by Mark Bauerlein via The Epoch Times,
In the old days, English class meant two things: one, reading Shakespeare, Tennyson et al., and two, learning to write. The classics plus grammar and punctuation—they made English a serious subject respected for its content and skills. Of course, it’s not like that any longer.
The traditional literary canon is ever less central to the field, which now spends lots of time on “media literacy,” critical thinking, “informational texts,” and other topics unrelated to literary history. Those changes have come about from above, we should note, from experts in curriculum and assessment.
As for writing, the changes have been even more dramatic and taken place in just the past few years. Artificial intelligence (AI) has upset everything. It has swept into education so suddenly and profoundly that teachers are scrambling daily to cope with its effects. This time, it’s not the experts who are leading the way—it’s the kids. They aren’t writing anymore; AI does it for them. Some keywords, a few clicks, an adjustment or two, and “Voila!” the paper’s done. What late-teen can resist?
If they’re going to “meet students where they are,” as the ed school saying goes, teachers cannot assign any out-of-class writing tasks and expect students to do the work themselves. The lure is too strong, the process too easy. It’s safer than plagiarism, too, because AI creates a unique script for every student who requests one, not a borrowed script that can be unearthed through a Google search by the teacher using any unusual sentences that pop up in a paper as clues. Also, AI produces such authentic student prose that teachers haven’t the time or energy to scan each submission for subtle signs of AI usage.
The whole practice of English must change—it already is doing so.
No more out-of-class-writing, no extended research papers (AI does research as well as composing sentences), and no more in-class writing such as essay exams using computers. Blue books are back! One teacher told me recently that he plans to give oral exams to each student one-on-one at the end of the semester (his classes are small enough for him to do so). It’s a good idea, because in an oral exam, he can probe the student’s knowledge of specific elements in “The Great Gatsby” and other works on the syllabus, thus verifying that the student actually read the book and not just an AI summary of it.
Unfortunately, however, no amount of AI avoidance on the part of the teacher can replace what has been lost—namely, sustained, independent composition, a youth in a dorm room or the library spending two hours on his own verbalizing ideas, polishing sentences, and smoothing transitions. Those hours are a value in themselves, for writing is developed by practice, not by study. It’s an exercise, not a content. Reading a book on prose style will not make you a good stylist. A skilled wordsmith has spent years building vocabulary, acquiring a feel for sentence length and paragraph structure, and recognizing when to show and when to tell, what diction best suits this and that topic, and where irony and figurative language might be effective. It’s a plodding progress with lots of trial and error. Common errors are persistent (misplaced modifiers, oblique descriptions, too many passive verbs and prepositional phrases, etc.). An attentive coach is needed.
Nobody enjoys it, not the student who stares at the blank page in dismay or who rereads a paragraph he’s just written and knows it’s awful, and not the English teacher who feels the student’s dismay and joins the struggle to squeeze some eloquence out of that disjointed paragraph. I remember many sessions with students in office hours, the two of us going over a rough draft sentence by sentence as I directed her attention to a comma or a “which” or a verb tense and asking, “Is there anything wrong there?” and waited for her to figure it out. I had to be patient. She had to concentrate. Time slowed down. By the finish, she sighed and smiled weakly, while I looked forward to happy hour.
There’s no replacement for this humanistic boot camp, however. Most people can’t learn to write in any other way. If AI saves them from this unpleasant, plodding training, happiness will go up, but competence won’t. The impact will spread far beyond the campus, giving us an AI-dominant culture and a low-literacy society.
We might see in the coming years a curious irony: As AI does more and more of the work of communication, those times in which a more meaningful, unusual, impressive communication is needed—for instance, when a politician strives to deliver a rousing speech at a time of crisis—will make those few individuals who did get strong literary formation appear as rare assets.
Message to parents: Encourage your kids to keep a diary and write the day’s events in it every night.
