In a move that’s left educators and students scratching their heads—and perhaps nervously laughing—David Game College in London has embarked on an audacious experiment. The school has decided to replace traditional teachers with AI tools like ChatGPT for a select group of students. This pilot program, which started in Fall Term 2024, involved 20 students around 15-years-old preparing for their GCSE exams in subjects such as English, mathematics, biology, chemistry, and computer science, all under the digital tutelage of artificial intelligence.
John Dalton, co-principal of the college, speaks about the initiative with evangelical zeal, stating, "Students will benefit enormously from AI-powered adaptive learning," which allows each student to learn at their own pace. Setting aside the “learning at their own pace” for a minute, we can wonder about whether Dalton loves the idea of supervising a bunch of easily reprogrammed chatbots over rebellious human teachers. Back to the “own pave” point: this seems like a dream come true for both overachievers and students who often struggle to keep up. In theory, AI’s capacity for individualized instruction could address the age-old classroom dilemma: lessons that are too quick for some and too slow for others.
Let’s imagine a likely scenario: Emily, a curious and diligent student, asks ChatGPT to explain a complex chemical reaction. The AI provides an answer teeming with technical jargon and obscure references to advanced theories. Emily, dazed and confused, raises her hand for clarification—and then remembers that her "teacher" is a screen without eyes to see or ears to hear. The learning coaches—three human overseers assigned to monitor the program—are busy attending to the slower boats in the convoy. Emily, caught in a digital loop, drifts from the learning platform into social media, her curiosity dulled by a bot’s inability to read the room or her expression. Meanwhile, Davey—one of the slower boats—has frustrated his learning coach (who took an online, bot-rich how-to-teach course he saw in a TikTok video) to the point where the coach is forced to leave the room for a mental refocusing break. Davey then simply asks his bot classmate to do the work, submits the work, gets an A, and leaves the room before the learning coach gets back. Emily, watches all of this, wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
The college’s master plan involves more than academics. By automating the instructional process, administrators hope to free up students’ afternoons for activities focused on self-awareness, critical thinking and artistic expression. This, they claim, will lead to a holistic educational experience that prepares students for a rapidly-changing world.
Picture this: after a morning of interacting with an AI that occasionally "hallucinates"—a term used to describe AI’s propensity to generate incorrect information—students shift gears to paint landscapes, debate ethics, and learn to cook. These students are guinea pigs in an experiment to see how far humans can cede control of education to machines.
While the integration of AI into education is hailed as revolutionary, it raises profound concerns. Hadida Grabow, a director at the educational consultancy Higher Learning Group, warns that while AI can supplement live teachers, it can’t replace them entirely. The technology, she notes, isn’t quite there yet—and examples abound of its shortcomings. Consider the Los Angeles Unified School District’s AI chatbot, which was shelved after the company behind it collapsed. Chatbots don’t have a union so no one really cared.
Imagine another scenario: a student seeks emotional support after a poor exam performance. Turning to ChatGPT for solace, the student gets the digital hand-on-the-shoulder: "I’m sorry to hear that. Would you like to hear a joke to cheer up?" Empathy is not part of the AI’s programming. These examples underscore the irreplaceable value of human interaction in education—a value that can’t be programmed into lines of code.
We are a couple of steps into this educational experiment but have paused mid-step to ponder its implications. Are we preparing students for a future dominated by technology, or are we inadvertently creating a generation that relies on machines for knowledge, empathy, and guidance? In this new classroom, will students develop critical thinking skills, or will they become passive recipients of algorithmically curated information? Will the lack of human interaction hinder the development of social skills, leaving students adept at interfacing with machines but awkward in human conversations? During the holiday party season, this is an ideal opportunity to look up from your phone.
The potential pitfalls aren’t limited to the students. Teachers also face a question: if AI can replicate many of their instructional functions, what is their role in the classroom? While some might become facilitators or "learning coaches," others may feel their profession is being devalued. This tension raises ethical questions about the balance between technological advancement and the preservation of human dignity in education.
Let’s imagine a fully AI-driven educational system. It’s the year 2040. Classrooms are now sleek, screen-filled chambers where students don augmented reality (AR) glasses to interact with their AI instructors. These AI entities aren’t just tools; they have personalities tailored to student’s individual learning preferences. Some are strict and methodical, others warm and encouraging. The AI keeps track of students’ moods, adapting lessons to match their emotional states. Tip your hat now to whoever codes the response to a hyper-emotional 15-year-old.
But then the cracks begin to show. Students, now accustomed to instant answers and adaptive content, struggle with open-ended questions that require sustained thought. "Why can’t my AI just solve this?" they complain. Meanwhile, parents are bombarded with marketing for "premium AI subscriptions" that promise better performance—at a cost. Education, once a public good, has become a commodity controlled by tech giants.
And what about the teachers? Many have transitioned to roles as "AI supervisors," ensuring that the bots don’t malfunction or spread misinformation. Some feel liberated by the change, while others lament the loss of their calling. "I used to inspire students," one former teacher says. "Now I just troubleshoot software."
The irony of replacing human teachers with AI to create a "holistic and engaging educational experience" is palpable. We’re entrusting the development of young minds to machines that lack consciousness, empathy, and the ability to inspire. This experiment, while innovative, risks reducing education to a transactional process, stripping it of the transformative power that comes from human connection.
Perhaps the real lesson isn’t for the students but for the educators and policymakers. In the quest for innovation, we mustn’t lose sight of what makes education meaningful: the relationships between teachers and students, the shared discovery, and the messy, beautiful complexity of human learning. As we watch this experiment unfold, one can only hope that the students of David Game College don’t end up writing essays titled "How I Survived the AI Apocalypse" for their GCSEs. After all, while AI can process information, it can’t understand the human experience—or the tapestry of irony that comes with it.
The integration of AI into education is neither inherently good nor bad; it’s a tool whose value depends on how it’s used. At its best, AI can democratize access to knowledge, personalize learning, and free up time for creative and critical pursuits. And it can dehumanize education, widen existing inequalities, and reduce students to passive consumers of machine-generated content.
Let’s remember that education isn’t merely about transmitting information; it’s about shaping individuals who can think, feel, and act with integrity and purpose. AI can play a role in this process, but it can’t replace the human heart and mind. The question isn’t whether AI will take over teaching but whether we will allow it to redefine what it means to learn, teach, and grow.