What will academia look like in the age of artificial intelligence?

Combining advanced technologies, artificial intelligence, and smart assessment: A look at the future of higher education

The Classroom of the Future: Learning with Advanced Technology. Photography prepared using DALEE
The Classroom of the Future: Learning with Advanced Technology. Photography prepared using DALEE

I was invited to speak at an academy about a particularly challenging topic: What will a university look like in the age of general artificial intelligence? That is, when artificial intelligence can do almost anything? When it rivals any human in its abilities?

Of course, it is impossible to know what will happen, especially given the magnitude of the expected change. Still, we can dream and imagine, and in doing so, better understand the opportunities such a future holds for academia.

Let's focus on Ori, a university student in ten years. Ori had a disaster: he woke up in bed at nine in the morning, and realized he had already missed half of his university class. It wasn't his fault, of course. There was a power outage, the smart blinds wouldn't go up and let in sunlight, the alarm clock didn't work, and the dog ate his smartphone. Oh, and Ori was also devastated after a party that went on well into the night.

He needs to get to university. Now.

Before we continue, let's tell you a little about the hero of our story. Uri is pursuing a bachelor's degree in physics, but is also taking courses in international relations and music. 

Why did he decide on this path? Because when Uri had to decide what degree to pursue, he had a conversation with the academic advisor. Who was, somewhat surprisingly, human. But upgraded: She transferred the entire transcript of the conversation to artificial intelligence, which assessed Uri's abilities, desires, ambitions, and hobbies, and automatically compared them to the needs of the market in the present and future. Then the artificial intelligence explained to the advisor what the path with the greatest chances of success for Uri was. And the advisor? She simply passed this information on to Uri himself.

 When Uri asked her how she knew that a physics degree was the best fit for him, the academic advisor explained to him at length about the artificial intelligence that collects information from all the industry reports on the needs of managers, is connected to LinkedIn in real time, has the level of knowledge of a psychologist specializing in character and personality analysis, and is almost never wrong. But when Uri pressed for more information about the heuristics that guide the artificial intelligence, the advisor simply admitted that she didn't understand how it exactly works. She only knew that these recommendations had been very helpful to students in the past.

This convinced Uri, like almost all humans in ten years.

And now he's in a panic.

He doesn't worry about missing the material. There's no such concern in the academy of 2035. Every lecturer this year is accompanied by artificial intelligence that transcribes every word he says, adds its own interpretations, and writes the material in a way that's especially appropriate for the student. When Uri needs to understand how physical waves work, he gets an explanation that's specifically related to music, or to the ups and downs in certain historical data that interest him. The lecturer is also automatically recorded and documented, and the broadcast is saved on the university's website.

So why is Uri's heart beating so fast? Why does he jump out of bed and immediately call an autonomous vehicle to take him to the university?

For three reasons that are not so important, and for a fourth that is the most important. 

The first, less important reason is that the assessment process requires Uri to come to class for at least some of the lessons.

Evaluating future performance

Why? Simple: The lecturers in 2035 know very well that students can do their homework with the help of artificial intelligence, and they will not be able to know what the student really knows, and what is the product of artificial intelligence. And so, a new system of assessments was created, one that relies on the physical presence of the student. And no, the student is not allowed to have headphones that whisper the answers into his ears.

Lecturers expect to see the really good students in class and to discuss the material with them. Students receive the basic material before the lecture. They consume it in the form of stories, texts that are especially suitable for them, automatically produced videos that look at the student as he watches them and adjust the pace and explanations according to his level of understanding and attention. And of course, exercises that require them to solve problems on their own. They are expected to do all of this outside of class hours. 

And the classroom itself? It is sacred. It is the place where students can talk to the person at the center of the system, the lecturer and researcher who lives, breathes, and advances the field. It is the place where students can also talk to each other to deepen their thoughts and to reach a deeper understanding of the material. And yes, also to impress each other, and especially the artificial intelligence that is looking at them from the sidelines and analyzing and ranking their arguments and ideas. 

Then, of course, she conveys her conclusions to the lecturer about each student, along with an explanation of how she arrived at them.

How much does the lecturer really delve into reading the explanations of the artificial intelligence? The elderly still try to do this, and occasionally catch it by apparent mistake, and in a triumphant shout add or subtract a point from the student's grade for that lesson. The young lecturers don't even bother to check it. They trust it. And why not? It acts as the best doctor, the best psychologist, the best writer. Why wouldn't they think that it is more successful than them in analyzing the students' understanding of the material? 

And they're right. She really does it better than them.

Uri knows he has to show up to class to get a high grade. Every class is a test. Every interaction, every thought that goes through his mind and is reflected in his facial expressions. Every moment of eureka. Every idea he shares out loud with the other students or with the lecturer. Every calculation he demonstrates on the digital whiteboard in the classroom, or in his virtual reality goggles. Yes, there is still a test at the end of the semester – it is difficult to overcome ideas that are centuries old – but it is mainly a formal matter, and does not determine a large part of the grade. 

The second, less important reason that Uri is desperate to get to university is that in the second hour of class, he is supposed to present the results of his research for that semester. Uri has been working since the beginning of the semester on his own project in the field of physics: to build a machine that produces water from air.

