By now, most students have likely heard about the recent New York Mag article on the rise of plagiarism in colleges. But chances are they didn’t come across it in a printed magazine or a library archive. More likely, it was through a glowing screen—a phone, a laptop, an iPad—one of the many rectangles through which we now experience not only information, but education itself.
This isn’t just about cheating; it’s about how learning has become inseparable from the devices we use to access it. Lectures are streamed, textbooks are rented digitally, assignments are submitted through portals, and even casual conversation about school happens online. The classroom hasn’t disappeared—it’s just been uploaded. And with that shift comes a subtle reshaping of what education feels like: faster, more efficient, more fragmented, more transactional.
I don’t blame students for turning to AI tools like ChatGPT. When every aspect of learning is mediated by technology, it’s no surprise that we turn to the most powerful tools available. But we should still ask: what does it mean when even thinking becomes something we outsource? What happens when convenience becomes the highest intellectual value, or when education is quietly reshaped into a commodity handled by invisible hands? There’s no single answer. But in a system that rewards speed over depth and productivity over reflection, technology doesn’t just support learning—it starts to define it.
This brings me to a broader concern: the education system itself. Blaming technology alone for anti-intellectualism in America is shortsighted. In my three years at Seattle University, only one professor has expressed serious concern about the rise of artificial intelligence. Coincidentally, or perhaps not, the same professor also offers one of the most enriching learning experiences I’ve had. In their classroom, curiosity is encouraged, asking questions is rewarded, and relying on ChatGPT for shortcuts is almost impossible. What makes this environment work is not resistance to AI, but the creation of a space where meaningful learning takes priority over performative achievement.
Too often, students are pressured to perform well on tests, master material quickly, and secure a diploma—sometimes without deeply engaging with what they’re learning. This system rewards speed and surface-level understanding over depth and critical thinking. So, can we really blame students for using the fastest tool available when the system itself prioritizes instant results? Universities that claim to fear AI often run classrooms like mechanical factories, churning out degrees instead of cultivating minds. This, to me, is the real danger.
To professors, I ask: If you’re concerned about students overusing AI, then model thoughtful learning. Set clear guidelines. Build classrooms that foster dialogue, patience and independent thought. Use your voice to challenge the systems that reduce education to corporate transactions.
To my fellow students, my message is one of encouragement, not judgment. AI isn’t inherently bad in its totality. Just as you wouldn’t use your phone to hack the school’s database (I hope), don’t use AI to bypass the thinking process you’re more than capable of doing on your own. Use it to brainstorm ideas, organize your thoughts or explore sources—but don’t let it replace your brain. Don’t fall into the trap of convenience simply because it’s there. Don’t feed into a system that profits from your passivity and limits your intellectual potential.
Most importantly, work with your peers and professors to rethink what education should be. Recognize that the problem isn’t just the screen in your hand—it’s the structure that’s training you to reach for it before thinking critically. I promise you, there are immense benefits from
picking up a book instead of sending a message through ChatGPT. If we want a future where knowledge is empowering instead of transactional, we must demand a system that values learning for its own sake.
