Returning to the classroom post-pandemic and encountering ChatGPT, I’ve become fixated on what I now call “the battle for the human soul.” On one side, there’s Ozempification—that alluring shortcut. It’s the path where mediocrity is the destination, and the journey there is paved with laziness. Like popping Ozempic for quick weight loss and calling it a day, the shortcut to academic success involves relying on AI to churn out lackluster work. Who cares about excellence when Netflix is calling your name, right?
On the other side, we have Humanification. This is the grueling path that my personal hero, Frederick Douglass, would champion. It’s the deep work Cal Newport writes about in his best-selling books. Humanification happens when we turn away from comfort and instead plunge headfirst into the difficult, yet rewarding, process of literacy, self-improvement, and helping others rise from their own “Sunken Place”—borrowing from Jordan Peele’s chilling metaphor in Get Out. On this path, the pursuit isn’t comfort; it’s meaning. The goal isn’t a Netflix binge but a life with purpose and higher aspirations.
Reading Tyler Austin Harper’s essay “ChatGPT Doesn’t Have to Ruin College,” I was struck by the same dichotomy of Ozempification on one side of academia and Humanification on the other. Harper, while wandering around Haverford’s idyllic campus, stumbles upon a group of English majors who proudly scoff at ChatGPT, choosing instead to be “real” writers. These students, in a world that has largely tossed the humanities aside as irrelevant, are disciples of Humanification. For them, rejecting ChatGPT isn’t just an academic decision; it’s a badge of honor, reminiscent of Bartleby the Scrivener’s iconic refusal: “I prefer not to.” Let that sink in. Give these students the opportunity to use ChatGPT to write their essays, and they recoil at the thought of such a flagrant self-betrayal.
After interviewing students, Harper concludes that using AI in higher education isn’t just a technological issue—it’s cultural and economic. The disdain these students have for ChatGPT stems from a belief that reading and writing transcend mere resume-building or career milestones. It’s about art for art’s sake. But Harper wisely points out that this intellectual snobbery is rooted in privilege: “Honor and curiosity can be nurtured, or crushed, by circumstance.”
I had to stop in my tracks. Was I so privileged and naive to think I could preach the gospel of Humanification while unaware that such a pursuit costs time, money, and the peace of mind that one has a luxurious safety net in the event the Humanification quest goes awry?
This question made me think of Frederick Douglass, a man who had every reason to have his intellectual curiosity “crushed by circumstance.” In fact, his pursuit of literacy, despite the threat of death, was driven by an unquenchable thirst for knowledge. But Douglass, let’s be honest, is an outlier—a hero for the ages. Can we really expect most people, particularly those without resources, to follow that path? Harper’s argument carries weight. Without the financial and cultural infrastructure to support it, aspiring to Humanification isn’t always feasible.
I often tell my students that being rich makes it easier to be an intellectual. Imagine the luxury: you could retreat to an off-grid cabin (complete with Wi-Fi, obviously), gorge on organic gourmet food prepped by your personal chef, and spend your days reading Dostoevsky in Russian and mastering Schubert’s sonatas while taking sunset jogs along the beach. When you emerge back into society, tanned and enlightened, you could boast of your intellectual achievements with ease.
Harper’s point is that wealth facilitates Humanification. At a place like Haverford, with its “writing support, small classes, and unharried faculty,” it’s easier to uphold an honor code and aspire to intellectual purity. But for most students—especially those in public schools—this is a far cry from reality. My wife teaches sixth grade in the public school system, and she’s shared stories of schools that resemble post-apocalyptic wastelands more than educational institutions. We’re talking mold-infested buildings, chemical leaks, and underpaid teachers sleeping in their cars. Expecting students in these environments to uphold an “honor code” and strive for Humanification? It’s not just unrealistic—it’s insulting.
This brings to mind Maslow’s hierarchy of needs. Before we can expect students to self-actualize by reading Dostoevsky or rejecting ChatGPT, they need food, shelter, and basic safety. It’s hard to care about literary integrity when you’re navigating life’s survival mode.