Project-based learning

The university allows many students to take on such projects. The lecturers, of course, cannot support each such student personally, so – how could they not – there is an artificial intelligence that takes the place of the supervisor in the project. In Ori’s case, it offered him several different types of projects, and he chose the one he found most interesting, and then adapted it for himself. From then on, the autonomous supervisor helped him with everything. He created his research outline with it, and understood what areas of knowledge he needed to acquire and what level he needed to reach in each of them. She developed the appropriate lesson plans for him and incorporated into them the material that Ori was supposed to receive in lectures from the lecturers. She examined and tested his mastery of the material every day, and explained to him at each stage why he needed to acquire the knowledge in each topic. 

Differential equations? To understand how to describe the motion of the machine's wind turbine. 

Soldering electrical circuits? So he can connect several components together. 

The automatic instructor even sends Uri to specific lectures and appropriate labs on campus, so he can learn more in-depth about certain topics, and perform assembly work with dedicated tools. 

Let's be clear: This is not a one-semester project. It's a three-year project, and perhaps much longer. And the autonomous supervisor supports Uri and accompanies him throughout. The project does not significantly affect Uri's final grade, but it could be the factor that determines his future. 

The bitter truth is that by 2035, the industry no longer trusts academic institutions to do their assessment work properly, and to separate the best and worst students. Interviewers at companies want to see evidence of success. They want to see enthusiasm, real work out of a desire to bring about change in the world, the ability to learn independently, and motivation. When Uri graduates from his undergraduate studies, he will take the machine that produces water from thin air with him to every admissions interview, and he will tell with wide eyes how he changed the world already during his undergraduate studies. Or at least he tried to, because the machine is not fully functional, and that does not change anything at all. Interviewers in the industry will be mainly interested in seeing Uri's immense internal motivation and his enthusiasm for independent creation. They will want to make sure that he has the ability to work in a team – because there were also parts of the project where Uri needed help from the other students. And of course, they will want to assess his theoretical understanding, and this will be reflected in the more general grade he will receive.

But do you know who industry interviewers will really want to talk to to understand what Uri's skills are?

Of course, with its moderator. That is, with artificial intelligence. 

That mentor is the one who accompanied him for several years, who was a big and supportive sister to him, who comforted him when the experiments failed and encouraged him not to quit. Who saw how much he could achieve when he tried. Who made him believe in himself. And she will tell the interviewers the truth and the whole truth, and that will be the most honest recommendation, and probably the best, that Uri could ever receive.

But to receive it, as mentioned, our Uri has to get out of bed, comb his hair, and get to campus on time. Which is why, within five minutes of opening his eyes and realizing the magnitude of his mistake, he's already racing to the university, in the back seat of an autonomous taxi.

networking

Luckily for Ori, he knows his project well, so he doesn’t have to go into too much detail about his pitch. But during the drive, he still uses his augmented reality glasses to scan the faces of some of the people who signed up for the pitch event. And that’s the third, less important reason Ori should be on campus: networking.

The academy in 2035 is no different in this respect from the academy in Athens, 2,300 years ago. Even then, students understood that one of the ways to find success in industry or public service is by getting to know the right people and creating the right friendships. Uri wants to impress his lecturer with his punctuality – although at least today, he doesn’t have much chance of that. He wants to meet Shahar, who everyone already knows will go far. Partly because he has fun with Shahar, but also so that when the day comes – Shahar will recommend to the company he works for that it would be worth adding Uri to its ranks. And Shahar, of course, wants to meet Uri for the same reasons. 

This is the way of the university, college, or any other place where young people meet and rub shoulders with each other: they create connections that will serve them well in the future. Because even when artificial intelligence recommends to interviewers at the workplace who to accept and who not to accept, humans will still be able to tell her that she is wrong, and that it is worth giving Ori a chance. But to do that, Ori must impress those interviewers, VPs and future startup founders. So he examines himself in the car's interior mirror, straightens his clothes a little, runs a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to smooth it, and most of all reminds himself that the lecturer loves him after all.

And what about Shahar? Uri glances out the car window and discovers that in the left lane there is another autonomous vehicle, and inside it – of course – Shahar, in clothes that he clearly slept in all night. Then he remembers that Shahar was also at the party yesterday. Everything is fine. There is no reason to worry. Young students will be young students, even in the age of smarter-than-human artificial intelligence.

At least, there was nothing to worry about, if not for the last and most important reason.

And most importantly

The gates open automatically for the taxi, and it continues onto campus. Uri waits for the light to turn green and for the taxi to stop in front of the physics building, before he opens the door and leaps out. As he runs to class, he thinks about last night. About how he met her on the couch at the party, and they sat on the side and talked, and talked, and talked. He remembers that she liked his idea for the project. Through the fog of fatigue, he vaguely remembers that she said she would try to make it to the class where he would present the project.

While running down the hallway, Uri remembered that this was one of the reasons his father told him to go to university: because beyond preparing you for life, it's also the place where young people find love.

He runs down the hallway, reaches the classroom door and pulls it open with a quick tug. Maybe a little too fast and too hard. The door slams against the wall, and fifty pairs of eyes turn to him. But what matters most to Ori is one pair of eyes, with glasses and a smile that comes to her face when she sees Ori in the doorway.

There could be worse reasons for academia to continue to exist.

More of the topic in Hayadan: (Beresheet is the Hebrew name for the book of Genesis)