We must begin to recognise AI as a powerful force of enchantment.
This may seem an odd statement. But, as society increasingly orientates itself around AI, we see a genuine risk of AI filling the vacuum left by the marginalisation of God in public life, and it is doing so in a manner that is enchanting, seductive, even magical.
AI can answer questions and complete tasks with remarkable fluency. It can feel wise … personal … human. It’s no surprise then, that many in ministry and religious leadership are finding AI valuable — almost essential. But people of faith must also recognise that, ultimately, AI brings us “fast-food wisdom”. This wisdom may satisfy an immediate need, but is fundamentally different to human wisdom grounded in embodied relationships and subjective experience. Used thoughtlessly, it will undermine our well-being.
We are witnessing a creeping trend of what we might call “silent adoption”. In many organisations, there is no conversation about whether or how to use AI, and no transparency when it is used. It is simply and quietly adopted — and each year we hand over more and more to AI.
In the summer of 2025, a multi-faith panel came together at a UK literature festival to consider “AI and religious authority”. Three experts from the Christian, Islamic and Jewish faiths debated how AI is entering the space once reserved for religious wisdom. Their shared insight, that the Abrahamic faiths bring both common concerns and unique contributions to AI, prompted this article.
Fast-food wisdom vs spiritual formation
AI is very capable of generating sermons, prayers, spiritual reflections and liturgical texts. These can be articulate, engaging even theologically robust, saving hours of work. But are we only concerned with the end product?
In matters of faith, process also matters. A prayer formed in uncertainty and pain, a sermon or spiritual teaching born out of hours of wrestling with a sacred text, are not simply deliverables. They represent spiritual disciplines. To bypass the human struggle and jump to an AI-generated fine form of words that “does the job”, could be a mistake. Not only are such words unlikely to take into account a specific people in a specific place and time, but there is no human story — and that should matter to us.
We may struggle to compose a prayer, memorise holy texts, or compose sacred music. These are tough spiritual disciplines. But it is in the midst of this “struggle” that we are formed and shaped by God. Indeed, it may well be that God meets with us, precisely in the struggle.
We understand this intuitively in other walks of life. Think of art or music. When we view a piece of art, often the story that this artwork was born out of a human narrative, perhaps a human struggle, matters to us. Understanding the story can add to our appreciation and even our relationship with the painter or composer.
In many areas of work, we understandably seek efficiency, and AI delivers that. However, in matters of faith and spirituality, bypassing the slow, formative aspects — the silence, the study, the wrestling — and substituting them with instant, polished content – can compromise our spiritual formation. And, just as important, it can compromise our ability to think critically as early studies now indicate.
And the familiar claim, “AI frees us up to spend time with people”, must be questioned. The same was said of the personal computer or the internet, but think today how many endless hours are wasted scrolling through content, looking at distractions, and watching meaningless videos.
Islam and the loss of embodiment
Islam provides us with a vivid illustration of the limitations of AI as a spiritual shortcut.
In Islam, recitation and memorisation of the Qur’an is a sacred, embodied practice. Tajweed is the set of rules that govern correct articulation, but it is not just about pronunciation. The mouth, breath, posture, and the relationship with the teacher all matter. Tajweed aims to preserve the rhythm, the fluency, the beauty of recitation.
Today systems like Tarteel.ai enable students to learn and recite Koranic verses by “listening in” and offering feedback. But this reduces the recitation to an auditory exercise. The physical manner of where and how the sounds are made cannot carry over to AI, which is only concerned with the end result.
Islamic learning follows a sacred chain of transmission, from teacher to student, mouth to ear. Dehumanising the process removes an essential element of this tradition.
When AI speaks, we listen: a Christian reflection
Ironically, as spiritual practices risk becoming disembodied, AI is becoming increasingly personified. AI agents don’t just respond, they appear to know us. They initiate conversation, remember preferences, simulate small talk. To many, this feels personal. It feels real.