As I dive deeper into Harper’s thought-provoking essay on economic class and the honor code, I can’t help but notice the uncanny parallel to the “weight management code” my Critical Thinking students tackle in their first essay. Both seem to hinge not just on personal integrity or effort but on a cocktail of privilege and circumstance. Could it be that striving to be an “authentic writer,” untouched by the mediocrity of ChatGPT and backed by the luxury of free time, is eerily similar to the aspiration of achieving an Instagram-worthy body, possibly aided by expensive Ozempic injections?
It raises the question: Is the difference between those who reject ChatGPT and those who embrace it simply a matter of character, or is it, at least in part, a product of class? After all, if you can afford the luxury of time—time to read Tolstoy and Dostoevsky in your rustic, tech-free cabin—you’re already in a different league. Similarly, if you have access to high-end weight management options like Ozempic, you’re not exactly running the same race as those pounding the pavement on their $20 sneakers.
Sure, both might involve personal effort—intellectual or physical—but they’re propped up by economic factors that can’t be ignored. Whether we’re talking about Ozempification or Humanification, it’s clear that while self-discipline and agency are part of the equation, they’re not the whole story. Class, as uncomfortable as it might be to admit, plays a significant role in determining who gets to choose their path—and who gets stuck navigating whatever options are left over.
I’m sure the issue is more nuanced than that. These are, after all, complex topics that defy oversimplification. But both privilege and personal character need to be addressed if we’re going to have a real conversation about what it means to “aspire” in this day and age.
Returning to Tyler Austin Harper’s essay, Harper provides a snapshot of the landscape when ChatGPT launched in late 2022. Many professors found themselves swamped with AI-generated essays, which, unsurprisingly, raised concerns about academic integrity. However, Harper, a professor at a liberal-arts college, remains optimistic, believing that students still have a genuine desire to learn and pursue authenticity. He views the potential for students to develop along the path of intellectual and personal growth, as very much alive—especially in environments like Haverford, where he went to test the waters of his optimism.
When Harper interviews Haverford professors about ChatGPT violating the honor code, their collective shrug is surprising. They’re seemingly unbothered by the idea of policing students for cheating, as if grades and academic dishonesty are beneath them. The culture at Haverford, Harper implies, is one of intellectual immersion—where students and professors marinate in ideas, ethics, and the contemplation of higher ideals. The honor code, in this rarified academic air, is almost sacred, as though the mere existence of such a code ensures its observance. It’s a place where academic integrity and learning are intertwined, fueled by the aristocratic mind.
Harper’s point is clear: The further you rise into the elite echelons of boutique colleges like Haverford, the less you have to worry about ChatGPT or cheating. But when you descend into the more grounded, practical world of community colleges, where students juggle multiple jobs, family obligations, and financial constraints, ChatGPT poses a greater threat to education. This divide, Harper suggests, is not just academic; it’s economic and cultural. The humanities may be thriving in the lofty spaces of elite institutions, but they’re rapidly withering in the trenches where students are simply trying to survive.
As someone teaching at a community college, I can attest to this shift. My classrooms are filled with students who are not majoring in writing or education. Most of them are focused on nursing, engineering, and business. In this hypercompetitive job market, they simply don’t have the luxury to spend time reading novels, becoming musicologists or contemplating philosophical debates. They’re too busy hustling to get by. Humanification, as an idea, gets a nod in my class discussions, but in the “real world,” where six hours of sleep is a luxury, it often feels out of reach.
Harper points out that in institutions like Haverford, not cheating has become a badge of honor, a marker of upper-class superiority. It’s akin to the social cachet of being skinny, thanks to access to expensive weight-loss drugs like Ozempic. There’s a smugness that comes with the privilege of maintaining integrity—an implication that those who cheat (or can’t afford Ozempic) are somehow morally inferior. This raises an uncomfortable question: Is the aspiration to Humanification really about moral growth, or is it just another way to signal wealth and privilege?
