Editor’s Note: This is part of a series called UChicago Class Visits, spotlighting transformative classroom experiences and unique learning opportunities offered at UChicago.
On Halloween, a new University of Chicago class mulled over the “Frankenstein complex.”
The term, coined by famed science fiction writer Isaac Asimov, refers to the idea that creators of intelligent beings—robots, artificial intelligence, reanimated corpses—are doomed to be destroyed by their creations.
“Why do we have so many stories like this?” posed Russell Johnson, an assistant instructional professor at UChicago’s Divinity School and course co-instructor.
After a short breakout session, students began sharing hypotheses. Perhaps it’s punishment for playing God. Maybe they spring from a fear of being replaced. It’s Oedipal—or, wait, Freudian.
The discussion wove back to the featured non-human of the day, the golem. Though the being from Jewish folklore made from reanimated clay appeared centuries before actor Jacob Elordi’s recent turn as Frankenstein’s monster, both grapple with identity, love and the anguish of creation.
In “Golems, Angels, and AI,” a new course offered by the Divinity School, students compared all manner of non-humans—from biblical angels to Blade Runner (1982) replicants to the Mission Impossible digital villain The Entity—all in service of answering a key question: What can depictions of non-humans tell us about what it means to be human?
“What we're trying to do is say, hey, people have thought through this before,” said Johnson, who co-taught the course with Divinity School Dean James T. Robinson. “Do their insights help us face seemingly new technologies? What does it say that humans have been grappling with these questions for a long time?”
Monsters like us
Genevieve Evans was dressed as a vampire squid. It was Halloween after all.
As a creative writing major, the fourth-year in the College was drawn to the course both by instructor reputation and by her interest in sci-fi and fantasy. In writing her own high fantasy political intrigues, Evans likes to tackle philosophical questions.
“Fantasy has this great ability to cast a slight barrier between reality, where you can see things with fresh eyes,” she said.
This idea also informed the Wolf Seminars, a new Divinity School initiative supporting the intersections of science, religion, technology and public life. Each year, courses, events and research will center on a related theme. This year’s theme: religion and sci-fi.
“The most creative work in philosophy and theology these days is happening in sci-fi and fantasy,” said Robinson, the Nathan Cummings Professor of Jewish Studies.
Contrary to reports about the decline of religion in the U.S., Robinson said he sees it everywhere—especially on Netflix.
“Every popular show is thoroughly influenced by basic ideas from religion: the beginning and end of the world, what it means to be human, life and the afterlife,” he said.
Each week in the course, students put this theory to the test, discussing popular and religious depictions of non-human entities: angels, golems, cyborgs, AI, aliens and more. Three times throughout the quarter, students were also tasked with choosing a relevant film, TV show episode or short story to present in class.
For golem week, Evans chose Coraline (2009), the stop-motion animation horror film where a young girl discovers another dimension filled with eerie doppelgangers.
“The movie explores the idea of humanity being replicable or not,” Evans said, “and how the search for perfection is, in some ways, one of the biggest barriers to Coraline's survival.”
The class also delved into monster theory, the idea that vampires, swamp men and giant lizards all represent societal anxieties or fears. That includes the fear of difference.
“I hadn't really thought about using non-humans as a reference to the way that actual humans have been othered over history,” Evans said. “This class gave me an opportunity to think critically about why people make that comparison.”
Johnson said the course aims to give students a “cross-section” of fictional media in order to trace connections and find patterns—something both instructors claimed students seemed to have a “natural ear for.”
“I'm always impressed by the students, how willing they are to speak about pretty much anything,” Robinson said. “In almost every class, almost everyone has spoken or contributed something to the conversation.”
Ghosts in the shell
Making Oreos, the NFL draft, creating art, dating your best friend, catching terrorists. During a class exercise, students ranked how comfortable they would be if each task were fully automated.
A robust debate followed.
Some balked at the idea of any AI in art or creative tasks, while others saw the benefits of AI as a tool. Most were completely fine with machine-made Oreos, and no one seemed particularly interested in automating their best friend’s significant other.
Sailesh Srinivas, a second-year master’s student in the Divinity School, was drawn to the course not only to ponder what it means to be human (our bodies, our souls or perhaps something else), but also to more carefully consider AI.
“I wanted to know if there's any precedent in religious texts or popular culture for thinking about AI,” said Srinivas, who researches love, beauty, virtue and human flourishing within medieval Islamic philosophy and mysticism.
There is indeed precedent, according to Robinson and Johnson. In fact, this isn’t even the first “AI” to capture popular imagination.
According to Robinson, a concept called “active intellect” took hold during the Middle Ages. The idea refers to a cosmic intellect that was believed to be constantly emitting divine ideas. To receive them, and become closer to God, humans had to train their minds.
“From my perspective, artificial intelligence sounds like almost exactly the same thing. Active intellect in the Middle Ages was very much a myth—it was an invented solution to a problem,” Robinson said. “I think artificial intelligence is also a solution to a problem, but it also has mythic qualities.”
Over nine weeks, students read, watched and presented dozens of stories about artificial intelligence—some sympathetic, others humanizing, villainizing or romanticizing.
For his presentation during AI week, Srinivas chose Ghost in the Shell (1996), an animated film based on a popular Japanese manga. In a future world where people are made of machine parts and can move their consciousness around, what exactly makes a human being?
Is it the ability to ponder our own deaths? Srinivas pondered. Our capacity for compassion, or the “constant tension between rationality and our emotions?”
“When you think about what a human being is, maybe it's not just an intelligence in a shell, maybe there's something very specific to a human soul,” he said.
According to Robinson and Johnson, the goal of the course wasn’t to take a pro- or anti-AI stance, but to create awareness of the narratives we’re creating around it before jumping to conclusions.
In their final assignment, students were tasked to draw from past precedent—whether through religious history or philosophy or pop culture—to develop a framework to help think through the challenges AI presents.
In general, Srinivas was impressed by the depth and breadth of class discussion.
“There are so many people in the class, so many backgrounds, so many perspectives that I've never come across or thought about before,” he said.
Evans praised Robinson and Johnson as “phenomenal teachers,” enjoying their varied expertise as much as their banter.
When she considered everything she’d read and watched throughout the course, Evans observed: “I've learned that humans don't like the idea of being alone in the universe.”
