Technological Threats to Human Nature (Part 3): Seven Reasons (3 & 4) Why I Don't Use AI
Keith D. Stanglin
In my previous post in this series on technological threats, I suggested that the risk that Artificial General Intelligence or so-called Super-intelligence poses to humanity is sufficient for me to opt out of the entire offer. No thank you. But even if the probability of a doomsday scenario is zero, I’m laying out 7 reasons why I never have used and do not intend to use the more innocuous, quotidian applications of AI (chatbots and the like). I described my first 2 reasons last time. Let’s move on.
3) Encourages laziness. AI use emphasizes product to the exclusion of process, results
without labor. As always, the shortcut is addictive. And therefore the felt need for immediacy (information, pleasure, solutions, products) is amplified.
In a chapter on “Habit,” the Harvard psychologist William James wrote in 1890,
Keep the faculty of effort alive in you by a little gratuitous exercise every day. That is, be systematically ascetic or heroic in little unnecessary points, do every day or two something for no other reason than that you would rather not do it, so that when the hour of dire need draws nigh, it may find you not unnerved and untrained to stand the test.[1]
In other words, do at least one hard thing every day. Instead, we try to make everything as easy as possible. Later, we realize that, without effort of any kind, we become weak and fat, because resistance makes us strong. This is the case physically. For most Americans, manual labor is no longer necessary in order to live. As people come to realize how bad this is for physical health, they install foot pedals in front of their couch or a walking treadmill in front of their work computer. Or we drive a mile and a half to the gym, run three miles on a treadmill, and then drive back home! Absurd.
Will we outsource our sermon prep to AI? Many do. What about our Bible study? Prayer? Where’s the Holy Spirit in the process and in the ministry of study, if the process is eliminated? Having just rediscovered the Holy Spirit, many ministers learned to talk about and invite the Spirit’s assistance in the process of study and preparation. Did they really believe it—those who are so quick to unburden themselves of the process?
AI could produce a passable sermon in 2.43 seconds. And a forklift could lift a lot more weight for me at the gym. So what? If I produce and accomplish nothing, but a machine does it for me, how does that help me?
The laziness is with regard to some of the central aspects of the image of God: creativity and language. Take creativity. God made us to be co-creators. Broadly speaking, creativity is (nearly) universal to humans. AI outsources this God-given capacity and responsibility.
What about language? In the beginning was the Logos. Through his word, God spoke creation into existence out of nothingness. Language is powerful. God spoke to Adam, and Adam spoke words to fellow creatures. It was given Adam to name the creatures. In his language, man reflects God. Language expresses thoughts, and it can shape thoughts. Language is one of the facts that separates us from the lower animals. What is the result of outsourcing our production of the spoken and written word, and the hard labor required to produce it? What happens when we refuse to read pages of material with paragraphs and lengthy arguments, and settle for the AI summary? Brain drain. Imago Dei drain.
One of the most recognized truths in education—both formal and informal, including in a church setting—is that you learn more by teaching (than by passively listening as a student). Why is that? Because of the process of study and preparation. But not if AI does all the work for the teacher. And, again, where is the Holy Spirit allowed to work here? Is it when the teacher stands to deliver a message she did not prepare and therefore does not intimately understand?
On this point, I must address the assertion (there is no argument, but simply assertion) of some AI cheerleaders that AI will free us from the drudgery of work to pursue higher, more spiritual activities. (First of all, that sounds like something a lazy person might say.)
I’ve seen this in a couple of recent articles, presumably from people of faith. In his article, “AI as Liberation,” Liel Leibovitz opines that AI will offer our frenzied populace a sort of Sabbath rest, anticipating “a new great awakening.” Max Raskin speaks of “The Spiritual Windfall of AI.” Yes, he thinks AI will liberate us to become better people. “Artificial intelligence, particularly large language models (LLMs), promises to automate aspects of white-collar work once thought immune to mechanization. That shift offers an opportunity—not merely economic but spiritual.” He writes of “the religious dimension to technological optimism.” And he concludes his article:
Unshackled from the demands of work, people are forced to think about meaning (or, unfortunately, shirk from this responsibility into hedonism). A society that can outsource more of its productive labor will either relearn the older uses of freedom—prayer, study, family, obligation—or anesthetize itself with amusements.
