Don’t be so humble

Dear editors,

One way or another, AI forces us into cliché. As a first year at UChicago, if I’m not writing with it, how can I avoid writing about it? During orientation, we were bombarded with emails, speeches, and discussion sessions all decrying the use of AI to supplant our famous Chicago Minds—and as we all well know, a mind is a terrible thing to waste. But with all due respect to President Alivisatos and Dean Hale, the College’s high-minded rhetoric falls flat. It falls flat in part because of what strikes me and many others as blatant hypocrisy in redirecting our tuition dollars into Dario Amodei’s pockets to grow trees of knowledge whose tokens we are widely forbidden to consume, yes. More critically, however, is the fact that many first-years are not necessarily convinced unpacking Greek filial piety norms in Antigone gets you a better return on investment than sticking the text into Claude so you can focus on applying to The Blue Chips. Frankly, they might be right; I am not here to argue that point one way or the other. I have instead a proposition that might appeal to the career-minded’s self-interest.

The possessive instinct innate to humans—to the dismay of some philosophy students—is as strong as ever. Just ask anyone who’s gone through a messy breakup or fight with a roommate. It expresses itself in defensiveness, in perceived usufruct, and, most importantly, in pride. People are proud of things that are “theirs”: Take as an example a man who owns a sports car. He may put decals on it to attract more attention, or remove its muffler to turn every head in a two-block radius. His car is attractive, and so by extension he becomes attractive; his car reflects its affluence onto him. It shows the world that he is a man of means, someone who does something important for a living and is paid handsomely for it. He enjoys his car not only for its utility and aesthetic value, but because of what it shows about him: he is the sort of man who has that sort of car.