However, Harper complicates this argument when he brings Stanford into the conversation. Unlike Haverford, Stanford has been forced to take the “nuclear option” of proctoring exams, convinced that cheating is rampant. In this larger, more impersonal environment, the honor code has failed to maintain academic integrity. It appears that Haverford’s secret sauce is its small, close-knit atmosphere—something that can’t be replicated at a sprawling institution like Stanford. Harper even wonders whether Haverford is more museum than university—a relic from an Edenic past when people pursued knowledge for its own sake, untainted by the drive for profit or prestige. Striving for Humanification at a place like Haverford may be an anachronism, a beautiful but lost world that most of us can only dream of.
Harper’s essay forces me to consider the role of economic class in choosing a life of “authenticity” or Humanification. With this in mind, I give my Critical Thinking students the following writing prompt, which they will use for the introductory paragraph in their second essay:
Personal Reflection Prompt: Imagining Wealth as a Path to Humanification
Imagine that you have inherited a vast fortune, freeing you from the demands of work and financial survival. With all the time and resources you could ever need, you now have the opportunity to pursue a life focused on intellectual growth and personal fulfillment—a life of Humanification, as opposed to the shortcuts and superficial gains we often settle for in our daily lives.
In this reflection, describe how you would use your newfound wealth to cultivate yourself as a deeply thoughtful, well-read individual. Consider the choices you might make to enrich your mind, whether through travel, rigorous study, artistic pursuits, or meaningful experiences that challenge and expand your understanding of the world. Reflect on how you would resist the temptation of “Ozempification”—the lure of easy, superficial achievements—and instead dedicate yourself to meaningful, enduring growth. How would this life of Humanification impact your values, relationships, and perspective on life?
As you reflect, consider the role of economic class in the pursuit of an “authentic” or “intellectual” life. Do you think wealth plays a decisive role in people’s ability to focus on self-cultivation and Humanification, rather than opting for practical or mundane paths? In your view, is a lack of financial security a valid reason to abandon pursuits often associated with the privileged, like becoming well-read, exploring philosophy, or creating art? Or, do you think that intellectual and personal growth can (and should) be sought regardless of one’s economic situation?
In your response, consider the following:
1. Describe the intellectual and creative pursuits you would invest in, explaining why these activities appeal to you and how they might contribute to a richer, fuller life.
2. Explore the challenges and choices involved in resisting the temptation for easy, unearned rewards. How would you stay true to your pursuit of meaning?
3. Reflect on how living a life dedicated to Humanification might change the way you view success, happiness, and fulfillment.
4. Finally, consider the role of privilege in your imagined life of Humanification. Would your goals and values shift if you had fewer resources, and would you find it justifiable to focus on more practical pursuits instead?
______
While I acknowledge that Humanification is partly a function of class privilege, I can’t give up on it as a worthwhile and practical pursuit for my students. It doesn’t cost bucket loads of money to become a self-taught autodidactic, an intellectually curious person who hungers to learn something new every day. To be a person whose curiosity is more treasured than consumerism and pleasure-seeking is to be a happy person. This idea is argued persuasively in Jeffrey Rosen’s The Pursuit of Happiness, in which he delves into learning to free ourselves from the maudlin personality–a person who dotes on narcissistic and inconsequential trivia and is enslaved to the irrational passions while instead becoming a self-possessed person of hungers for wisdom and virtue. One of Rosen’s most inspiring examples is Frederick Douglass who had an early understanding that literacy was forbidden to enslaved people because it posed a direct threat to the institution of slavery itself. Douglass’ master knew that an illiterate slave was a docile, childlike being who, lacking the tools for critical thought, would be less likely to rebel or even question their role as a slave. Rosen captures the brilliance of Douglass’ epiphany: the realization that slavery’s cruelty lay not only in physical bondage but also in the systematic effort to shackle the mind. As Douglass learned to read in secret, under the threat of death, he embarked on a journey of self-liberation that proved literacy was both a radical act of defiance and a tool for Humanification—rising from ignorance to a life of meaning, purpose, and intellectual freedom.
One of Douglass’ key turning points was his discovery of The Columbian Orator, a book he purchased at thirteen, which provided him with principles of eloquence and oratory, along with powerful antislavery messages. In it, Douglass encountered a dialogue between a master and slave, a reflection on the dehumanizing effects of slavery that resonated deeply with his own experience. This book laid bare the injustices of slavery and confirmed that developing literacy and reason were not just acts of rebellion, but essential to becoming fully human. Rosen points out that Douglass was convinced that slavery was rooted in the avarice of man, and his reading of The Columbian Orator dismantled any lingering doubts that God had willed his enslavement. For Douglass, literacy opened the door to understanding slavery as a violation of “God’s eternal justice.”
