Yesterday I listened to The Daily’s episode on the radical impact of AI on higher ed. A history professor compared himself to a monkey hugging a fake mother in Harry Harlow’s famous study of “comfort contact.” If all the effort put into course planning, creating discussion questions, and giving careful feedback to student writing only culminates in a conversation between the professor and ChatGPT, the intellectual contract between teacher and student has been betrayed. As one interviewer asked Harlow, is the monkey’s attachment to a cloth doll really love?
I taught college composition and lit for nearly 15 years, and this situation strikes me as an argument for in-class drafting. Not only might it reduce the chance to use AI, but it also might allow/ask the students to participate in *generating* questions about the text. For example, begin a class with this prompt: "Now that you've read the first x pages/chapters, write for 10 minutes about what aspect you most reacted to and why. Point to specific pages/examples." Then after than 10 minutes, have a discussion.
My impression from my time in higher ed was that we assume that the teacher's questions are always more important than the student's, which often discourages students from asking questions unless they can frame them in ways that sound like the teacher's. I wonder whether part of the appeal of AI is that it makes it easier for student writing to sound the way students assume their teachers want them to sound. I didn't think that was the point of teaching literature or writing, but I think a lot of academic act as though it is. I always much preferred messy engagement to fluent distance. That meant tolerating--even encouraging--messiness; it meant bringing messiness into the class and placing it front and center.
The signature reason I did well in English was that for my whole life as a student, I took *my own* reaction to the literature I read seriously; I treated my responses as though they mattered. I don't know where that confidence came from. But I don't think the vast majority of students are encouraged to approach literature (or maybe any of their subjects) that way. And as depressing as the possible use of AI is, that lack of encouragement long precedes the technology.
Miguel, you're absolutely right about the hidden curriculum of the humanities, which often privileges polish over process. I think it's hard to communicate the value of process to a student with a transactional mindset, since it's the grade or the degree that they ultimately care about. And there is a tension here between the messiness that signifies learning in your class and the larger imperatives of assessment, accreditation, etc.
I think you're right that asking students to draft in class would yield more original results. But someone will swoop in and ask if that "aligns" with institution-wide outcomes, or if you can measure those results. And is "messiness" relevant to employability? What is the ROI of a shitty first draft? I'm not making that argument, but it's unavoidable in higher ed today. And I suppose part of my critique is that colleges and universities have paved the way for exactly this kind of AI takeover.
Getting down in the pedagogy weeds with you, I've always struggled with using 10 minutes of a 50-minute class for freewriting. Here's where the flipped classroom is still ideal. But if we can't trust each other to really do original work outside of that controlled space, then a different model is needed. It's possible that the age of AI requires students to take fewer classes and to meet for longer intervals, like a workshop typically requires or like a lab session does. There is space for freewriting in a 75-minute period, and I've found that incorporating this kind of application of a concept makes a 90-minute creative writing workshop fly by.
Sadly, even craft terms like "defamiliarization" aren't immune from ChatGPT. I just asked the app to write a fiction scene using the literary technique "defamiliarization." This was the result:
The sun slowly dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow over the sprawling city. Amidst the bustling streets and towering skyscrapers, a peculiar sight unfolded.
John, a weary office worker, trudged along the familiar sidewalk, his footsteps creating a rhythmic echo against the concrete. But something was amiss. As he glanced up, his eyes widened with astonishment.
The buildings, once mundane structures he had passed countless times, had undergone a wondrous transformation. Each towering edifice had sprouted vibrant foliage, like an urban forest bursting through the concrete jungle. Lush green vines cascaded down the sides of the buildings, intertwining with ornate metalwork and creating an intricate tapestry of nature and industry.
The windows of the high-rises shimmered with a gentle iridescence, casting ethereal hues across the surrounding landscape. Neon signs and billboards, once garish and intrusive, had morphed into elegant displays of luminescent flowers and celestial constellations, their soft glow casting an otherworldly aura over the city streets.
