It was like a subtle undercurrent for years. A gradual escalation of unease instead of a sudden uprising. However, the conflict between educators and education reformers is already visible in faculty meetings, email exchanges, and subtle policy standoffs as one university after another incorporates new technologies into their classrooms.
There is no uniform for the conflict. There are no marches across the quad and no official opposition group. Rather, it manifests as a raised eyebrow when a dean brings up “student success metrics” or as the quiet that ensues after a suggestion to use an AI-powered tool for grading.
The terminology used in higher education has changed recently. Instructors who have traditionally guided students through free-form inquiry are now expected to present learning as a collection of quantifiable results that are presented through slick interfaces and presented in neat charts. Many people compare it to being required to teach poetry while keeping track of time.
This change is structural rather than merely philosophical. Institutions are changing the incentives they offer. Academics that use digital platforms, gamify their classes, or gather engagement data frequently advance more quickly than those who compose essays, counsel graduate students, or spend hours in seminar rooms arguing difficult concepts.
Universities are implementing solutions that promise efficiency and streamline operations through strategic relationships with edtech companies. It sounds like progress on paper. However, it feels like something human is being taken away from teachers who appreciate the natural messiness of genuine intellectual growth.
“I didn’t get into this to become a data entry clerk for a platform I didn’t choose,” said a professor I met in Dublin in my mid-career. Her main issue was being left out of decision-making, not opposition to innovation. She had dedicated twenty years to creating a course that forced students to reconsider how arguments should be put together. She is now urged to submit that material to a preset module that prioritizes click-through rates over critical analysis.
These tensions increased during the outbreak. Teachers quickly adjusted, creating computerized tests, recording lectures, and helping nervous pupils. However, many anticipated a return to slower, more in-depth learning after the emergency was over. The platforms remained instead. Dashboards, AI instructors, and administrators anxious to expand what they perceived as a success accompanied them.
| Name | Wilhelm von Humboldt |
|---|---|
| Born | 22 June 1767 |
| Died | 8 April 1835 |
| Nationality | German |
| Profession | Philosopher, Linguist, Educational Reformer |
| Known For | Founding the Humboldtian model of higher education |
| Core Philosophy | Unity of teaching and research, academic freedom |
| Institutional Legacy | Humboldt University of Berlin |
| Reference Website | https://www.hu-berlin.de |
The distribution of power has changed significantly in the last ten years. Teaching is increasingly being shaped by educational designers, many of whom have backgrounds in technology or business. More than ever, faculty have less influence, especially those in fields that are less dependent on the labor market. Resisting tools is not the only thing to do. The idea being defended is that information doesn’t always fit neatly into a pie chart and that education isn’t always effective.
The gap between faculty who support platform logic and those who oppose it is widening. The former speak the language of innovation, size, and results. The latter discuss complexity, craft, and reflection. Although they both want kids to succeed, they disagree—often vehemently—about what success actually entails.
This gap has turned into a reward system in some organizations. If a faculty member codes an edtech app, they could be rewarded with funds, media attention, and promotions. A coworker who creates experimental teaching, publishes in-depth critiques, or coaches first-generation students frequently gets none. This dynamic forces academics to take sides over time: become invisible or become a brand.
However, rejection isn’t necessarily the result of resistance. Many professors only use certain technologies, allowing AI to help with grading but not automating conversations. They don’t oppose technology. They support context. They want to be able to make pedagogically sound decisions rather than just scalable ones.
Some educators are working with AI researchers to provide resources that uphold rather than compromise their teaching principles. A writing helper created in collaboration with humanities instructors that provides prompts that push students toward complexity rather than speed is an especially creative example. It is based on open-source models, is surprisingly inexpensive, and takes a conversational rather than automated approach.
This compromise is growing. Institutions must understand that professors are not barriers for it to succeed. They both co-created it. They contribute centuries of knowledge about how people develop, learn, and fail. It is not only insulting but also opportunistic to disregard them in the name of modernization.
Reducing education to gamified modules may provide short-term engagement in the face of growing student worry and exhaustion, but it runs the danger of long-term alienation. Pupils can sense the difference between a dashboard that provides feedback in milliseconds and a professor who is genuinely interested in their education. The first is relational. Although not accountable, the other is receptive.
Education will continue to become more digital in the years to come. That is unavoidable. However, the issue still stands: who has the power to influence that future? If faculty opinions are ignored, we run the risk of creating systems that work well but don’t educate much. If they are given more authority, we have an opportunity to build something genuinely sustainable, where intelligence and creativity advance together.
