Personal Growth

I’m preparing to teach a unit on AI literacy to a group of high schoolers next month, and it’s clear that we need to spend some of that time discussing the ethics of using Large Language Models (LLMs) like ChatGPT. I’m still working through this stuff myself, particularly because students are sharing their own opinions about it and getting me thinking, so I thought I would take this opportunity to carefully consider the ethics of this type of AI, both as a teacher and as someone who uses LLMs regularly.

As a teacher, I’ve witnessed countless moments where curiosity transforms learning from a task into an adventure. One story particularly stands out. In my Tech Projects class, I had a student who was paralyzed by the blank canvas of possibility. The course begins with complete freedom to choose any technology project, and for this student, that freedom felt overwhelming. Nothing seemed quite right.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what works in my classroom and what doesn’t. Sometimes it’s obvious - like when a project catches fire and students can’t wait to dive in. Other times, it’s harder to pin down why something that looked great on paper just didn’t land. I need help to see things clearly. That’s why I’ve always valued getting feedback on my work.

When I first got onto the World Wide Web, one of the things I liked best about it was that it was, in so many ways, completely bonkers. People were putting up weird stuff, wonderful commentary, exciting new ideas, and just being themselves in a way that was suddenly accessible to everyone around the world, including me, sitting at a computer in my tiny apartment.

In our rush toward progress, what do we choose to keep, and what do we leave behind? This question has been on my mind lately, sparked by a remarkable story from the aftermath of World War I. It’s a story that challenges how we think about value, preservation, and the hidden costs of optimization.