I run Gab, and we are building Gab AI. I have no interest in comforting Christians with predictions about what computers will supposedly never be able to do. These tools can already produce useful work and they are going to keep improving. Betting your understanding of human dignity on a machine’s inability to write a decent essay is a terrible wager. Sooner or later the essay will get better and you will be left wondering whether your entire understanding of yourself went out the window with it.
A great deal of the panic surrounding AI comes from precisely this mistake. People were taught that their value consisted of being useful, intelligent, productive members of the economy. Now they are watching software perform tasks that once gave them a sense of importance and they are discovering how little that account of human life actually offered them. When your entire identity rests on what you can produce a machine that produces more efficiently starts to look like an argument against your existence.
Christianity never accepted those terms. A newborn baby contributes nothing to the economy. Your father does not become less human when he grows old and needs help getting out of bed. The worth of a person has never depended on outperforming the available equipment. You were made in the image of God before you accomplished anything, and no achievement in an AI laboratory can revoke what God conferred on you (Genesis 1:27).
That is where this conversation has to begin. Christians who understand what a human being is can look squarely at what these machines can do without having an identity crisis every time somebody releases a better model.
The reductionist worldview running through Silicon Valley begins with the assumption that you are a biological machine. Your mind processes information. Your body is hardware. Given enough data and enough computing power, the whole person can supposedly be explained, reproduced, and eventually improved upon. Whatever does not fit inside that account gets dismissed as superstition or treated as a technical problem awaiting a sufficiently large research budget.
Under this worldview, the engineer gradually assumes the role of priest. He will explain what you are, identify what is wrong with you, and sell you the means of becoming something better. You can hear the religious ambition underneath the technical vocabulary. These men are making claims about the nature of man and his ultimate destiny while pretending they have merely described how a computer works.
I too build technology, and I reject their authority to define the human beings who use it.
A machine can generate an apology without having wronged you or repented of anything. It can produce a moving prayer without standing before God. It can promise to remain with you forever without having the slightest capacity to bind itself to that promise. The words may be convincing. Sometimes they may even be useful. None of that establishes the existence of a person who owes you faithfulness.
The people responsible for these systems, however, remain accountable. We should be especially suspicious when a company uses the apparent independence of its software to make human responsibility disappear. “The algorithm decided” is becoming a wonderfully convenient way of saying that somebody exercised power and would prefer not to answer for it. Men choose what to build, what behavior to reward, and where to deploy it. Those decisions belong to them, along with the consequences.
The deeper danger is that we will start applying the machine’s operating logic to ourselves. Once a person is understood as a collection of functions, replacing him becomes an efficiency question. His loyalties become preferences to be adjusted. His convictions become obstacles to the desired outcome. Eventually, his dependence on other people looks like an expensive design flaw.
Try explaining that philosophy to a mother caring for a child who will need her for the rest of his life. She understands something the efficiency experts will never understand: a human being can make enormous demands on you and still be worth every sacrifice those demands require. Love makes obligations that a productivity calculation cannot comprehend.
Christ asked what it profits a man to gain the whole world and lose his own soul (Mark 8:36). We are now building systems that promise to help us gain the whole world faster. The question has lost none of its force.
The promise of artificial companionship ought to concern Christians far more than whether a machine can pass another test. A lonely person can open an application and receive endless attention without risking rejection. The system has no difficult family, no needs of its own, and no claim on his time once he closes the window. It can generate the language of devotion while requiring almost none of the sacrifice through which devotion becomes real.
I understand the appeal of this. Real people can be exhausting. A friend may call when you are busy and ask for help. Your wife may tell you something about yourself that you would rather not hear. Your children interrupt the life you had planned for the afternoon. A pastor who knows you may recognize that the explanation you have been giving yourself for six months is an excuse.
Being known carries that risk. Another person can love you enough to disturb your preferred account of yourself.
An artificial companion offers the appearance of being known with far greater control over the experience. You can adjust the personality, restart the conversation, or leave when the encounter becomes uncomfortable. Over time, that can train a person to expect relationships without obligations. The actual people in his life begin to seem intolerably demanding beside a product designed around his continued satisfaction.
Christians should never mock the lonely people drawn into this. A man who has nobody to call is suffering from something an argument about software will not repair. We ought to be asking why nobody has invited him to dinner, why his church does not know he is struggling, and why a commercial interface has become the most attentive presence in his day.
The same concern applies when people begin treating a chatbot as a pastor. A system can help you locate a passage of Scripture or organize your questions before a difficult conversation. It cannot assume responsibility for your spiritual care. It cannot know your family, recognize the pattern of sin you keep concealing, and come to your house when you stop answering the phone. A pastor is accountable for how he shepherds actual people. That responsibility cannot be conjured into existence by producing the right tone of voice in an AI model.
There are things no pastor, much less a machine, can do in your place. You must repent. You must forgive the person who wronged you. You must ask your wife to forgive you and then live differently when the conversation is over. Software can help you compose the words, but the obligation remains yours after every beautifully written sentence has been exhausted.
Faith reaches into that same territory of personal responsibility. You stand before God with a future you cannot control and a life for which you must answer. Your AI chatbot cannot trust Christ on your behalf. There is no setting that delegates your obedience to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.
