Article
AI
Comment
4 min read

It's our mistakes that make us human

What we learn distinguishes us from tech.

Silvianne Aspray is a theologian and postdoctoral fellow at the University of Cambridge.

A man staring at a laptop grimmaces and holds his hands to his head.
Francisco De Legarreta C. on Unsplash.

The distinction between technology and human beings has become blurry: AI seems to be able to listen, answer our questions, even respond to our feelings. It becomes increasingly easy to confuse machines with humans. In this situation, it is increasingly important to ask: What makes us human, in distinction from machines? There are many answers to this question, but for now I would like to focus on just one aspect of what I think is distinctively human: As human beings, we live and learn in time.  

To be human means to be intrinsically temporal. We live in time and are oriented towards a future good. We are learning animals, and our learning is bound up with the taking of time. When we learn to know or to do something, we necessarily make mistakes, and we take practice. But keeping in view something we desire – a future good – we keep going.  

Let’s take the example of language. We acquire language in community over time. Toddlers make all sorts of hilarious mistakes when they first try to talk, and it takes them a long time even to get single words right, let alone to try and form sentences. But they keep trying, and they eventually learn. The same goes with love: Knowing how to love our family or our neighbours near and far is not something we are good at instantly. It is not the sort of learning where you absorb a piece of information and then you ‘get’ it. No, we learn it over time, we imitate others, we practice and even when we have learned, in the abstract, what it is to be loving, we keep getting it wrong. 

This, too, is part of what it means to be human: to make mistakes. Not the sort of mistakes machines make, when they classify some information wrongly, for instance, but the very human mistake of falling short of your own ideal. Of striving towards something you desire – happiness, in the broadest of terms – and yet falling short, in your actions, of that very goal. But there’s another very human thing right here: Human beings can also change. They – we – can have a change of heart, be transformed, and at some point in time, actually start to do the right thing – even against all the odds. Statistics of past behaviours, do not always correctly predict future outcomes. Part of being human means that we can be transformed.  

Transformation sometimes comes suddenly, when an overwhelming, awe-inspiring experience changes somebody’s life as by a bolt of lightning. Much more commonly, though, such transformation takes time. Through taking up small practices, we can form new habits, gradually acquire virtue, and do the right thing more often than not. This is so human: We are anything but perfect. As Christians would say: We have a tendency to entangle ourselves in the mess of sin and guilt. But we also bear the image of the Holy One who made us, and by the grace and favour of that One, we are not forever stuck in the mess. We are redeemed: are given the strength to keep trying, despite the mistakes we make, and given the grace to acquire virtue and become better people over time. All of this to say that being human means to live in time, and to learn in time. 

So, this is a real difference between human beings and machines: Human beings can, and do strive toward a future good. 

Now compare this to the most complex of machines. We say that AI is able to “learn”. But what does it mean to learn, for AI? Machine learning is usually categorized into supervised learning, unsupervised and self-supervised learning. Supervised learning means that a model is trained for a specific task based on correctly labelled data. For instance, if a model is to predict whether a mammogram image contains a cancerous tumour, it is given many example images which are correctly classed as ‘contains cancer’ or ‘does not contain cancer’. That way, it is “taught” to recognise cancer in unlabelled mammograms. Unsupervised learning is different. Here, the system looks for patterns in the dataset it is given. It clusters and groups data without relying on predefined labels. Self-supervised learning uses both methods: Here, the system uses parts of the data itself as a kind of label – such as, for instance, predicting the upper half of an image from its lower half, or the next word in a given text. This is the predominant paradigm for how contemporary large-scale AI models “learn”.  

In each case, AI’s learning is necessarily based on data sets. Learning happens with reference to pre-given data, and in that sense with reference to the past. It may look like such models can consider the future, and have future goals, but only insofar as they have picked up patterns in past data, which they use to predict future patterns – as if the future was nothing but a repetition of the past.  

So this is a real difference between human beings and machines: Human beings can, and do strive toward a future good. Machines, by contrast, are always oriented towards the past of the data that was fed to them. Human beings are intrinsically temporal beings, whereas machines are defined by temporality only in a very limited sense: it takes time to upload data, and for the data to be processed, for instance. Time, for machines, is nothing but an extension of the past, whereas for human beings, it is an invitation to and the possibility for being transformed for the sake of a future good. We, human beings, are intrinsically temporal, living in time towards a future good – which machines do not.  

