A recent conversation with a friend who works in information technology turned my thoughts to the astonishing rapid rise of artificial intelligence. Today, almost anyone can open an application, type a simple prompt, and watch a machine compose a piece of music in seconds. It offers instant gratification for a fraction of the cost—something that used to require years of study, discipline, and emotional struggle.
From a practical perspective, it seems miraculous. But as a lawyer and a teacher, it forces me to stop and ask: What happens to the human soul when we outsource our creativity?
The Myth of Machine Creativity
In my Intellectual Property Law classes, we often discuss the legalities of ownership—whether an algorithm or a prompt-writer can truly hold copyright over a generated work. But the real question goes far deeper than legal doctrine.
An AI model operates on algorithms and massive datasets. It can mimic patterns, produce technical perfection, and generate striking outputs. Yet, it works without a heart. It has no personal story, no heartbreak, no moments of silent contemplation, and no lived experience.
I often remind my students that human creation is a reflection of what St. John Paul II described as man’s "original solitude". We are unique among all creatures because we possess conscious reflection and free will. When a musician writes a song or an artist paints a canvas, they are pouring their soul into their work. Every note or brushstroke carries the weight of their humanity.
St. Josemaría Escrivá famously reminded us of the spiritual grandeur embedded in human effort:
"Understand this well: there is something holy, something divine, hidden in the most ordinary situations, and it is up to each one of you to discover it."(Conversations, 114)
When we sit down to craft something—whether it is a piece of legal writing, a painting, a symphony, or a daily task at our desk—we participate in God’s ongoing creation. We sanctify our work not merely through the efficiency of the end product, but through the love, intention, and prayerful effort we put into the process itself. An algorithm can generate an output, but it can never offer up an act of love.
Protecting the Human Spirit
Recent legal and moral discussions mirror these same concerns. During a Forum on Law and Technology organized by the UP Women Lawyers' Circle, Senior Associate Justice Marvic Leonen remarked that AI should assist human judgment, never replace it. Similarly, in his encyclical Magnifica Humanitas, Pope Leo XIV warned against the dangerous temptation to surrender our judgment and creative spark to machines. Overreliance on artificial intelligence, the Pope cautioned, risks an "anthropological regression"—deskilling human labor and turning human beings into mere managers of technology.
As Professor Daniel J. Gervais notes in The Human Cause, machine-generated outputs carry immense economic advantages—they are cheaper and faster. But if we allow market forces to value convenience over the human spirit, we risk marginalizing the very thing that makes us who we are.
Technology should always serve humanity; it must never become a substitute for the human person.
Sanctifying Creation in a Digital Age
Intellectual property laws exist primarily to nurture and protect the human person's creative spirit. But beyond the realm of courts and legislation, each of us faces a personal choice in how we live and work alongside technology.
My daily struggle is to find God in the middle of the world—in my legal practice, my teaching, and my family life. The rise of AI reminds me that our work derives its true worth not from speed or automation, but from the love of God and service to the common good that we weave into it.
We must welcome technological tools where they truly help us, but we must safeguard our capacity to dream, reflect, and create. The true measure of a masterpiece will never be found in an algorithm's speed, but in the human heart that poured its devotion into the work.
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About the Author
Alex Ferdinand S. Fider is a senior partner at ACCRALAW. He teaches Intellectual Property Law at the University of the Philippines and De la Salle University. He writes about intellectual property, law, and culture.