Guest post by Mick Kiely, CEO of IAIAI Technologies
Today, lessons from history remain profoundly relevant as we continue to debate the ethical use of intellectual property in AI training. The “Case of the Cathach” reminds us that the balance between protecting artists’ rights and fostering innovation is not a modern issue, but a recurring one throughout history.
Copyright Dispute in 6th Century Led to Battle of the Book
The Cathach, one of Ireland’s oldest surviving manuscripts, stands as a testament to the country’s rich literary heritage. This Latin text contains the earliest known Irish copy of the Gallicanum Psalter, accompanied by unique rubrics that are the first of their kind in Western Europe.
Despite its damaged state, the Cathach holds immense historical significance and is closely linked to St. Columba, whose influence extends beyond Ireland to Scotland and Continental Europe, contributing to Ireland’s reputation as the “Land of Saints and Scholars.”
Bizarrely, this 6th-century sacred manuscript became the catalyst for one of history’s earliest and bloodiest disputes over intellectual property. This conflict, often referred to as the Case of the Cathach of St. Columba, involved two prominent figures of early Irish Christianity: St. Columba (Colum Cille) and St. Finnian of Moville.
The dispute escalated into a war that claimed thousands of lives.
This historic event of AD 561, known as “The Battle of the Book”, tells how a quarrel over a manuscript in a remote Irish monastery laid the groundwork for concepts that continue to shape our understanding of intellectual property rights today.
The Sacred Manuscript and a Secret Copy
Saint Finnian, revered for his wisdom and devotion, was the keeper of a treasured psalter, a sacred text painstakingly inscribed by hand. To Finnian, this manuscript was more than just a book; it was a spiritual artifact, a repository of divine knowledge, and an extension of his own stewardship over sacred writings.
Saint Columba, equally passionate about spreading divine teachings, had been a student of Finnian. The Psalter of his former mentor held particular significance for Columba. His desire to possess and copy this sacred text became a deep obsession. This desire intensified when Columba traveled to Moville, where Finnian lived, to request permission to copy the Psalter. To his astonishment, Finnian flatly refused, despite Columba’s persistence. Feeling wronged, Columba defied Finnian’s refusal and secretly set about copying the Psalter.
Under the cover of night, Columba worked tirelessly in the church where the manuscript was kept, painstakingly copying the sacred text. However, his efforts did not go unnoticed. A young man, witnessing the act, reported Columba to Finnian, claiming that a miraculous light had shone upon the manuscript as Columba copied it.
Finnian was outraged and demanded that the copy be turned over to him, arguing that the copy was an extension of the original and thus his rightful property. Columba, on the other hand, argued that sacred texts belonged to everyone and should be freely shared for the greater good.
King Diarmait’s Judgment
Unable to resolve their dispute, the two saints turned to “King Diarmait Mac Cerbhaill”, the High King of Ireland, for arbitration. The court convened to hear impassioned arguments from both sides. The case presented a dilemma: should knowledge be treated as sacred property belonging to its creator, or as a communal resource for the benefit of all?
Finnian continued to argue for the sanctity of the original text, asserting that the copy infringed on his rights as its custodian. Columba again countered, insisting that sacred knowledge should be free to spread, unburdened by claims of ownership. After careful deliberation, King Diarmait delivered his verdict in a poetic phrase that would resonate through history “To every cow belongs its calf; to every book belongs its copy.”
This judgment affirmed Finnian’s claim, stating that the rights to a copy were inherently tied to the owner of the original text. The decision, however, deeply angered Columba, who viewed it as a betrayal of his mission to spread divine teachings. For Columba, the verdict was devastating. Feeling wronged and determined to uphold his belief that knowledge should be freely shared, he rallied his kinsmen, the powerful “Uí Néill clan”, to challenge the king’s authority. What began as a legal dispute over a manuscript soon escalated into open conflict, culminating in the “Battle of Cúl Dreimhne”.
The clash was devastating. More than 3,000 lost their lives, marking the conflict as one of the bloodiest battles in early Irish history.
The aftermath weighed heavily on Columba. Overcome with guilt for the bloodshed, he chose self-imposed exile, leaving Ireland for the remote Scottish island of “Iona”, where he founded a monastery. Ironically, the very act that had caused his downfall, the copying of sacred texts, became central to his mission. From Iona, Columba and his followers transcribed and preserved countless manuscripts, spreading Christian teachings throughout Europe.
Meanwhile, Saint Finnian’s belief in the sanctity of intellectual ownership laid the groundwork for debates about intellectual property that persist to this day.
Lessons from the Past
The Cathach manuscript, still preserved as one of Ireland’s national treasures, stands as a testament to the age-old debate between intellectual property rights and the public’s right to fair use. This conflict, which began with the 6th-century dispute between Columba and Finnian over the unauthorized copying of a Psalter, has shaped not only legal thought but also the evolution of copyright law throughout history.
Today, this debate remains ever-relevant in the digital age. Modern issues, such as illegal downloading and the use of copyrighted materials in training artificial intelligence, echo the tensions of the Cathach dispute. Just as Columba justified his actions as serving a greater societal good, contemporary arguments about universal access to information and art continue to challenge the concept of intellectual property.
The rise of AI introduces new complexities into this ongoing debate. AI systems depend on vast datasets, often containing copyrighted works, raising fundamental questions about ownership, authorship, and the definition of fair use. As in Columba’s case, when AI generates content based on copyrighted materials, the issue of whether such use is legitimate or infringes on artists’ rights is central. While AI developers argue that using copyrighted data is fair use, artists and rights holders see it as a violation of their intellectual property, similar to Columba’s secret copying of Finnian’s Psalter.
Just as King Diarmait’s 6th-century ruling upheld Finnian’s rights, modern courts face the challenge of balancing fair use with the protection of intellectual property, particularly in the age of AI. The Cathach dispute serves as a reminder that the fundamental principles of intellectual property, ensuring fairness, protecting artists’ rights, and considering the good for humankind, have remained constant.
As the world struggles with the ethical and legal implications of AI, the lessons from this ancient dispute continue to offer valuable insight in addressing the complexities of artistic expression, technology, and law. The quest for fairness, whether in medieval Ireland or the age of artificial intelligence, remains as crucial as ever.
