Nuno Castel-Branco is a historian of science at All Souls College, Oxford and the author of “The Traveling Anatomist.”
Earlier this month, Pope Leo XIV addressed the Holy See Diplomatic Corps, as is customary at the beginning of every year, where he warned of the danger of pairing artificial intelligence with nuclear weapons. It is a warning that speaks to the broader and ongoing debate regarding AI and its potential.
As the pope put it, artificial intelligence “is a tool that requires appropriate and ethical management.” Yet, tech titans Elon Musk and Sam Altman’s increasing permissiveness toward immoral sexualized uses of AI and President Donald Trump’s executive order to curtail the ability of states to regulate this technology run directly against this calling.
Most of the AI debate is about whether it will achieve some of its early promises. But as these cases show, and the pope suggests, the debate should also focus on what it shouldn’t achieve.
Leo’s intervention is a reminder that the papacy has often been a dual force that promotes innovation and tempers it with moral principles when necessary. I still remember learning in my early years as a graduate student in the history of science about the impressive engineering project that placed an Egyptian obelisk at the center of St. Peter’s Square, and which today serves as the pointer of a giant sundial. At the core of this Renaissance enterprise was the promotion not only of technology, but also of Egyptian knowledge and culture.
In the past millennium, popes have regularly promoted ideas drawn from outside Christianity and adapted them to their needs and faith. Just as today’s AI research emerged from the secular, non-Christian culture of Silicon Valley, so too Hindu-Arabic numerals came to Europe a thousand years ago after Pope Sylvester II studied them in Islamic Iberia. Perhaps the most famous case is that of Nicolaus Copernicus who dedicated his groundbreaking theory placing the sun at the center of the universe to Pope Paul III.
True, papal intervention in science has sometimes been too strong, especially if you think of the Galileo affair. Yet, as I teach my students at Oxford, even Galileo’s condemnation — often described as the defining drift between science and religion — was more complex than it seems. Pope Urban VIII who condemned Galileo had previously been his friend and admirer. He was also the most generous pontiff in granting scholarly access to banned books and led rigorous efforts to scientifically scrutinize reported miracles of potential saints.
The same institution that censored Galileo also founded anatomical museums and supported women in science centuries before it became common. One of them, Anna Morandi Manzolini — a gifted wax modeler and anatomy instructor in Bologna — became a leading figure in anatomical education, merging scientific knowledge with extraordinary technical craft. Scientific sponsorship continued even in the Church’s more diplomatically fraught moments. In the 1660s, after the Thirty Years’ War, the pope who commissioned Bernini’s Colonnade in St. Peter’s Square made Rome a haven for foreign intellectuals. As I explain in my new book, a direct result of this effort was the conversion of prominent scientists to Catholicism. Among them were Rudolf von Bodenhausen, a mathematician who collaborated with Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz in physics, and his close friend Nicolaus Steno, a pioneering anatomist and geologist.
There is no doubt that papal promotion of science often carried a proselytizing agenda, but it also displayed the charitable concerns of religion. In the 19th century, Pope Pius VII led a massive child vaccination campaign against smallpox. In the early 20th century, the papacy was one of the lone voices to condemn the eugenics movement without condemning evolution outright. Just a few decades ago, Pope John Paul II entered this historical trend during the nuclear arms race. His intentional silence regarding President Ronald Reagan’s “Star Wars” program was perceived by the U.S. government as an endorsement.
Leo seems to be quite aware of this historical legacy. In his first official address to the College of Cardinals following his election in May,he linked the new “industrial revolution” of AI with his name choice. His predecessor Leo XIII famously created the social doctrine of the church to respond to the industrial revolution. This was done with a positive outlook toward scientific innovation, tempered by the charitable principles of the church. Leo XIII also codified into church teaching the arguments of Galileo about faith and science, namely that the Bible serves “to teach us how to go to heaven, not how the heavens go.”
Today, popes continue this legacy of promotion and ethical temperament as new forms of science and technology emerge. In the same speech to the diplomats, Leo condemned the modern practices of abortion and surrogacy. But unlike with such cases, he is aware of the positive outcomes of AI and does not outright condemn it. Instead, he has spoken of AI’s “immense potential” and of applying the Church’s “academic strength” to engage with it. If history is any guide, the church will issue many more remarks to guide us through the uncertain future of AI.
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