A Pope should speak about God, not offer another voice in the tech commentary chorus
En un momento en que la inteligencia artificial reordena las jerarquías del conocimiento y el poder, el Papa León XIV ha lanzado una encíclica que aspira a ser guía moral en tiempos de vértigo tecnológico. Pero hay quienes se preguntan si la Iglesia, al querer hablar de todo, ha olvidado para qué existe: no para arbitrar debates de política tecnológica, sino para sostener las preguntas que ningún algoritmo puede responder. La autoridad espiritual, cuando imita el lenguaje del columnista, corre el riesgo de perder precisamente lo que la hacía irreemplazable.
- El Vaticano publicó Magnifica Humanitas con toda la pompa ceremonial de una encíclica, pero el texto no va más allá de lo que cualquier editorial de tecnología ya ha dicho: el poder corporativo es excesivo y la dignidad humana debe protegerse.
- Las inconsistencias entre traducciones revelan una elaboración apresurada: la expresión 'persona humana' aparece cuarenta veces en inglés y solo tres en polaco, como si la humanidad fuera un concepto negociable según el idioma.
- La visita del Papa a Madrid —del Movistar Arena al Santiago Bernabéu— traza una ruta de gira musical, no de peregrinación espiritual, consolidando la imagen de un papado convertido en marca global de entretenimiento.
- El crítico no ataca la fe, sino el extravío de rol: un Papa que opina sobre regulación de IA ha confundido su tribuna con la de un analista tecnológico, abandonando las preguntas que solo él estaba llamado a formular.
El Papa León XIV protagonizó la semana en dos registros de espectáculo contemporáneo: posando junto a un Ferrari eléctrico y publicando una encíclica sobre inteligencia artificial. El documento, Magnifica Humanitas, llegó con todo el peso ceremonial de la autoridad papal —ocho idiomas, destino final en latín en los archivos vaticanos— y fue recibido con una aprobación tibia y universal. Que todo el mundo lo encontrara aceptable es, precisamente, el problema.
El subtítulo promete abordar la protección de la dignidad humana en la era de la inteligencia artificial, una formulación tan amplia que podría significar casi cualquier cosa. Despojado del latín y la solemnidad, el argumento central es conocido: las grandes tecnológicas concentran demasiado poder y habría que redistribuirlo. Lo malo es malo. La guerra es mala. No hacían falta cuarenta mil palabras ni la autoridad del pontificado para llegar ahí. Mientras tanto, Sam Altman ya ha matizado sus propias predicciones apocalípticas sobre el desempleo masivo, y la encíclica podría estar persiguiendo un debate que ya se ha desplazado.
Las inconsistencias entre versiones no son un detalle menor: revelan un proyecto concebido con demasiada prisa. Cuando el texto intenta elevarse hacia la poesía, tropieza con sus propias contradicciones lógicas, invitando al lector a preguntarse si la persona humana puede volverse más humana o si eso implicaría haber sido menos humana antes.
La crítica más honda, sin embargo, apunta al rol mismo. Desde Juan Pablo II, el Papa es una figura pop: una marca global con gira de estadios y gestión cuidadosa de imagen. En ese contexto, ¿qué autoridad le asiste para pronunciarse sobre política tecnológica? El autor invoca un relato de Fredric Brown en el que la humanidad construye una supercomputadora para resolver todas sus dudas y le formula la pregunta definitiva. El Papa, sugiere, ha olvidado cuál es su pregunta. Ha confundido su tribuna con la de un analista, cuando su verdadero oficio es hablar desde un registro que ningún algoritmo puede ocupar: no sobre qué hacer con las máquinas, sino sobre qué somos nosotros.
Pope Leo XIV arrived at the week's headlines in two modes of modern spectacle: posing beside an electric Ferrari and releasing an encyclical on artificial intelligence. The document, titled Magnifica Humanitas, came wrapped in the full ceremonial weight of papal authority—available in eight languages, destined for the Vatican archives in Latin, treated by the press as though it were a newly discovered Shakespeare manuscript. Everyone read it. Everyone said it was fine. And that, perhaps, is the problem.
