Magnifica Humanitas: He Had To Start Somewhere

Why Magnifica Humanitas surprised me, frustrated me and ultimately gave me hope for Pope Leo XIV's pontificate.

I have not rushed to publish my thoughts on Pope Leo XIV’s first encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas, as many of you will have noticed. I did not want to offer a superficial “hot take” within hours of its publication. I think a papal encyclical, especially the first of a new and potentially long pontificate, deserves better than that. It deserves to be read carefully, considered thoughtfully and judged fairly.

Over the past several days I have worked through the document slowly, making copious notes, following its citations, revisiting relevant passages from previous papal teaching and reflecting upon both its strengths and its weaknesses. What follows, therefore, is not an immediate reaction but the fruit of sustained engagement with the text itself. That does mean this analysis will be rather longer than most. Yet if Pope Leo has taken the trouble to write nearly two hundred and fifty paragraphs on what he considers one of the defining questions of our age, the least we can do is give his arguments the attention they deserve.

PART I: Why?

When Pope Leo announced that his first encyclical would address artificial intelligence and the technological transformation of modern society, I think it is fair to say that many orthodox Catholics experienced a moment of understandable disappointment. The Church is emerging from one of the most turbulent pontificates in modern history. The Francis years left behind unresolved questions concerning synodality, ecclesial governance, liturgical restrictions, doctrinal ambiguity and episcopal appointments. Those who had not already dismissed Leo as “Francis 2.0” hoped that his first major document might begin the work of addressing some of those wounds. Instead, we received an encyclical on artificial intelligence.

When I first heard the title, Magnifica Humanitas, I confess that I felt a sense of unease. It immediately recalled the language and emphases of the previous pontificate: Fratelli Tutti, Laudato Si’, human fraternity, social inclusion and anthropocentrism. I know I was far from alone in wondering whether Leo intended simply to continue in the same direction. As I began reading, that unease became frustration.

My first reservation was the subject itself. Artificial intelligence is undoubtedly one of the defining issues of our age, but was it really the most pressing issue facing the Church? Given the challenges inherited from the previous pontificate, it seemed an unexpected place to begin. My second reservation concerned the intended audience. At various points the encyclical appears to address governments, multinational corporations, technology companies, policymakers, academics and “all people of goodwill”. Then, without warning, it turns inward and speaks in unmistakably Catholic language about the Eucharist, Our Lady and communion with Christ. These shifts in audience are not always handled smoothly. At times the document reads like an intervention in public policy. At others it becomes a meditation intended primarily for the faithful. The resulting changes in tone occasionally create a sense of dislocation.

I was also struck by its sheer length. There are passages, particularly the extended historical survey of Catholic Social Teaching, that felt unnecessarily expansive. Unless the intended readership consists largely of those entirely unfamiliar with the Church’s social doctrine, much of this material could have been stated more concisely. Indeed, its inclusion occasionally reinforces the impression that the document is trying to speak simultaneously to several quite different audiences. Yet it would be a mistake to dismiss Magnifica Humanitas on that basis. The longer I spent with the text, the more I realised that it is not primarily an encyclical about artificial intelligence. Nor, ultimately, is it about economics, globalisation or technology. Artificial intelligence provides the occasion for the document, but it is not its deepest subject. That insight only emerges gradually, and I shall return to it later because it fundamentally changed my assessment of the encyclical.

One of the most encouraging features of the document, however, is evident from the outset. Readers wearied by the intellectual habits of the Francis pontificate will quickly notice that Leo has largely abandoned the highly self-referential style that characterised many of his predecessor’s major writings. Pope Francis frequently cited his own previous documents as authoritative interpretive keys for later teaching. Evangelii Gaudium, Laudato Si’ and Fratelli Tutti often functioned almost as foundational texts within his own magisterial corpus. Even those sympathetic to his conclusions could reasonably feel that there was something intellectually unsatisfying about a pontificate that so frequently appeared to justify itself by citing itself. Leo has moved decisively away from that approach. Magnifica Humanitas feels recognisably magisterial in the classical sense. Scripture, Vatican II, the Fathers of the Church, Saint John Paul II, Benedict XVI and the broader tradition of Catholic Social Teaching all feature prominently. One senses a Pope consciously locating himself within the living tradition of the Church rather than constructing an interpretive framework centred upon his own personality. That alone is one of the most promising signs of the new pontificate.

