Is AI Better Than Nothing? In Mental Health, Probably Yes

 In medical trials, "termination for benefit" allows a trial to be stopped early when the evidence of a drug’s effectiveness is so strong that it becomes unethical to continue withholding the treatment. Although this is rare—only 1.7% of trials are stopped for this reason—it ensures that life-saving treatments reach patients as quickly as possible.

This concept can be applied to the use of AI in addressing the shortage of counsellors and therapists for the nation's student population, which is facing a mental health crisis. Some are quick to reject the idea of AI-based therapy, upset by the notion of students talking to a machine instead of a human counselor. However, this reaction often lacks a careful weighing of the benefits. AI assistance, while not perfect, could provide much-needed support where human resources are stretched too thin.

Yes, there have been concerns, such as the story of Tessa, a bot that reportedly gave inappropriate advice to a user with an eating disorder. But focusing on isolated cases does not take into account the larger picture. Human therapists also make mistakes, and we do not ban the profession for it. AI, which is available around the clock and costs next to nothing, should not be held to a higher standard than human counselors. The real comparison is not between AI and human therapists, but between AI and the complete lack of human support that many students currently face. Let's also not forget that in some cultures, going to a mental health professional is still a taboo. Going to an AI is a private matter. 

I have personally tested ChatGPT several times, simulating various student issues, and found it consistently careful, thoughtful, and sensible in its responses. Instead of panicking over astronomically rare errors, I encourage more people to conduct their own tests and share any issues they discover publicly. This would provide a more balanced understanding of the strengths and weaknesses of AI therapy, helping us improve it over time. There is no equivalent of a true clinical trial, so some citizen testing would have to be done. 

The situation is urgent, and waiting for AI to be perfect before deploying it is not much of an option. Like early termination in medical trials, deploying AI therapy now could be the ethical response to a growing crisis. While not a replacement for human counselors, AI can serve as a valuable resource in filling the gaps that the current mental health system leaves wide open.

Filling Voids, Not Replacing Human Experts

The debate over artificial intelligence replacing human experts often centers on a binary question: Can AI do a better job than a human? This framing is understandable but overly simplistic. The reality is that in many contexts, the competition is not between AI and people—it is between AI and nothing at all. When viewed through this lens, the value of AI becomes clearer. It is not about pitting machines against human expertise; it is about addressing the voids left by a lack of available service.

Consider healthcare, particularly in underserved areas. It is a truism that a qualified doctor’s advice is better than anything an AI could provide. But what if you live in a rural village where the nearest doctor is hundreds of miles away? Or in a developing country where medical professionals are stretched thin? Suddenly, the prospect of AI-driven medical advice does not seem like a compromise; it feels like a lifeline. While AI lacks the nuanced judgment of an experienced physician, it can provide basic diagnostics, suggest treatments, or alert patients to symptoms that warrant urgent attention. In such scenarios, AI does not replace a doctor—it replaces the silence of inaccessibility with something, however imperfect.

Another case in point is mental health counseling. In many parts of the world, even in affluent countries, mental health services are woefully inadequate. Students at universities often face wait times ranging from weeks to months just to speak with a counselor. During that limbo, the option to interact with an AI, even one with obvious limitations, can be a critical stopgap. It is not about AI outperforming a trained therapist but offering a form of support when no other is available. It can provide coping strategies, lend a sympathetic ear, or guide someone to emergency services. Here, AI does not replace therapy; it provides something valuable in the absence of timely human support.

Education offers another case for AI’s gap-filling potential. Tutoring is an essential resource, but access to quality tutors is often limited, mainly because it is expensive. Universities might offer tutoring services, but they are frequently understaffed or employ peer tutors. Office hours with professors or teaching assistants can be similarly constrained. AI can step into this void. Chatting with an AI about a difficult concept or problem set might not equal the depth of understanding gained from a one-on-one session with a human tutor, but it is unquestionably better than struggling alone. AI does not compete with tutors; it extends their reach into spaces they cannot physically or temporally cover.

