Now that we have considered the three foundational truths offered by Pope Leo XIV in Magnifica Humanitas, we can begin exploring his five principles of Catholic social teaching: 1) the common good; 2) the universal destination of goods; 3) subsidiarity; 4) solidarity; and 5) integral human development.
“The common good” is a principle going back at least as far as Aristotle (384-322 B.C.). Throughout the centuries, professors, popes, and politicians have debated vigorously over what it means – or they used to. When is the last time you heard “the common good” discussed in a major Presidential debate? According to AI, the last time that happened was 2004, and it was only a fleeting reference.
Pope Leo repeats the definition of the common good offered by the bishops of the world when they gathered over sixty years ago during the Second Vatican Council: the sum total of social conditions which allow people, either as groups or as individuals, to reach their fulfillment more fully and more easily (n. 60).
We are not speaking here of a mathematical sum. As Leo describes it, “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.” The common good is always a “more” that transcends the various individuals and interests. When human beings learn to live in healthy interdependence, new possibilities of flourishing emerge, in a way that benefits each and all of the participants.
Leo was a longtime monk in the Augustinian order. He understands how a community with a shared vision can experience far more abundance than isolated individuals. I got a taste of this myself five years ago, during my three months of sabbatical at a Benedictine monastery. In their case, the shared vision comes from Saint Benedict’s Rule for Monks, one of the most-read leadership books of all time.
If you’ve ever read the Rule, you can see that Saint Benedict (480-547) is both idealistic and practical. He offers adaptability and accommodation to the struggles of some, while drawing from the strengths of all. I was amazed at what a community of twenty monks was able to attain, far beyond what twenty isolated individuals could. I think, by contrast, of what daily life is like for a single parent, or even for a diocesan priest living in relative isolation. For those who stay in isolation, life easily sinks into sheer survival, and any imagination of abundance steadily withers.
The monastery was no Eden. If you know me, you know that I am not naïve about human weaknesses. I noticed plenty of quirks and faults. The monks were a typical cross-section of the human community: saints and sinners, laborers and freeloaders, listeners and chatterboxes, and everything in between. Flaws and lurking conflicts notwithstanding, it was easy to detect a genuine concern for other brothers and a strongly felt sense of abiding together for the sake of a “more.” It stirred desire in my heart.
The cynic might suggest that this is all well and good for an autonomous community of monks, but impossible in a pluralistic society. How can people with diametrically opposed values possibly share a vision for human flourishing?
Pope Leo insists, “we must not lose hope” (n. 64). So do I.
First of all, if you know Catholic communities, you know that there is rarely ideological alignment! The monastery was no different. You could find a full spectrum of political, ecclesiological, and liturgical views. Very often, they agreed to disagree, while choosing to share a larger vision together.
More foundationally, even the most polarized human beings have far more in common than what we allow to divide us. To overcome the contempt and polarization, Pope Leo calls for a “culture of encounter,” in which we learn how to dialogue with those who are different than we are.
My hero in this regard is Saint Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274). He was always eager to learn from people who saw the world differently than he did: his fellow university scholars, the ancient Greeks, and his Jewish and Muslim contemporaries. His tendency was to agree with the majority of what each scholar said, and then draw one or two brilliant distinctions. What especially stands out is how well he represents other people’s views. I have never seen a passage in which he sets up a straw man argument against those he disagrees with. I have never seen him resorting to sarcasm, contempt, or name-calling to make his point. He listens attentively, eager to glean all that that is good and true and beautiful. He discerns and makes distinctions, with full respect for the dignity of each human person.
One of my favorite things to do is to meet human beings who are radically different than I am, to hear their story, and to learn why they are so passionate about something. When they realize that I genuinely want to understand, and have zero interest in condemning them, most of them open up with curiosity and interest. Often enough, they shed tears, accustomed to being pre-judged. Every human has a deep desire to be heard and understood. There is no reason why I cannot seek first to understand someone before I begin to disagree. Moreover, my disagreement will be unfounded if I have not really taken the time to listen.
Here we can already see one common point of a shared vision: the golden rule, as applied to listening and dialogue. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Do I desire others to listen to what I have to say, and to understand what I have to say? Then, surely, I can be willing to do the same for others.
I would also suggest the golden rule in place of the weaponizing of shame and contempt that leads to what some call “cancel culture.” If someone else’s views or lifestyle elicits a strong reaction in me, the easy temptation is to think or speak with contempt, to call names, or to exclude them from a place at the table. This is not a “liberal” or “conservative” thing. I notice people of all ideologies engaging in this kind of weaponized contempt. I notice myself doing it occasionally. Couldn’t people of differing views agree not to demonize the other? Human beings are not the real enemy.
Committing to listen and understand, committing to allow each other to have differing opinions, not to expect everyone else to be like me—these are all early steps in what Leo calls a “culture of encounter” that allows for healthy dialogue. He is hopeful that encounter and dialogue open up new possibilities for diverse human beings to embrace a shared vision together.
Without encounter, without dialogue, without putting in the effort to seek the common good, human existence degenerates into a power struggle, fueled by fear, suspicion, and contempt. Whoever successfully seizes power gets to oppress and “cancel” those who don’t. They get to gloat in their “winning.” But they will never experience rest or peace because they are always under the threat of being overthrown and canceled by “those people,” who will now feel justified in seeking vengeance. And the cycle goes on and on.
“My brothers and sisters, these things ought not be so” (James 3:10). Humans were gifted with a capacity for communication and speech so that we could lift one another up and experience “more” together—not so that we could tear one another down.
We cannot expect AI to contribute to the common good. Each of those models is trained to adapt itself to what each user wants. Each model operates by aggregating data and using mathematical probability to apply that data to the “dialogue” it simulates with the user. Developers can attempt to keep their models fenced in with rules. Rules are not the same thing as the human perception that something is truly good or truly evil. The common good is not an aggregate of rules. It is a “more” that is achieved when diverse human beings commit together to a shared vision of flourishing in which all can benefit. Each and all of us have a choice to make about whether we will commit ourselves to the common good.