Throughout my 47 years of teaching, I never considered myself an excellent teacher. I always saw myself as average, with very good classes, others acceptable, and some—I'd like to believe the minority—downright boring, to be honest with myself. I tried to follow two guiding principles: staying up-to-date and respecting my students, treating them as literate young people with a basic understanding of reading and writing. For this reason, my classes were never limited to didactically repeating what was in the textbook. I always sought to go beyond what students could read and learn on their own, offering them syntheses of various materials, interpretations, connections, and provocations. Some enjoyed this, but I know many would prefer to receive the material thoroughly digested.
In the days of slides, perhaps because they were expensive, I used them sparingly, simply as a guide; later, with PowerPoint, I maintained the logic of working with short bullet points, avoiding the temptation to transform the material into a ready-made lecture. I maintained the style of trying to inform and transfer as much knowledge about the subject as possible. Despite the limitations, I generally felt satisfied with my own performance.
That's changed. In recent years—especially during and after the pandemic—I've felt like my classes have gotten older. I've been reflecting that the role of the classroom is no longer the same, but that my students and I are still playing the same game. Perhaps out of convenience, perhaps because we don't yet know how to play differently.
The classroom had long been challenged by profound changes in the way knowledge circulates and becomes accessible. The traditional position of the teacher as the exclusive mediator between student and information was beginning to weaken, opening the way for new ways of learning and teaching.
I run the risk of generalizing from my own experience, but I have the impression that many teachers haven't updated themselves to this new context. Most of us teachers have remained comfortable in the old format—whether out of convenience or a lack of preparation to explore the new resources. And it wasn't just teachers: a large portion of students also continue to repeat study practices that no longer align with the environment in which they live.
From traditional classroom to digital teaching
For centuries, the traditional classroom was conceived as the privileged space for the transmission of knowledge. The teacher occupied center stage, acting as the holder of knowledge. It was up to him to select what to teach, organize the sequence, explain the concepts, and resolve doubts. Students, in turn, were receivers—often passive—whose primary task was to listen, take notes, and then reproduce. The textbook was the linchpin of this mechanism: it contained authorized content, which the teacher explained and supplemented. This model made sense in a context of relative information scarcity. Access to knowledge was limited by library collections—valuable but limited—and by the teacher's repertoire.
It must be acknowledged that this model had its virtues. It structured learning on disciplinary bases, cultivated the cumulative logic of knowledge, and reinforced the importance of intellectual effort. Many of us were formed in this environment, and from it we inherited the ability to think systematically. Therefore, this is not about demonizing the past, but about recognizing the limits of a format that fulfilled its role in a given historical context.
Starting in the late 20th century, this arrangement began to be eroded by digital culture. The internet opened up frontiers of access to information, digitized collections, placed scientific databases at the click of a button, and multiplied the resources available for study. Physical libraries ceased to be the only reliable repository; online platforms, repositories of articles, and educational videos began to compete with textbooks and teachers. The cell phone cemented this shift: information now fits in the palm of the student's hand. But this abundance also had ambiguous effects: instead of encouraging in-depth reading, it often consolidated a culture of shortcuts—pre-packaged summaries, simplified video lessons, quick answers—which extended the logic of preparatory courses to higher education, transforming study into test practice rather than a path to critical and in-depth development.
From digitalization to Artificial Intelligence
This is where Artificial Intelligence fits in. It's not entirely new—AI research and applications have existed for decades—but the combination of recent technical advances and the popularization of so-called Large-Scale Language Models (LLMs) has transformed the landscape. The launch of ChatGPT in late 2022 symbolizes this shift: suddenly, millions of people now have daily access to a tool capable of producing texts, summaries, analyses, code, and even academic arguments in seconds.
LLMs – as my colleague Ivete Luna will explain, right here at JU, in her column Between Data and Facts – represent a qualitative leap in the way we interact with information. They not only store or retrieve content, but are also capable of generating natural language in response to questions, organizing, reinterpreting, and, to some extent, creating knowledge. It is this shift that has made AI widespread and brought into the classroom a new, inevitable, and transformative actor, whose presence and participation are impossible to ignore.
The question I've been asking myself is this: if knowledge is everywhere, easily accessible to anyone who wants it, and AI becomes a partner in teaching and learning, what is the purpose of the classroom? If the teacher limits themselves to repeating content available in textbooks and on any website, or to reproducing explanations that AI can do better, faster, and in a personalized way, the classroom—the lesson—as we know it loses its meaning. If the teacher limits themselves to the traditional role of imparting knowledge, they will be easily replaceable.
The new possible role is different: that of mediator, curator, question-provoker, critic of easy answers. The teacher ceases to be the guardian of knowledge and becomes the guide of the construction process, helping students navigate the information overload, assess the reliability of sources, and cultivate critical thinking skills. The problem is that we still don't quite know how to fulfill this role.
The student, in turn, needs to take the lead in learning. It's no longer enough to simply memorize, copy, or reproduce. It's necessary to question, be suspicious, and elaborate. And this is perhaps the most challenging aspect: students aren't always prepared for this role, and teachers often don't know how to guide them along this path.
The classroom as a hub for 21st-century skills
In this new scenario, the classroom ceases to be merely a place for the transmission of content. It transforms into a space for learning and exchange, focused on developing the intellectual, social, and ethical skills—critical thinking, communication, collaboration, and responsibility—necessary for intellectual growth and facing the challenges of a new world. It is the space where knowledge, now accessible anywhere and at any time via AI, becomes wisdom. Instead of simply presenting theory, the teacher proposes challenges and projects for students to solve using AI as a tool. Classroom time, previously dedicated to lectures, is now spent on debates, project presentations, and case study discussions, where human interaction and collaboration are the primary focus.
This leads us to an even deeper question: what can we teach in the classroom that AI can't do? The answer lies not in information itself, but in essential human skills. The classroom becomes a space for developing empathy, the ability to work as a team on complex problems, creativity, and effective communication. The teacher is now the mediator not only of knowledge, but also of interpersonal relationships, character development, and ethical sense—skills that AI, no matter how advanced, cannot replicate.
The presence of AI also demands a revolution in assessment methods. If tests were once used to verify memorization of content, today this approach is becoming obsolete. AI can answer exam questions in seconds. The new game demands assessment that goes beyond simple reproduction. Activities must be created that require the application of knowledge, the analysis of problem situations, and the production of something original—a project, a critical analysis, an oral debate—in which AI is used as a tool, not a result. The true assessment becomes the student's ability to intelligently use AI to demonstrate their own understanding and creativity.
The classroom hasn't ended and won't. But to remain relevant, it needs to radically reinvent itself—not only technologically, but above all culturally and pedagogically.
The question that remains, and which I propose to share with my colleagues and students, is simple and uncomfortable: are we ready to play the new game? And, more than that: are we willing to redefine what the classroom means and what our role is within it?
This text does not necessarily reflect the opinion of Unicamp.
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