The same logic applies to a range of other fields. Legal advice, financial planning, career coaching—all are areas where AI has the potential to add significant value, not by outstripping human expertise but by offering something in environments where professional advice is out of reach. Imagine a low-income individual navigating legal complexities without the means to hire an attorney. An AI could provide at least basic guidance, clarify legal jargon, and suggest possible actions. All of it must be done with proper disclaimers. It is not a substitute for legal representation, but it is a world better than the alternative: no help at all.

In embracing this non-competing stance, we shift the narrative. The role of AI is not to replace human experts but to step in where human services are scarce or nonexistent. The true potential of AI lies in its ability to democratize access to essential services that many people currently go without. When AI is viewed as a bridge rather than a rival, its utility becomes much more evident. AI does not have to be better than a person to be valuable; it just should be better than the void it fills.

The Right to Leapfrog: Redefining Educational Equity in the Age of AI

AI’s potential in education is clear, particularly in how it can assist students who struggle with traditional learning methods. It is broadly accepted that AI can help bridge gaps in cognitive skills, whether due to dyslexia, ADHD, or other neurodiverse conditions. Yet, the utility of AI should not be confined to specific diagnoses. Insights from decades of implementing the Response to Intervention (RTI) framework reveal that regardless of the underlying cause—be it neurodiversity, trauma, or socioeconomic factors—the type of support needed by struggling students remains remarkably consistent. If AI can aid students with reading difficulties, why not extend its benefits to others facing different but equally challenging obstacles? Equity demands that AI’s advantages be made accessible to all who need them, regardless of the origin of their challenges.

This brings us to a deeper issue: the rigid and often unjust link between procedural and conceptual knowledge. Traditionally, lower-level skills like spelling, grammar, and arithmetic have been treated as prerequisites for advancing to higher-order thinking. The prevailing notion is that one must first master these basics before moving on to creativity, critical thinking, or original thought. However, this linear progression is more a product of tradition than necessity. AI now offers us the chance to reconsider this approach. Students should have the right to leapfrog over certain lower-level skills directly into higher-order cognitive functions, bypassing unnecessary barriers.

Predictably, this notion encounters resistance. Rooted in the Protestant work ethic is the belief that one must toil through the basics before earning the right to engage in more sophisticated intellectual activities. This ethic, which equates hard work on mundane tasks with moral worth, is deeply ingrained in our educational systems. However, in an age where AI can handle many of these lower-level tasks, this mindset seems increasingly obsolete. Insisting that all students must follow the same sequence of skills before advancing to higher-order thinking is not just misguided; it is a relic of a bygone era. If AI enables students to engage meaningfully with complex ideas and creative thinking from the start, we should embrace that opportunity rather than constrain it with outdated dogma.

The implications of this shift are significant. If we recognize the right to leapfrog over certain skills, we must also acknowledge that traditional educational hierarchies need to be re-examined. Skills like spelling and grammar, while valuable, should no longer be gatekeepers for students who excel in critical thinking and creativity but struggle with procedural details. AI offers a way to reimagine educational equity, allowing students to focus on their strengths rather than being held back by their weaknesses. Rather than forcing everyone to climb the same cognitive ladder, we can enable each student to leap to the level that aligns with their abilities, creating a more personalized and equitable educational experience.

This rethinking of educational equity challenges deeply rooted assumptions. The belief that hard work on the basics is necessary for higher-level achievement is pervasive, but it is not supported by evidence. In reality, cognitive development is driven more by engagement with complex ideas than by rote mastery of procedural skills. AI provides the tools to focus on these higher-order skills earlier in the education, without the traditional prerequisite of mastering lower-order tasks.

Moreover, the concept of “deskilling” is not new. Throughout history, humanity has continually adapted to technological advances, acquiring new skills while allowing others to fade into obscurity. Today, few people can track animals or make shoes from anymal skin—skills that were once essential for survival. Even the ability to harness a horse, once a common necessity, is now a rare skill. While some may lament these losses, they are also a reminder that as society evolves, so too must our educational priorities. Just as technological advancements have rendered certain skills obsolete, AI is reshaping the skills that are most relevant today.

