Between the Monastery and the Machine
Adult education, using the See–Judge–Act method: Politics~Religion~ Catholic Social Teachings. Thomas Merton’s Wisdom for an Age of Emerging Technology
Between the Monastery and the Machine
Thomas Merton’s Wisdom for an Age of Emerging Technology
Adult education, using the See–Judge–Act method: Politics~Religion~ Catholic Social Teachings
An Often-Forgotten Starting Point: 1899
Before we dive into Merton, Buddhism, or AI, we need to trace the roots of the traditionalist and progressive split in American Catholicism—a rift far older and more intricate than most realize.
In 1899, Pope Leo XIII, who had written Rerum Novarum eight years earlier and started modern Catholic Social Teaching, sent an apostolic letter called Testem Benevolentiae to Cardinal James Gibbons of Baltimore. The letter addressed what the Vatican called “Americanism”: the idea that the Church should adapt its practices and spiritual focus to fit American values like democracy, religious freedom, and individual initiative. The immediate cause was actually small—a French translation of a biography of the American priest Isaac Hecker, with a preface that praised this adaptive spirit. Leo’s letter warned against putting “active” virtues above “passive” ones, downplaying spiritual direction and authority, and changing Catholic teaching just to gain modern approval. American bishops, including Cardinal Gibbons, said no one really held the views being criticized. Historians still debate whether “Americanism” was a real movement or just a so-called “phantom heresy.” Whether real or not, the letter set a pattern that American Catholicism still follows: the Church can write boldly about justice in the modern world one decade, and then warn just as strongly against letting the modern world change the Church in the next.
This moment is a true crossroads: Leo XIII set Catholic Social Teaching’s sights on workers and the poor, yet also became the first pope to push back against reshaping Church teaching for modern libertarian democracy. The traditionalist-progressive debate did not begin in the 1960s—it has echoed since Leo XIII’s era, long before Vatican II or Merton entered the scene.
A Note Before We Begin
Earlier class notes drew a line between Catholic traditionalism and Calvinism. While that’s doctrinally fair, it misses the heart of the matter. The real contrast lies between traditionalist and progressive Catholics—two distinct temperaments wrestling with the same teachings since the days of the Americanist controversy. Today, we’ll use this lens, plus two more key ideas:
A clearer picture of the traditionalist–progressive divide itself, and how each side actually relates to Catholic Social Teaching (CST).
Thomas Merton, a figure who resists being filed neatly into either camp, and whose life shows why that resistance matters.
Buddhism deeply influenced Merton, shaping not just his subjects but the very way he thought. This outlook offers fresh insight as we grapple with technologies like AI.
Technology itself is part of this story. Catholic Social Teaching is not just something from the past. In May 2026, Pope Leo XIV released his first encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas (”Magnificent Humanity”), which focused entirely on artificial intelligence and human dignity. He timed it to match the anniversary of Leo XIII’s 1891 Rerum Novarum, the same Leo XIII whose 1899 letter we discussed earlier.
Today, we will connect; we’ll weave together a century-old warning, a living Church debate, the story of a monk who walked his own path, the legacy of social teaching, and the technology that now shapes our everyday existence between Progressives: Two Catholic Temperaments “Traditionalist” and “progressive” are not official labels, but they capture real differences in how Catholics approach their faith. Most people fall somewhere in between, yet these categories shape how Catholic Social Teaching lands in parishes and in Church documents alike.
Catholic traditionalists usually focus on keeping continuity with the Church’s life before the Second Vatican Council. They prefer the older (1962) form of the liturgy, clear doctrine, strong moral positions on sexual ethics and the value of life, and a clear hierarchy. Many are cautious about changes since Vatican II (1962–1965), seeing some as weakening Catholic identity. In terms of Catholic Social Teaching, traditionalists often support subsidiarity (protecting families, local communities, and other groups from being taken over by the state) and human dignity (especially as reasons to oppose abortion and euthanasia). They tend to see CST’s stronger claims about labor, redistribution, migration, and economic reform as matters for debate, or even as modern ideas from secular politics rather than settled Church teaching.
