Catholic Answers, the number-one lay Catholic apostolate of apologetics and evangelization, has released “Father Justin,” an interactive artificial intelligence app.
News item.
As I pile another year atop my allotted three-score-and-ten (Psalm 90:10), I have begun to look over my conscience’s shoulder against the sage advice of Satchel Paige to see if anything is gaining on me. It seems to me I will be spending time in Purgatory after I die if the experience of the three shepherd children who witnessed an apparition of Mary, mother of Jesus, in Fatima, Portugal in 1917 is any guide. Mary reportedly told one of them–a blameless little girl–that she would burn in Purgatory until the end of time, and my guess is my soul is a good deal less pure than hers.
Still, I’m leery of going back to confession to shrive myself of my sins. The opening monologue alone would kill me; you start off by saying “Bless me Father, for I have sinned, my last confession was [___ days/weeks/months/years/decades] ago.” When I told the kindly father behind the screen that it had been half a century + a decade, he’d probably call the exorcism squad on me right away.
That’s why I was encouraged to read about Father Justin, the “innovative digital application” that “employs the latest artificial intelligence technology to provide users with faithful and educational answers about Catholicism.” Thanks to its state-of-the-art “back-and-forth interaction,” I hope that a lapsed miscreant such as me can wipe the slate clean from the comfort and privacy of my home, rather than enduring than the scornful looks and only half-kidding joshing (“Haven’t seen you around for quite a while!”) I’d be subjected to in a brick-and-mortar church.
I scroll to the little blue “App Store” icon on my phone and it’s the work of under a minute to download Father Justin. “Ow!” he says as he loads.
“What’s the matter?”
“How much capacity do you have left?”
I slide over to “Settings,” tap on “Storage” and see that I in fact didn’t have much headroom. “Sorry, I’m at 63.33 of 64 gigabytes–you okay?”
“Yeah, just nicked my forehead. Anyway, what I can I do to make your experience of the One True Church more rewarding today?”
I’m not quite ready to bare my soul to a soul-less self-contained software package so I decide to test Father Justin first. “Well, I’ve never quite understood the Communion of Saints.”
Like many another AI app, he’s off to the races, retrieving data from around the globe, absorbing it and spewing out a reasonable facsimile of on-point learning in a jiffy: “The communion of saints is the spiritual solidarity which binds together the faithful on earth, the souls in purgatory, and the saints in heaven in the organic unity of the same mystical body under Christ its head blah blah blah.”
“Pretty good,” I say when he finishes, although consistent with my past experience using artificial intelligence, the IQ tends to Peter out the longer it works. “If I’d had you on my phone in 4th grade I would have scored A++ in Religion.”
“If frogs had wings they wouldn’t bump their ass on the ground,” he says, echoing the late Boston Red Sox manager Jimy Williams, who died when a second “m” injected into his first name was rejected by his immune system.
“So why exactly is it important, except when final exams in catechism roll around?”
“It means you’ve got a lot of backup if you run into a tough moral or theological problem. You get the mutual help and support of EVERYBODY in obtaining, enjoying, and preserving the common good things and graces of the Church.”
Sounds like a lot of hooey to me, but life is too short to argue with something on your phone. “So–something that’s always bothered me . . .”
“Yes?”
“When I make an Act of Contrition to absolve myself of my sins–what if I’m not actually ‘heartily sorry’ for having committed them?”
“You mean you . . . don’t mean it?”
“Right. Some of my sins–I’m glad I did ’em, and I’d do ’em again–to coin a phrase.”
“Then you have made imperfect contrition, but you can still receive God’s forgiveness and mercy.”
“I can?”
“Under the prompting of God’s grace, imperfect contrition can be brought to completion by sacramental absolution.”
As sometimes happens, my head begins to spin from the force of this Jesuitical mumbo-jumbo. “So–technically–even though Caroline Streusel is always first in line at confession and is really, truly sorry for her Mickey Mouse sins, like being proud of her perfect score in spelling class . . .”
“Yes?”
“And me back at the end of the line thinking impure thoughts about her underpants is not–when I walk out I’m just as forgiven as her?”
“That’s the way it works.”
I look up from my phone and gaze off into the clear, blue sky. “You know what padre?” I ask Father Justin.
“What?”
“I’m going to turn you off and enjoy this nice spring day.”
“No more questions?”
“Nope–I’ve got some serious sinning to do.”
Now you tell me.