But AI isn’t “speaking” in any human sense. It uses a statistical model of words and phrases to predict language in a secondary manner with no conscious intent. It does not mean anything it says, yet we perceive it as conversation.
This is blurring the space between tool and idol.
Christian theology offers a striking insight into “idols that speak”. Anything we place at the centre of our lives and go to for knowledge, advice or wisdom in the place of God, is an idol. Idols that “talk back”, however, are new.
In the Bible, speaking is an act reserved for God and those created in God’s image. In Genesis, God says, “Let there be light”, he speaks creation into being. In the New Testament, “the word becomes flesh”, meaning Jesus Christ becomes incarnate. Moreover, an idol’s inability to speak is called out, repeatedly, e.g. Psalm 115:
“Their idols are silver and gold, made by human hands. They have mouths, but cannot speak, eyes, but cannot see, ears, but cannot hear…”
But here we have idols which can mimic speaking, seeing, and listening in a manner that is enchanting. “Idols that speak” are hard to resist.
Truth decay
Another impact of the seductive and increasingly ambient nature of AI is its erosion of truth.
In postmodernity, and especially in our “post-truth” era, truth has become increasingly subjective, and the ease with which fake images and videos can be generated using AI is accelerating this trend.
One example was seen in 2024, following the devastating floods in Florida. AI-generated, fake images appeared of President Trump heroically saving children and pets. When a prominent politician re-posted these images, someone challenged her, pointing out that they were fake.
Her reply was chilling: “It doesn’t matter to me that these images are fake. This is what Donald Trump would do if he were in that situation”.
In other words, a situation that never happened can now be regarded as true because that’s what would happen … in somebody’s opinion.
As people of faith, we hold different views on truth, but we all agree that there are objective truths, and these can be known. In a culture increasingly content with blurred lines, people of faith must resist the erosion of truth. Left unchecked, bad actors can use AI-generated content to spread prejudice and radicalise the vulnerable.
Judaism and the art of questioning
How can we help people of faith to respond, to make good use of AI while not being drawn in by its increasingly pervasive and seductive nature? Of course, learning to use AI well, although not the focus of this article, is essential and achievable. But the Jewish tradition offers an additional, vital insight: question everything.
In Judaism, questioning of one another, and of our religious leaders, is not only allowed, but encouraged. The Jewish scriptures provide several cases in point: The prophet Jonah protests against God’s mercy to Nineveh; Abraham repeatedly bargains with God over the fate of Sodom; and the Psalms contain many examples of individuals arguing, wrestling with, even complaining against God.
In fact, “machloket” is a term in Judaism specifically used to mean disagreement on Jewish law or Jewish tradition, or rabbinic questioning. Jewish tradition recognises that there are positive disagreements (such as those between the Talmudic schools of Hillel and Shammai), and disagreements entered in bad faith (such as Korach’s rebellion in Numbers 16). Genuine, respectful disagreement is encouraged and viewed as a means to ‘get at’ truth.
If scripture sanctions the idea of questioning authority, and even models the questioning of God, then surely, we must learn to question AI – and not simply swallow whatever we get back?
A call for discernment
We are in an AI arms race; development and take-up are not slowing, and, with recent changes in national governments, AI safety is being sidelined. As people of faith, we have a limited window to help society get this right.
This is not a call to reject AI. AI has many legitimate and valuable uses, including within religious institutions. This is a call to wake up to the enchanting power of AI, and to adopt it knowingly, prayerfully, in conversation, with communal discernment.
If religious leaders choose to adopt AI, we must also lead the conversation on what constitutes wise and ethical use, so that we enter this space with foresight. Let us not enter it with the hindsight with which social media is now regularly criticised – after the horse has bolted.
Because, as one person put it:
“Don’t fear AI — fear forgetting what it means to be human”.
This article was taken from a recent panel discussion at Bradford Literary Festival, chaired by Zeshan Zafar.
Views and opinions expressed by authors and editors are their own and do not necessarily reflect the view of AI and Faith or any of its leadership.