To be fair, Raskin does offer the possibility that people will use their free time poorly, but he seems quite optimistic about a real opportunity for spiritual growth apart from secular work.
In the book AI Goes to Church (2025), Todd Korpi argues that, since the use of AI is inevitable, including in church, we ought to embrace its benefits, with some proper restraints, and then make the most of the free time we gain for more meaningful human connection, thanks to AI. In the book’s conclusion, he summarizes the bright future possible:
If the future promises us humanoid robots who can cook and clean for us, then by all means let’s use that freed time for meaningful dialogue with our spouse and children, to make music and art, to write poetry, to bake a pie for our neighbor, to plant a community garden, or to volunteer at a senior center. Let our AI future break us free from the shackles of outdated approaches to work and call us toward something meaningful and people-prioritizing. (200)
No irony seems intended in these utopian visions.
First of all, does he not know that AI can also free us from making music and art, writing poetry, and baking a pie? But, more important, can anyone seriously think that we, as a whole, will use free time for virtuous leisure or spiritual growth? What evidence is there for that? We have never had more freedom from the mundane tasks that used to occupy our ancestors’ days. Yet we find ourselves more hurried, harried, busy, out of time, unstable, and addicted to entertainment than any previous generation. Did prayer increase with the advent of the washing machine? Did study suddenly take over communities and churches when the internet became available? Did the smartphone help us prioritize family? If AI writes our emails and lesson plans for us, will it make us better pray-ers, fasters, and almsgivers? Or will it just put us out of a job?
4) Diminishes relationality. Relationship—with God, with fellow humans, and with the rest of creation—is a key aspect of the imago Dei. People are exchanging interpersonal relationship for machines. This has been going on for many years, but now folks are talking to their chatbot, getting therapy and advice from the chatbot.
As many observers have noted, AI is sycophantic, and thus the “relationship” is no more genuine than with any flatterer. It is designed to say what you want to hear, to give you what you want. Have you ever known people who always got what they wanted, who were never told no, who were never challenged? Those aren’t usually pleasant or well-adjusted people. True relationship is with fellow humans who have actual life experience and who challenge you to be better, who might not like everything you say or do, or whom you can challenge to be better.
One of the new frontiers in this technology is the use of the digital footprint of a deceased loved one to inform the content of an AI chatbot identity, perhaps even including an artificial body—as the late Suzanne Somers’ husband has done with her. Not only is it artificial (it is not her body, soul, or spirit), but this impersonal robot will not grow, evolve, improve, or love the bereaved husband in any genuine or human way. I don’t know if it will nag or have headaches. But it does diminish the person who feels the desire or need to substitute personal relationship with artificial relationship.
Furthermore, if everything we do to communicate with each other, especially via technology, is possible with AI, then even the more mundane things call into question genuine relationship.
AI now prompts suggestion for email replies. Presumably, AI may be emailing back and forth in the name of actual correspondents, but it does so with no human interaction and with the result of pushing humans out and making them unnecessary. It is a reflection of the loop of redundancy and stupidity that much of AI generates. I’m not saying there is no place for the form letter, or the email template, and if you have to respond to 100 emails every day, the canned response of “sounds good,” may be a life saver for the overworked and underpaid employee. But it’s different when the situation calls for a personal, substantive response, and we let the machine do the work.
Earlier this year, my Center for Christian Studies colleagues and I attended a seminar that featured an hour-long presentation about using AI for Christian nonprofits. It was eye-opening in many ways. In an attempt to exemplify limits for AI use, the Christian AI consultant said, “Keep AI out of sacred work.” That sounds like a good start. But what is sacred or not, when dealing with people? Is responding to an email from a church member not sacred? Is organizing a spreadsheet of CCS donors not a sacred task, since it involves seeing the names of generous supporters for whom I should be grateful and lifting up prayers? Perhaps, if the task is relational or potentially relational at all, then it’s also sacred.
Are you enjoying this series or hating it, finding it thought-provoking at all? Great! Wait till you see my final 3 reasons in the next entry.
[1] William James, The Principles of Psychology, 2 vols. (New York: Henry Holt, 1890), vol. 1: 126. The son of our late colleague, Michael Weed, reports that when his father would go for his regular jogs in the neighborhood, as he passed by the house on his lap he would pump his fist in the air and yell, “William James!”
