,

your artistry,

your power,

your unfolding purpose.

All knowledge is your knowledge.

All wisdom your wisdom….

Let me be in this school, even is small ways,

a bearer of love and light and reconciliation;

which is to say, let me in humility be your child…” 

Counter-cultural dimensions to love in the academy

The love commands of Jesus were counter-cultural in the first century. His followers were largely from the lower echelons of society and faced opposition from both Roman imperial and Jewish religious leaders. Obedience could come at a high cost. The commands are also radically counter-cultural in universities today, as they are dominated by four values: money, marketing, management, and metrics. The social and institutional pressure to conform is immense. In his Disciplinary Brief, responding to O’Donovan, Ian Hutchinson suggests “humility seems the most difficult value in the academy.” Peter Harrison recently discussed how, following the characterisations of Max Weber, secularisation has led to disenchantment, diminishment of virtue, and being trapped in the “iron cage” of bureaucracy. 

Tom McLeish argued that Christian natural scientists need to adopt a contemplative stance in their work.  He argued that the book of Job

“urges us not to look on the natural world for signs of God, nor through it as a window onto some dim divine image, but to learn to look on nature with God’s eyes, aligning our servant gaze with, not at, the divine. The same searching look of creative power and insight, of love, with which God participates in his created nature is to be the direction, if only in image, of our participation also.”

This resonates with O’Donovan’s definition of love as “affective and directive attention to a good.”

What is a university for?

Universities have changed dramatically over the course of my lifetime—a lifetime which has included 9 years as a student and 32 years as an academic, across 6 universities in Australia and the USA. Australian universities are receiving increasing media attention due to failures in management and governance, including a recent ABC Four Corners documentary.  Numerous books by academics lament the state of Australian universities.  They appear to be all about four M's: money, marketing, management, and metrics. Learning, understanding, and discovery for its own sake seems alien and marginalised. Questions that need more attention include What is a university for? and What values should a university embody? In the New College Lectures for 2025 Peter Harrison went much deeper than the public debates and considered the role of secularisation, values, and virtues. 

This is the beginning of an article I wrote What is a university for? A Christian Vision for the Modern Secular University 

CASE subscribers can read a nicely formatted, illustrated, and hyperlinked article here.

How might order and disorder shape scholarship?

 Order and Disorder: Nigel Biggar in Dialogue with the University, Edited By Terence C. Halliday and K. K. Yeo

has just been published by Langham.

In 1992, John Stott, the founder of Langham, made an “urgent plea for double listening” for Christians to listen to both the Word and the world. This book is a notable response to Stott’s plea, in the context of the highest levels of academia. There is an intellectual chasm between academic theology and the research that takes place in secular universities, even though the best ones have deeply Christian origins.

In this volume, Professor Nigel Biggar claims that the “existence of a given created order – be it physical or aesthetic or moral – implies that academic endeavour is properly about the discovery of the truth of reality as given by God.” However, given human finitude and fallibility, finding such truth is subtle, complex, multi-faceted, and ambiguous. Elucidating the nature and extent of the connections between theology and academic disciplines is a formidable multi-disciplinary challenge that must contend with overspecialisation, compartmentalisation, secularisation, institutional inertia, and political polarisation.

The Global Faculty Initiative (GFI) has developed a community and method that provides small concrete examples of how to make progress. Thanks be to God! This book is the wonderful fruit of their concerted labour and is the second in a series showcasing the work of GFI. Biggar provides a Theology Brief that elucidates the conceptual dialectic of order and disorder in creation to set the contour of a dialogue with Christian scholars from diverse academic disciplines. His Brief is succinct, accessible, balanced, profound, helpful, stimulating, and relevant. The responses are creative, concrete, stimulating, and gracious in disagreement and correction. Biggar’s final response is noteworthy: “We all learn from what should be a genuine dialogue. We all need to learn – non-theologians to think more Christianly, and theologians to think more realistically.”

Upon engaging with the book, my main disappointment was that I did not somehow make the time to contribute to the discussion. My own field of condensed matter physics is largely about how the interplay of order and disorder can lead to the emergence of hierarchical structures. Nevertheless, the book is a stimulus for future engagement with the ideas presented and with this vibrant alternative academic community.