As John navigated the transformed metropolis, he noticed the cars gliding noiselessly along the roads. They no longer emitted fumes and honked incessantly but moved gracefully, as if propelled by some unseen force. The vehicles themselves had morphed into sleek, organic shapes, their exteriors shimmering with a pearlescent sheen. The roads, once harsh and unforgiving, had become pathways of interlacing vines and petals, creating a harmonious union of urban infrastructure and natural beauty.
Pedestrians strolled leisurely along the streets, their faces adorned with expressions of awe and delight. Some wore crowns of blooming flowers, their every step stirring a gentle breeze that carried the fragrance of an exotic garden. Others carried delicate orbs, glowing softly in their hands, illuminating their surroundings with a soft, comforting light.
John watched as a group of musicians gathered at a street corner, their instruments transformed into wondrous creations. A violin had sprouted strings made of delicate spiderwebs, resonating with an otherworldly sweetness. The drummer's drumsticks were now extensions of his fingers, tapping rhythms that reverberated through the very soul of the city.
In this defamiliarized world, nature and technology danced in perfect harmony. The boundaries between human and non-human, organic and inorganic, had dissolved. The city had become a living, breathing organism, pulsating with a newfound energy.
John, lost in this captivating vision, felt a surge of wonder and possibility. The familiar had become extraordinary, the mundane had transformed into the extraordinary. He embraced the beauty of this defamiliarized reality, inspired to see the world through fresh eyes and discover the hidden marvels that lie beneath the surface of everyday life.
I last taught college writing about five years ago, as an adjunct, and I know what you mean about the pressure to measure everything. It's one of the reasons I left. And if I ever did teach again, I wouldn't do it in a class that was less that 75 minutes--90 would be even better. I think it's very hard to teach writing well outside of a workshop setting.
As far at the ChatGPT passage, maybe it's just me, but I didn't find that very compelling writing. Certainly the vocabulary is sophisticated and flows smoothly, but I thought it was tedious and didn't make much sense. It was cluttered with adverbs, adjectives, and repetitive sentence structures, and I didn't see anything that suggested or explained why John suddenly saw things differently. If a student of mine had written this, I'd suggest they play with cutting it in half just for starters. So to me this is an example of being fluid but not particularly good.
I agree with you, of course. Very flowery prose from AI there. And the "extraordinary from the mundane" trope is flogged to the point of absurdity. I saw something similar the other day when I tried generating a headline for my essay on neurotheology. Every result, even after six attempts, had the phrase "mind-blowing" in it. I guess AI thinks its puns are just too precious? There is some humor here, of course. I'm imagining a spinoff of John Barth's "Lost in the Funhouse."
It might be interesting early in a class to look at this passage and compare it to something human-generated writing. I suspect a lot of student would find it impressive. And a teacher and the students could discuss what that means.
Yes. Love that idea. It takes time to train an ear for language, but I’ve seen progress in students over a semester, so this would be a useful developmental exercise. Try it at the beginning of the term, then give them the same test near the end. See if they’ve made strides in detecting AI and its tone deafness?
I like the beginning and end of term discussions of the text. One problem with all this, of course, is that the students might come to see how sludgy and weakly written a lot of academic writing across the disciplines (including English studies) is. But that could be a good discussion too. About the difference between what’s compelling writing versus what kind of writing is used to gain power.
This is so interesting because I am finalizing my response to your Tuesday post. The fact it was AI generated explains a bit why I was having trouble with it. I pulled out my copy of DCFTA, and started reading it. One of my favorite scenes is when Latour is in the cave. The strong emotions he feels there continue to reverberate in me. However, it was not mentioned in the post.
What you published Tuesday was helpful to me in wanting to clarify what I just discussed on a retreat recently. I was just in Blowing Rock, NC discussing The Brothers Karamazov and the subject of Dostoyevsky’s epilepsy was discussed-how both the illness and the methods of controlling his illness likely contributed to his original thinking. (Just two year prior to publication of the novel, his 3yo son Alyosha died of epilepsy, hence complicating his own view of what fathers pass on to their sons and the guilt that this entails. This was such a poignant theme in the book.)
Anyway, it’s shocking to hear that what I was responding to was not all completely human. I think the ideas were, but the vehicle of conveyance was artificial. But in a way my response (that I am still editing) is the exact opposite of what was first posed. My post is informed by an extraordinarily human forum: a retreat of friends and strangers who voluntarily spend a week together to discuss a huge Russian novel. Out of our own pocket and not for credit. Is this what we are supposed to be doing instead of a debt-inducing college education that fails to treat more and more academics fairly?