PART II: The Francis Shadow

One of the most interesting aspects of Magnifica Humanitas is that it reveals both continuity and discontinuity with the pontificate of Pope Francis.

The continuity is obvious enough. Francis is cited frequently throughout the document. Certain familiar themes reappear, including dialogue, fraternity, synodality, care for creation and concern regarding the concentration of economic and technological power. Readers hoping for a complete break with the previous pontificate will not find one. Yet neither is this simply Francis 2.0. Indeed, one of the most encouraging features of the encyclical is that Leo has largely abandoned the intellectual style that characterised many of Francis’s major documents. During the previous pontificate, it often felt as though Francis was constructing a self-contained interpretative framework in which Evangelii Gaudium, Laudato Si’ and Fratelli Tutti increasingly became authorities for one another. Even those sympathetic to his conclusions could reasonably feel that there was something intellectually unsatisfying about a pontificate that so often appeared to justify itself by citing itself.

Leo’s method is markedly different. Although Pope Francis is cited sixty-three times, he is far from the only voice informing the argument. Saint John Paul II appears fifty times, Pope Paul VI twenty-nine, Benedict XVI twenty, Leo XIII fourteen, Pius XII eight, Pius XI four and John XXIII four. Scripture, the Fathers of the Church, Vatican II and the wider tradition of Catholic Social Teaching provide the intellectual architecture of the encyclical. The result is that Magnifica Humanitas feels recognisably magisterial in a way that many readers will find refreshing. One senses a Pope consciously locating himself within the living tradition of the Church rather than constructing a new current alongside it. For that alone I am profoundly grateful. At the same time, there are occasions when Francis’s presence feels somewhat forced. The clearest example appears in paragraph 25:

“For his part, Pope Francis expressed this same perspective in his striking phrase, ‘time is greater than space.’”

The reader is entitled to ask what this quotation actually contributes to the argument. Remove it and the surrounding paragraph loses nothing. It neither clarifies nor deepens Leo’s point. Instead, it recalls one of the defining characteristics of Francis’s teaching style, namely the frequent use of aphorisms that often functioned more as suggestive slogans than as precise theological propositions. The problem is not that the phrase is necessarily false, it just adds very little. Several similar references throughout the encyclical create the impression that Francis occasionally appears not because Leo’s argument genuinely requires him, but because the previous pontificate must somehow be acknowledged. These moments are comparatively few, yet they stand out precisely because Leo’s own writing is generally much clearer, more direct and more firmly rooted in the classical language of Catholic theology.

The same tension becomes particularly apparent whenever the encyclical touches upon synodality. Paragraph 86, for example, approvingly cites the Final Document of the Synod and speaks of “transparency, accountability and evaluation” as key elements of missionary transformation. The principles themselves are entirely unobjectionable. The difficulty lies in that recent ecclesiastical experience has hardly inspired confidence that these ideals are consistently practised. The handling of Theodore McCarrick, Marko Rupnik, Gustavo Zanchetta and numerous Vos Estis Lux Mundi investigations has left many Catholics with the impression that transparency is proclaimed more readily than it is demonstrated. Likewise, the controversy surrounding Study Group 9 and the concerns voiced by numerous bishops and cardinals regarding predetermined outcomes during the Synod on Synodality have inevitably made many faithful Catholics cautious whenever synodal language is invoked. But none of this invalidates Leo’s argument. Indeed, if paragraph 86 heralds a genuine culture of accountability extending to bishops, cardinals, dicasteries and Vatican officials themselves, it should be warmly welcomed. The problem is that recent history makes many readers wonder whether these admirable principles will be applied consistently or whether they will remain aspirations rather than realities. That tension, between what the encyclical proposes and what many Catholics have experienced in recent decades, became one of the recurring themes of my reading.

PART III: The Church’s Self-Understanding

My deepest reservations during the opening chapters, however, were not primarily about Pope Francis. They concerned the way the Church herself was being described. Several passages left me wondering whether Leo was consciously adopting a post-conciliar mode of expression that many orthodox Catholics have long found troubling. Paragraphs 19 to 28 repeatedly present the Church in pastoral, dialogical and historical categories. The language is attractive, irenic and outward-looking. Yet one occasionally searches in vain for the metaphysical grandeur that has traditionally characterised Catholic ecclesiology. The Church is not simply a wise participant in humanity’s ongoing conversation about social questions, she is much more that just one moral voice among many. She is not simply a community engaged in discernment alongside other institutions.

