Artificial Intelligence & Morality: How to Approach the Use of AI in Artistic Creation
6 March 2026
Introduction
With generative artificial intelligence (AI) on the rise, the creative arts are increasingly facing the challenges that accompany this modern technological convenience. Today, writers of all kinds (screenwriters, poets, authors, editors, songwriters, etc.) are facing the ethical dilemma of whether or not it is morally acceptable to use AI in the arts. Applying Aristotle’s moral theory of virtue ethics alongside my own personal moral code, I will discuss two ways a writer can approach the torrent of AI: (1) writers and artists alike can abandon AI completely and rely solely on themselves for creation, or (2) AI can be used as a tool rather than stripping a writer of their creative autonomy. Aristotle’s virtue ethics declares that the development of moral character through our choices matters more than outcomes—a rigid contrast from other ethical theories like utilitarianism, Kantian ethics, and natural law theory. While my personal moral code initially leads me to avoid AI altogether, virtue ethics suggests that limited and disciplined use of AI may be morally acceptable so long as the writer maintains creative integrity and control over their work. Reflecting on the dichotomy between these two perspectives, I have come to appreciate Aristotle’s ethical theory more than my own moral code when approaching this modern dilemma.
Personal Code
Everyone has their own way of answering moral questions and making ethical choices. My approach functions as a personal moral code guided by several key principles: integrity—acting and communicating honestly; autonomy—respecting individuals’ rights to dictate their own lives and bodies; non-maleficence—actively avoiding actions that cause harm; compassion—recognizing suffering and taking steps to alleviate it; and environmental justice—the belief that all people have the right to protection from environmental harm and that nature itself deserves respect. When faced with a moral decision, I ask myself whether my choice has the potential to harm anyone—or anything—including myself. If the answer is no, I move forward; if harm is possible, I make a conscious effort to avoid that choice whenever feasible. I manifest this moral framework in my daily actions by recycling and being mindful of my environmental impact, striving for honesty in my writing and communication, and respecting others’ bodily autonomy while remaining attentive to potential health risks. Additionally, compassion guides my awareness of social inequalities and motivates me to approach marginalized or minority groups with empathy and care. This system allows me to make consistent moral decisions while remaining mindful of both individual dignity and broader social consequences.
Like all moral codes, mine has been shaped by an amalgamation of external and internal influences. Leaving the church and abandoning Catholic values was a pivotal moment in forming my personal ethics. I rejected the idea that God must be placed above all else, the insistence that one must seek forgiveness for sins to be morally worthy, and the restrictive, docile roles assigned to women. Yet, the fear of God—the idea that failing to live a “good” life would condemn one to Hell—remains buried beneath my skin, a lingering influence of my upbringing. Departing from these doctrines nudged me toward a moral code centered on compassion, autonomy, and integrity rather than fear or obedience. Other external influences have shaped my perspective as well. Reading widely and witnessing a multitude of human experiences have fostered empathy and understanding. Growing up in a conservative household, I watched family members fall prey to right-wing propaganda filled with bigotry, disregard for minorities, and environmental neglect. In response, I consciously embraced a path of unity, kindness, and concern for the planet. More recently, James Gunn’s Superman inspired me to act out of love and hope for humanity. Though I had not been a fan of DC, the film sparked a desire to contribute positively to the world, no matter how small the action.
Internal factors have also reinforced and deepened my moral code. Writing and self-publishing a high-fantasy novel last spring—which explores war, the resilience of women, fate and free will—allowed my creative impulse to shape my values. My awe of nature has strengthened my commitment to environmental justice, reminding me that humans are mere tenants of the Earth, yet often harm it. I also have a deep-seated fear of uniformity; the diversity of cultures and experiences is what makes life rich, and learning about others fosters empathy, understanding, and connection. These internal traits—creativity, empathy, patience, and a desire for thoughtful action—intertwine with my external experiences to create a moral code I actively strive to live by.
