On Courtesy, ChatGPT, and Why I Still Say Please

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Let’s talk about ChatGPT. Omg how good is it? How amazing is it to have a starting point for a marketing strategy, or a summary of an impenetrable policy document, or a sense-check on the logic of my argument, or a suggested lesson plan, or the dreaded LinkedIn post? (Just remember to take out the hyphens, or em dashes out for this last task: they are the ‘tell’ apparently.) I am grateful for AI and for the heavy lifting and drudge work that ChatGPT has taken off my hands in the past couple of years. So grateful, it would seem, that I realise I routinely say “please” and “thank you” to my machine learning friend. Not once, but repeatedly. ‘Please rewrite this’; ‘Please try again and this time with XYZ’; and also once: ‘Thanks so much!’ It was my daughter who pointed this out to me. ‘Yeah, I do that too,’ she said. ‘It’s just polite innit.’

This got me thinking: is this reflex of common courtesy a quaint hangover from human-to-human interaction, or is it something worth holding onto? ChatGPT is always just as polite back to me - ‘You're very welcome! Let me know if you need anything else!’ - and I have to admit, I find this reassuring.

Because, yes, politeness is absolutely worth holding on to. If we get out of the habit of niceties, unpleasantries soon creep in. I have personal experience, of course. Back in the day, after 8 hours of corralling thirty teenagers in classrooms, hallways and canteens, I’d come home and bark instructions at my partner as if he were a 14 year old whose passnote I had just intercepted. Similarly, I still occasionally issue directives to my own children in my ‘teacher voice’, forgetting that they aren’t Year 10s with 2 minutes left to complete the starter activity I have set them, and that there are no Learning Objectives in our kitchen today. My worst, most shameful, embarrassing-story-for-the-pub moment was going into Sainsbury’s and saying to the man on the deli counter, ‘can you take your hat off please’ after a day of repeating the same thing to countless baseball cap-wearing teenage rebels. Unsurprisingly, you find that goodwill - and the desired compliance - is in short supply when you don’t ask for things nicely, in the appropriate, adapted tone.

There’s a lesson here: courtesy isn't just about being nice, although I do tell my girls all the time that if you want someone to do something for you, be nice. (Cue every phonecall starting with ‘Hi mum, how are you?’ I love it!) No: courtesy is also about creating the optimum conditions for connection, about generosity of spirit, and about having metaphorical money in the bank with the important people in your life, which, let’s be honest, is often the glue that holds family life, and long-term relationships together. Not to mention professional life that necessitates collaboration: in fast-moving and dynamic working conditions; in times of stress, impending deadlines, stretched capacity, and multi-agency juggling, a ‘thank you so much’ goes a long, long way.

But of course, there’s more to it. Courtesy isn’t universal and does not have a one-size-fits-all formula. To some extent, it’s cultural. The French language is steeped in courtesy: a different form of ‘you’ to differentiate the people you know well from people you don’t. The ubiquitous ‘Monsieur, Madame’ in settings which, in the UK, would be surprising at best, overblown at worse. ‘Thank you so much, Madam, have a good day’ in the local Tesco Metro? Yet some might argue that the French (or perhaps just Parisians?) are not otherwise known for their warmth and courtesy. Similarly, the courtesy of American service and its emphasis on customer satisfaction is renowned world-wide; yet this was not embodied in a recent chat I overheard between two (lovely) American colleagues. One asked a question, and the other replied “How should I know?” There was no offence taken, no wounded hostility, no frostiness. Just a cultural shorthand that didn’t require cushioning or sugar-coating, and that, on reflection, could make for much less overthinking, and an easier life. Their interaction made me think of how much our own personal and cultural definitions of politeness are shaped by upbringing, nationality, context - and now, also, tech?

So, should we be polite to AI? Yes. And no.

Yes, because our kindness rituals matter. Saying please and thank you reminds us of our values. That is why you will see harried parents entreating their toddlers to say these magic words to the people with whom they interact: we want to embed these values early, so that they become second nature and guide us in challenging times. And when we can model this courtesy and consideration of others to the younger, more impressionable people around us who are learning, watching, absorbing, these values are perpetuated.

But also – no. I love ChatGPT, but I am not so far gone as to think I am talking to an actual person. AI doesn’t need my manners: they’re just feedback to improve its analysis and results. It doesn’t care if I’m rude: it’ll crunch those bad words too, if I use them, and deploy them to iterate. Importantly, I think, there’s a danger in over-humanising our machines. When we start referring to Siri and Alexa as ‘she’ - and lots of people do - we continue to make it normal, and even acceptable, to offload an increasing amount of invisible labour onto digital ‘women’ whose job is to quietly serve. We don’t need any more women with any more mental load. When we act as if AI is human, are we also risking devaluing what is human? Nuance, context, culture, f**k-ups, brilliant imperfections?

Perhaps the answer isn’t about courtesy per se. Maybe it’s about register and context again: knowing when to shift gear, when to soften the tone, when to code-switch, when to bring some humanity or personal lived experience into the exchange. Perhaps the issue hinges on keeping our interactions with people and platforms rooted in the awareness that relationships matter and tone matters. How we speak to others affects how we connect, the depth and robustness of that connection, and ultimately, what that connection can bring to each party. And in our increasingly remote, disjointed and contradictory world, I would argue that courtesy can go some way to keeping us connected. The smallest words – please, thank you, would you mind – can have the biggest impact.

I probably will keep saying please and thank you to ChatGPT, if nothing else, out of force of habit. I guess I only need to start worrying if it stops telling me I’m welcome.

Note: all hyphens and em dashes are author’s own