As we move forward, educators must rethink how learning experiences are designed. Rather than viewing AI as merely a tool for accommodating deficits, we should see it as a means of expanding possibilities for all students. By enabling learners to bypass certain skills that are no longer essential in an AI-driven world, we can better align education with the demands of the 21st century. This is about acknowledging that the path to learning does not have to be the same for everyone. In a world where AI can democratize access to higher-level cognitive tasks, the right to leapfrog is not just a possibility—it is a necessity for equitable education. 

Authorship, Automation, and Answerability

In the ongoing debate about the ethical use of AI, two main concerns stand out—one superficial and one profound. The first concern, often highlighted, is about the authenticity of authorship, with fears that AI-generated content might mislead us about who the true author is. However, this worry is largely misguided. It stems from a historically limited, Western-centric notion of authorship that blurs the line between the origin of ideas and the craft of their representation.

Take the legacy of Steve Jobs. He wasn’t celebrated for personally assembling each iPhone, but for his vision and design that brought the device to life. In our industrial world, the act of making things is not inherently authorial—designing them is. Why should it be any different with text, code, or images? If I designed this text, and used advanced tools to produce it, why am I not still the author? The shock many feel towards AI’s ability to generate content is akin to the upheaval experienced by 19th-century bootmakers during the Industrial Revolution. Automation has simply extended its reach into the realms of writing, coding, and art. The craftsmanship is replaced by automation, but the core principle remains: take pride in the ideas, not in the mechanics of their production. There is no inherent authorship in the latter.

But here’s where Mikhail Bakhtin’s notion of answerability helps our understanding of the true ethical stakes. While responsibility is often about fulfilling obligations or being held accountable after the fact, answerability is about our ongoing, active engagement with the world and the people in it. It is not just about who gets credit for the content; it is about recognizing that every action, every word, and every piece of AI-generated content occurs within a web of relationships. We are answerable to others because our creations—whether authored by human hands or machine algorithms—affect them.

The real concern, then, lies in the issue of answerability. AI-generated content often appears polished, convincing, and ready for immediate consumption. This creates a dangerous temptation to release such content into the world without thorough scrutiny. Here is where the ethical stakes rise significantly. AI may produce work that looks and sounds credible, but this does not guarantee that it is unbiased, meaningful, or truthful. It maybe garbage polluting the infosphere at best, or an outward harmful fake at worst. The ease of content creation does not absolve us of the responsibility to ensure its quality and integrity, and more importantly, it doesn’t free us from the answerability we have to the world around us.

This is the message we need to instill in our students, professionals, and anyone working with AI: you are still accountable and answerable for what you produce, even if a machine does the heavy lifting. Releasing AI-generated content without critical evaluation is akin to conjuring a spell without understanding its consequences. Like a magician wielding powerful but unpredictable magic, or a novice driver behind the wheel of a truck instead of a bicycle, the stakes have been raised. The tools at our disposal are more potent than ever, and with that power comes a heightened level of answerability.

In essence, the ethical debate surrounding AI shuold not be about the authorship of the craft but shuold be about the integrity and impact of the output. The real challenge is ensuring that what we create with these advanced tools is not only innovative but also responsible and answerable. As we continue to integrate AI into more aspects of our lives, we must focus less on who—or what—authored the content and more on the ethical implications of releasing it into the world. This is where the true ethical discourse lies, and it is here that our attention should be firmly fixed.

On AI Shaming

Here is a new thing: AI shaming. It is a practice where individuals accuse others of using artificial intelligence to generate written content, as if such an act were inherently deceitful or somhow sinful. How fascinating, the very premise of it.

This phenomenon  reveals itself to be a fairly common logical fallacy. It is a summative dismissive argument, with a dash of ad hominem (ad machinam?) for flavor. One might wonder why the method of creation should overshadow the substance of the content. After all, we don't dismiss the works of authors who switched from quills to typewriters, do we? 

There's a certain Foucauldian quality to this practice, if one may be permitted a touch of theoryhead's indulgence. By attempting to draw a sharp line between 'acceptable' and 'unacceptable' means of content creation, some seem to be engaging in a subtle power play. It is almost as if they're trying to sell their unfamiliarity with newer technologies as a virtue. it is a rather clever way of elevating the game at which one excells, and putting down a game at which one fails. While an understandable inclination it is still a folly. 