The encyclical's subtitle promises to address "the protection of human dignity in the age of artificial intelligence," a formulation so vague it could mean almost anything. Strip away the Latin and the ceremonial language, and what remains is a familiar argument: technology companies hold too much power; we should give power to the people instead (or at least to different people, though the author doesn't specify which ones). The good is good. The bad is bad. War is bad. These are not insights that required forty thousand words or the authority of the papacy to articulate. Sam Altman, the head of OpenAI, has already walked back his own apocalyptic predictions about mass job displacement. The encyclical, in other words, may be chasing a conversation that has already moved on.
There is something almost comical about the translation inconsistencies embedded in the text. The phrase "human person" appears sixteen times in the Spanish version, forty times in the English, fifteen in French, and only three in Polish. It is the same document in all eight languages, yet somehow the Poles are less reliably human than everyone else. The author notes this not as a minor editorial slip but as a window into how loosely the entire project was conceived—a document so hastily assembled across multiple languages that basic terminology shifts depending on which version you read.
When the encyclical does attempt poetry, it stumbles into contradiction. "The center of history remains a human face that demands to be contemplated," it declares. Then: "It can happen that the means increase without humanity growing in equal measure: one has more, but one is not more." The logic collapses under its own weight. Should we remain human, or become more human? Can a human person become even more human? The author suggests he would prefer to become less human than to risk such existential confusion.
But the deeper critique cuts at the role itself. Since John Paul II, the Pope has been a pop figure—a celebrity with a motorcade, a global brand, a stadium tour. This week's visit to Madrid will take him from the Movistar Arena to the Santiago Bernabéu, a routing that mirrors a rock tour more than a spiritual pilgrimage. The Pope has become a tribute band for Jesus Christ, complete with merchandise and a carefully managed public image. In this context, what business does he have opining on artificial intelligence policy? A Pope should speak about God—about the great theological questions, about whether there is wifi in the afterlife, about why the Virgin Mary no longer appears to people now that everyone carries a camera in their pocket. Is she shy?
The author's final move is almost tender. He invokes a Fredric Brown short story called "The Answer," in which humanity builds a supercomputer to resolve all its doubts. The first question posed to the machine is simple: "Does God exist?" The Pope, the author suggests, has forgotten what his actual job is. He has confused himself with a columnist, a policy analyst, a voice of technological wisdom. But a Pope is supposed to speak from a different register entirely—not about what we should do with our machines, but about what we are, and whether we are capable of remaining so.
Notable Quotes
The center of history remains a human face that demands to be contemplated— Pope Leo XIV, from Magnifica Humanitas
It can happen that the means increase without humanity growing in equal measure: one has more, but one is not more— Pope Leo XIV, from Magnifica Humanitas
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why does it bother you that the Pope wrote about artificial intelligence? Isn't that a legitimate concern for religious leaders?
It's not that the concern is illegitimate. It's that he's become a celebrity offering the same platitudes everyone else is offering. He had the platform to ask something deeper—theological questions about what it means to be human, about the soul, about transcendence. Instead he wrote a policy paper.
But the encyclical does address human dignity. Isn't that theological?
It addresses human dignity in the way a newspaper op-ed does. Good versus evil, power versus the people. The real theological work would be asking why we've built machines at all, what we're trying to escape, what we're afraid of losing. That requires a different kind of thinking.
You mention the translation inconsistencies—the word "human" appearing different numbers of times across languages. Does that actually matter?
It matters because it reveals the document wasn't carefully thought through. If you're going to speak with papal authority about what makes us human, the language should be precise. Instead it's sloppy, which suggests the whole thing was assembled quickly to stay relevant.
Relevant to whom?
To the media cycle. To the idea that the Pope should have opinions about whatever is trending. But that's not what a Pope is for. He's supposed to be outside the trend, speaking from a different place entirely.
What would you want him to say instead?
I don't know exactly. But something that only a Pope could say. Something about God, about mystery, about what we're really afraid of when we build these machines. Not another voice in the chorus of tech commentary.