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Leo XIV's first encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas, is set in precisely this context. Its subtitle speaks of "the protection of man in the age of artificial intelligence"...
There are times when history moves in small steps. And there are other times when it accelerates, takes on a new weight, and places our consciences at a crossroads. Ours is one of those times. Not only because we have an unprecedented power to understand, heal, and organize, but also because this power forces us to ask an even more fundamental question: what are we becoming? What idea of humanity are we bequeathing to the future?
Leo XIV's first encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas, is set precisely in this context. Its subtitle speaks of "the defense of man in the age of artificial intelligence," but the document is much more than a text on artificial intelligence. It is a judgment on the culture that produces technology, on the anthropology that underlies it. At the center is not the machine, but the person; not innovation in itself, but its orientation towards the common good; not the myth of linear progress, but its dual nature.
Precisely for this reason, Magnifica Humanitas deserves to be received with special respect. Not only for the spiritual and moral authority of its author, but because it addresses everyone – believers and non-believers, institutions, businesses, the scientific world and politics – calling them to a higher responsibility. In this sense, the encyclical marks a historical turning point: it does not close the debate, but raises it to a higher level; it does not reject technology, but restores it to the service of man.
The encyclical uses powerful imagery. It confronts us with the choice between a new Babel, built on unlimited power, centralized control of data and algorithms, and a Jerusalem “of our own,” where freedom, justice and fraternity once again become the guiding principles of governance. Above all, it defines truth as a “common good,” not the property of those with more power or visibility, and calls for artificial intelligence to be “disarmed”: freed from the logic that turns it into an instrument of domination and exclusion and placed at the service of all, as has been demanded of other technological innovations throughout history.
These concepts are strikingly related to the Economy of the Common Good, which for years has advocated a simple but challenging thesis: the value of an organization is not measured solely by its economic performance, but by the good it creates for people and the planet. Human dignity, solidarity and social justice, environmental sustainability, transparency and participation are not optional ethical principles; they are concrete criteria for assessing the impact on employees, suppliers, customers, communities, the environment and future generations.
To understand how concrete this correspondence is, it is enough to take as an example a specific institution: a large pediatric hospital like Bambino Gesù. Where a child in a fragile state is confronted with an institution that concentrates advanced skills and technologies, the issue of Magnifica Humanitas ceases to be theoretical. It is there that we see whether the culture of power, focused on the number of services, the speed of processes and image, or a civilization of care, which puts the faces and voices of the youngest at the center, prevails.
To navigate this tension, four ancient but surprisingly current words can serve as guides: beauty, time, disappointment and pleasure. These are the allegorical figures that Cardinal Benedetto Pamphilj placed at the center of the libretto of The Triumph of Time and Disappointment, the first Italian oratorio composed by Handel in Rome, in 1707. In that Baroque sensibility, before the Enlightenment, Beauty is called upon to choose between the immediate allure of Pleasure and the harsher truth of Time and Disappointment. Reinterpreted today, in the age of artificial intelligence, these four figures become criteria for governance: that which makes human dignity visible, that which resists time, that which unmasks the illusions of power and that which distinguishes the true good from the allure of the immediate.
Beauty. Leo XIV insists that humanity is not defined by its efficiency, but by its dignity in relation to the other: by the body, by limits, and by shared fragility. This raises a fundamental question: does the way we organize work, care, and technology strengthen human dignity or erode it? Does it make the faces of those without strength or power more visible, or does it leave them in the shadows?
Time. Magnifica Humanitas links the defense of humanity to three concrete areas, truth, work, and freedom, showing how they are threatened by the logic of a "present" multiplied by digital platforms. Some choices shine in the short term, but erode the future. If we were to continue for years to come to make decisions that seem more "efficient" today, what legacy would we leave to future generations?
Disillusionment. The encyclical shatters the illusion of technological neutrality: algorithms and platforms are not neutral tools, because they embody interests, worldviews and hierarchies of values. For this reason, it calls for transparency, independent audits and effective legal remedies. The same logic is translated from the Economy of the Common Good into matrices, indicators and impact assessments. In a hospital, for example, this means not being satisfied with reassuring self-assessments, but really listening to families and employees, measuring even the less visible aspects: fatigue, inequalities in access and environmental costs.
Pleasure. In the chapter devoted to the “culture of power,” Magnifica Humanitas describes the allure of the immediate: the promise of total control, the fascination with efficiency, and the temptation to delegate irreversible decisions to machines, even in the military field. This is the logic of Babel: everything is concentrated at the top, in the hands of a few. The alternative, the “civilization of love,” is not sentimentality; it means choosing slower, more inclusive, and more participatory paths that take into account the needs of the most vulnerable, even when this requires giving up some power or short-term consensus.
From this combination, a very concrete proposal can emerge. Every important decision – in politics, economics, healthcare, or platform governance – can be subjected to four questions: does it preserve or damage the beauty of humanity? What does it leave behind over time? What truth does it risk obscuring? Does it serve a true good or just momentary gratification?
Pope Leo XIV himself clearly formulates the alternative: either a culture of power or a civilization of love. This is not an abstract choice, but constitutes the essence of our daily decisions: in the way we design an algorithm, draft a budget, organize a department or regulate a digital market.
A civilization can advance in the means it possesses and at the same time lag behind in the goals it pursues. It can have efficient hospitals, sophisticated artificial intelligence systems and global communication networks, but at the same time become more indifferent, harsher towards the most vulnerable and less sensitive to the truth. The ultimate test remains what the encyclical constantly repeats: how we treat those who cannot give us anything in return. Especially children. It is precisely in the gap between their fragility and our response that we see whether artificial intelligence, the economy and institutions are building a new Babel, or are contributing, with effort, to the construction of a common Jerusalem. / Adapted from "Pamphlet" by "Corriere della Sera"
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