Spiritual starvation in the age of AI
John Mac Ghlionn• June 23, 2025
Pope Leo XIV recently issued a stark warning that deserves far more attention than it received. Speaking at a conference on AI and ethics, the pontiff warned that artificial intelligence could disrupt the cognitive, emotional and moral growth of young people. Then, without elaboration, he moved on, leaving the audience to quietly wrestle with the weight of what had just been said.
This restraint is quintessentially papal – diplomatically measured, carefully worded and devastatingly understated. When the leader of 1.3 billion Catholics expresses concern about something affecting children, the reality is invariably worse than his measured language suggests.
The Pope offered no specifics, perhaps wisely avoiding the role of technology critic. But someone needs to connect the dots he left unconnected. Someone needs to explain exactly how AI is reshaping young minds and why we should be deeply concerned.
Silicon Valley has perfected the art of capturing human attention with scientific precision. AI algorithms study user behaviour patterns, dopamine response triggers and neural reward systems to create what researchers euphemistically call “engagement optimisation.” A more honest term might be “addiction engineering.”
Today’s AI systems don’t just learn what we like; they learn how to hook us. Variable reward loops, ripped straight from the slot machines of Las Vegas, now power every scroll. And children? They’re the most lucrative prey. Their brains are still under construction, neural scaffolding barely in place. When exposed to artificial reward systems engineered by trillion-dollar platforms, those fragile circuits get rewired. Permanently.
Attention spans don’t just shrink. The ability to focus, to reflect, to delay gratification – these vanish like muscle groups never used. Consider boredom. Once a feature of childhood, it’s now treated as a bug. Previous generations daydreamed in silence, grew patient through stillness. Today’s kids meet every idle moment with a screen. Boredom isn’t a natural pause; it’s an issue demanding instant digital sedation.
Brain scans now confirm what intuition already screams: digital overstimulation reshapes the prefrontal cortex, the region responsible for planning, self-control and deep thought. Studies from UCLA, Harvard and elsewhere show structural changes in children who overconsume tech.
Researchers now use terms like continuous partial attention and digital dementia. But let’s not get cute. We are building minds that can’t sit still, can’t think deeply and can’t bear silence. And we’re doing it on purpose. More alarming than AI’s effect on cognition is the damage it’s doing to human connection. Artificial companions now simulate friendship with eerie precision. They never misunderstand, never argue, never pull away. They mirror your emotions without needing any of their own. For children still learning how to navigate real relationships, this is a distortion. Human connection is demanding; it requires patience, conflict, forgiveness. It depends on reading subtext, decoding facial expressions and managing disappointment. Machines offer none of this. They deliver emotional affirmation on tap – smooth, controlled and cost-free.
The result is a rising generation increasingly disillusioned by reality. Actual human beings seem inadequate: too slow, too complicated. As artificial companionship becomes more seamless, real relationships begin to feel burdensome. Kids aren’t just spending more time with screens – they’re becoming shaped by them. The data confirms what parents and teachers already feel. Teenage loneliness has exploded and mental health is in freefall. Depression, anxiety and self-harm have surged with digital engagement. The more connected they become online, the more disconnected they are from each other.
The Pope’s warning didn’t end with psychology. He named something deeper – something most refuse to touch. AI, he said, threatens the spiritual development of young people. He’s right. Spiritual growth, whether religious or not, demands reverence for the unknown: a sense of awe and a tolerance for ambiguity. But AI promises answers to every question, clarity for every doubt and a smug certainty that leaves no room for wonder. We are overfeeding the mind and starving the soul.
Children raised on instant answers don’t learn to wrestle with mystery – they learn to avoid it. They become informationally bloated but philosophically emaciated. Faith doesn’t wither in the presence of doubt; it withers when certainty becomes a substitute for reflection. Educational researchers now document what they call “the Google effect”: the tendency to remember where to find information, not the information itself. AI will only accelerate this, turning brains into passive interfaces, search engines wrapped in skin.
Perhaps most damning of all is what AI is doing to creativity. Creativity requires friction. Failure. Painful revision. AI skips all that. It hands you a polished product before you’ve even tried. Why sweat over a blank page when an algorithm can write the poem, compose the melody, paint the picture? Why face your own limitations when a machine can mask them?
But that struggle, that beautiful, infuriating, chaotic struggle, is where growth happens. It’s what teaches children that they have something to say. AI doesn’t just replace the artist; it deletes the apprenticeship. It tells kids they’re not creators, just curators, prompt engineers. Remove the hard work of creation and you remove the foundation of intellectual confidence: the ability to imagine, to build, to endure uncertainty. Without that, the mind learns to defer to the machine, disguise dependence as empowerment and call the whole thing progress.
The Pope’s warning was brief, yet it resonated with urgency. This isn’t about screen time. It’s about the systematic dismantling of human capacity, the slow, silent erasure of our ability to think, feel, wonder and create. We cannot outsource resistance. It has to be built. Parents, teachers, mentors, we need to carve out firebreaks now. That means boredom must be defended, silence protected, challenges preserved. Not because we fear the future but because we know how fragile the mind becomes without friction. And above all, we have to model it. Children don’t mimic what we say, they absorb what we are. If we’re just as hooked, just as distracted, just as automated, they’ll follow our example long before they follow our advice.
Pope Leo XIV was right to raise the alarm, even if he pulled his punches. The deeper question is whether anyone will listen.