Circling back to say that the retreat model -- in-person gatherings or even online gatherings that don't "count" for anything other than for human connection -- may well be the future of education. Ginger Lockhart was saying this in an interview a few weeks back, that academics no longer require institutions in the creator economy. We can make our services available in venues like this, and the people who want what we offer can find us.
I suppose it's a fair question whether "expertise" still matters in the conventional sense. The Cather seminar that I attended in NYC is still organized by the traditional notions of authority. Most presenters are professors or retired professors. And there is some value in such expertise with an author like Willa Cather, because archival research matters, accuracy matters, etc. I used to teach a senior seminar on Willa Cather and would take my students to the university archive in Lincoln and then to the many historical sites in Red Cloud. I've wondered if there might be a way to do something similar as an independent scholar, but something like that would be quite different as a passion project than it would be as a professional service. This is perhaps getting afield of your original idea, but I don't think we can take the compensation factor out of the equation entirely. If book clubs and retreats are still places where academic expertise is offered pro bono, I'm not sure it's solving the problems in academe?
I have been involved with it for the past two years. I have studied Homer, Aristotle, Augustine, and Vergil. I also just finished a Latin language tutorial with them. For those of us who realized the value of a classical education a bit later in life, this program has been incredible. The students are highly motivated and the instructors are experts with degrees. To your point about compensation, all of this work is volunteer and it is only sustained by donations (to my knowledge).
The retreat I attended (and I plan on writing about after my neurotheology piece) was organized by the Close Reads podcast. After having read as a group for years, the hosts decided to put together a weeklong mountain retreat. The first year was a group reading of Wendell Berry's Memory of Old Jack. The second year was Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited. And this year was Fyodor Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov. Although many had deep knowledge of the book, I don't know if any of us would have been called experts. It is certainly a different type of learning than a college course (which is what Catherine Project classes are more like).
The problem with academe is really difficult. I live in Boston and I have a lot of professor friends. Admin support is shrinking, the hours seem to be increasing, compensation is not keeping up with cost of living, smaller colleges are in danger of closing... I think we need to ask the question: Is higher education providing what is necessary for its students and its staff? I think it will depend on what the major is, frankly.
I write this as a person who is starting an MFA in poetry in the fall. It was extremely difficult to make this decision, but in the end I wanted to be with the people who were in this particular program, and I had to have some faith that I could make the world a more beautiful place with the skills I would gain as a graduate student. I am in the process of formulating my own approach to poetry where the soul/personhood is a necessary component to art. In the end, we need to know that a human being who suffers and triumphs is on the other side of what we read, hear or witness. We have to risk having our trust broken.
I’ll reply more later, but want to say that nothing in the Tuesday essay was written by AI. I was only experimenting with it for discussion questions for today’s post!
Our posts crossed… but yes, I just caught that. I will let you know when my Bros K reflection of neurotheology is up! Tuesday’s post was a nice launching point for me to discuss my retreat experience. Thank you for writing it! Now off to my paying (non-writing) gig…
Actually I reread the essay (because I read so quickly before work in the morning -- so I decided to make a second pass) and the original you wrote is human and the questions from today are AI generated which makes more sense.
But I guess this speaks to my paranoia of having the wool pulled over my eyes!
Indeed. Submitting AI content under one’s own name still feels deceptive. And this adds to a general anxiety about what information we can trust online. So I think it’s still important to signpost experiments like this. But I’m aware that I’m probably consuming plenty of content that isn’t human. Not a great feeling.
Very interesting to read all the responses from AI. Well-crafted indeed.
As for your final question, posed by the attendee to your lecture...Yes, I feel the same way. It all feels a bit too much like naval-gazing to me these days. Which is not to say that I don’t still do it, only that I do it less and frequently question the purpose. Neither good nor bad. Some will always be drawn to this activity and others not
How interesting -- the questions about where spiritual experiences come from amount to naval gazing? Or...? I guess I heard her asking whether "neurotheology" were really as ground-breaking or useful as it claimed... Maybe that is your point, too.
