Some law firms now use artificial intelligence software to scan

Hear the words of Daniel Lyons, spoken as witness to the shifting tides of human labor and invention: “Some law firms now use artificial intelligence software to scan and read mountains of legal documents, work that previously was performed by highly paid human lawyers.” These words are not mere observation, but prophecy, declaring the dawn of a new age where tasks once reserved for the learned and the powerful are entrusted to the mind of the machine. Within them lies both promise and peril, liberation and loss, as humanity stands at the threshold of transformation.

The meaning of the quote rests in the revolution of artificial intelligence. For centuries, the profession of law has been built upon human intellect, memory, and the patient sifting of texts. Armies of lawyers labored in libraries, drowning in paper, their days consumed by the endless work of reading, analyzing, and sorting through documents. But now, the machine has entered the halls of justice, scanning in moments what once consumed weeks. This is efficiency beyond imagination, yet it carries the weight of displacing those whose skills were once thought indispensable.

This moment finds its origin in the eternal story of technology’s advance. Recall the scribes of medieval Europe, who once copied manuscripts by hand, believing their vocation eternal. Then came Gutenberg’s printing press, and in a single generation, their sacred craft was diminished, their labor replaced by iron and ink. Yet from that loss came abundance—books for the masses, knowledge for all, and a flood of ideas that birthed the Renaissance. So too do we see now: the machine may displace the lawyer’s hand, but it may also democratize access to justice, lowering costs, and opening the gates of law to those once shut out.

But let us not forget the danger. For while machines may read, they do not yet understand in the way the human heart understands. A lawyer is not only a reader of documents but an interpreter of justice, a counselor of souls, a protector of the weak. If the profession forgets this sacred duty and reduces itself only to the mechanical tasks that machines now perform, it risks becoming hollow. The danger is not that machines will destroy the law, but that men will surrender too much to them, forsaking judgment for speed, wisdom for convenience.

The lesson, then, is balance. Embrace the artificial intelligence that can free us from drudgery, but do not abandon the human role that gives law its soul. The machine may find the precedent, but the human must weigh its meaning. The machine may identify the clause, but the human must hear the story behind the words. Just as the compass does not replace the sailor, nor the plow replace the farmer, so too must the lawyer remain the interpreter and guide, even as the machine bears the burden of repetition.

What must we do? Prepare for a world where AI is both partner and rival. Let students of law learn not only to memorize statutes, but to think critically, ethically, and empathetically—skills no machine can yet duplicate. Let societies demand transparency in how these tools are used, so that justice remains fair and not corrupted by hidden algorithms. And let every professional ask: what part of my labor is mechanical, and what part is uniquely human? Strengthen the latter, for that is where your worth shall endure.

Thus, remember Daniel Lyons’ words as a sign of the times: “Some law firms now use artificial intelligence to scan and read mountains of legal documents.” Do not see only the threat, nor only the promise, but both together, as the ancients saw the double edge of fire—it warms and it burns. Use it wisely, guard against folly, and pass on to your children not the fear of being replaced, but the wisdom of being irreplaceable in what makes us human.