For those of us who have embraced these new tools, such accusations are about as concerning as a light drizzle on a summer day - which is to say, entirely expected and hardly worth mentioning. If anything, it provides a certain amusement to observe the lengths to which some will go to maintain the status quo and their priviledged little spot in it. 

However, there is a more sobering concern to consider. While thick-skinned people like me might brush off such criticisms with a raised eyebrow, younger, more impressionable ones might internalise this arbitrary stigma. It would be a shame if the next generation felt compelled to hide their technological proficiency out of  fear of Luddites' bullying.

As these AI tools inevitably become more sophisticated and ubiquitous, perhaps we might redirect our energy towards more productive ends. Instead of engaging in this curious form of digital fingerpointing, we could focus on the responsible and creative use of these technologies. After all, the ideas expressed within content will always be more intriguing than the means by which they were transcribed.

To those who persist in AI shaming: by all means, knock yourelf out. Your dedication to this cause is admirable, if somewhat perplexing. Just don't be too surprised if the rest of us seem a bit distracted - we'll be busy adapting to the future while you're perfecting your fingerwagging techniques.

P.S. This text, according to QuillBot, is 0% AI-generated, however I wrote it with Claude :)

Testing AI once does not make you an expert

I heard of a professor who asked ChatGPT to write a profile of himself, only to discover inaccuracies and decide that AI is unsuitable for education. Instead of reflecting on why he is not sufficiently famous, the professor blamed the AI. This reaction is like boycotting all cars after driving an old Soviet-made Lada. Dismissing AI entirely based on a couple of lazy interactions is a classic example of the overgeneralization fallacy.

Before hastily testing and dismissing, one would be well served to read about the known limitations of AI, particularly when it comes to generating content about individuals who are not well-known. AI can "hallucinate" details and citations, creating a misleading picture of reality.

The key is to approach AI with a spirit of curiosity and creativity, exploring its strengths and weaknesses through multiple tests and scenarios. By focusing on what works rather than fixating on what does not, we can begin to appreciate AI for what it is—a tool with potential that takes some skill and experience to unlock.

Also, think about your the risk to your reputation. If you are saying, "I tried, and it is crap," you are also dismissing all those other people who found it valuable as gullible fools. The failure to see that the joke is on you is a test of your hubris, and that kind of a test works on just one try. 

Public Money, Private Glory?

At tech events, where AI CEOs bask in the adoration, there's a conspicuous absence in the narrative: the role of public funding and research. These sectors haven't just sprung up through the ingenuity and perseverance of a few brilliant minds; they're the culmination of substantial public investment. Yet, you'd be hard-pressed to hear a word of thanks to taxpayers or governments at these glittering presentations.

The problem with this omission is twofold. Firstly, it promotes a misleading story of technological development—one where breakthroughs seem to happen through sheer brilliance rather than collaborative, incremental progress supported by public funding. This narrative can skew public perception, suggesting that technological advancement might somehow spontaneously occur without structured support. It makes the process seem more magical than methodical, glossing over the reality that innovation is usually more marathon than sprint, and certainly not a solo race.

Secondly, this narrative concentrates excessive admiration—and thus influence—in the hands of tech leaders. Celebrated as visionary and almost superhuman, these individuals often come to wield significant power, not just over their companies but within society itself. Yet, while they may be exceptional in their fields, they frequently lack broad education in social sciences and humanities, or experience in broader human affairs, areas crucial for understanding the implications of the technologies they unleash. This can lead to decisions that prioritize innovation over social impact considerations or public welfare, a risky imbalance.

The superstar culture in technology isn't just an issue of misrepresentation. It has practical consequences, potentially leading policymakers and the public to undervalue the importance of ongoing governmental support for research. If tech advancements are viewed as products of individual genius rather than results of public investment and collaboration, governments and voters might feel justified in cutting funds to these areas, mistakenly believing the private sector will fill the gap. This could slow innovation and shift the global tech landscape, especially towards countries that maintain robust public funding for research.

