We’ve all heard every man and his dog ask their good mate “Chat” for help with whatever problem they come up against recently. So you have a weird rash that won’t go away? Ask Chat. What should I eat for lunch? Ask Chat. Have a super long assignment you can’t be bothered to write? Ask Chat. Any task that requires even a fraction of effort or more than one Google search? Ask Chat!
For those unaccustomed, or anyone who has been living under a rock, by “Chat” I am referring to ChatGPT, the most widely used AI chatbot, which is, to some, the best thing since sliced bread. It is also the bane of many’s existence. As part of the business faculty, I have found myself more than once this semester pleading with one of my group assignment members to not to copy and paste whatever ChatGPT or any other LLM spews out. Or at the very least, have the decency to remove the bolded words and headings?
Despite my forthright start to this article I must remove myself from my own high horse and admit that I have indeed succumbed to using AI on the odd occasion. I am only human. However, this means I must also point the finger at myself when considering the complications around using AI. In a college setting, it tends to be incredibly murky territory: we all know we for the most part shouldn’t be relying on it, but some professors encourage it, and the College supposedly also embraces it?
When I began to ask Trinity students about their use of AI a resounding message was summed up in one student’s statement: “I know I shouldn’t use it but I still do.” This perfectly conveys the distinct cognitive dissonance currently experienced by many. Whilst there are no concrete statistics on how many students at Trinity use AI, the Irish Examiner stated that two of every three students in Ireland used AI in 2025. To be clear AI is not inherently against Trinity guidelines, but overreliance raises serious questions of academic integrity. With the allure of fast, frictionless answers that are often undetectable by plagiarism software, the line between acceptable and excessive use becomes increasingly difficult to define.
Considering Trinity students specifically, multiple students posited the idea that AI usage varies by faculty. It was proposed that humanities students were seen as more likely to resist or criticise AI, while those in business and STEM fields were more inclined to use it. A study conducted at a Singaporean university echoes this sentiment,finding that students felt guilt when using AI for creative tasks but not for routine ones. Individuals faced with this discomfort either aligned their beliefs and values (i.e. changing one’s attitude to academic integrity) or changed their behaviour to align with their cognitions. This points to a psychological stress that can either make us more discerning in our beliefs, creating higher standards for ourselves, or push us to become more adept at extracting what we want from a chatbot. Coping mechanisms included confirmation bias (exclusively taking in information that aligns with one’s beliefs) or resorting to “dishonest practices”. Peer behaviour also plays a significant role: when AI use feels normal, students are more likely to follow suit.
Conflicting demands of high quality, original work and managing limited time, resources, or guidance are cited as the main psychological stressors driving AI use. Personally, I have also found AI overuse can contribute to a distinct lack of guidance or the degradation of teaching quality, further fuelling this cycle. This became particularly clear to me this semester, when I found myself increasingly frustrated attending lectures where every slide was clearly AI-generated.It raises an uncomfortable question: is it not hypocritical for lecturers to criticise students for using AI while relying on it themselves as a crutch to prop up poorly delivered course content?
This dilemma is compounded by constant messaging from employers urging students to develop AI skills to remain competitive. In a cost of living crisis where quality work is scarce, it is understandable to fall into line with this call to action. What is often missing, however, is clarity. Even the companies promoting AI do not fully understand its long-term implications or limitations. While AI can enhance research efficiency, it also risks biased outputs, fabricated information, and ethical concerns. Overreliance leads to deskilling and creates a weaker foundation of knowledge, leaving students underprepared for the workplace.
Key ways to minimise risks point to how we should engage with LLMs. As stated in a previous University Times article, using AI for editing does not have the same cognitive effects as writing or producing material. By engaging unassisted in the writing process, students are able to avoid the bypassing of deep memory processes associated with AI usage, improve classroom engagement and produce better quality work.
From a university standpoint, the response should not be to increase assessment loads or require vague AI declaration forms (which, might I add, have been proven to reduce trust). Instead, further education should occur within courses including how to prompt responsibly, identify errors, recognise bias and verify information. Teaching students to critically engage with AI would strengthen their skills while preparing them for a future in which these tools are unavoidable.
So it is upon us to consider whether we are willing to trade our individual skill sets, honed over a dozen years of schooling and the tertiary education we are striving to complete, for the sake of convenience. Or can we use AI in a way that supports rather than replaces our abilities?
AI is not going anywhere, but neither is the value of thinking for yourself. The real question is not whether we use these tools, but whether we let them hollow out the very skills we came to college to build. If we outsource curiosity, effort, and critical thought, what exactly are we left with? Convenience is tempting, but it is a poor substitute for competence. Choosing to engage, to struggle through the process, and to produce something genuinely your own may soon become the most radical thing a student can do.