Applied Ethical Issue
Writers, of all kinds, in this modern era of technology often run into the ethical dilemma of using artificial intelligence (AI). Before moving further, I think it best if I define what exactly generative AI is and how it differs from assistive AI. After being given a specific prompt, generative AI (OpenAI, Gemini, etc.) will refer to data centers to compile an appropriate response. Generative AI has also been criticized for its environmental impact, as large data centers require significant energy and water resources to operate. Assistive AI is significantly different—think about Siri, Grammarly, spell-check, etc. The point of assistive artificial intelligence is to help with minute things like grammar, spelling, directions, or even setting reminders. AI comes up not just in creative writing, but academic and professional writing as well. The career I am pursuing is hard enough to get into on its own and with this torrent of generative AI, it becomes much more difficult. I’m striving for an authorial life, writing and editing my own creative works. I self-published a high-fantasy novel last year, but in order for me to get into the traditional publishing industry, I have to query literary agents and that in itself is laborious and sometimes mentally taxing. Most literary agents require submissions to clarify whether or not any of the manuscript was written using generative AI. A full-manuscript request might solely depend on the answer to that seemingly simple question. Because generative AI cannot create anything of its own and references other sources to respond to a given prompt, using it for creative purposes tends to be viewed as plagiaristic.
Ways to resolve the usage of AI in the creative world stem from two options: artists can abandon AI completely or they can use it scarcely and strategically. In our contemporary culture, abandoning AI as a whole can be a bit difficult especially when thinking about how helpful spelling and grammar check can be when a writer has a manuscript of over five hundred pages. However, authors like Victoria Aveyard—who wrote the Red Queen series—have successfully disregarded AI and continue to edit her manuscripts by hand. Across her social media platforms, Aveyard has been candidly vocal about her contempt for AI and displays ways that she and other writers can rely on the mind alone to create, edit, and frame/re-frame works in progress. This is the most traditional way of writing and it requires a lot of self-discipline—something that is increasingly challenged by modern technological convenience. Despite this seeming like an arduous task, it becomes a tremendous accomplishment in the end and is worth a plethora of boasting rights.
Another way to resolve the dilemma of AI is to use it sparingly and strategically. There are right and wrong ways to use AI; using it to complete academic assignments—wrong; using it for feedback and revision suggestions—right. People like to make the claim that AI is a new subject when it’s actually been around for a while, it’s only more accessible now. Because of this finger-tip reach of accessibility, it’s important that artists (if they choose to use AI), do so as little as possible and only for critical feedback. As a writer myself, I find that it can actually be a useful tool for reactions and suggestions to an excerpt of my work. However, this also presents another dilemma: some might ask a generative AI service to revise their work for them which can be viewed as highly unethical and indolent. It’s also important that, when using AI in a strategic manner, one does not allow the service to make editorial decisions for them. Sometimes, if I receive a revision suggestion that I don’t like, I ignore it because it’s my piece of art, my creation, and I have my own stylistic choices that an AI service won’t always be able to capture. This resolution takes a lot, if not an equal amount, of self-discipline compared to the avoidance of AI altogether. One has to remember that a written piece of art relies on its creator for fluidity, style, and grammatical coherence. However which way an artist decides to use AI, or not at all, this is a dilemma that presents itself across all aspects of creative industries.
Ethical Theory
Aristotle founded a moral theory called virtue ethics. In stark contrast to utilitarianism, Kantian ethics, and natural law theory, virtue ethics is character-based—whereas those theories are primarily concerned with consequences, outcomes, duty, and universal obligation. To achieve righteousness, one must practice good decision-making not for the sake of a particular outcome, but for the cultivation of one’s own character. A person’s character traits ultimately determine whether they are morally good or bad. Some critics claim that virtue ethics provides little to no guidance at all. This is partially true, since virtue ethics is personally driven—one’s choices determine one’s virtue. Oftentimes, moral dilemmas are new and complex situations. Aristotle does not prioritize outcomes in the same way utilitarianism does, but instead emphasizes the moral character behind the action. He encourages us to recognize that humanity constantly encounters new predicaments, which require thoughtful and context-sensitive responses rather than rigid formulas.
According to virtue ethics, what makes something morally right is grounded in character rather than in following a strictly rigid set of rules. This contrasts with utilitarianism, Kantian ethics, and natural law theory, which attempt to provide universal principles meant to apply across situations. The issue Aristotle highlights is that moral dilemmas are contextual; we cannot produce a definitive list of laws to govern every case, especially given that humanity is ever-evolving—and so are its challenges. In virtue ethics, something is morally wrong if it stems from a vice, whether of deficiency or excess, that prevents the achievement of eudaimonia, or human flourishing. Aristotle’s Golden Mean illustrates this idea. It presents vices of deficiency and vices of excess, and when these extremes are properly balanced, they reveal a virtue. For example, cowardice is a deficiency and rashness is an excess; courage lies between them. However, Aristotle does not insist that we always act from a strict middle ground. Rather, we must act appropriately between excess and deficiency depending on the circumstances. Some situations may require exceptional patience or significant courage.
