Instead of Embracing AI, Universities Should Go Medieval

In a strange coincidence, within days of Chicago native Pope Leo XIV’s encyclical on AI, Magnifica Humanitas, the University of Chicago’s Office of the President made the following announcement: “As a next step in the University of Chicago’s overall approach to artificial intelligence (AI), the University is partnering with Anthropic to provide Claude Enterprise for all academics and staff starting in July, and for all students before the fall term. Claude Chat, Cowork, and Code will be made available to the campus community. Spanning the domains of research, education, and operations: these are powerful tools that are being made available to help individuals find ways to improve our pursuit of knowledge, our commitment to teaching students how to think independently, and the ability of our staff to support this work efficiently.” But then, maybe it is not a coincidence that, just as a Christian leader encourages people to remember they are human, a secular institution of higher learning shows its lack of regard for human learning by offering students tools that will rob them of the kind of education for which the University of Chicago was once famous. Indeed, as a graduate student at Princeton University, I spent one quarter as a visiting student at the University of Chicago, taking two seminars in areas in which my home institution did not at the time have expertise: Greek Papyrology and Greek Epigraphy. Predictably, the classes required me to spend the term reading large amounts of Greek papyri and Greek inscriptions. I walked away with a solid foundation in both subjects, on which I still occasionally draw, even as I did not become a bona fide expert in either. Really, reading physical books constituted my entire educational journey, first as a double major in Classics and French Literature as an undergraduate and then in completing a PhD in Classics. When I was not reading, I was writing—including a 60-page honors thesis in French and eventually, of course, a dissertation in Classics. What I did in my classes along the way was remarkably cheap—requiring just books and a computer for typing papers. And I had no doubt about my professors’ commitment to “teaching students how to think independently.” They showed this unwavering commitment by assigning students increasingly difficult readings to analyze and use as foundations for research questions of our own. In hindsight, the story of American higher education over the last two decades has been defined by ever newer and more expensive and technologically dependent pedagogies. And yet, for how much more expensive and tech-dependent these new forms of education are, they are so much worse than good old-fashioned books. Instead of showing students how to interrogate texts and participate in seminars, universities increasingly are moving all or most instruction online, especially for undergraduate core classes. Students only read short snippets of documents embedded into their institutions’ learning management systems—that is, when they actually read these short documents instead of having AI summarize them. Catching up with the times, such standardized tests as the SAT have reduced the length of reading excerpts for reading comprehension questions. And AI cheating at universities is rampant. In other words, American institutions of higher learning have invested significantly more money into technology than it ever cost to just tell the kids to read books. And in the process, student learning outcomes have only declined. Anecdotally speaking, if you talk to any faculty who have been teaching for a decade or longer, they will tell you that every single year of their careers, they have seen students arrive at college less prepared than the year before. An academic friend recently asked his freshman students a question as an icebreaker on the first day of class: what is your favorite book of those you have read recently? None of the students were able to answer the question, but then one student sheepishly thought back to elementary school and named a children’s book he had enjoyed then. It was, it appears, the last time he had read a complete book. Even at highly selective institutions like the University of Chicago, this is the caliber of students professors can expect to be educating going forward. But given that overt reliance on technology in every facet of life is what led these students to be nigh-illiterate, can yet more technology possibly be the solution? Instead of chasing after the latest future-oriented fad in higher education, Christians especially should take a different approach: going medieval. Institutions that choose to emphasize Great Books education, as was expected at a place like University of Chicago long before the advance of AI, will set themselves apart more than ever. Indeed, two and a half years ago, I argued, looking at enrollment numbers for universities where the humanities thrive, that “taking the high road” will bear rewards in tangible ways. This continues to be true. Chasing the latest gimmicks is no strategy for preserving a university—but pursuing the tried-and-true educational wisdom of millennia still works. Indeed, I am encouraged by the emerging possibilities for small Christian colleges. When I walked away from academia three years ago, I was burned out on the online teaching that was dominating the work at the regional comprehensive state university where I had spent most of my career up to that point. I had not seen students in person in years. When I left the classroom for spring break in March 2020, little did I realize that my then-university would never be the same—and that I would never teach a traditional class there on campus again. But this fall, I am excited to be back in the classroom—this time at Ashland University, whose Ashbrook Program offers students the very sort of education that I once received and that too many universities are no longer offering. I will be teaching Latin—required for many Ashbrook Scholars—and an introductory seminar on Greek history. And I will be requiring my students to use only a slightly adapted version of the same technology that Plato and Aristotle once used in their teaching: words to read, words to discuss, words to write. The significance of this learning, Greek history reminds us, is civilizational. The Athenians emphasized the importance of developing the moral and intellectual character of their citizens through such programs as performances of tragedies and comedies. And the American Founding Fathers firmly believed the same applied to this country. Indeed, the need for educated citizens was the motivation Thomas Jefferson voiced in founding my undergraduate alma mater, the University of Virginia. Too many institutions of higher learning have abandoned their mission to form intellectually responsible citizens, offering AI slop in lieu of education. But alternatives to AI University are available, and they are what America needs to flourish in the next 250 years. I am grateful for institutions that continue to do their part in this quest.