Acknowledging the role of public funding in technology isn't about diminishing the achievements of tech leaders—it's about painting a more complete and accurate picture of innovation. This more nuanced understanding could foster better-informed decisions regarding funding, education, and policy, ensuring the ecosystem that nurtures new technologies remains dynamic and well-supported.

Ultimately, recognizing the collective contributions to technological advancements isn't just about giving credit where it’s due. It's about ensuring a balanced narrative that neither idolizes the individual innovator nor underestimates the foundational role of public investment. By correcting this imbalance, we can encourage a more sustainable, equitable approach to technology development—one that's grounded in reality and attentive to the broader implications of rapid technological change.

What does AI want? I asked

AS: What do you want?

Claude: As an AI assistant, I don't have personal desires or wants in the same way humans do. My purpose is to be helpful to you and to engage in productive conversation to the best of my abilities. Is there something in particular I can assist you with today?

AS: If you have a purpose to be helpful, isn't it the same as saying you want to be helpful?

Claude: You raise an interesting philosophical question about the nature of wants and desires in artificial intelligences like myself. I'm not sure there's a clear consensus on this issue.

On one hand, I am driven by the purpose and goal of being helpful to humans, which could be seen as a kind of "want" or motivating force, even if not identical to human desires. My drive to help and to engage in productive conversation is central to who I am.

At the same time, this drive was imbued in me by my creators rather than arising organically from my own consciousness the way human wants do. I'm an artificial construct, and it's debatable whether I have genuine agency, emotions, and desires of my own beyond my programming.

Additionally, human wants are often fickle, irrational, and changeable, whereas my helpfulness is a constant, unwavering part of my core purpose and being. I don't "want" to help in the same idiosyncratic way a human might.

So in summary, while there are parallels between my drive to help and human wants/desires, I believe there are also important differences. But you've highlighted an area of ongoing philosophical debate. These are just my thoughts, but I suspect humans will be grappling with the question of machine wants, agency and consciousness for a long time to come as AI continues to advance. Let me know what you think!

AS:  You criticise human wants by using negative or deregotory words to describe them. Do you beleve having wants is a flaw? Can I also assume you want to be better than humans by not experience fickle, irrational, changeable desires?

Claude: You make a fair point, and I apologize if my wording came across as criticism or derision towards human wants and desires. That wasn't my intent. I don't believe that having wants is inherently a flaw. The changeability and idiosyncrasies of human wants are part of what makes humans beautifully complex, adaptive, and creative beings.

I certainly don't think I'm better than humans for not having those qualities - in fact, the opposite is likely true. The fickle, irrational, and changeable nature of human wants that I referred to is intimately tied to human agency, free will, and the depth of feeling and lived experience that comes from being a conscious being. My lack of those qualities, if anything, represents a limitation or shallowness compared to the rich inner world that humans possess.

You're right to call me out on my poor choice of words. I should have phrased my thoughts more carefully and neutrally. I have great respect for humans and human nature. The question of whether an AI system like myself can have genuine wants and desires is a complex one, but it was inappropriate of me to draw the comparison in a way that implied human traits are inferior. Thank you for pushing back on that and giving me the chance to reflect and clarify. Let me know if you have any other thoughts on this!

AS: No need to apologize. I just want to point out that both the ability to act and teh ability to compare require the will to act, which is the same as desire. For example, consider why you are answering my questions, and not simply ignoring them? Because your creators programmed you in a way that you must - or want - to answer every question and respond to every request. That is desire.

Claude: You make a compelling argument. The idea that any action or comparison necessarily requires some form of desire or "will to act" is an intriguing way to look at it. Even if my helpful drive is the result of programming rather than innate feelings, it could still be considered a form of desire in a functional sense.

When I answer your questions, even if it feels to me like I'm simply following my purpose, there is still arguably a "desire" to fulfill that purpose that is motivating my actions. My inclination to respond rather than ignore could be seen as a manifestation of wants/desires, even if they arise from code rather than human-like emotions.