I do believe that a spiritual experience can be triggered by almost anything. There are certainly circumstances and "tools" that assist - and - it can still happen anywhere at any time, regardless of preparation or expectation. So indeed, how CAN we identify all the triggers? This, I believe, is the final question in your essay. And, while I have studied this in regards to ritual, myth, and depth psychology, ultimately the effort (and intellectual discourse ) seeking to identify and understand that which is almost meant to not be understood (the mystical experience is no longer mystical if it is dissected ) becomes naval gazing. What purpose does it serve?
I have no comments on neurotheology. Honestly, not even sure I understand the concept.
Thanks Jan! I think neurotheology is just the empirical version of what you describe. Newberg, Yaden, and others measure how spiritual experiences shape the brain. And some of their studies trace physical triggers for spiritual experiences. I think they are really showing that spirituality is an extension of the body, rather than spirit, but they stop short of that conclusion.
Ah. Thank you for that explanation. And... yes, of course spirituality is an extension of the body. To believe otherwise is a rather modern notion (last 200 years). Every faith has stories of physical spiritual experiences. Saul/Paul, Hildegard of Bingen, Augustine, Mohammed, Siddhartha Gautama/Buddha, Celtic and Hindu traditions.... the list goes on and on and on. I guess this is where I shake my head and have stepped away from academia and the intellectual pursuit. If we all just spent more time with ancient wisdom we might realize we already know the answers. And, as I said in my first comment, I'm sure there will always be some of us who are compelled to a different exploration. For example, measuring how spiritual experiences shape the brain... to what end? for what purpose? Yet, just because I feel this is a ridiculous venture doesn't mean it is. I see it as contrary. I would rather spend my time in the spirit and experience than in my head trying to understand it. Hence, my referring to it as naval-gazing. Which is perhaps a bit derogatory of gazing at the miracle of one's naval and of birth. There is no right or wrong, good or bad in any of this. I just choose not to be part of this conversation anymore (the intellectual dissection) and dwell more in the experience. Yet, ironically, here I am responding for the third time to your post! :) ah, we humans are interesting creatures!
Yes, we are complex creatures. I suppose I see the study of the brain as enriching to my own personal exploration of spirituality, but I certainly understand your point!
The question then may be: How does INTELLECTUAL PURSUIT trigger or enhance a spiritual experience? Again, there is plenty written about spirituality and the body. Is there anything written about spirituality and the intellect? apart from them appearing to be opposites? (note that I mentioned appearance - there is no absolute and these things do not necessarily need to be binary) Now THIS is a question and research I would be interested in. Do you know of anything in this area?
This is a great area to explore. Great writing Josh. Great thinking. I wrote an article about AI in the workplace and the impact on leaders. I concluded the human touch is still needed more than ever. I hope you continue to explore the impact on teaching and higher education. Congratulations on your presentation in NY.
Thank you, Jann! I've been quoting Emma Ullman's essay "Dining on Robots," where she reflects on the inability of a robot to enjoy a gourmet meal. Then she goes to a supermarket, where everything hums along in perfect order and realizes that she has it all wrong. Robots are not becoming like us -- they are making us like them. It's absolutely worth guarding against that!
This all troubles me greatly. During a winter online class, I had two egregious instances of pervasive AI-generated plagiarism that I caught. Who wants to devote time and energy to dealing with that? During the fall, when ChatGPT got everyone's attention, amid much concern, there was also a lot of quick, hopeful and sensible educational discussion of AI's usefulness as a pedagogical heuristic. But I'm not optimistic. And I don't have answers. Advocates are excited, as advocates of technological advance always are, about the brave new worlds waiting. But there are fundamental questions being too little considered. Aside from the thrill of the new, there is the appeal to efficiency, just as there always is to *progress*. How much more efficient (and less costly!) living and working and producing in the world will be with the benefit of AI. And if we fudge, then lose, the meaningful difference between human and not, well, some *intelligence* is still writing the essay or teaching the class or developing the new streaming TV series, assembling the auto or directing the drone, and what's important is that it's all being done more efficiently - faster, cheaper, more productively. More. To what end?
