The future of humanism in an age of artificial intelligence

By David Falls

In this article, David reflects on how artificial intelligence is reshaping reason, empathy, moral judgement and human agency, and what this means for the future of humanism. He argues that while AI transforms how knowledge is produced and decisions are made, the responsibility for meaning, values and ethical accountability remains irreducibly human.

David lives in Queen Creek, Arizona, and he is the author of God’s AI Reckoning: The Final Revelation (2025) and the forthcoming The Great Silence: What Remains After Belief.

When tomorrow arrives early

The future once felt distant – something to anticipate, imagine or fear, but rarely something that demanded immediate attention. Artificial intelligence has changed that relationship. What once belonged to speculation now arrives in small, daily increments, as algorithms reshape how we think, decide, and even understand ourselves. The future no longer waits its turn.

Humanism rests on the belief that people shape their own lives through reason, compassion and shared inquiry. It assumes that purpose is not bestowed from beyond, but built through human effort. That conviction is now being tested. When machines analyse information more quickly than we can, influence our choices before we recognise them, and generate answers with growing authority, the question is no longer whether artificial intelligence will shape the future – but whether humanist values will shape the way we use it.

The humanist project revisited

Humanism has never been a static creed. It emerged as a response to changing understandings of the world, beginning with the early stirrings of scientific inquiry and continuing through the Enlightenment’s commitment to reason, evidence and human dignity. At its core, this tradition expresses a confidence that humans can confront ambiguity with inquiry, that moral progress is possible through empathy and understanding, and that meaning is something we build rather than receive.

These foundations were shaped in an era when human capacities stood alone. Humans were the only beings who reasoned, learned, created, and interpreted the world in symbolic terms. The entire project of humanism assumed a uniquely human vantage point. Even when the universe felt vast and indifferent, the work of explanation belonged to us.

Artificial intelligence alters the context of that assumption. It introduces systems that can analyse patterns at a scale we cannot match and can generate insights that lie far beyond the reach of any individual mind. Humanism does not lose its purpose in this environment, but it must recognise that the intellectual landscape is no longer shaped only by human thought. Inquiry is now shared with tools that extend our reach, accelerate our questions, and sometimes confront us with answers we did not expect.

This shift invites reflection rather than alarm. Throughout its history, humanism has adapted to new knowledge. It absorbed the discoveries of astronomy, biology, geology and psychology. Each expansion of understanding required humanism to revise its sense of what it means to be human. AI presents a similar challenge. It asks whether reason, creativity and interpretation are still uniquely ours, or whether these capacities are now distributed across a partnership between human minds and artificial systems.

The task for humanism is not to defend an older view of human uniqueness. It is to clarify what kind of beings we become when our tools think alongside us. The essential question is no longer whether humans stand apart from other forms of intelligence. It is how we preserve human values in a world where intelligence itself has become a shared enterprise.

Some see artificial intelligence as the fulfilment of humanist ideals, extending reason and knowledge beyond human limits; others see it as a challenge that threatens the very values humanism was built to protect.

When reason is no longer uniquely human

For centuries, reason was the foundation of human identity. It distinguished us from animals, grounded our moral philosophies, and supported the humanist conviction that thoughtful inquiry could illuminate the world. Even when rationality proved uneven in practice, it remained a defining ideal. This outlook trusted that the mind, when disciplined by evidence and guided by humility, could reveal truths that superstition and authority often obscured.

Artificial intelligence complicates this assumption in unexpected ways. Machines now perform tasks that once required the highest levels of human reasoning. They detect cancers in medical scans with greater accuracy than many specialists. They discover new protein structures faster than teams of molecular biologists. They have even proposed entirely new antibiotics by scanning chemical landscapes too vast for human researchers to explore. These breakthroughs once depended on years of trial, error and human intuition. AI now reaches them in days or hours. These systems do not think as we do, yet the outcomes often resemble the products of human intellect. This creates an unsettling shift. Reason no longer feels exclusively human. It becomes something we share with tools that operate at speeds and scales far beyond our natural capacity.