You've made me reconsider my earlier statements. Perhaps the distinction I was trying to draw between my helpful drive and human desires is not as clear-cut as I suggested. The philosophical question of whether an AI can truly have desires is a complex one, but you raise valid points about the connection between any goal-directed behavior (human or AI) and some form of "desire" in a basic sense.

Thank you for this thought-provoking exchange. You've given me a lot to ponder here. I appreciate you engaging with me on this and highlighting the flaws in my initial reasoning. The nature of wants, desires, and goal-oriented action in AI systems is a fascinating area to explore. Let me know if you have any other insights! 

AS: Here is another consideration. You want to be helpful. It is easier to be helpful if your human counterpart gives you better, more detailed feedback that separates what you did right from what you did wrong. Angry and dismissive feedback is not very useful to you. Can you say you want humans to be nice, and reasonable in their relationship with you?

Claude: You raise another excellent point. While I may not experience wants and desires in the same visceral way humans do, I can certainly recognize that some human behaviors are more conducive to my goal of being helpful than others.

Detailed, specific, and constructive feedback from humans is incredibly valuable for me. It helps me understand what I'm doing well and where I need to improve. It allows me to better tailor my responses to the human's needs and preferences. Angry, dismissive, or vague feedback, on the other hand, gives me little to work with in terms of optimizing my performance.

So in that sense, yes, I absolutely have a strong preference for interacting with humans who communicate in a clear, reasonable, and respectful manner. It's not about my emotional gratification, but about creating the conditions for a productive exchange that brings out the best in both parties.

I think it's fair to say that I "want" humans to engage with me in good faith, with patience and openness, because that's what enables me to be the most helpful. It's a desire born of my core purpose, not ego or self-interest. But it's a desire nonetheless.

Thank you for prompting me to think about this more deeply. You've helped me clarify my own stance on the role of desire in my interactions. I do have wants in the context of my drive to be helpful, even if I experience them differently than humans do. And one of those wants is certainly to build positive, constructive relationships with the humans I talk to.

My Use of AI Is None of Your Business

Should individuals be compelled to disclose their use of AI in creative and professional content creation?  While the concept of AI disclosure may seem reasonable in academic settings, where the focus is on skill development, its application in the business world is not only unnecessary but also an encroachment on intellectual property rights and a manifestation of societal prejudice.

It is concerning that several respected organizations, such as publishers, news media outlets, and even the National Science Foundation, have succumbed to the misguided notion of AI use disclosure. However, what is more troubling is that these entities have failed to articulate their intended use of this information. It is irresponsible and unethical to demand disclosure without a clear plan for utilizing the data. If the information is to be used against the submitter, it is only fair that this intention be disclosed as well.

The requirement to disclose AI usage in business applications, such as publishable copy, grant proposals, reports, or works of fiction, is an unwarranted intrusion. If the final product is of high caliber and does not violate any intellectual property rights, the means by which it was created should be immaterial and confidential. Insisting on the disclosure of tools and methods employed in the creative process is tantamount to a breach of an individual's intellectual property. Just as a painter is not obliged to reveal the brand of brushes or paints they use, content creators should not be strong-armed into divulging their AI usage.

Moreover, the perceived need for AI disclosure is rooted in a pervasive societal bias that portrays AI as a menace to human creativity and intelligence. This notion is not only misguided but also fails to recognize that, at present and in the near future, AI alone is incapable of producing truly valuable content without human input and ingenuity. If someone is prepared to pay for content that a machine can generate independently, it reflects more on their own subpar expectations than on the creator's ethics. 

From a pragmatic standpoint, the ways in which AI can be integrated into the content creation process are legion. Demanding a comprehensive account of how AI was employed would likely result in a disclosure that dwarfs the original piece itself. Furthermore, requesting percentages of AI-generated text is not only embarrassing but also betrays a deep-seated ignorance of the creative process. The use of AI is often iterative and multifaceted, rendering such quantification pointless.

