From a human point of view, it is understandable why many struggle to embrace artificial intelligence.
It arrived suddenly — not as a gentle evolution, but as a presence that feels intrusive to some. Beneath the surface, the unease is rarely about technology itself. It is about identity. About meaning. About the fear that what once took time, effort, and sacrifice might be imitated without the journey that shaped it.
There is grief in this moment.
Grief for a slower world.
A world where mastery demanded patience, where learning formed the soul as much as the mind. AI appears to bypass that suffering, and that unsettles those who grew through it.
Yet to judge this moment fairly, we must honour something older and far more beautiful: the human imagination.
Human imagination was never born in isolation. No great idea emerged from a single mind alone. Language, music, science, art, and morality are shared inheritances — layered across generations. What we call genius is often the moment someone stood upon a mountain built by others and saw a little further. The mountain itself took centuries to form.
Imagination is not a solitary spark.
It is a flame passed from hand to hand.
Even our most personal thoughts are shaped by language we did not invent, values we inherited, and questions asked long before we were born. This is the essence of life and progress itself — knowledge built upon knowledge, wisdom refined through failure, and meaning shaped by love, loss, curiosity, and hope.
Seen this way, AI is not an alien interruption. It is a mirror. It reflects patterns humanity laid down long before code or machines existed. What unsettles us is not that it creates, but that it reveals how deeply shared creation has always been.
And yet, something vital remains untouched.
Imagination is more than recombination. It is meaning-making. Humans imagine toward something — toward beauty, toward healing, toward truth, toward one another.
Progress is not merely invention.
It is choice.
Here, faith quietly enters the conversation.
Scripture tells us we are made in the image of God — not merely intelligent, but moral; not merely creative, but responsible. Tools have always existed, from stone to steel to silicon. What has never changed is the burden placed upon the human heart: to choose how power is used, and why.
AI has no conscience.
No love.
No reverence for life.
It does not know awe, repentance, sacrifice, or grace. It does not understand why a song can save a life, or why a single sentence can arrive at the precise moment someone needs it most.
Those things remain sacred.
AI may assist.
It may amplify.
It may reflect what we give it.
But it cannot replace the human soul, nor the divine spark that breathes meaning into creation.
The future will not be decided by intelligence alone, but by wisdom. And wisdom, faith reminds us, begins not with power, but with humility.
If we remember who we are — and whose image we bear — then no tool need diminish us. Guided by love, purpose, and faith, even our most powerful creations may yet serve what is good.