Magnifica Humanitas: Living in Faith in the Age of Artificial Inteligence

When Pope Leo XIV released Magnifica Humanitas in May 2026, it did not feel like just another Church document. Instead,  it was like a voice stepping directly into the confusion of the present moment, speaking not only to Catholics, but to anyone trying to make sense of a world increasingly shaped by artificial intelligence. 

Reading it, I had the feeling that the encyclical is less about technology itself and more about the deeper question beneath it: what does it mean to be human at a time when machines are beginning to imitate, assist, and sometimes even replace aspects of human life?

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The document opens with a sense of urgency. Pope Leo describes our time as one of decisive change, where humanity stands at a crossroads. The rise of artificial intelligence is not treated as just another technological innovation, but as something more profound—something that challenges how we understand progress, society, and even ourselves. 

He frames this moment with two powerful biblical images: the Tower of Babel and the rebuilding of Jerusalem. One represents a world built on pride, control, and the illusion of self-sufficiency; the other reflects a world built patiently, with God at its center, attentive to the dignity of each person.

As I examine that contrast, it became clear that the encyclical is not asking me to judge AI as good or bad. Instead, it is asking a harder question: what kind of world am I helping to build, even in small, everyday ways?

What struck me next was how the Pope situates this moment in a longer story. He draws a line from earlier social encyclicals, especially Rerum Novarum, reminding us that the Church has always tried to speak to the “new things” of each era. But there is something different about this moment. Artificial intelligence seems to blur boundaries that once felt stable—between human and machine, labor and automation, truth and manipulation. The encyclical suggests that this is not simply another issue to be addressed using existing categories; it is a development that presses us to rethink those categories themselves. 

At the center of all this reflection is a deceptively simple claim: human dignity is absolute. It does not depend on our abilities, our productivity, or our usefulness. In a world that increasingly measures everything—efficiency, attention, performance—this insistence feels almost countercultural. It is also deeply reassuring. It reminds me that my worth is not something I earn or optimize. It is something I receive. 

That insight becomes especially important as the encyclical turns to the realities of work and the economy. Artificial intelligence promises productivity and innovation, but it also carries the risk of displacing workers and concentrating power in the hands of a few. Yet Pope Leo’s concern is not only economic. It is human. Work, he reminds us, is more than a way to earn a living; it is a way of participating in creation, of contributing to the common good, of expressing something of our own humanity. When work is reduced to a function that can be optimized or replaced, something essential is lost. 

As I read this, I found myself examining how easily I slip into making my own work in terms of deadlines, outputs, measurable results. The encyclical gently challenges that mindset. It invites a deeper reflection: not just “What am I producing?” but “What kind of person am I becoming through what I do?”

Pope Leo XIV signing Magnifica Humanitas
photo from Vatican Media website

The document also lingers on the subtler ways technology shapes daily life. It speaks of truth, communication, and relationships, pointing to the dangers of misinformation, manipulation, and the quiet erosion of attention. In a digital environment designed to capture and hold our focus, the risk is not only that we will be misled, but that we will slowly lose the capacity for reflection itself.

This part felt uncomfortably familiar. It is easy to think of technology as something external, something we use. But the encyclical suggests something more unsettling: that technology also uses us, shaping our habits, our desires, even our sense of reality. The call, then, is not to withdraw from the digital world, but to inhabit it differently: with awareness, discipline, and a commitment to truth.

The global dimension of the encyclical brings the conversation to an even more serious level. Artificial intelligence is not only transforming economies and personal lives; it is also reshaping power. The potential use of AI in warfare, the concentration of data in private hands, and the growing inequalities between those who control technology and those who do not all raise urgent moral questions.

Here, Pope Leo offers a stark contrast between what he calls a “culture of power” and a “civilization of love.” The former is driven by domination and competition; the latter by justice, solidarity, and peace. It is a familiar theme in Catholic social teaching, but in the context of AI, it takes on new urgency. The tools we are creating are powerful enough to amplify whichever path we choose

Reading all of this as a Catholic, I found that the encyclical was not primarily asking me to take a position on artificial intelligence. It was asking me to examine my own life more deeply. It reminded me that being human is not about keeping pace with technological change, nor about maximizing efficiency or productivity. It is about relationship—with God, with others, and with the world.

