The artificial intelligence (AI) boom, sparked by the arrival of OpenAI’s ChatGPT, took the world by storm. Within weeks, everyone was talking about it, trying it and had an opinion. It has transformed the way people live, work and think.
The trend has only accelerated. The AI snowball continues to roll, growing larger and more influential across nearly every sector.
Higher education has not been spared. Universities rushed to embrace this technological wave, eager to demonstrate that they are keeping up with the times. AI literacy is now presented as an essential skill, a key selling point to attract prospective students. As a result, institutions have been integrating AI tools across campus life, often enthusiastically and sometimes uncritically.
From teachers’ perspectives, this shift has created deep confusion. Most universities still struggle to establish clear policies on how students should utilize AI, particularly in the context of assessment. Amid the chaos, two dominant camps have emerged.
The first belongs to what might be called the “dinosaurs” of academia, or those who see technology as a threat and respond by retreating into the comfort of rigid, top-down instruction.
Their solution to the AI problem is simple: Ban it. Return to memorization, closed-book exams and handwritten essays. This nostalgic approach needs little attention. Most educators recognize that this method no longer prepares students for the real world.
The second camp is more complex and far more influential. These are the AI enthusiasts who say that since the technology is here to stay, the only reasonable path forward is to embrace it.
They talk about “AI literacy” and “critical engagement” with AI outputs. On paper, this sounds progressive. In practice, it rests on two flawed assumptions.
First, the proposed solutions are detached from academic reality. Suggestions such as conducting oral examinations after every paper or assignment might sound appealing, but they are unrealistic in large classes with overworked instructors and a lack of institutional support. They do little to address the real issue, which is students’ growing overreliance on AI tools for thinking, writing and comprehension.
Second, the idea of teaching students to “work with AI” or “critically assess AI output” assumes a level of intellectual maturity and skill that many undergraduates might not yet possess. Teaching ethics or digital literacy sounds good in principle, but these efforts have long proven to be ineffective when the foundations of reading, writing and reasoning are weak.
The truth is that AI is equally tempting to weak and strong students, offering an effortless shortcut that undermines genuine learning.
The result is an academic culture that has become obsessed with AI. Its supporters repeat the mantra that “those who know how to use AI will succeed in the future job market.” That might be true, but it misses a crucial point. Beyond the already established problems of AI, such as hallucinations, cognitive capacity decline, bias amplification and inconsistent outputs, one critical element remains missing from the discussion.
To use AI effectively, one must first possess the fundamental skills that enable critical evaluation: the ability to read carefully, write coherently, think analytically and understand the context. In our collective rush to embrace this amazing technology, we are sidelining precisely those skills that education was meant to cultivate.
The consequence is a generation that appears intelligent, knowledgeable and articulate, but that appearance is artificial.
There are no perfect solutions, but we need a frank and honest discussion about AI in education, one in which it is acceptable to call AI a threat.
Acknowledge its growing importance, yes, but also its capacity to profoundly and negatively reshape how future generations think, learn and operate.
Unless we restore balance and reaffirm what genuine learning means, we risk betraying our mission as educators.
Once the AI bubble bursts, we will realize that we have raised a generation brilliant at prompting machines, but helpless at responding to life.
Mor Sobol is an associate professor at Tamkang University’s Department of Diplomacy and International Relations.
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