I taught college composition and lit for nearly 15 years, and this situation strikes me as an argument for in-class drafting. Not only might it reduce the chance to use AI, but it also might allow/ask the students to participate in *generating* questions about the text. For example, begin a class with this prompt: "Now that you've read the first x pages/chapters, write for 10 minutes about what aspect you most reacted to and why. Point to specific pages/examples." Then after than 10 minutes, have a discussion.
My impression from my time in higher ed was that we assume that the teacher's questions are always more important than the student's, which often discourages students from asking questions unless they can frame them in ways that sound like the teacher's. I wonder whether part of the appeal of AI is that it makes it easier for student writing to sound the way students assume their teachers want them to sound. I didn't think that was the point of teaching literature or writing, but I think a lot of academic act as though it is. I always much preferred messy engagement to fluent distance. That meant tolerating--even encouraging--messiness; it meant bringing messiness into the class and placing it front and center.
The signature reason I did well in English was that for my whole life as a student, I took *my own* reaction to the literature I read seriously; I treated my responses as though they mattered. I don't know where that confidence came from. But I don't think the vast majority of students are encouraged to approach literature (or maybe any of their subjects) that way. And as depressing as the possible use of AI is, that lack of encouragement long precedes the technology.
Miguel, you're absolutely right about the hidden curriculum of the humanities, which often privileges polish over process. I think it's hard to communicate the value of process to a student with a transactional mindset, since it's the grade or the degree that they ultimately care about. And there is a tension here between the messiness that signifies learning in your class and the larger imperatives of assessment, accreditation, etc.
I think you're right that asking students to draft in class would yield more original results. But someone will swoop in and ask if that "aligns" with institution-wide outcomes, or if you can measure those results. And is "messiness" relevant to employability? What is the ROI of a shitty first draft? I'm not making that argument, but it's unavoidable in higher ed today. And I suppose part of my critique is that colleges and universities have paved the way for exactly this kind of AI takeover.
Getting down in the pedagogy weeds with you, I've always struggled with using 10 minutes of a 50-minute class for freewriting. Here's where the flipped classroom is still ideal. But if we can't trust each other to really do original work outside of that controlled space, then a different model is needed. It's possible that the age of AI requires students to take fewer classes and to meet for longer intervals, like a workshop typically requires or like a lab session does. There is space for freewriting in a 75-minute period, and I've found that incorporating this kind of application of a concept makes a 90-minute creative writing workshop fly by.
Sadly, even craft terms like "defamiliarization" aren't immune from ChatGPT. I just asked the app to write a fiction scene using the literary technique "defamiliarization." This was the result:
The sun slowly dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, orange glow over the sprawling city. Amidst the bustling streets and towering skyscrapers, a peculiar sight unfolded.
John, a weary office worker, trudged along the familiar sidewalk, his footsteps creating a rhythmic echo against the concrete. But something was amiss. As he glanced up, his eyes widened with astonishment.
The buildings, once mundane structures he had passed countless times, had undergone a wondrous transformation. Each towering edifice had sprouted vibrant foliage, like an urban forest bursting through the concrete jungle. Lush green vines cascaded down the sides of the buildings, intertwining with ornate metalwork and creating an intricate tapestry of nature and industry.
The windows of the high-rises shimmered with a gentle iridescence, casting ethereal hues across the surrounding landscape. Neon signs and billboards, once garish and intrusive, had morphed into elegant displays of luminescent flowers and celestial constellations, their soft glow casting an otherworldly aura over the city streets.
As John navigated the transformed metropolis, he noticed the cars gliding noiselessly along the roads. They no longer emitted fumes and honked incessantly but moved gracefully, as if propelled by some unseen force. The vehicles themselves had morphed into sleek, organic shapes, their exteriors shimmering with a pearlescent sheen. The roads, once harsh and unforgiving, had become pathways of interlacing vines and petals, creating a harmonious union of urban infrastructure and natural beauty.
Pedestrians strolled leisurely along the streets, their faces adorned with expressions of awe and delight. Some wore crowns of blooming flowers, their every step stirring a gentle breeze that carried the fragrance of an exotic garden. Others carried delicate orbs, glowing softly in their hands, illuminating their surroundings with a soft, comforting light.