As such, even ordinary choices take on new meaning. How I use technology, how I spend my attention, how I relate to others in a digital environment, all of these become part of a larger moral landscape. The encyclical invites me to resist the temptation to drift passively with technological currents and instead to act intentionally, guided by a sense of responsibility.

What I found most powerful, in the end, was the quiet insistence that nothing essential about the human person has changed. Even in an age of artificial intelligence, the deepest truths remain: that we are created, that we are loved, and that our dignity is not contingent on anything we produce or achieve.

Magnifica Humanitas does not offer easy answers. It does not pretend that the challenges of AI can be resolved through simple guidelines or regulations. But it does something perhaps more important. It calls us back to first principles. It reminds us that the future is not determined by technology alone, but by the values and convictions we bring to it.

And in doing so, it leaves me with a question that lingers long after the reading ends: not what artificial intelligence will become, but what we, as human beings, will choose to become alongside it.

For those who want to read it firsthand, the full text of the encyclical is available here:

👉 Magnifica Humanitas on the Vatican Website

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Kumusta or Kamusta?

It began with a speech that unexpectedly drew attention to a familiar part of everyday Filipino conversation: the simple act of asking, “How are you?” In a session discussing an incident in their office, a lady legislator had a complete meltdown because, according to her, some of her colleagues did not reach out to ask how she was doing. "Wala man lang nangamusta sa amin," she said. Nangumusta is a verb form of "kumusta," or "how are you." That brief comment, almost incidental to the larger issue, quickly spread online, and from there, the conversation took an interesting turn.

People began focusing not just on the act of checking in, but on the word itself. Should it be kumusta or kamusta?

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At first, it felt like one of those light, almost trivial debates you’d see online. But the more people joined in, the more it became clear that this wasn’t just about spelling. It was about how Filipinos actually use language in everyday life.

Technically, kumusta is the standard form you’ll find in dictionaries and formal writing. But in everyday life, many Filipinos naturally say kamusta. It’s what shows up in conversations, chats, and casual greetings.  Rooted in the Spanish greeting “¿cómo está?” it didn’t stay exactly the same. It changed, adjusted, and eventually took on a form that felt more natural to Filipino speakers. Somewhere along the way, variations like kumusta and kamusta settled in.

Both are widely used and widely understood.  No one would stop you mid-conversation to clarify which one you meant. There’s no confusion, no misunderstanding. It’s just one of those cases where the “proper” version and the “everyday” version exist side by side.

And that’s really the point: language evolves the way people use it. One form may be more formal, the other more conversational, but neither feels out of place.   

Still, the discussion goes back to something more important than spelling. Whether you say kumusta or kamusta, the meaning is the same: it’s a simple way to check in and connect with family and friends.  Something very important to us Filipinos. 

So in the end, it’s not about choosing the “right” word. You don’t have to overthink it. You can say kumusta. You can say kamusta. Either one works, and most people won’t give it a second thought.
What matters more is to say it and mean it when you do.  Because sometimes, that small question, however you spell it, becomes an act of reaching out and, small as it may seem, keeps that human connection alive.

Happy Easter! He is Risen!

 

My Experience, My Data: Using Autoethnography for Research

So, here’s something I didn’t see coming in grad school: apparently, my own experiences could count as research. I know, it sounds a little strange. I was trained to trust data, reports, and policy frameworks, not my day‑to‑day experience with how I do research. But then I learned about autoethnography, and it completely changed how I think about public policy and how it actually works in real life.

I first heard about autoethnography from my thesis adviser during my master’s program, when we were still trying to figure out how to deal with my research topic for my thesis.  Autoethnography, introduced and promoted by scholars like Carolyn Ellis, Arthur Bochner, and Tony Adams, encourages researchers to use their own experiences as part of the analysis, as long as those experiences are connected to bigger social and institutional realities. At the time, the idea felt a little unusual, but also exciting. It made me wonder whether my own encounters with policies and institutions might actually matter as research material.

Like many researchers, I was trained to value data, reports, and evidence-based frameworks. Numbers, models, and official documents were the tools I trusted most. But when I started working on my master’s thesis, I realized that these tools don’t always provide the depth of a particular issue. Using autoethnography pushed me to pay attention to everyday moments, meetings, group discussions, and even decision-making processes that often get lost in research amd analysis but say a lot about how I incorporate knowledge into my outputs.

