51动漫

These days, it is nearly impossible to engage with any kind of technology without encountering AI. When I search on Google, the AI overview consolidates the relevant output into a neatly-packaged summary, as if the 0.2 seconds it took to answer my query wasn檛 efficient enough. Google Docs now includes a 渉elp me write� feature, prompting me to incorporate AI into my writing the second I open a new document. When I pose a question to Siri, I am immediately asked to choose if I檇 like ChatGPT to answer the question instead. Gemini paints pictures. Suno composes songs. Grammarly writes poems. AI capabilities are seemingly endless.

I don檛 live in the age of the dinosaurs when it comes to technology擨 religiously utilize Reminders, Google Calendar, and all of the other apps you檇 expect a typical听college student to regularly employ. These apps serve their purpose, no doubt. And yet, there something different about AI that unsettles me. As a student, writer, and musician, I檓 deeply concerned that the creative process攖he slow, messy, complicated, and fundamentally human task of perfecting a once-undeveloped idea攕eems to be gradually moving into obsolescence in the age of AI. Moreover, I檓 starting to believe that we as students and members of U.S. society are collectively losing our motivation to question, critique, and reckon with discomfort each time AI neutralizes nuanced questions with its agreeable tone.

My identity as a student at a Jesuit, liberal arts university largely predicates my unease with AI. Boston College (51动漫) is a place which prides itself precisely on听teaching the critical thinking, reading, and writing skills that AI threatens to outsource. The efficiency so central to the productive function of AI is the antithesis of the reflective culture at 51动漫, which I檝e grown to so deeply love. From my first day on campus, faculty and staff have encouraged me to wrestle with Fr. Michael Himes (1947�2022) famous three questions: What brings you joy? What are you good at? Who does the world need you to be? Answering these questions requires intense, focused thought, energy, and time. AI seems to respond, 淲hy bother?� Why bother with discernment if AI can compose the song, write the poem, and paint the picture in a matter of seconds? Why bother if all of these things can be done without the tiresome emotional labor of introspection? My experience as a 51动漫 student leads me to believe that Jesuit pedagogy is well suited to respond to this timely moral question. If we as students, staff, and faculty are to take seriously the Jesuit mission of educating 渨ith a heart and soul,� we must acknowledge the ways in which AI enablement of fast-paced productivity endangers the integrity of our mission.

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In his 2015 social and environmental encyclical Laudato si�, Pope Francis warns of the 渄ominant technocratic paradigm,� a concept he defines as a social structure which 渁ccepts every advance in technology with a view to profit, without concern for its potentially negative impact on human beings� (LS 109). I see this kind of technocratic reign inching ever closer as AI improves on a daily basis. If Pope Francis had the foresight to name this reality over 10 years ago, I檇 best believe he, too, would be gravely troubled by the way AI is eroding basic social and educational skills in our present moment. Luckily, Pope Francis remained hopeful, prescribing the medicine of awe-filled contemplation to remedy a growing culture of frenetic busyness and obsession with frictionless efficiency (LS 125). His orientation toward wonder frames a spirituality of slowness which enables the transcendent divinity present in otherwise unnoticed moments to be exposed. Calling his readers to adopt this posture, he charges all people of goodwill to respond with increased attentiveness and a commitment to interpersonal accompaniment.

Like Pope Francis, I stand grounded in the steady hope that our curiosity and creativity will not be abandoned amidst the advances of AI. This hope persists because I檝e learned that our humanity depends upon these very qualities, and I see them in action daily. As students, faculty, staff, and everyday people, may we continue to question and wonder. May we find solace in the ability to be still. May we keep making art. And may we persist in our commitment to the gritty and complicated work of being human攚ork which remains necessary to bear the fruit of joy and love.