She is the Mystical Body of Christ.

She is the universal sacrament of salvation.

She is, in the words of Saint Paul, “the pillar and foundation of the truth.”

This concern first emerged for me in paragraph 19, where the Church’s mission is described in strongly pastoral and dialogical terms. There is, of course, nothing inherently wrong with such language. The Church must indeed listen, accompany, evangelise and engage the world. Yet one cannot help wondering what happens when she increasingly describes herself in pastoral and historical categories rather than sacramental and metaphysical ones. Here we encounter one of the enduring tensions of the post-conciliar Church. How does the Church engage the modern world without allowing herself to be reimagined in the world’s categories? How does she evangelise contemporary society without appearing merely as another humanitarian institution seeking a place at the public table?

Paragraph 23 particularly caught my attention. Here the Church appears almost hesitant to speak with supernatural confidence, presenting herself instead as a participant in humanity’s common search for wisdom. I fully understand the pastoral instinct behind such language. Yet I definitely feel that something essential is missing. The Church is not merely an experienced observer of human civilisation, she is the divinely instituted instrument through which Christ continues His saving work in history.

A similar unease arose in paragraph 24, where Leo carefully explains that the Church does not claim technical expertise in politics, economics or artificial intelligence. OK - the Church is not a technological research institute, nor should she pretend to be one, yet the repeated emphasis upon what the Church is not left me wishing for a correspondingly robust affirmation of what she uniquely is. Her authority does not derive from technical competence it has a far more lofty origin, it derives from divine revelation.

Paragraph 25 proved more difficult still. Here Leo writes that the Church “does not claim to possess a monopoly on truth.” Read charitably, one understands what the Pope intends. He is encouraging dialogue and recognising that elements of truth may be found beyond the visible boundaries of the Catholic Church. Nevertheless, the formulation remains unfortunate and even uncomfortable. The Catholic Church does not possess one perspective among many, she has been entrusted with the fullness of divine revelation. She is the guardian of truths that do not arise from human reflection but from God’s self-disclosure in Jesus Christ.

Similarly, paragraph 27’s appeal for the Church, together with other Christian communities and believers of other religions, to make her voice heard in the contemporary world risks sounding uncomfortably close to the language of religious pluralism. Once again, I do not believe this is Leo’s intention. Yet the difficulty illustrates a broader problem that runs through the opening chapter. Too often, what is left unsaid proves almost as important as what is actually written. This tendency continues into the discussion of human rights and international institutions. Leo rightly defends the equal dignity of every human person and reaffirms the Church’s unwavering commitment to the sanctity of life. Yet there are moments where the analysis seems to assume moral developments whose Christian foundations are scarcely acknowledged. For example, the appeal to the United Nations’ Universal Declaration of Human Rights inevitably raises difficult questions for contemporary Catholics. The same international institutions that once articulated noble aspirations now frequently promote abortion as a human right and increasingly advance anthropological assumptions profoundly at odds with the Christian understanding of the human person. These observations are not intended as condemnations, they are, rather, questions. Questions that I suspect many faithful informed Catholics found themselves asking as they read the encyclical. There was, however, another question that kept returning to me with increasing frequency.

Again and again, Leo identifies genuine problems. He diagnoses them intelligently and often with remarkable clarity. He speaks of war, greed, technocracy, exploitation, ideological fanaticism, social fragmentation and the concentration of economic power. His analysis might even be described as penetrating, yet I repeatedly found myself waiting for the same word.

Conversion.

These disorders are not merely structural failures, they are manifestations of fallen human nature which arise from sin. The Church’s ultimate response to them has never simply been better institutions, better governance or better dialogue, however valuable those things may be. Her deepest answer has always been conversion to Jesus Christ. To be clear, Christ is certainly present within Magnifica Humanitas, particularly in its later chapters. Yet throughout much of the opening half of the encyclical the analysis often seems to stop just short of its most obvious conclusion and there were moments while reading when I found myself wondering why the Pope appeared more willing to call for nuclear disarmament, global economic reform and new frameworks of technological governance than to proclaim explicitly the transformative power of the Gospel itself.

Those questions remained with me for much of the first half of the encyclical. Then, quite unexpectedly, something changed.