We, however, will not boast beyond proper limits, but will confine our boasting to the sphere of service God himself has assigned to us, a sphere that also includes you. — 2 Corinthians 10:13, NIV

I’m not anti-AI. But I am suspicious. As a pastor, it is my job to think about the spiritual implications of things like this. Undoubtedly, AI is being used to solve problems in redemptive ways that are leading to deeper human flourishing. And, almost certainly, AI will increasingly require the sacrifice of human flourishing in other domains.

In my opinion, AI is perhaps the most comprehensive human experiment in transcending natural limits since our ancient forebearers laid the first stones in the foundation of the Tower of Babylon. Yet I do not advise us to forsake AI altogether. That would be nearly impossible at this point. I am instead asking us to think wisely about the costs—especially the potential costs on the human soul.

Limitless?

Limitless is the title of two major Hollywood productions of the last fifteen years, both featuring A-list movie stars. In the 2011 film, Bradley Cooper stars as a struggling writer who uses an experimental drug to unlock the full potential of his brain’s functions. The movie follows his rise to opulent wealth and “limitless” power. The film casts a vision of increasing power with very few permanent costs.

The second Limitless title is a National Geographic docuseries that follows Chris Hemsworth’s journey to unlock longevity, physical and mental health, and personal optimization. Each episode shadows Hemsworth as he works with health experts to transcend normal human limits.

The human obsession to overcome limits is nothing new. For as long as people have walked the face of the earth, we have come face-to-face with limitations, boundaries, and frustrations. Each of us have, at some point, desired to transcend these boundaries. The desire to overcome limits is not intrinsically bad. Many technological and medicinal breakthroughs are the result of humans trying to solve a problem that at first seemed unsolvable.

In the creation account of the Bible, the Lord commissions humans to “Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky and over every living creature that moves on the ground” (Genesis 1:28, NIV). Ruling would seem to imply exercising human ingenuity and creativity to solve problems and tackle obstacles—dare I say, transcend certain natural limits. Yet after sin entered the world, humans attempted to go beyond the limits God placed on them. See, for example, humanity’s attempt to build the Tower of Babylon all the way to heaven in Genesis 11.

But where is the line between good problem-solving (e.g., eradicating a disease) and attempting to build the Tower of Babylon?

That line is ever so thin. I’m not sure any of us can see the line clearly on our own. This is one of the reasons why we need mentors, counselors, pastors, ethicists, and theologians—those who help us slow down long enough to ask foundational questions of motivation. Why do I want to overcome this specific limit?

As both a father and a pastor, I think that the proliferation of AI is blurring the line between basic problem solving and Tower of Babylon–building in increasingly confusing ways. How do we know if we are attempting to transcend God’s intended limits, or exercise our God-given call to take appropriate dominion within the framework of the created, physical world?

Perhaps one of the best ways to answer this question is to reframe the conversation of limits. Limits are not a curse. They are a gift from God. Human limits existed before the Fall, meaning they are part of God’s good creation. This does not mean all limits are fundamentally good, but it does mean limits can be healthy—even necessary.

Here are three ways that I believe the Bible teaches limits to be a gift from God. This is not a comprehensive list, but this may be a good place to begin, and hopefully stir up further contemplation on the matter.

We are limited to an embodied life.

We are limited to needing our community.

We are limited by our need for rest.

The Gift of an Embodied Life

I am a TCK (Third Culture Kid) who grew up in both the United States and in the Southern Philippines while my parents served as missionaries. One of the major difficulties of being a missionary kid is that no matter where you are, you often miss the place you are not—the family and friends all the way on the other side of the world. I have yet to crack the code of physically being in two places at once. When I was in the Philippines, I would sometimes feel so homesick for my friends and family in the States that I would experience a physical, gut-wrenching ache. And when I was in the States, especially when we moved back permanently when I was 16 years old, I was often homesick for the Philippines.

By God’s good design, to be human is to be embodied, confined in time and space. While many modern technologies create a pseudo-simulation of multi-presence—Zoom calls, FaceTime conversations, or VR simulation—these are poor substitutes for the real thing. God designed us to be in one place at a time. We are not meant to be bi-locational. Our physical bodies, which image God as much as our spirits and souls, are intentionally limited to the place they are.

How might AI, or other modern technologies, tempt us to transcend the godly limits of a fully embodied life?

The Gift of Community

I have a nearly infinite list of limits. There is no end to the things I cannot do. On the other hand, I have a very finite list of abilities. There is an even smaller list of things that I am good at, and I have yet to reach perfection in a single discipline. What a gift! To be human, to bear God’s image, is to be limited in gifts and skills by His design.

My wife is competent in many things that I am not. I’m not ashamed to say I need her. This is the healthy interdependence of marriage. In Genesis, the Lord says of Adam, “It is not good for the man to be alone. I will make a helper suitable for him” (Genesis 2:18, NIV). Woven into the fabric of humanity is the Godly need for other people, the need for community. We are each interdependent on other humans not only for spiritual and relational flourishing, but for basic survival.

This is one of the spheres I desire my spiritual community to think most critically about personal usage of AI. Sure, AI may be able to quickly solve a problem or answer a question in a quick and convenient manner. But at what cost? If forced to choose between asking AI or your grandma about how to bake the best cookies, I hope you’ll at least consider a visit with grandma. It may cost more—time, effort, and hearing the same story for the hundredth time—but perhaps it is worth that expense?

How might AI tempt us to rely less on our community and thus experience deeper relational isolation?

We Are Limited by a Need for Rest

Recently, a friend of mine sent me a story about a young, enterprising investor who supposedly made a financial fortune by manipulating an AI chatbot to work 24/7 in stock market trading. AI never sleeps. It doesn’t require rest.

Doctors tell us that a healthy sleep rhythm requires us to spend about 33% of our life unconscious! Even in our waking hours, the Scriptures lay out for us a need for sabbath and rest. Can you imagine how much more we could accomplish if we didn’t need to rest or slumber? What a waste of precious time, we think to ourselves.

On the other hand, maybe this limit is one of God’s greatest gifts. Psalm 127:2 (NIV) says, “He grants sleep to those he loves.” Sleep, sabbath, and rest are gifts from a God who loves you.

How might AI tempt us to ignore the need to rest? How might it steal the joy of receiving the gift of sleep from God?

Limits are a Gift

In his recent article in Plough Quarterly, titled “The Gods of Modernity,” Galen Watts writes, “The motivation for pursuing artificial general intelligence (AGI) . . . is to transform humans into gods. What is never mentioned is that achieving this would entail ridding ourselves of everything that makes us truly human, from our frailty and dependence to our capacity to love and die.”

We are graciously limited by God’s good design. May the gifts of our limits lead us to live embodied lives, filled with community, and infused with the gift of sabbath rest.

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Author Bio

D. Jay Martin is a husband to Julie and a dad of four awesome kids. The Martins love music, sports, and great food. D. Jay serves as the Pastor of Leadership and Vision at Parker Ford Church in Pottstown, PA. He is also a songwriter and recording artist. His latest EP is titled “On My Way” and was produced by Jon Guerra.

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