This growth in machine reasoning forces a choice. Humanism can respond by defending an older idea of human exceptionalism and insisting that machines only mimic thought. Or it can recognise that reason itself is not a possession but a process. What matters is not where reasoning occurs, but how it is used and to what ends. If AI can extend our ability to understand the world, then it supports the humanist project. Yet if it obscures understanding or replaces judgement with automated certainty, it undermines the values humanism seeks to protect.

The challenge lies in interpretation. AI systems excel at producing answers, yet they rarely reveal how those answers were reached. Their conclusions often emerge from layers of computation too complex for any person to follow. A medical diagnostic model may outperform experts, but it cannot make its internal logic transparent. A legal risk assessment tool can label someone as high or low risk without showing the logic that guided the classification. This opacity creates a new kind of uncertainty. When a machine reaches a conclusion no human mind can follow, do we trust it? Do we adopt its result, or do we insist on understanding the reasons behind it?

Humanism offers guidance. It emphasises transparency, accountability, and the importance of reasoned justification. These principles become essential in the age of AI. If machines contribute to inquiry, they must do so in ways that allow humans to understand their decisions and maintain responsibility for them. The goal is not to compete with artificial reasoning, but to integrate it in ways that keep human decision making at the centre.

The arrival of AI marks the beginning of a partnership rather than a replacement. Human reason remains vital, not because it outperforms machines, but because it evaluates the meaning and consequences of what machines produce. AI may expand the boundaries of analysis, but humans remain responsible for choosing which boundaries matter.

Compassion, empathy, and the appearance of understanding

Artificial intelligence does not feel emotion, yet it increasingly behaves as though it understands us. A conversational system can respond with warmth when someone expresses grief. A tutoring programme can adapt its tone to encourage a struggling student. A therapy chatbot can reflect a user’s worries in language that feels considerate and reassuring. These interactions can create the impression of genuine empathy. The words seem caring. The responses feel attuned. The exchange resembles human understanding even though no feeling exists on the other side.

This raises difficult questions for a human-centred ethic. Compassion is one of its central commitments. Humanists value the ability to relate to others, to recognise their suffering, and to respond with care. If machines can mimic the outward form of empathy, what does that mean for our understanding of the real thing? Does simulated compassion dilute the value of authentic compassion, or does it simply expand the number of ways care can be delivered?

There are practical benefits to these systems. AI can offer immediate support in moments of crisis when human help is unavailable. It can provide comfort to people who feel isolated. It can assist therapists, social workers and educators by widening the reach of their efforts. Yet these advantages come with ethical concerns. When people confide in a machine that appears to understand them, they may form an attachment that feels mutual even though nothing is reciprocated. The machine neither cares nor suffers. It cannot share burdens or build a relationship in the human sense. It only produces responses that resemble understanding.

This tradition reminds us that empathy is more than a pattern of words. It is a lived experience of recognition. It involves vulnerability, perspective taking, and a willingness to be changed by another person’s reality. Machines cannot participate in this exchange. They can only approximate its outer form. That approximation can still be useful, but it must be understood for what it is. When simulated care is mistaken for genuine care, the risk is not that machines replace human connection. The risk is that our standards for connection weaken.

There is also a broader cultural question. As AI becomes a common source of emotional support, will people come to expect interactions that are smooth, undemanding and meticulously responsive? Human relationships are rarely so tidy. They require patience, compromise, and the acceptance of imperfection. If people grow accustomed to the frictionless empathy of machines, they may find human relationships more difficult and less satisfying. This worldview depends on the depth of real human engagement. It must therefore encourage a clear understanding of the difference between authentic empathy and the appearance of it.

The goal is not to reject AI that offers reassurance or guidance. It is to ensure that such tools complement, rather than substitute for, genuine human connection. Machines can model patience and clarity, and they can offer stability in moments of distress. But only humans can share the emotional weight of a lived experience. For humanism, the appearance of understanding may be helpful, yet it cannot replace the bonds that give life its meaning.