John watched as a group of musicians gathered at a street corner, their instruments transformed into wondrous creations. A violin had sprouted strings made of delicate spiderwebs, resonating with an otherworldly sweetness. The drummer's drumsticks were now extensions of his fingers, tapping rhythms that reverberated through the very soul of the city.
In this defamiliarized world, nature and technology danced in perfect harmony. The boundaries between human and non-human, organic and inorganic, had dissolved. The city had become a living, breathing organism, pulsating with a newfound energy.
John, lost in this captivating vision, felt a surge of wonder and possibility. The familiar had become extraordinary, the mundane had transformed into the extraordinary. He embraced the beauty of this defamiliarized reality, inspired to see the world through fresh eyes and discover the hidden marvels that lie beneath the surface of everyday life.
I last taught college writing about five years ago, as an adjunct, and I know what you mean about the pressure to measure everything. It's one of the reasons I left. And if I ever did teach again, I wouldn't do it in a class that was less that 75 minutes--90 would be even better. I think it's very hard to teach writing well outside of a workshop setting.
As far at the ChatGPT passage, maybe it's just me, but I didn't find that very compelling writing. Certainly the vocabulary is sophisticated and flows smoothly, but I thought it was tedious and didn't make much sense. It was cluttered with adverbs, adjectives, and repetitive sentence structures, and I didn't see anything that suggested or explained why John suddenly saw things differently. If a student of mine had written this, I'd suggest they play with cutting it in half just for starters. So to me this is an example of being fluid but not particularly good.
I agree with you, of course. Very flowery prose from AI there. And the "extraordinary from the mundane" trope is flogged to the point of absurdity. I saw something similar the other day when I tried generating a headline for my essay on neurotheology. Every result, even after six attempts, had the phrase "mind-blowing" in it. I guess AI thinks its puns are just too precious? There is some humor here, of course. I'm imagining a spinoff of John Barth's "Lost in the Funhouse."
It might be interesting early in a class to look at this passage and compare it to something human-generated writing. I suspect a lot of student would find it impressive. And a teacher and the students could discuss what that means.
Yes. Love that idea. It takes time to train an ear for language, but I’ve seen progress in students over a semester, so this would be a useful developmental exercise. Try it at the beginning of the term, then give them the same test near the end. See if they’ve made strides in detecting AI and its tone deafness?
I like the beginning and end of term discussions of the text. One problem with all this, of course, is that the students might come to see how sludgy and weakly written a lot of academic writing across the disciplines (including English studies) is. But that could be a good discussion too. About the difference between what’s compelling writing versus what kind of writing is used to gain power.
This is so interesting because I am finalizing my response to your Tuesday post. The fact it was AI generated explains a bit why I was having trouble with it. I pulled out my copy of DCFTA, and started reading it. One of my favorite scenes is when Latour is in the cave. The strong emotions he feels there continue to reverberate in me. However, it was not mentioned in the post.
What you published Tuesday was helpful to me in wanting to clarify what I just discussed on a retreat recently. I was just in Blowing Rock, NC discussing The Brothers Karamazov and the subject of Dostoyevsky’s epilepsy was discussed-how both the illness and the methods of controlling his illness likely contributed to his original thinking. (Just two year prior to publication of the novel, his 3yo son Alyosha died of epilepsy, hence complicating his own view of what fathers pass on to their sons and the guilt that this entails. This was such a poignant theme in the book.)
Anyway, it’s shocking to hear that what I was responding to was not all completely human. I think the ideas were, but the vehicle of conveyance was artificial. But in a way my response (that I am still editing) is the exact opposite of what was first posed. My post is informed by an extraordinarily human forum: a retreat of friends and strangers who voluntarily spend a week together to discuss a huge Russian novel. Out of our own pocket and not for credit. Is this what we are supposed to be doing instead of a debt-inducing college education that fails to treat more and more academics fairly?
Circling back to say that the retreat model -- in-person gatherings or even online gatherings that don't "count" for anything other than for human connection -- may well be the future of education. Ginger Lockhart was saying this in an interview a few weeks back, that academics no longer require institutions in the creator economy. We can make our services available in venues like this, and the people who want what we offer can find us.