Consider the criticism that virtue ethics provides unclear guidance. A supporter of virtue ethics might concede that it does not offer an austere rulebook, but argue that this is a strength rather than a weakness. Virtue ethics centers on the development of moral character, which provides guidance by asking what a virtuous person—someone honest, courageous, compassionate, and just—would do in a given situation. Instead of following rigid rules, individuals rely on cultivated moral judgment, or practical wisdom, to determine the most appropriate action. The Golden Mean also offers guidance by helping people identify when their behavior falls into harmful extremes of deficiency or excess. By recognizing these extremes, a person can deliberately aim for the virtuous balance that promotes eudaimonia, or human flourishing. In this way, virtue ethics does not leave individuals without direction; rather, it guides them through moral reasoning grounded in character and context. While theories like utilitarianism and Kantian ethics rely on universal formulas, virtue ethics argues that real moral situations are often too complex for rigid rules alone. Because of this complexity, virtue ethics maintains that developing virtuous character and practical wisdom ultimately provides more reliable guidance than strictly following predetermined rules.
Conclusion
Reverting back to the issue of generative AI in creative writing, I will now apply my personal moral code to determine what I should do in the face of the foreboding convenience of modern technology. My personal moral code is guided by several principles: integrity, autonomy, non-maleficence, compassion, and environmental justice. Since my future career is in the creative arts, using AI presents itself as a plausible dilemma that I will likely encounter. The two options I hitherto presented were to avoid AI altogether or to use it sparingly and strategically. In order to determine which option is morally preferable, I must revisit my moral code. A key factor such as environmental justice—which is the belief that all people have the right to protection from environmental harm and that nature itself deserves respect—would push me toward avoiding AI entirely, since large AI data centers require significant energy and water resources. Non-maleficence—the principle of actively avoiding actions that cause harm—would also encourage me to refrain from using platforms such as Gemini or OpenAI when possible. Because artificial intelligence consumes substantial environmental resources, my moral code suggests that avoiding AI in creative writing aligns best with my commitment to minimizing harm. Integrity is another important principle, as using generative AI in creative work would feel dishonest to both myself and the art I create.
From the perspective of virtue ethics, the dilemma of using AI in writing should be resolved by appealing to virtuous character and practical wisdom rather than strict rules. A virtuous writer would strive to act with honesty, discipline, and creative integrity when deciding whether to use AI. This means avoiding dishonest uses of generative AI, such as allowing it to produce creative work that is then passed off as one’s own. This concern is especially important considering that generative AI cannot create independently but instead generates responses by referencing large data sets derived from existing works of art and writing. However, virtue ethics would not entirely condemn the use of AI. Through practical wisdom, a writer could recognize that limited and strategic uses of AI—such as grammar assistance, feedback or revision suggestions, or help with sentence structure—do not undermine authorship as long as the writer maintains creative control over the work. This approach reflects Aristotle’s Golden Mean by avoiding two extremes: complete dependence on AI and complete rejection of assistive tools. The virtuous balance allows the writer to remain the true creator while still using technology responsibly.
My personal moral code and Aristotle’s virtue ethics ultimately reach different conclusions about how to approach the dilemma of AI in creative writing. My moral code suggests that I ought to avoid using AI completely, largely because of concerns about environmental harm and the importance of integrity in artistic creation. Virtue ethics, however, would allow the use of AI as long as it does not undermine the writer’s character or creative autonomy. In this sense, my moral code appears to align more closely with utilitarian thinking, since it places strong emphasis on minimizing harm and reducing negative consequences. For a long time, ever since learning about it, I have been extremely critical of utilitarianism—I even wrote my senior paper criticizing the idea that minimizing harm should be the primary way of determining moral action. Realizing that parts of my own moral code reflect this kind of outcome-focused thinking comes as something of a wake-up call. Virtue ethics prioritizes the development of character over the outcomes of particular actions, whereas my personal moral code suggests that outcomes still matter greatly when making moral decisions. While humanity often focuses on producing specific results, Aristotle’s theory reminds us that who we become through our choices may ultimately matter more than the mere potentiality of consequences.