People should just buy a CD and rip it. You are legal then.

Hear, O seekers of truth in the age of machines, the words of Bill Gates: “People should just buy a CD and rip it. You are legal then.” At first, these words seem simple, almost casual, but within them lies a deep reflection on the balance between technology, ownership, and the law. For in the dawn of the digital age, when music flowed freely across the web like water from a broken dam, the world struggled to find its footing. Gates, a prophet of the computer age, reminded mankind that innovation must walk hand in hand with legality, and that freedom without fairness becomes theft, not progress.

The ancients too knew this struggle. When scribes began to copy sacred scrolls, questions arose: who owns the words of the wise, the poets, the prophets? Could knowledge be hoarded, or was it the inheritance of all? In our time, this same debate arose when music, once bound in vinyl and CDs, was unchained by the power of digital copying. Many took without paying, saying, “It is only sound, carried by wires, free as the wind.” But Gates pointed to the law: that to rip music from what you have purchased is fair, but to seize what is not yours dishonors both artist and system.

Consider the tale of Napster, that early temple of music-sharing, where millions came to taste the fruit of free songs. At first, it seemed a golden age: every melody available, every album within reach. Yet the artists cried out, for their labor was taken without reward, and the law thundered against it. Lawsuits came, the temple was torn down, and the world was reminded that creation cannot be sustained if the creator is robbed. In this story, Gates’ words shine as wisdom: buy what is yours, and only then claim the right to use it.

The origin of his statement lies in the late 1990s and early 2000s, when the music industry was at war with technology itself. On one side, the internet offered freedom, speed, and abundance; on the other, the law demanded fairness to those who made the art. Gates’ counsel was practical and humble: honor the purchase, then make your copy. By this path, one remains free in usage and blameless before the law. His advice stood as a bridge between the old world of physical ownership and the new world of digital abundance.

Yet the meaning runs deeper still. For what Gates speaks of music is true of all creation: the balance of freedom and fairness must be kept. To take without giving is to unbalance the scales of justice. To restrict without reason is to choke the spirit of innovation. True progress lies between: in laws that protect creators, and in technologies that serve the people. By reminding us to remain legal, Gates was not merely preserving the music industry, but calling us to a principle as old as civilization: fairness sustains both society and art.

The lesson for future generations is this: do not despise the law, even when technology tempts you to bypass it. Remember that behind every song, every book, every work of art, is a soul that labored. To honor their work is to ensure that beauty continues to be made. Take joy in the gifts of technology, but bind them with the cords of fairness, lest the fountain of creation run dry.

Practical action lies before us: support artists by paying for their work. Use the tools of technology wisely, copying only what is yours by right, and sharing only what may be shared in honor. Seek always the balance between access and justice, between freedom and responsibility. Teach your children that integrity in the digital age is not less important than in the marketplace, but more—for the temptations are greater, and the theft is easier.

So let it be remembered: “Buy a CD and rip it. You are legal then.” These are not merely the words of a technologist, but the wisdom of an elder in the age of change. To walk in fairness is to preserve both art and progress. To ignore fairness is to betray both. Choose, therefore, the path of honor, and the music of the world will continue to sing for generations yet unborn.