Indeed, autoethnography allows a researcher to not only write down their experience but also to take a step backward and look at the data before them, analyzing how their experiences relate to societal norms, values, and issues.

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As I wrote my thesis, reflection became part of my research process. I began asking simple but important questions about my own experiences with research: Why did I use this information rather than that? Why use data from other regions instead of our neighboring countries? What I initially thought were just personal reactions often turned out to reflect institutional issues, like official preferences and other constraints.

The process wasn’t always easy. Writing about my own experiences meant being honest about uncertainty and discomfort. Still, it helped me see policy from another perspective. Abstract concepts suddenly felt real, and my research felt more grounded in lived reality than mere theory.

Using autoethnography allowed me to uncover the different ways I incorporate my knowledge in my area of expertise in my research. Only through careful reflection did I realize these practices existed. This process changed how I approach my job and deepened my understanding of my field.

Looking back, the biggest lesson I took from using autoethnography is this: good public policy research isn’t only about getting the analysis right, it’s also about paying attention to how we do our research, on the things we consider when we make our recommendations. Autoethnography taught me that reflection can be a strength, not a weakness, and that sometimes the most useful insights come from the everyday moments we often overlook.

Discovering UCC Nespresso-Compatible Coffee Capsules: A Must-Try for Coffee Lovers

I usually start my work morning with the comforting hum of my Nespresso machine brewing my coffee.  I’ve been using mine for almost four years now and am honestly happy with it.  While the original Nespresso coffee capsules are generally great, I’m also always on the lookout for capsules from other coffee makers that deliver both quality and character. Recently, I stumbled upon UCC’s Nespresso-compatible capsules, and I have to say they’ve earned a spot in my coffee keeper.

A brief background on the maker.  UCC, or the Ueshima Coffee Company, is a Japanese brand with a long-standing reputation for coffee craftsmanship. When I learned they had capsules compatible with Nespresso Original Line machines, I was curious.  Coffee at local UCC Cafes is far better than that in popular stores. I wanted to try the ones in the capsules to see whether they were just as good.  Spoiler alert, they were, and in some ways, they exceeded my expectations.

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So far, I go for two variants: Espresso Forte No. 09 and Lungo Forte No. 06.

When I need a strong start to my day, I reach out for Espresso Forte No. 09.  It offers a medium-to-full-bodied cup with warm, toasty notes. It is bold without being harsh, and the aroma is inviting, and some people in the office couldn’t help but notice.  It’s perfect for a quick shot or a creamy latte. I usually add oat milk to make a latte because of my lactose intolerance.  If you love a balanced espresso that doesn’t overpower, this one’s for you.  

When I prefer a longer cup, I make coffee with Lungo Forte No. 06. It’s gentler and aromatic, with cereal-like undertones, and a lighter body than the Espresso Forte, and hits the sweet spot.  Brewed as a lungo, it’s ideal for sipping while reading emails or enjoying a quiet moment. It feels like a warm hug in a cup.  Lungo literally means “long” in Italian.  It is made by using more water and a longer extraction time than a standard espresso shot. 

Both variants come in aluminum capsules, which means freshness and consistent extraction every time. They fit perfectly in Nespresso Original machines, so there are no awkward jams or weak crema. 

At around ₱420 for a pack of 10, these UCC offerings feel premium without breaking the bank. You can find them in UCC online platforms and local supermarkets. That’s a big win for us local coffee lovers.

If you’re looking for a high-quality alternative to original Nespresso capsules, UCC delivers. If you like your espresso bold, Espresso Forte No. 09 is perfect for you, but if you prefer a gentler, longer cup, then go for Lungo Forte No. 06. Both variants bring convenience and quality to your daily coffee ritual.

Personally, I love that UCC combines Japanese quality with flavors that feel comforting and familiar. It’s a small upgrade that makes my mornings feel a little more special.

Disclaimer  

This blog is an independent review and is not affiliated with, sponsored by, or endorsed by Nespresso or UCC. All opinions expressed are based on personal experience and research for informational purposes only.