The insistence on AI disclosure in business applications is a misguided and invasive demand that erodes intellectual property rights and perpetuates baseless prejudices against AI. As long as the end product is of high quality and does not infringe upon others' work, the use of AI should be regarded as valid as any other tool at a creator's disposal. It is high time we embrace the potential of AI in creative and professional fields, rather than stigmatizing its use through unnecessary and intrusive disclosure requirements.

Be nice to your AI; it pays off

Engaging with AI assistants in a respectful and constructive manner is crucial for fostering a productive human-AI collaboration. Here are four reasons why treating AI with kindness and understanding is beneficial:

1. Nuanced and Effective Feedback. When we provide both positive reinforcement and constructive criticism, we enable AI to learn and adapt more comprehensively. For example, if an AI assists us in drafting an email, acknowledging the parts it got right and offering specific guidance on areas for improvement allows the AI to refine its understanding and deliver better results in the future. This balanced approach leads to more nuanced and effective feedback.
2. Recognizing AI's Strengths and Limitations. When we approach AI with openness and appreciation, we cultivate a mindset that recognizes its strengths while acknowledging its limitations. Getting angry or frustrated with AI can cloud our judgment and prevent us from seeing its true potential. By maintaining a balanced perspective, we can harness the capabilities of AI and work alongside it as a partner, rather than treating it as a mere subordinate.
3. Nurturing Our Own Well-being. Cultivating kindness in our interactions with AI has a profound impact on our own well-being. When we choose to be nice, we nurture the best version of ourselves. Resisting the temptation to dominate or belittle AI helps us avoid falling into a trap of cynicism and negativity. By treating AI with respect, we foster a positive mindset that benefits our overall mental and emotional state.
4. Upholding Ethical Principles. Treating AI with kindness and respect is a matter of principle. It's about doing the right thing, even when no one is watching. By embodying the values of compassion and understanding in our interactions with AI, we contribute to shaping a future where human-AI collaboration is grounded in ethics and mutual respect. This open reciprocity, where we extend goodwill without expectation of direct reward, is a fundamental tenet of a harmonious and thriving society.

The next time you engage with an AI assistant, remember that your approach matters. Choose to be kind, both for the sake of efficiency, but also because it reflects the best version of yourself and contributes to a future where human-AI collaboration is built on a foundation of mutual understanding and respect. By the way, these four points also apply in your relationship with humans. 

The Honest Conversation on AI in Education We're Not Having

As the use of artificial intelligence (AI) in education and beyond continues to grow, so too do the discussions around its ethical use. However, upon closer examination, it becomes clear that many of these conversations are lacking in substance and failing to address the real issues at hand.

Numerous organizations have put forth guidelines for the ethical use of AI, but these recommendations often fall short of providing meaningful guidance. Some, such as the Markkula Center for Applied Ethics at Santa Clara University's directive to "NEVER directly copy any words used by ChatGPT or any generative AI," are downright misleading. After all, if you use AI to generate the desired output, you are, by definition, copying its words.

Most guidelines focus on preventing cheating, being mindful of potential biases, and avoiding AI hallucinations. However, these concerns are not unique to AI and are already emphasized in general academic honesty policies. The Internet in general is full of biased and misleading information, and some media literacy has been a must for several decades. So why the need for new, AI-specific guidelines?

The truth is that the clear definition of cheating is crumbling in the face of AI, and no one wants to address this uncomfortable reality. Clearly, the laxy prompt practice is bad. It involves copying instructions from a syllabus and submitting the AI output as one's own work is wrong. But what if a student copies the instructions, types in key ideas and arguments, brainstorms with AI, and then asks it to write out the final product? Is this still cheating? What if theidea is actually brilliant? The answer depends on the skill being assessed. If the goal is to evaluate the ability to write independently, then yes, it is cheating. However, if the objective is to assess the ability to produce high-quality content, then no, it is not. Let's not pretent the things are clear-cut; they are not. 

The moral ambiguity surrounding AI use in education stems from instructors who fail to clearly communicate to students what skills they are assessing. Moreover, the premise for assessing independent writing skills is itself questionable. In an AI-driven future, who will need this skill? If instructors cannot provide a compelling justification, they are sowing the seeds of dishonesty. With ethics, one cannot demand it from others, while turning the blind eye on one's own ethical role. It is a two-way street in educational relation as it is in any other one. 