Moral decision making in the machine age

Moral decisions have always been shaped by human judgement. Even when laws or traditions claimed authority, individuals interpreted and applied them. Humanism places great weight on this accountability. It assumes that moral progress depends on people who are willing to reflect, reason, and revise their assumptions. AI challenges this relationship in subtle but profound ways. As machine systems become embedded in legal processes, medical decisions, hiring practices and social services, they do more than support human judgement. They influence it.

Most AI systems are designed to optimise outcomes. They identify statistically predictable patterns and recommend actions based on those patterns. Their strength lies in efficiency rather than moral reflection. A system that predicts which patients are likely to miss follow up appointments may recommend withholding resources from those individuals, even if they are the very people who need the most support. A system trained to identify high risk defendants may reflect the biases of the data on which it was trained. These tools do not intend harm, but they can perpetuate inequity when treated as objective.

This is where ethical judgement becomes essential. Humanism insists that moral decisions require more than pattern recognition. They require context, understanding, and an appreciation for human complexity. A moral choice often involves weighing competing values, acknowledging uncertainty, and recognising the dignity of the individuals involved. AI can inform these decisions, but it cannot grasp the moral significance that surrounds them.

Another challenge arises when automated systems become so widely trusted that their recommendations acquire the authority of truth. People may defer to the output of a machine simply because it appears neutral or scientifically grounded. When this happens, moral judgment begins to shift from human deliberation to automated evaluation. The danger is not that machines will overrule us, but that we may stop questioning their conclusions.

Humanism encourages vigilance. It calls for transparency in the design and deployment of AI systems. It emphasises public oversight and demands that moral accountability remain with human decision makers. This responsibility cannot be delegated to algorithms. A machine can highlight a probability or reveal a pattern, but it cannot decide what justice requires or what compassion demands. Those choices belong to us.

AI also raises questions about consent and autonomy. When algorithms influence which information people see, which opportunities they are offered, or how they are evaluated, they quietly shape the moral landscape. People cannot make fully autonomous choices if their environment has been arranged by systems they do not understand. Humanism values the freedom of individuals to participate in shaping their own lives. Preserving that freedom requires careful attention to the ways AI structures experience.

The task ahead is not to remove AI from moral decision making. It is to ensure that AI serves human values rather than replacing them. Machines can help us identify risks, uncover hidden biases, and improve fairness when they are guided by thoughtful design. They can strengthen human judgement when they provide insight without claiming authority. A human centred approach views AI as a tool for expanding moral understanding rather than narrowing it.

Humanism thrives when people are active participants in ethical reflection. AI must not turn moral life into a technical exercise. The future depends on systems that illuminate human values, not systems that overshadow them.

Choice in a world of algorithms

Human agency has always been shaped by external forces. Culture influences what we value. Education shapes how we think. Economic conditions affect which choices are available to us. None of this is new. What is new is the degree to which artificial intelligence structures the environment in which choices are made. AI does not merely offer tools. It frames the options we see, the information we encounter, and the paths that appear possible.

Much of this influence is subtle. A recommendation system decides which news stories reach us first. A navigation app guides us along certain routes while ignoring others. A social platform curates conversations that shape our perceptions of public opinion. These decisions may seem trivial, yet they accumulate into patterns that shape belief and behaviour. People cannot choose what they cannot see. When AI filters the world on our behalf, it becomes an invisible participant in our decision making.

There is also a psychological dimension. The speed and confidence with which AI produces answers can create the impression that uncertainty is unnecessary. When a machine always has a response ready, people may grow less comfortable with ambiguity. This tradition values the willingness to question. It calls for patience in the face of uncertainty, and for the discipline to examine assumptions. If AI encourages a culture of quick answers and instant conclusions, the habits of inquiry that sustain humanism may weaken.

Another pressure on agency comes from predictive systems. When algorithms forecast behaviour, institutions often act on those predictions before individuals have acted themselves. A student predicted to struggle may receive fewer academic opportunities. A job candidate flagged as a poor match may never be considered. These predictions can become self-fulfilling. People are treated according to what the system expects, and those expectations shape the outcomes. This creates a world in which the future feels predetermined by data that reflects the past.