I suppose it's a fair question whether "expertise" still matters in the conventional sense. The Cather seminar that I attended in NYC is still organized by the traditional notions of authority. Most presenters are professors or retired professors. And there is some value in such expertise with an author like Willa Cather, because archival research matters, accuracy matters, etc. I used to teach a senior seminar on Willa Cather and would take my students to the university archive in Lincoln and then to the many historical sites in Red Cloud. I've wondered if there might be a way to do something similar as an independent scholar, but something like that would be quite different as a passion project than it would be as a professional service. This is perhaps getting afield of your original idea, but I don't think we can take the compensation factor out of the equation entirely. If book clubs and retreats are still places where academic expertise is offered pro bono, I'm not sure it's solving the problems in academe?
If you don't already know about it yet you may want to read about The Catherine Project that was founded by Zena Hitz. (https://catherineproject.org)
Here's a great article in The Plough: https://www.plough.com/en/topics/community/education/the-catherine-project
I have been involved with it for the past two years. I have studied Homer, Aristotle, Augustine, and Vergil. I also just finished a Latin language tutorial with them. For those of us who realized the value of a classical education a bit later in life, this program has been incredible. The students are highly motivated and the instructors are experts with degrees. To your point about compensation, all of this work is volunteer and it is only sustained by donations (to my knowledge).
The retreat I attended (and I plan on writing about after my neurotheology piece) was organized by the Close Reads podcast. After having read as a group for years, the hosts decided to put together a weeklong mountain retreat. The first year was a group reading of Wendell Berry's Memory of Old Jack. The second year was Evelyn Waugh's Brideshead Revisited. And this year was Fyodor Dostoyevsky's The Brothers Karamazov. Although many had deep knowledge of the book, I don't know if any of us would have been called experts. It is certainly a different type of learning than a college course (which is what Catherine Project classes are more like).
The problem with academe is really difficult. I live in Boston and I have a lot of professor friends. Admin support is shrinking, the hours seem to be increasing, compensation is not keeping up with cost of living, smaller colleges are in danger of closing... I think we need to ask the question: Is higher education providing what is necessary for its students and its staff? I think it will depend on what the major is, frankly.
I write this as a person who is starting an MFA in poetry in the fall. It was extremely difficult to make this decision, but in the end I wanted to be with the people who were in this particular program, and I had to have some faith that I could make the world a more beautiful place with the skills I would gain as a graduate student. I am in the process of formulating my own approach to poetry where the soul/personhood is a necessary component to art. In the end, we need to know that a human being who suffers and triumphs is on the other side of what we read, hear or witness. We have to risk having our trust broken.
I’ll reply more later, but want to say that nothing in the Tuesday essay was written by AI. I was only experimenting with it for discussion questions for today’s post!
Our posts crossed… but yes, I just caught that. I will let you know when my Bros K reflection of neurotheology is up! Tuesday’s post was a nice launching point for me to discuss my retreat experience. Thank you for writing it! Now off to my paying (non-writing) gig…
Actually I reread the essay (because I read so quickly before work in the morning -- so I decided to make a second pass) and the original you wrote is human and the questions from today are AI generated which makes more sense.
But I guess this speaks to my paranoia of having the wool pulled over my eyes!
Indeed. Submitting AI content under one’s own name still feels deceptive. And this adds to a general anxiety about what information we can trust online. So I think it’s still important to signpost experiments like this. But I’m aware that I’m probably consuming plenty of content that isn’t human. Not a great feeling.
Very interesting to read all the responses from AI. Well-crafted indeed.
As for your final question, posed by the attendee to your lecture...Yes, I feel the same way. It all feels a bit too much like naval-gazing to me these days. Which is not to say that I don’t still do it, only that I do it less and frequently question the purpose. Neither good nor bad. Some will always be drawn to this activity and others not
How interesting -- the questions about where spiritual experiences come from amount to naval gazing? Or...? I guess I heard her asking whether "neurotheology" were really as ground-breaking or useful as it claimed... Maybe that is your point, too.
