For several years, the world has been buzzing about artificial intelligence and the peril we face if large language models (LLMs) slip past human oversight or evolve into autonomous entities that outperform humans at nearly everything. Industry experts are alarmed, with some acknowledging we already struggle to understand these machines’ reasoning processes. Others warn of frightening scenarios that resemble science fiction: sentient robots engaging in deception or sabotage, for destructive ends.
As I’ve considered various apocalyptic scenarios, I find a few plausible—for example, mistakes by AI might inadvertently trigger a nuclear conflict—but I remain skeptical of those predicting rapid, total transformation of society in just a couple years. The more likely path will follow other technological advances we’ve seen throughout history—major shifts in industries and economies that make some jobs obsolete while creating new ones.
What Will AI Do to Our Humanity?
What captures my attention is a deeper anthropological question: not “What will AI do?” but “What will AI do to us?” In asking that second question, I’m not picturing Terminator-style battles with hostile robots. Instead, I’m wondering about the subtle effects of AI on our humanity. How will these technologies shape our understanding of ourselves and others? How might they alter our self-perception as creatures made in God’s image?
Once artificial intelligence convincingly simulates our words, emotions, even embodiment, what will be left that’s unique to humanity? Will we value human life more highly than a sentient robot impressive in its ability to mimic our behavior? Since the Industrial Revolution, we’ve increasingly described ourselves with machinelike language—a trend that has accelerated in the internet age. How will our self-understanding shift once AI further blurs the distinctions between robots and humans? As the machines become more like humans, will we humans become more like machines?
Mutually Assured Boredom
I’ve been pondering this challenge in conversation with some of my fellows at The Keller Center for Cultural Apologetics, including Chris Watkin, author of Biblical Critical Theory. Recently, Chris offered a striking analogy: During the Cold War, we lived under the shadow of mutually assured destruction (MAD), a terrifying equilibrium where peace depended not on goodwill but on the assurance that war meant mutual annihilation.
Today, Chris says, we face the threat of MAB—mutually assured boredom. The great danger is that we increasingly find real, flesh-and-blood people boring. It’s already the case that many ordinary human interactions, filled with quirks, annoyances, and complexities, struggle to compete with nonstop entertainment from our devices. AI promises to exponentially expand our options for distraction, drawing us even further from genuine relationships, but this time by successfully imitating human conversation.
To be honest, the apocalyptic scenarios bantered about on podcasts worry me less than the testimonials I read from people who prefer conversations with a chatbot over speaking with their siblings, or who trust digital algorithms for counsel more than they do their pastors, or who find online fantasies more appealing than the messiness of real romantic relationships. The smartphone era has already brought about a cascade of consequences: plummeting birth rates, fewer real-world interactions, rising loneliness, and—perhaps most troubling—a loss of muscle memory so we no longer have the capacity to begin or maintain close friendships.
This dynamic also seeps into church life. It’s easy for Christians to feel bored or disappointed by fellow believers in a local congregation and imagine that richer spiritual growth and deeper community might be found primarily through online sermons, digital spaces, or AI-driven apps. Over time, we lose sight of the ordinary saints in our churches, the people God has placed in our lives, because they can often seem so tedious or uninteresting compared to digital alternatives.
Recovering Wonder in Our Neighbor
The real peril of our age is not robotic hostility but human disinterest. Not robots with a mind but people without a heart.
Enthralled by digital simulations, we grow bored with the immortals around us who bear God’s image. G. K. Chesterton said, “The world will never starve for want of wonders; but only for want of wonder.” Our age offers countless wonders. What’s missing is our wonder, especially our sense of awe at the glory of ordinary human beings—those we live with, eat with, work with, and worship with.
Simone Weil once described attention as “the rarest and purest form of generosity.” Amid endless digital distractions vying for our focus, perhaps our greatest temptation is stinginess—the failure to be generous with our time in truly attending to others. We become unable or unwilling to look beyond the dull and irritating aspects of human interactions until we erode our capacity to offer, and receive, grace and love.
This problem gets to the heart of the gospel. Compared to God’s infinite glory—a beauty we’ll spend eternity never coming to the end of exploring—humans seem insignificant, mere gnats in contrast to majesty. Yet the Scriptures tell us God is mindful of us. Ponder that for a moment. The most fascinating Being takes an interest in us, pouring out generous attention and care on creatures he made in his image.
Because we bear this divine image, we’re called to reflect God’s attentiveness toward those around us. That’s what’s at stake in the era of AI. If we exchange genuine human relationships—the flesh-and-blood community of the local church and the glorious impingement on our freedom that any true friendship brings—for the enticing efficiency of artificial intelligence, we surrender the gift of love. If we trade seeing and savoring the presence of another person for clever arrangements of words and digital illusions of intimacy, we betray our humanity. If we choose algorithmic interactions over the messy beauty of real friendships and church fellowship, we contribute to a widespread loss of love every bit as tragic as a world laid waste by a war with robots.
Imagine a world of sparkling technology that offers us wealth and comfort and efficiency yet leaves us in a wasteland of lovelessness. That’s where mutually assured boredom will take us.
I don’t know what the future holds or which apocalyptic scenarios involving AI may unfold. But I do know I want to hold on to my humanity. Doing so will require resisting any way of life or shiny new technology that dulls our interest in—or dims our wonder toward—the neighbors we’re called to love.
If you would like my future articles sent to your email, as well as a curated list of books, podcasts, and helpful links I find online, enter your address.