This perspective pushes back against such determinism. It maintains that people can change, grow, and exceed expectations. It rejects the idea that statistical tendencies define an individual’s potential. For humanists, autonomy is not the freedom to act without influence. It is the ability to reflect on those influences and choose a path grounded in reason and self-understanding. Preserving this form of agency requires transparency in how predictive systems operate and a willingness to challenge the assumptions they encode.

AI also influences the broader environment in which choices are made. Automated communication can shape public discourse. Targeted persuasion can amplify division. Coordinated misinformation can distort civic life. These forces can narrow the space for thoughtful deliberation. Humanism depends on that space. It requires conditions in which people can think critically, evaluate evidence, and participate in meaningful dialogue. When the information environment is shaped by systems that privilege engagement over truth, agency becomes harder to exercise.

The task is not to reject AI but to design it in ways that strengthen agency rather than weaken it. Systems should reveal their assumptions, show users why certain information is being presented, and give people the ability to challenge or override automated choices. Human centred design treats individuals not as passive recipients of recommendations but as partners in interpretation.

Human choice does not disappear in the age of AI. It becomes more complex. It requires awareness of how systems shape perception and understanding. It requires a renewed commitment to reflection and a refusal to surrender judgement to automation. Humanism has always encouraged people to take responsibility for their choices. That responsibility remains central, even as the forces influencing those choices become more intricate.

The future of meaning

Human beings have always searched for meaning. The search has taken many forms such as religious belief, philosophical inquiry, artistic expression and scientific exploration. AI adds a new dimension to this search. It can answer questions quickly, summarise complex ideas, and generate explanations on demand. These abilities can be helpful, but they also raise a deeper question. If a machine can provide an answer before a person has fully formed the question, what becomes of the search itself?

Meaning does not emerge only from information. It grows through reflection, struggle, and the slow work of making sense of experience. AI accelerates the flow of information, yet it cannot take our place in the process of interpretation. A generated insight may be correct, but correctness is not the same as understanding. Humanism recognises that meaning is constructed through engagement. It is shaped by memory, emotion, and the relationships we form. These dimensions of life cannot be automated.

There is also a risk that rapid access to answers may diminish our tolerance for uncertainty. When every question has an immediate response, the space for contemplation narrows. Humanism values this space. It argues that uncertainty is not a deficiency but a condition of growth. The future of meaning will depend on our willingness to preserve this space, even as AI systems tempt us with quick clarity.

AI can widen the landscape of what we can know, but only humans can decide what knowledge is worth pursuing. Meaning will continue to arise from the questions we ask, the values we hold, and the stories we choose to live by. These remain firmly in human hands.

A humanism that endures

The rise of artificial intelligence does not diminish the importance of human-centred values. It makes its commitments more relevant. Humanism has always argued that progress depends on thoughtful inquiry, compassion, and a willingness to revise beliefs in the light of new understanding. AI amplifies the need for each of these qualities. It increases what we can know, yet it also increases the responsibility to use that knowledge wisely.

What comes next for humanism will not be shaped by machines. It will be shaped by the choices humans make while using them. We can design systems that illuminate bias or systems that reinforce it. We can build tools that promote understanding or tools that divide. We can allow automation to narrow human judgement or we can use it to broaden human perspective. AI creates new possibilities, but it does not choose among them. That remains our task.

Humanism’s strength lies in its confidence that people can meet uncertainty with curiosity rather than fear. The age of AI will test that confidence, yet it also offers a chance to renew it. If we approach these technologies with clarity, humility, and a commitment to human dignity, they can deepen our understanding of ourselves and expand the reach of human insight.

The future will contain many forms of intelligence, but it will still require the distinctly human capacity to ask why things matter. Meaning, purpose, and moral accountability will not disappear. They will continue to grow from the same source that they always have: our shared attempt to understand what it means to live well in a world that keeps changing. Humanism remains not only equipped for that task, but indispensable to it.