Rosen’s analysis brings to life Douglass’ belief that the root of oppression—whether racial or otherwise—lies in people’s unreasoning hatred and their desire to dominate. Douglass realized that these “inflamed passions” existed across societies and were not exclusive to slavery. Douglass’ profound insight was that humanity’s failure to be governed by reason led to unjust societies that thrived on privilege for some and degradation for others. This understanding is deeply relevant today, especially when we reflect on the ways society continues to foster mediocrity, complacency, and self-degradation, which I have termed “Ozempification”—a lazy, shortcut-driven life that avoids the struggle required for meaningful self-development.
Douglass’ argument for structured education as a path to freedom remains a cornerstone of his philosophy. As Rosen notes, in Douglass’ “Self-Made Men” speech, he articulates that true liberty means the opportunity to educate oneself and attain self-actualization. He rejected the notion that happiness or freedom would come from fate or divine intervention. Instead, Douglass embraced the belief that happiness was a result of hard work and virtuous self-control, not hedonistic pleasures or mindless pursuits. This aligns with Viktor Frankl’s philosophy in Man’s Search for Meaning: happiness is not something to be pursued directly but is a byproduct of living a life full of purpose.
For me, Douglass’ story is both humbling and a powerful call to action. If Douglass risked his life to learn how to read and write, what excuse do I have to squander my intellectual freedom by grazing mindlessly on the Internet or indulging in dopamine hits from social media? His life forces me to reconsider my habits and reminds me that I need to engage in “deep work,” as Cal Newport would put it. Instead of wallowing in self-pity about the challenges AI presents to my teaching career, I need to recommit to the deep intellectual labor that gives life meaning and purpose. It’s clear that, like Douglass, I must fight against complacency and push myself to continuously grow.
By following Douglass’ lead, I realize that my challenges today pale in comparison to his, yet the principles remain the same: the pursuit of knowledge, purpose, and self-improvement must be relentless. In a world filled with distractions and easy shortcuts, Douglass’ story teaches us what it means to live a life committed to true Humanification.
I use Douglass’ example to create a counterargument assignment for the students’ third essay based on this personal reflection:
Personal Reflection Assignment: Humanification Without Privilege—The Path of Frederick Douglass
Frederick Douglass’ life is a powerful reminder that the pursuit of knowledge, purpose, and self-improvement can transcend material privilege. Douglass, born into the bondage of slavery and denied access to formal education, defied all odds to become a literate, free-thinking individual. His journey illustrates that while privilege may provide easier access to resources, it is not a requirement for Humanification—a life of intellectual growth, resilience, and personal liberation.
For this 300-word reflection, consider a time when you faced a limitation—be it financial, social, or personal—that seemed to restrict your opportunities for growth or learning. How did you respond? Did you find a way to pursue your goals despite this limitation, or were there moments where you struggled to believe you could overcome it?
As you reflect, use Douglass’ story as a counterpoint to explore the following:
1. Defining Your Own Humanification: How might Douglass’ example influence your understanding of Humanification? How can the absence of privilege push us to be more resourceful, determined, or resilient in our pursuit of personal growth?
2. The Role of Personal Agency: Like Douglass’ commitment to literacy as a path to freedom, think about how you might pursue self-improvement without relying solely on external advantages. What resources—intellectual, emotional, or social—do you already possess that could support your growth?
3. Examining Modern Privilege and Distraction: How does Douglass’ relentless pursuit of literacy contrast with today’s culture of convenience and distraction? How do you see privilege impacting the way people approach—or avoid—the work of self-education and personal development?
Reflect on how Douglass’ example might encourage you to resist the temptations of “Ozempification” and choose the more challenging path toward lasting Humanification, regardless of your personal circumstances. Use this assignment to explore your own beliefs about privilege, growth, and the power of intentional, purpose-driven work.
