I’m running a faculty development course this month called “Teaching Writing in the Age of Generative AI” and it has led to some interesting discussions. I asked the participants to read and reflect on my post, “Prompts and Conditions,” which I wrote a couple of years ago, when the challenge that AI might pose for higher education was just coming into view. I think the basic idea of the post was agreeable to most of the participants, but a number of them had some interesting reactions to what I would call the “rhetoric” of the post. I want to address two of them in particular in a post each.

One of the participants noted a parenthesis at the end of what I took to be a very practical remark about setting deadlines. Here’s what I had written:

If we imagine classes are held on Mondays, students can be given the take-home prompts at the end of the class and submit their essays on Friday (there’s no need to ruin their weekend).

“Doesn’t this suggest that our students don’t want to learn? Why would we presume that studying on the weekend ruins it?” asked the participant. He recalled that when he was a student he was happy to spend his evenings and weekends studying and, indeed, that he felt that he was expected to do so by his teachers. Is this something that we have suddenly abandoned? (And, we might add, does AI force us to do so?)

Now, I must say that I had not expected anyone to take this remark as seriously as that. The idea of “ruining” a weekend by doing school work was only intended as a lighthearted gesture at the priorities of young people. But perhaps playing to these priorities is ill-advised; and perhaps it comes off as condescending, even to the students who have them. It’s always worth thinking about the rhetorical effects of our pedagogical strategies.

In defending my choice of words at the time, I did point out that he was taking a rather hard line against another kind of concern that teachers often express for their students: not everyone has the luxury of devoting their entire lives to school while they are attending university. Many have jobs on the side; some even have families to tend to. “Ruining the weekend” may be more existential for some students than merely skipping a night on the town. This seemed to elicit some nods in the room, including from my critic.

In any case, it’s important to remember that deadlines are always somewhat arbitrary and are likely to occasion both procrastination at first and consternation at last among some students. So I spend a lot of time teaching (and coaching) students (and faculty) to plan their work in orderly, half-hour “moments” of composition so that they can comfortably meet their deadlines without having to miraculate a text at the eleventh hour. For the same reason, whenever it is up to me, I like to place that eleventh hour before noon on a Friday, rather than midnight on a Sunday. It’s just a good way to signal that you may as well get the work done during the working week, as part of your regular day-to-day program of study. It keeps the task of doing an assignment in proportion.

Like I say, I don’t want to dismiss the concern about the rhetoric force of talk about “ruining” our students weekend by asking them to study. But perhaps it is precisely the question of whether what they do during their “free” time is chosen or assigned. A student that wanted to read a book you have suggested or do some writing of their own can still have that hope “ruined” by poor planning and ostensibly “generous” deadlines.

I don’t claim to have a definitive take on how to talk about school-life balance with students and how important we should presume (whether in our thoughts or in our speech) learning is to them. As an occasion to give it some thought, my participants remark is well taken. I’m happy to hear more thoughts in the comments below.