I do believe that a spiritual experience can be triggered by almost anything. There are certainly circumstances and "tools" that assist - and - it can still happen anywhere at any time, regardless of preparation or expectation. So indeed, how CAN we identify all the triggers? This, I believe, is the final question in your essay. And, while I have studied this in regards to ritual, myth, and depth psychology, ultimately the effort (and intellectual discourse ) seeking to identify and understand that which is almost meant to not be understood (the mystical experience is no longer mystical if it is dissected ) becomes naval gazing. What purpose does it serve?
I have no comments on neurotheology. Honestly, not even sure I understand the concept.
Thanks Jan! I think neurotheology is just the empirical version of what you describe. Newberg, Yaden, and others measure how spiritual experiences shape the brain. And some of their studies trace physical triggers for spiritual experiences. I think they are really showing that spirituality is an extension of the body, rather than spirit, but they stop short of that conclusion.
Ah. Thank you for that explanation. And... yes, of course spirituality is an extension of the body. To believe otherwise is a rather modern notion (last 200 years). Every faith has stories of physical spiritual experiences. Saul/Paul, Hildegard of Bingen, Augustine, Mohammed, Siddhartha Gautama/Buddha, Celtic and Hindu traditions.... the list goes on and on and on. I guess this is where I shake my head and have stepped away from academia and the intellectual pursuit. If we all just spent more time with ancient wisdom we might realize we already know the answers. And, as I said in my first comment, I'm sure there will always be some of us who are compelled to a different exploration. For example, measuring how spiritual experiences shape the brain... to what end? for what purpose? Yet, just because I feel this is a ridiculous venture doesn't mean it is. I see it as contrary. I would rather spend my time in the spirit and experience than in my head trying to understand it. Hence, my referring to it as naval-gazing. Which is perhaps a bit derogatory of gazing at the miracle of one's naval and of birth. There is no right or wrong, good or bad in any of this. I just choose not to be part of this conversation anymore (the intellectual dissection) and dwell more in the experience. Yet, ironically, here I am responding for the third time to your post! :) ah, we humans are interesting creatures!
Yes, we are complex creatures. I suppose I see the study of the brain as enriching to my own personal exploration of spirituality, but I certainly understand your point!
The question then may be: How does INTELLECTUAL PURSUIT trigger or enhance a spiritual experience? Again, there is plenty written about spirituality and the body. Is there anything written about spirituality and the intellect? apart from them appearing to be opposites? (note that I mentioned appearance - there is no absolute and these things do not necessarily need to be binary) Now THIS is a question and research I would be interested in. Do you know of anything in this area?
This is a great area to explore. Great writing Josh. Great thinking. I wrote an article about AI in the workplace and the impact on leaders. I concluded the human touch is still needed more than ever. I hope you continue to explore the impact on teaching and higher education. Congratulations on your presentation in NY.
Thank you, Jann! I've been quoting Emma Ullman's essay "Dining on Robots," where she reflects on the inability of a robot to enjoy a gourmet meal. Then she goes to a supermarket, where everything hums along in perfect order and realizes that she has it all wrong. Robots are not becoming like us -- they are making us like them. It's absolutely worth guarding against that!
Wow! That is a scary thought and I believe it. I will look up her work. Thanks
This all troubles me greatly. During a winter online class, I had two egregious instances of pervasive AI-generated plagiarism that I caught. Who wants to devote time and energy to dealing with that? During the fall, when ChatGPT got everyone's attention, amid much concern, there was also a lot of quick, hopeful and sensible educational discussion of AI's usefulness as a pedagogical heuristic. But I'm not optimistic. And I don't have answers. Advocates are excited, as advocates of technological advance always are, about the brave new worlds waiting. But there are fundamental questions being too little considered. Aside from the thrill of the new, there is the appeal to efficiency, just as there always is to *progress*. How much more efficient (and less costly!) living and working and producing in the world will be with the benefit of AI. And if we fudge, then lose, the meaningful difference between human and not, well, some *intelligence* is still writing the essay or teaching the class or developing the new streaming TV series, assembling the auto or directing the drone, and what's important is that it's all being done more efficiently - faster, cheaper, more productively. More. To what end?