Catholic progressives usually highlight the Church’s ability to grow and respond to new situations, seeing Vatican II as a new beginning rather than a break. They focus on solidarity (the duty of the strong to support the weak, as a matter of justice) and the common good. They see documents like Laudato Si’ and Fratelli Tutti as central to the tradition, not just optional extras. Progressives are more likely to connect Catholic Social Teaching directly to policies like a living wage, universal healthcare, welcoming migrants, and strong climate action. They often view traditionalists’ hesitation on these issues as a selective or comfortable way of reading the faith.
Each side levels a critique at the other—critiques that deserve our careful attention:
Traditionalists worry that progressive Catholicism risks collapsing the faith into secular politics — trading transcendence, sacramental life, and doctrinal clarity for a generic social-justice program that any secular NGO could sign onto.
Progressives worry that traditionalist Catholicism risks reducing the faith to personal piety and private moral rectitude — strong on liturgy and sexual ethics, quiet on structural sin, economic injustice, and the material suffering of the poor.
Both groups cite authentic Catholic sources and may selectively emphasize aspects of the tradition. Catholic Social Teaching does not align exclusively with either side; it has developed over a century through contributions from both traditionalist and progressive popes.
Thomas Merton moved within this debate but, true to form, never let himself be boxed in by either camp.
SEE: What Is Actually Happening
Catholic Social Teaching employs a three-step method, developed by Belgian priest Joseph Cardijn and widely adopted: See, Judge, Act. First, observe reality honestly. Next, evaluate it using the Gospel and reason. Finally, take action. We will use this framework tonight.
What do we observe?
The poor. Global poverty has not vanished—it has simply changed its disguise. Automation and AI are already erasing certain jobs, and those hit hardest are often the same people who were already on the margins, not the executives or engineers behind the machines.
Creation. The climate and biodiversity crises continue to unfold. Now, the data centers powering AI gulp down vast amounts of electricity and water, quietly adding a new layer to an already urgent environmental emergency.
A new kind of encounter. For the first time, ordinary people spend much of their day talking to something that sounds like a person but isn’t. Pope Leo XIV has spoken about this, warning that AI systems can imitate voices, faces, and even relationships in ways that touch “the deepest level of communication, that of human relationships.”
Concentration of power. Just a handful of companies now steer the infrastructure, data, and future of this technology. Catholic Social Teaching has always watched closely who holds power—and how they wield it.
A crowded, distracted inner life. Long before smartphones, Merton warned of the “mass mind”—a flood of manufactured opinions and noise that drowns out our ability to think for ourselves. His warning rings truer than ever today.
This is where we begin. But before we weigh what it all means, let’s meet the judge.
Who Was Thomas Merton?
Thomas Merton (1915–1968) was a Trappist monk at Kentucky’s Abbey of Gethsemani and became one of America’s most influential Catholic spiritual writers. He entered monastic life in 1941, seeking silence and escape from the world, immersing himself in strict discipline—Latin prayers, enclosure, a rhythm traditionalists would admire. Yet, to Merton’s own surprise, this very tradition drew him not away from the world’s pain, but directly into its heart of racism, nuclear war, and economic injustice from within a cloistered monastery, often through letters and manuscripts that faced restrictions from his superiors. In 1963, he wrote Letters to a White Liberal, arguing that ending racism in America required a genuine change of heart in white America, not just minor reforms. Merton does not fit neatly into either camp: his monastic life was deeply traditional, while his social and political writing addressed issues—such as racial justice, nuclear disarmament, and interreligious dialogue—that are now considered progressive.
Merton’s central insight: contemplation and social justice are not rivals, nor do they belong to separate camps. The contemplative aims to see reality as it is, unclouded by ego or culture. He spoke of the innermost self as a point “which belongs entirely to God” and is never ours to control. In an age of data profiles and engagement scores, this means our true identity cannot be bought, sold, or optimized.
Merton’s Other Teachers: Why Buddhism Shaped How He Thought
This side of Merton is often missed, but it is far more than a footnote. He did not study other religions from afar. In his final decade, he formed real friendships with Buddhist teachers, reshaping not just his ideas but his entire way of thinking.
He corresponded for years with the Japanese Zen scholar D.T. Suzuki. In 1966, the Vietnamese Zen monk Thich Nhat Hanh visited Merton at Gethsemani; Merton later called him “my brother,” describing them both as monks and poets living out the same vocation in different traditions. In 1968, on a long journey through Asia, Merton spent three full days in conversation with the Dalai Lama, who later remarked that in Merton he had met a Christian monk who could speak with Buddhists as something like a fellow contemplative teacher. Merton died in Bangkok later that same trip, at a conference on dialogue between Christian and Buddhist monastics — the subject occupied him literally to his last day.