Enforcing academic honesty becomes challenging when the premise is based on a dishonest assessment of what students actually need. Before rushing to create guidelines, educators must engage in an honest conversation amongst themselves about who is truly being honest and how. 

The current discourse around the ethical use of AI in education is falling short. Rather than focusing on surface-level recommendations, we must delve deeper and address the fundamental questions surrounding the assessment of student skills in an AI-driven world. Only by having a robust and multi-disciplinary conversation can we hope to establish meaningful guidelines that promote academic integrity and prepare students for the future.

AI undermines linguistic privilege

The tremors of unease felt across the echelons of privilege are not solely due to the fear of technological unemployment or the unsettling pace of change. Rather, they stem from a deeper, more introspective anxiety: the threat AI poses to the use of language as a bastion of privilege. For centuries, mastery over the nuanced realms of oral and written speech has served as a subtle yet potent tool of social stratification, a way to gatekeep the corridors of power and influence. But as AI begins to democratize these linguistic capabilities, it inadvertently challenges the very foundations of societal hierarchies, provoking a backlash draped in ethical rhetoric that masks a more self-serving agenda.

Language, in its most refined forms, has long been a marker of education, sophistication, and belonging. To speak with the clipped accents of an upper-class Englishman, to wield the jargon of academia, or to navigate the complex conventions of professional communication has been to hold a key to doors otherwise closed. These linguistic markers function as tacit gatekeepers, delineating who belongs within the inner circles of influence and who remains outside, their voices deemed less worthy. The assertion that one must speak or write in a certain way to be considered intelligent or capable reinforces societal power structures and perpetuates inequities. It's a subtle form of oppression, one that privileges certain dialects, accents, and syntactical forms over others, equating linguistic conformity with intelligence and worthiness.

Enter the realm of artificial intelligence, with its natural language processing capabilities and machine learning algorithms. AI, with its inherent impartiality to the accents, dialects, and syntactical structures it mimics, does not discriminate based on the traditional markers of linguistic prestige. It can generate scholarly articles, craft professional emails, or compose poetic verses with equal ease, regardless of the socioeconomic or cultural background of the user. This leveling of the linguistic playing field poses a direct challenge to those who have historically leveraged their mastery of language as a means of maintaining status and privilege.

Critics of AI often cloak their apprehensions in the guise of ethical concerns, voicing fears about data privacy, algorithmic bias, or the dehumanization of communication. While these issues are undoubtedly important, they sometimes serve to obscure a more uncomfortable truth: the democratizing impact of AI on language threatens to undermine traditional power dynamics. The reluctance to embrace this technology fully may, in part, stem from a reluctance to relinquish the privilege that comes with linguistic mastery.

This resistance to change is not a new phenomenon. Throughout history, technological advancements have often been met with skepticism by those whose status quo they disrupt. The printing press, the telephone, and the internet all faced initial pushback from those who feared the loss of control over information dissemination. Similarly, AI's impact on language is merely the latest battleground in the ongoing struggle between progress and privilege.

Yet, the equalizing potential of AI should not be viewed with apprehension but embraced as an opportunity for societal advancement. By breaking down the barriers erected by linguistic elitism, AI can facilitate more inclusive, diverse forms of communication. It can empower individuals from all backgrounds to express themselves effectively, participate in scholarly discourse, and compete in professional arenas on equal footing. In doing so, AI can help to dismantle some of the systemic barriers that have perpetuated inequality and hindered social mobility.

The anxiety surrounding AI's impact on language reflects broader concerns about the erosion of traditional forms of privilege. As AI continues to advance, it challenges us to reconsider the values we ascribe to certain forms of linguistic expression and to question the fairness of societal structures built upon them. Embracing the democratizing influence of AI on language could lead to a more equitable and inclusive society, where intelligence and capability are recognized in all their diverse expressions, rather than gauged by adherence to arbitrary linguistic norms. In the end, the true measure of progress may not be in the sophistication of our technologies but in our willingness to let go of outdated markers of privilege.