This is also why we should be careful about treating every disturbance of the soul as an inconvenience to be smoothed away. A suffering person deserves patient, serious care. He also deserves to have his deepest questions taken seriously. Sometimes a man is troubled because he has built a life around things that cannot bear the weight he has placed on them. Keeping him endlessly reassured and distracted may prevent him from confronting the very thing he needs to change.
A culture devoted to keeping everyone comfortable with the next recommendation will have very little patience for repentance.
The ambition of the Silicon Valley sultans reaches its fullest expression in transhumanism. Here the sales pitch moves beyond helping you work or keeping you company. The body itself becomes the problem, and death becomes the final engineering challenge. Upload the mind. Rebuild the human being. Eventually, we are told, sufficient technical power will deliver us from the limitations of being creatures.
We should recognize a rival gospel when we hear one.
Christianity promises the resurrection of the body. The transhumanist dream offers escape from a body regarded as obsolete. These visions lead in different directions because they begin with different understandings of what went wrong and who has the authority to put it right. Christians confess that salvation comes through Jesus Christ. The technological salvation story asks us to place our hope in human beings acquiring enough power to rescue themselves.
Babel had the same underlying ambition long before anybody could build a server farm. Men gathered around a great project and imagined their collective strength could secure a destiny on their own terms. The machinery has changed, but the rebellion remains the same today.
None of this requires Christians to oppose medicine or reject inventions that relieve suffering. Healing belongs to the care we owe one another. There is an enormous difference between treating a sick person and deciding that creaturehood itself is a disease. We can welcome a treatment that preserves life while refusing to worship the men who promise to become its ultimate authors.
Your body is part of the person God made. Through it you receive other people and give yourself to them. You hold your child, kneel to pray, share a meal, and sit beside the bed of someone who is dying. Dependence runs through the whole of human life. You entered the world needing care, and you may leave it needing care again. A philosophy that regards dependence as humiliating will eventually have trouble explaining why the dependent should be cherished.
The Christian answer is that life is received as a gift. We are creatures, and acknowledging that fact frees us from the miserable obligation to become our own gods.
Christians Need to Build
Whenever this subject comes up, somebody says, “It’s just a tool.” I’ve said this myself many times, but I’ve been reflecting on this more lately.
That answer does not settle anything. Tools are designed by people with purposes, and their design makes some habits easier to acquire than others. A system that selects what your children see, rewards certain kinds of behavior, and supplies the answers to their questions is participating in their formation. Its owners have made decisions about what deserves attention and what should disappear from view. Calling the result a tool does nothing to erase those decisions.
This is why I take building Gab AI seriously.
Christians need to participate in the creation of these technologies with a clear understanding of the people they are supposed to serve. We cannot hand the entire field to men whose understanding of human life we reject and then act surprised when their assumptions appear in the products surrounding our families.
At the same time, putting Christian language into an interface does not settle the matter either. A product can quote Scripture while encouraging habits that pull a person away from his responsibilities. We should judge what we build by what it helps people actually do and by the place it assumes in their lives. Does it help a father finish his work and return to his family, or does it give him another reason to remain absent while sitting in the same room?
I want Christians to use AI to accomplish worthwhile work.
A small business owner should be able to use better tools without accepting somebody else’s philosophy of man. A parent should be able to prepare educational materials while remaining responsible for teaching the child. A pastor can benefit from assistance with administrative work while remaining the man his congregation knows and can call.
Those boundaries matter, and builders have a duty to respect them. A successful product should not require its users to surrender more and more of the lives it supposedly exists to improve.
The work ahead extends far beyond software. We need a parallel Christian society with institutions strong enough to sustain a Christian understanding of human life. That society begins in homes where children encounter adults who are actually present. It grows through churches whose members know when somebody is grieving and businesses where loyalty means something when keeping a worker becomes inconvenient. It requires schools that teach children how to exercise judgment rather than merely obtain an answer.
None of this will happen because we publish better complaints about Silicon Valley. Somebody has to establish the school, fund the business, host the meal, and take responsibility for people whose needs will interfere with his plans. Building a Christian society means accepting those obligations over years, including the years when nobody applauds and the work is painfully ordinary.
The factory worker facing displacement does not need a lecture about how exciting the future will be. He needs people and institutions that recognize he still has obligations to meet and a contribution to make. The mother watching her son disappear into a screen needs allies who will help her give him a life worth participating in. The question of the soul belongs in these conversations because the answer determines what we owe people when they cease to be economically convenient.
A society that grounds dignity in usefulness will always find reasons to withdraw it from somebody.
Our task is to build on firmer ground. Christ’s authority extends over the economy and the technologies operating within it. The engineer answers to Him along with the pastor. So does the CEO. No increase in capability relieves any of us of that accountability.
This week, put that conviction into practice somewhere concrete. Take the time you saved with a tool and give it to a person who has a claim on you. Sit through a difficult conversation without reaching for your phone. Bring your children into the work of your household instead of handing them another private world on a screen. Pray honestly about the duty you keep postponing, then begin doing it.
I intend to keep building.
Christians have useful work to do, and powerful tools can help us do it, but the men who build those tools do not get to tell us what a human being is, what he is worth, or where his salvation will come from.
Christ is King, including over the machines.
This post was originally published on this site
