As teachers prepare for the fall semester, questions surrounding artificial intelligence in the classroom are rising again. Should AI be incorporated into assessments and assignments? How should AI use be monitored? How should we respond if a student uses AI in their paper? I've come across a wide range of opinions about AI, both positive and negative, and I've never been a fan of the technology in academia. But I wonder if there are appropriate uses for it in other fields. Still, something about the technology seemed problematic to me beyond the potential for cheating and assessment design.
Midway through my summer reading, I was prompted to think about how to read the Bible in the context of Christian tradition, and to my surprise, this clarified my previous wariness of AI. Artificial intelligence profoundly upends the way Christians have talked about formation throughout church history. In other words, AI has un-Christian assumptions and calls into question formative practices.
Lectio Divina
The book that prompted this reflection is Hans Boersma's Bible in Love: Reading the Bible in the Christian Tradition. In this book, Boersma discusses the theological foundations and formative practices of Bible reading throughout the medieval church. What Boersma calls a “sacred reading,” lectio divina, is a reading of the Bible that treats the Word of God as sacred indeed. A sacred book requires a sacred reading. The third-century theologian Origen elaborates:
“Above all, devote yourself to the reading of Scripture, but devote yourself to it, for when we read the sacred things we must be very careful not to say or think anything rash about it. And when you devote yourself to reading the sacred texts with faith and an attitude pleasing to God, knock on that closed door, and it will be opened to you. Knocking and seeking are not enough, for what is most needed is prayer in order to understand the word of God” (Origen, Letter to Gregory 4).
It should be noted here that the key to understanding the Bible is not a comprehensive grasp of the historical background or a perfect understanding of the original languages, but spiritual discipline. Of course, history and language are very important (as Origen himself said), but we must not forget that this text was written by God and therefore, to understand it correctly, it is necessary to follow God in reading; that is, it requires virtue. Moreover, we must note that this is a process of dedication, attention and prayer. You cannot unlock all the meaning of the Bible by reading one commentary; it takes time and effort.
Medieval Illustrations for Lectio Divina: Eating
In his work, Boersma includes many medieval authors, such as Hugh of St. Victor, Bonaventure, and Elred of Rievaulx, but I would like to focus on Guigo II and Anselm of Canterbury, especially in their discussion of lectio divina as the chewing and eating of food (see Boersma, Through Love, Chapter 5). Guigo II was a 12th-century Carthusian monk who discussed lectio divina as a means of ascending to God in his book The Monk's Ladder. He wrote, “Reading is, as it were, putting food whole in the mouth; meditation is chewing and breaking food; prayer brings out the flavor of food; meditation is the sweetness itself, which gives joy and exhilaration.” (Guigo II, The Monk's Ladder 3) Central to this concept of the interpretation of scripture as a meal is the process by which meditation only occurs through steps. It is a process of putting food in one's mouth (reading), chewing on its meaning (meditating), and noticing its flavor (praying).Only then can the reader experience true refreshment (meditation).
Depiction of Ezekiel 3, where Ezekiel is commanded to eat the scroll. Source: Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Codex, Latin 16744, fol. 81r.
Similarly, Anselm of Canterbury, the famous theologian and bishop, wrote the Book of Centuries and used the same words in his Meditations on Human Salvation.
“Shake off your aversion, subdue yourself, and strive with all your heart to this end. Taste the goodness of your Savior, burn with love for him, chew his words like a honeycomb, inhale their sweeter than honey, and swallow their wholesome sweetness. Chew with thought, suck with understanding, love and swallow with joy. Take joy in chewing, joy in sucking, joy in swallowing.” (Anselm, Meditations on the Salvation of Man, 230)
For the bishop, lectio divina begins with chewing (rational inquiry and thinking), progresses to inhaling (understanding, or grasping the reality of the passage), and ends with swallowing (rejoicing and being awed by the meaning). But it would be a mistake to think that this is an easy process, as if lectio divina is as easy as opening the pantry and grabbing some Oreos. Anselm sees it differently, inviting his readers to “shake off their reluctance” and engage in the difficult process of interpreting Scripture, that is, to “make an effort with their hearts.” Prayer, meditation, and reading themselves are also slow practices that require mental and physical energy. Here Boersma summarizes Anselm: “Lectio divina involves hard work: one must take the time to chew on the text itself; moreover, one should be willing to engage in this laborious activity of thinking about what the text means” (Boersma, Pierced by Love, 100). Pondering God's Word requires great effort.
Efficiency is not always on our side.
Returning to our use of AI, we should not only ask the how or what questions about its use, but also the why questions. Why are we so drawn to this technology? I think there are many reasons, but two are central: efficiency and comfort. It is much more efficient to have an AI compose an email or a paper for us than to painstakingly transcribe it word for word, or to read and research it ourselves. It is more comfortable to “outsource” all of this work, so we can focus on the “important”, our leisure time, or more urgent tasks. In other words, AI is often developed and used to help us skip the normal processes of our daily lives, the processes themselves that hold us back.
But implicit in this view is the assumption that these tasks have no educational value, as if we are not formed by the process of activity. Of course, this is not just a problem with AI. Many modern technologies have the same objective: to pursue efficiency for the sake of comfort. But if we take something like lectio divina seriously, we realize that the process itself is absolutely crucial and takes years. Is it “easier” to simply receive God's revelation without doing any spiritual work? Of course. But traditionally we have not seen biblical interpretation that way. There is no infusion that skips the chewing, sucking, and swallowing and brings us the invigoration of contemplation. It is obtained through the process of eating. As Boersma argues, “Lectio divina is a discipline of patience: it resists the temptation to jump immediately into contemplation…Lectio divina is a slow, often painful process that takes seriously the sacramental character of God's revelation” (Boersma, Pierced by Love, 16).
I am not saying that lectio divina is the same as writing an email, or that AI has no valuable uses. But in the debate over AI, we must first ask ourselves: Does the task we are trying to avoid with AI have any educational value? Should we skip this process? While it is true that not all processes lead to positive formation, Christians must (at least) acknowledge that God created us to be shaped by habits and tasks. After all, we embody and create in time. We grow, change, and hopefully thrive through a lifelong process of sanctification. When we realize how processes shape us, we might rethink how we use technology. To grow, we must engage in the patient work of daily habits that shape us into better thinkers, better people, and better followers of Christ. In the Christian tradition, we might be wary of skipping processes, as AI often tempts us to do.
