It’s the end of the semester. Exhaustion has set in and while the to-do list refuses to shrink, AI slop and procrastination are gaining ground. Grading piles up, my attention span is nary to be found, and my bouts with grading induced Tourette’s syndrome are growing. But instead of defaulting to grading autopilot, I’ve been trying to return to ideas that actually ground me and bring me joy both as a teacher and student.
I recently listened, not once but twice, to a Ted Radio Hour episode featuring Meghan Sullivan, a philosophy professor at Notre Dame, who argues that virtue ethics — forming habits of practical wisdom and love — is central to the “good life.” She suggests universities should help students figure out what a good life means for them personally, not just teach narrow, short-lived job skills.
With AI changing work so quickly, training for specific roles is unsustainable. We should focus on the stuff that actually sticks—the ways of thinking and making sense of the world that last longer than any assignment or new tech.
Sullivan also argues that universities can serve as conveners and translators, bringing academic ideas into civic and industry conversations. When public engagement actually connects to what we’re teaching and researching, it gives ethical ideas real credibility—and a shot at shaping policy.
That requires students to be critical thinkers, which rests on a solid liberal arts foundation. Her argument is straightforward: education isn’t just about preparing students for their first job—it’s about helping them figure out what a good life looks like. Not in the abstract, but in ways that are personal and lived.
At a moment when AI is reshaping work at a dizzying pace, training students for narrow roles feels short-sighted. Teaching them how to think, judge, and live well—that endures.
Sullivan also challenges universities to do more than produce knowledge; they need to translate it. That means having conversations across academia, industry, and civic life. When scholarship connects to public engagement, ethical thinking gains traction—it can shape policy, influence organizations, and matter beyond campus. But that only works if students are equipped to think critically, which makes the liberal arts not a luxury, but a foundation.
That resonates with what I see in my own teaching. The most meaningful learning usually doesn’t happen sitting still listening to me drone on about my adventures in the field. It happens in motion—in doing, in moments that feel slightly uncomfortable.
In my Cultural Feast: The Anthropology of Food course, students don’t just study culture—they participate in it. During this semester:
- Together with students from SANE (Student Organization for Nutrition Education), they baked 90 pies for a film screening of PIEOWA.
- They shared foods from their cultures that told their stories, then traded those stories with vocal music students who answered with songs of their own.
- They volunteered at the Good Food Pantry, learning about food insecurity in our region.
- They interviewed producers, while doing ethnographic research at the Macomb Winter Market.
- They learned about the Macomb Food Coop and discovered that in small towns, yes, everyone knows everyone.
- They traveled a few miles outside of Macomb to see what a “sustainable” farm actually looks like on the ground—sheep, pigs, chickens, goats, cattle, puppies, raspberries, tomatoes, and all the complexity that comes with such a diverse system.
This kind of learning is harder to replicate online. Not impossible, but harder. Because at its core, my job isn’t just to deliver content—it’s to disrupt comfort. To push students into experiences they wouldn’t choose on their own. To create conditions where learning feels uncertain, a little risky—and therefore more real.
Which, frankly, is the opposite of AI slop.
For educators, the rise of chatbots raises a pressing question: if students no longer write their own essays, how do we measure what they’ve learned?
My answer is that we need to stop equating learning with the regurgitation of facts. This moment calls for a pivot: away from evaluating polished end products, and toward cultivating the processes that produce them. Argument, interpretation, judgment—these are the skills that matter, and they’re far harder to automate. As I tell my students, I don’t care if you agree with me. I want you to form an argument that can convince me otherwise.
Oddly enough, adapting to AI might actually help us recover what industrialized education pushed aside: the messy, iterative work of thinking. If we lean into that shift, we’re not losing something essential—we’re getting closer to it.
Heather McIlvaine-Newsad is a Professor of Anthropology at Western Illinois University. Her research focuses on collaborative action for sustainability.
The opinions expressed are not necessarily those of the university or TSPR.
Diverse viewpoints are welcomed and encouraged.