Programmers, computer scientists and software, mechanical, data and prompt engineers — these are some of the professions behind the creation of artificial intelligence. Should theologians and faith leaders also be involved?

Meghan Sullivan, a Roman Catholic who teaches philosophy at the University of Notre Dame, says yes. That’s why she was glad to attend a meeting in March at the invitation of Anthropic, the creator of Claude AI, about the role religion can play in the creation of this life-changing technology.

Sullivan, who also directs the university’s Institute for Ethics and the Common Good, was there with 15 other Christian philosophers, theologians and leaders to discuss the implications of AI for society today — and how it can be taught to behave ethically and morally using religion as a guide.

I spoke with Sullivan this week about that meeting. “I’m very grateful for Anthropic’s leadership in this area with faith communities,” she said, noting that most AI companies are not doing that. “It should have happened sooner, but better late than never.”

There is a great scene in a recent episode of the HBO Max comedy Hacks, in which comedian Deborah Vance (Jean Smart), takes a meeting with a Tech Bro who wants her to train an LLM (large language model) in her style of comedy so that people can write funnier bridesmaid speeches, essentially. Her collaborator/head writer Ava Daniels (Hannah Einbinder) has reservations.

“AI is here and it’s here to stay, so you either get on board or you get left in the past,” the Tech Bro tells her.

“See, that is a big part of why I hate it, this forced inevitability,” Ava responds. “People like you are always saying, ‘It’s happening whether you like it or not,’ but you’re the ones making it happen.”

Ding, ding, ding. “Forced inevitability” is exactly it, and it’s the thing I hate about it, too.

You’re tired in a way coffee doesn’t fix anymore. Your energy isn’t what it once was. Your clothes don’t fit right. You weren’t always like this — you used to chase your kids around the yard without thinking about it. You used to put on a swimsuit without a care in the world. You used to eat a burger and drink a beer on a Friday and wake up Saturday feeling fine.

What gives? Nothing seems to work anymore. It’s not for lack of trying. You did keto for six weeks until you cracked at a birthday party. You tried intermittent fasting until your 2 p.m. headache became a personality trait every co-worker saw coming. You bought a Peloton that became a sweater dryer. You did those circuit workouts at the place down the street until your back tweaked. You consulted the clinic that promised a peptide and supplement cocktail would fix it all. Spoiler: It didn’t. The pantry has a graveyard of half-empty protein tubs. The drawer has six supplement bottles you weren’t consistently taking. The closet has a pair of jeans you keep “just in case.”

Here’s the part nobody wants to say out loud: The reason none of it stuck isn’t because you lack discipline or your metabolism is broken. It’s because none of those plans were built for a person living your current reality.

Keto works for some people for a while. Fasting works for some people for a while. The reason they didn’t work for you is you have client dinners. You have your kid’s birthday cake. You have the lake in July and the kitchen at midnight after a long Tuesday.

Amal Elsana Alhjooj is not a person to sit idly by when she encounters a challenge, conflict or situation that needs correcting. Over the years, that attitude and activism have led her to establish several innovative social justice and civil society initiatives that, among other achievements, have enhanced the livelihood and independence of Bedouin women in Israel, where Alhjooj was raised, and the relationship between Jews and Arabs both in Israel, Palestine and in Canada, where Alhjooj now lives.

Alhjooj’s most recent venture is a series of workshops called Solidarity Dialogues.

Solidarity Dialogues is an offshoot of PLEDJ, a social change non-profit that Alhjooj, who is Muslim, co-established in 2021 with Brian Bronfman, the Jewish president of the Peace Network for Social Harmony, to empower and organize marginalized communities to address systematic injustices that impede their lives.

Solidarity Dialogues is more narrow in scope, as it is designed specifically to address the deep seated polarization currently permeating Canadian workplaces, schools and society in general. Solidarity Dialogues’ series of workshops provide participants with the tools to navigate that polarization and the heated, intolerant and uncomfortable exchanges that tend to characterize that polarization. By differentiating between dialogue and debate, and hurt and harm, the workshops provide participants with safe spaces in which to step out of their comfort zones, listen empathetically and openly to others’ lived experiences, and develop mutual understanding and an ability to respond to conflict.

North Americans still can’t find out who was in the Epstein files. But those of German descent who live in Canada and the U.S. can now easily learn if their ancestors were Nazis.

In March, the U.S. National Archives released a searchable database containing the records of millions of Germans who joined the National Socialist German Workers’ Party, or Nazi Party, from 1929-43.

Through the records, which were seized by the Americans following the second World War, those who want to know can find out if grandpa or grandma was a Nazi.

Prior to the online release of the records, getting that information was a laborious process that involved making a written request to the Berlin Document Centre in Germany or the German federal archives. It could take months to get a response.

In 2018, the Winnipeg Free Press announced it wanted to do a better job of engaging the various communities in Winnipeg. Did that include the faith community? I decided to find out.

I went to see editor Paul Samyn and then-publisher Bob Cox. As the faith page columnist at the Free Press since 2003, I knew that people in the faith community were disappointed by religion coverage in the newspaper. If there was news about religion, it was usually something bad — a priest involved in scandal or someone blowing things up in the name of God in a far-away country.

The daily life of people of faith, including the many positive contributions they made in Winnipeg and around the world, was mostly absent from the newspaper.

I told Paul and Bob if they wanted to do a better job of serving all the communities in the city, one place to start would be by creating a faith beat. They agreed. But, they said, the newspaper had no money for that. “What if I go out and raise it?” I asked. If I could do that, the Free Press would create the beat, they said.