What did Merton actually gain from these encounters—and why does it matter for our conversation about CST and AI? Seeing without grasping. Buddhist practice, particularly Zen, trains individuals to observe thoughts, cravings, or fears as they arise, without being controlled by them. Merton found this approach complemented and deepened the Christian contemplative tradition he practiced. He emphasized that this was not about merging religions, but about maintaining a “scrupulous respect” for the differences between Buddhist and Christian teachings, while recognizing that both traditions can teach each other to view reality honestly.
A wariness of the marketable, constructed self. Buddhist teaching warns against clinging to a fixed identity, echoing Merton’s Christian idea of the “false self”—the mask shaped by ambition, image, and outside approval, not the “true self” rooted in God. Both traditions caution us not to mistake this mask for our real nature. This lesson is especially urgent tonight. Merton’s Buddhist practice sharpened his discipline: slow down, watch your thoughts before acting, question their urgency, and only then judge. This rhythm—observe, discern, act—mirrors the See-Judge-Act method in Catholic Social Teaching, and it is the very discipline often missing when we interact with fast-moving technologies like AI, which are built to erase the pause between impulse and action.
JUDGE: What Catholic Social Teaching Actually Says
CST is not one document but a developing tradition, running from Leo XIII’s Rerum Novarum (1891) through John XXIII’s Pacem in Terris, Paul VI’s Populorum Progressio, John Paul II’s Laborem Exercens and Centesimus Annus, Francis’s Laudato Si’ and Fratelli Tutti, and now Leo XIV’s Magnifica Humanitas (2026). Four convictions run through all of it:
Human dignity. Every person is made in the image of God and has worth that cannot be earned, revoked, or measured by productivity — including by an algorithm’s measure of “engagement” or “value.”
Solidarity with people experiencing poverty. Not charity as an optional extra, but an obligation: the strong owe something to the weak as a matter of justice, not generosity. CST calls this the “preferential option for the poor” — when a policy, a technology, or an economic choice is evaluated, its first test is its effect on those with the least power to protect themselves.
Creation care. Especially since Laudato Si’, CST treats ecological degradation and poverty as a single connected crisis, not two separate issues. Francis called this an “integral ecology” — you cannot heal the earth while ignoring people experiencing poverty who suffer first and worst from its degradation, and vice versa.
Rights and responsibilities. CST insists that rights (to work, to a fair wage, to participate in society, to truthful information) always come paired with responsibilities (to the common good, to truth, to one another). A right without a corresponding responsibility, in this tradition, is an incomplete idea of the human person.
How each temperament receives these four convictions
As noted in Section 1, traditionalists typically emphasize dignity and subsidiarity, while progressives focus on solidarity and the common good. Neither approach is incorrect, but both are incomplete. Catholic Social Teaching, in its entirety, does not allow selective application. For example, a traditionalist who defends the unborn but overlooks unfair wages is not applying dignity consistently. Similarly, a progressive who supports structural justice but neglects liturgy, prayer, and personal transformation misses the foundation of CST: a relationship with God, not merely a set of policies.
Merton as a bridge beyond the divide
Merton stands as a bridge across this tension. He was formed by the most traditional monastic life he could find, yet from within those walls, he spoke out on race, war, and interfaith dialogue—topics that unsettled traditionalists and inspire progressives today. Merton shows that the traditionalist/progressive split is not written into the tradition itself. In his life, contemplation and conscience fueled each other.
Judging artificial intelligence by these standards
Pope Leo XIV’s Magnifica Humanitas applies this whole framework directly to AI. The main point, in the pope’s own words, is that artificial intelligences “do not possess a body, do not feel joy or pain,” and do not truly understand love, work, or responsibility. The real danger, he says, is not the technology itself but the vision behind it—whether it is created to serve everyone or just to concentrate wealth and power in a few companies. He calls for AI to be, in his words, “disarmed” of its ability to increase inequality and to imitate human relationships in ways that harm real ones.
Applying the four convictions directly:
Dignity — an AI system that manipulates, deceives, or replaces human judgment without consent fails the dignity test, regardless of how useful it is.
