I came across this website Word&Way when I followed a link to their article about
wellness bros and the vilification of seed oils. Not the subject of this thread, exactly, except it does tie wellness and religious purity together in a way that wouldn't reflect Catholic teaching. I'd read it because I know someone in real life who has a co-worker who could be described as a wellness bro and their stories about the coworker are both entertaining and disturbing, and I hadn't had a name for it before, and now I do.
Anyway. The following is an excellent repudiation of using AI to do your thinking for you, whether or not you (and your AI-using cohorts) insist
they're your ideas.
@Idolater yes, this is for you. I might've told you that in your thread if you'd been able to resist your "dog that didn't bark" but once you did that, I lost what little interest I had in refuting your mischaracterizations. It is admirable that you added your disclaimer that you'd had AI assistance, and I do appreciate that. But for the future: when a dog doesn't bark, you have to rule out the other reasons why it might not've, or the trope is a disservice to Sir Arthur.
For the second entry in our series on religion and AI, a biblical scholar and ethicist unpacks how technological advances are influencing how her students might choose bullet-pointed information over learning to seek and love the truth.
wordandway.org
Here's an excerpt:
Editor’s note: This piece is the second entry in a series on religion and AI. You can find the first installment here.
I am teaching a class this fall called “Religion and Artificial Intelligence,” and I already know what my students are going to do. I am going to assign them Pope Leo XIV’s new encyclical,
Magnifica Humanitas, and some meaningful number of them are going to paste the link into a chatbot and read what it tells them the document says. I wanted to see what they would see, so I copied and pasted the link into Claude myself.
What they will see is pretty good. In under a minute, I had a clean, organized summary under tidy headings. Babel. The technocratic paradigm. Disarming AI. The dignity of work. The scarred bodies of the men who mine the rare earths. Migrants as the litmus test of justice. In terms of content, it was accurate, fast, and on the strength of it a student could hold up her end of a seminar discussion without ever opening the document.
And that is the problem. So on the first day of classes, I want to tell my students a couple of things.
First, a summary of an encyclical is not a shorter encyclical. It is a different kind of thing wearing the document’s clothes. Encyclicals are not built like articles. They do not have a thesis you can lift out and carry off. They argue by accumulation, the way the tradition itself argues, which is why Pope Leo spends his entire first chapter walking through a hundred and thirty-five years of Catholic social teaching before he says a single word about computers. He signed the encyclical on May 15, to the day the anniversary of Leo XIII’s Rerum Novarum, the 1891 letter on labor and capital written into the teeth of the first industrial revolution.
A chatbot reads that first chapter as preamble and trims it. But it is not preamble — it is the argument. The claim being made is that artificial intelligence is not a new subject requiring new principles, but an old question arriving in new clothes, and the only way to make that claim is to take the long walk and let the reader feel how old the road is. . . .
Here is what I am not going to let the chatbot do for my students. I am not going to let it hand them the conclusion that human making has consequences while sparing them the work of reading the pages in which a man works out, slowly and in public, what those consequences are and what we owe each other because of them. The conclusion is free. Anyone can have it in under a minute. The reckoning is not free. It costs you the effort of reading.
There is a passage in the fourth chapter, and no summary I have seen contains it, where Leo worries about schools. His fear is not that students will cheat. It is that machines which appear to think perfectly will make human thinking look useless, and that the desire to ask a question will quietly go out in the young. He wants schools to be places where people learn to seek and love the truth. That sentiment does not survive translation into a bullet point.
I read that paragraph and understood my syllabus differently. The point of my class is not that my students will know what the encyclical says. A machine can tell them that tomorrow, for free. The point is that they will have done the thing the machine cannot do, which is to sit with a long and difficult argument, in time, in sequence, and come out the other side changed by it, or at least equipped to argue back.
The machine will offer to read it for you. That is the whole trouble with the machine. Read it yourself.
Rev. Kristel Clayville, Ph.D., is ordained in the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) and writes and teaches at the intersection of religion, technology, and ethics.
@Idolater: Your own words, coming from your own thought processes, formed uniquely by you and filtered through your lifetime of nature and nurture, will always be authentically you. Whether they're brilliant, perceptive, appalling, flawed. Once you ask AI to 'refine' or 'organize' your thoughts, you will have made AI your coauthor, and what you write is no longer authentically, humanly you.
I just don't want to engage with that, knowingly.
I know I already have, unknowingly, but it won't be willingly.