In the face of new technologies we need a sharpened sense for the strange and awe-inspiring species that is the human race, and cultivate a new sense of wonder about humanity itself.  

Article
Belief
Comment
Leading
4 min read

Here’s what Pope Leo really needs, and it’s not our speculation

What the media analysis misses when projecting on to the new pope.
Pope Leo waves to the crowd.
Vatican Media.

If memory serves, there was a very positive feeling about Pope Francis when he was elected in 2013. Mind you, I had just started my first year at university and was passionately atheistic - I had flunked my ‘General Studies’ A-Level essay purely because I had nothing to say in favour of the proposal that heaven exists. It was plain enough to me that it was all unscientific wish-fulfilment - so a requirement to give balance had to be jettisoned. 

But the late Pope was so adept at doing things that sent a message, that even in my sphere it became commonly agreed that he was a breath of fresh air. Anyone would tell you that he was very down-to-earth. PR types can only dream of that kind of cache among those who have zero interest in what the company is selling.  

The less ostentatious popemobile!  

The refusal to live in the official papal apartments!  

Here was a man clearly wanting to step back from pomp, and the wealth (all that Vatican gold!). 

It is only now that, as a Catholic, I have an inside track perspective on how more complicated this all actually was. Some in the Church found some of the public piety unsettling. All churches have a trade-off to make between the gospel directive to not value treasure on earth, as well as a gospel directive to give honour to God using all of our humanity, which might involve using our sense of beauty.  

But I am not saying I agree or disagree with any of this. Francis was making a point, and it was well made. I am rather saying that there is a tendency sometimes to think of a pontiff in ill-fitting terms - often political ones. As an atheist, I crammed things into a binary of ‘good, stripped-down rationalisation’ versus ‘bad, mythological and weird’. Especially in secular media, there is a tendency to make popes answers to questions that the media have asked, and not the ones of the Church. The story is always more intricate than ‘liberal’ versus ‘conservative’. Francis was not, in the end, the moderniser some commentariat hoped for, but only because he demonstrated what should have already been obvious: that that the Pope is not ‘in charge of’ the Catholic Faith like that. 

At any rate, speculation of a similar kind is already booming around the new Pope, Leo XIV. Everyone is trying to read into every micro-detail we have. What is the significance of his being an American? Is this the conclave’s attempt to create a counter-Trump? Why did Leo come out in traditional garb (which Francis made a point of eschewing)? Why ‘Leo’?  

Rumours have already abounded that this new Pope likes to do his private masses in the old Latin; others have pointed out that he ran with Francis’ crowd - and even his opening speech touched on the late Pope’s theme of ‘synodality.’ Synodality, depending on who you ask, is either a noble attempt at decentralisation and listening to the full range of voices in the Church - or an attempt to sneak doctrinal change under the guise of being pastoral. 

My advice is to stay well away from it all. Perhaps I’m bringing my own personal journey in too much here - but people change their minds all the time. I wouldn’t want someone to judge me on that General Studies essay now, let me tell you. People especially change when given such a task as Robert Prevost has been given. Even on a purely natural view, being handed responsibility for over a billion Catholics is likely to have a sobering effect, and make one hyper-aware of every move one is about to make. 

But, more importantly, on a supernatural lens, Catholics will want to say that this Pope has been, at the very least, permitted by the Holy Spirit. Benedict XVI put it as dismally as this, in 1997:  

"Probably the only assurance [the Holy Spirit] offers is that the thing cannot be totally ruined.”  

Pope Leo’s ability to shepherd the Church is not a power he enjoys on his own - it comes, as the official teaching has it, “by virtue of his office.” He gets it purely from God, and by existing in relationship to a bigger thing, the Church. It is a difficult thing to make sense of, but the Catholic view of the Pope is not really a statement about human power. It is the belief that, at some very foundational level of analysis, Jesus has agreed not to abandon those who follow him; agreed not to “leave us as orphans." The Pope has come to be seen, in time, as that foundation; as that ‘rock’. But he should always be seen within the bigger picture of God’s promises to us. 

For the meantime, the Pope needs not analysis, second-guessing, or projections. He needs prayers.  

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