Solidarity — if AI increases productivity for shareholders while displacing workers with no transition support, that is a solidarity failure, not merely an unfortunate side effect.
Creation — the energy and water costs of AI infrastructure are not a footnote; CST would insist they be weighed against the good the technology actually delivers.
Rights and responsibilities — the right to work and to true information carries a responsibility on developers and users alike: to build honestly, disclose clearly, and use the tools without abdicating one’s own thinking.
AI is one of the rare modern issues where traditionalist and progressive Catholics might actually stand shoulder to shoulder. Traditionalists’ worries about family, human bonds, and the dignity of work echo progressives’ calls for economic justice and checks on corporate power—all reflected in the same encyclical.
ACT: What This Asks of Us
Catholic Social Teaching insists that reflection must become action; otherwise, “See” and “Judge” are just words on a page. Here are some practical steps, inspired by Merton, his Buddhist friends, and Magnifica Humanitas:
On a personal level, try the discipline Merton learned from Zen: carve out daily moments for real silence and face-to-face connection, to balance a world ruled by screens and artificial chatter. Before letting AI finish a task for you, pause—like a contemplative before a thought—and ask if you’re giving up your own judgment or attention in ways you might regret.
Within your community, back policies and groups—like unions, retraining programs, and local organizations—that give displaced or vulnerable workers a real say in how automation unfolds, not just a payout after the fact. This is solidarity in action: changing the system, not just handing out charity.
As a citizen, ask who holds the reins of the AI systems shaping your community—whether in banks, hospitals, or schools—and if everyday people have any voice. Catholic Social Teaching’s subsidiarity principle says decisions belong as close to home as possible. When far-off companies call the shots on local jobs, that’s exactly the kind of power grab CST warns us about.
Spiritually, Merton’s answer to the noise of his age—shaped by Buddhist friends and Christian tradition—was not escape, but a return to the world with new clarity. This practice of observing without clinging, then judging, then acting, is open to both traditionalist and progressive Catholics, no matter their stance on technology.
Key Quotations for Use in Teaching
(Each may be quoted briefly and attributed; longer passages should be paraphrased rather than reproduced.)
Thomas Merton, on the inner self: it is a point of truth “which belongs entirely to God” and is never at our disposal (New Seeds of Contemplation).
Thomas Merton, on confronting racism in America: he called for “a profound change of heart” rather than mere goodwill (Seeds of Destruction, 1964).
Thomas Merton, on Thich Nhat Hanh: he called him “my brother,” noting they were “both monks” and “both poets” (1966 essay).
Pope Leo XIV, on AI and human communication: “Faces and voices are sacred” (2026 World Day of Social Communications message).
Pope Leo XIV, Magnifica Humanitas (2026): human grandeur has “a splendor... no machine can ever replace.”
Pope Leo XIII, Rerum Novarum (1891): the founding document of modern CST, written in response to industrial-age labor conditions — worth reading alongside Magnifica Humanitas as bookends of the same tradition, 135 years apart.
Questions for Group Discussion
Where do you see yourself between the traditionalist and progressive instincts described in Section 1 — and has that changed over your life?
Merton was formed by a highly traditional monastic life yet reached socially progressive conclusions. Does his example challenge the idea that these are opposite ends of a single spectrum?
Merton insisted his dialogue with Buddhism was not about blending traditions, but about learning a way of seeing more clearly while remaining fully Catholic. Where do you see value in learning from another tradition’s spiritual discipline without adopting its beliefs?
Pope Leo XIV says the challenge of AI is “not technological, but anthropological” — about who we are, not just what the machine does. Do you agree that the deeper question is about us rather than the technology?
Which of the four CST principles — dignity, solidarity, creation, rights-and-responsibilities — feels most neglected in how your own community, whatever its temperament, is currently adopting AI tools?
What would it look like, practically, for your parish, workplace, or family to “act” on this teaching this month?
For Further Reading
Thomas Merton, New Seeds of Contemplation, Seeds of Destruction, and Zen and the Birds of Appetite
Thomas Merton, The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton (published posthumously)
Pope Leo XIII, Rerum Novarum (1891)
Pope Francis, Laudato Si’ (2015) and Fratelli Tutti (2020)
Pope Leo XIV, Magnifica Humanitas (2026) — full text available at vatican.va