Book review: Reclaiming Purpose – The University in an AI World by Paul LeBlanc
This review was kindly authored by Mary Curnock Cook CBE, a Trustee of HEPI.
The book’s author Paul LeBlanc is the former President of Southern New Hampshire University, where he led its transformation into the largest non-profit provider of online higher education in the US. He’s a visiting professor at Harvard University Graduate School of Education.
I have just re-read this wonderful book some eight months after Paul LeBlanc kindly shared a preview copy with me. It says something about how quickly the world is changing when I compare the notes I jotted down back in January to those I made this time. Or perhaps it was me that changed? There was something about that first reading that gave me a more settled and confident understanding of the sheer breadth of challenge that AI brings to higher education’s most deeply embedded assumptions.
Back in January, I was captured by Paul’s invitation to higher education to
dream again, to see itself not only as a transmitter of expertise but as a builder of a better society
and to see AI not as a monster but
a powerful force that requires us to be more human, more intentional, and more courageous than we have ever been
But in the intervening months, we’ve seen attitudes shift against screens in general and AI in particular. Consider headlines like ‘I hate what AI is doing to the minds and happiness of the young’ (Katerine Rundell in the Guardian), and analysis in the Economist showing that the question of how AI will shape society has become politically explosive in the US. It would be tempting for higher education to set all the traffic lights to red and get everyone back to the exam hall.
But even as the ground has shifted, Reclaiming Purpose does not ignore or belittle such debate. Rather it is a heartfelt call, as the title suggests, for universities to reclaim their purpose, to transition from an
inefficient, inequitable engine of knowledge transfer into a global system of human development, committed to equipping [people] with the wisdom, skills, and ethical compass needed to navigate and shape the Age of AI
Paul emphasises how the extraordinary potential of AI requires us anew to emphasise our humanity, reclaim an elevated societal role, curate human connection, develop moral imagination, embrace the ensouled self and instil in graduates the orientation and capacity for human flourishing. It is genuinely inspiring stuff.
LeBlanc is not primarily interested in academic misconduct, institutional efficiency or the practicalities of integrating AI into teaching and assessment. Instead, he asks what higher education should exist for if machines increasingly perform many of the functions that universities have traditionally helped students master. His answer is that universities must shift their centre of gravity from epistemology to ontology: from what students know to who they become.
Nevertheless, the book does not hold back from setting out the fractures in the higher education model which have been further exposed since the advent of generative AI.
In his chapter ‘the idea of the university revisited’, Paul sets out three cultural shifts that have been needed for a long time but are now more urgent. The first is in what we value. The prestige of universities may have relied on the mastery of knowledge for centuries, with human skills like empathy, teamwork and leadership assumed to emerge as a mere byproduct of campus life. Instead, he calls on the sector to recognise the primacy of such skills (he rightly decries the term ‘soft skills’ as signalling secondary or peripheral importance). He says:
[A] graduate’s ability to mediate conflict or navigate cultural difference should be seen as just as important as their ability to parse thermodynamics or analyze primary sources.
The second shift is surfacing the hidden curriculum of
social interactions that are incubators and sometimes crucibles [to] develop character and skill.
Currently, he points out, this is largely left to chance, “unaided by intentional design”. A new culture, he says, would treat these opportunities for human skills development not as accidents but as subjects of serious teaching and learning.
They would be named, taught, and assessed, not merely hoped for.
The third required shift is away from traditional disciplinary silos, recognising that the development of human skills requires integrative learning and collaboration across disciplines where “human and technical demands intermingle”.
The book describes in some detail the idea of precision learning (as opposed to merely personalised learning), based on work that Paul did with other colleagues to build a platform that precisely times learning interventions based on more than just past academic performance or VLE ‘events’. This section is of value in elucidating what AI is capable of, although such a specific product solution feels slightly at odds with his discussion of the wider dysfunctions of higher education. He also sets out a significant shift in the role of faculty to become more human and more relational so that students feel more viscerally that they really matter. While the AI handles basic scaffolding and content generation and delivery, faculty’s focus moves to learning experience design and high-touch mentoring, asking them to learn to love students again.
While delving into the potentially harmful and seductive nature of technology that simulates human voice and tone, his section on anthropomorphism reminds us that thanking our LLM makes no more sense than thanking the toaster. Beneath the humour lies a serious concern that students may increasingly form relationships with AI systems that mimic care without genuinely caring.
True to his roots, he returns often to how AI (and precision learning) could democratise access to higher education to less wealthy populations such as those in sub-Saharan Africa or in refugee camps, shifting relative scarcity to abundance of access.
Central to LeBlanc’s thesis is the emergence of a “care economy”. As AI increasingly performs routine cognitive work, he argues that societies will need many more people working in teaching, healthcare, social care, mental health and other relational professions. Universities, therefore, should be preparing graduates not only for work but for human-centred work. Reclaiming Purpose faces head on the fact that students want higher education to prepare them for meaningful careers and a ‘choice-filled life’. But his perspectives on how the workforce will change in the AI era perhaps rest on too blunt an assumption that professional white-collar jobs will disappear and that consequently displaced workers will flock to the care economy if only these professions are better valued and better paid.
The book is more sure-footed in reimagining the post-secondary education ecosystem. As well as the shift from epistemological to ontological teaching, the degree itself, as a single static credential, is challenged as Paul sets out a vision for learning as a lifestyle, with lists of courses and programmes replaced by a ‘knowledge graph’. He says that
a traditional syllabus is a rigid list of stations you must visit in order. A knowledge graph is a subway map that shows every station, every transfer point, and every possible route. You can start at any station and see all the different paths, or pre‑requisite skills, required to get to a new destination.
While the metaphor is powerful, I won’t be the only one reflecting on how elusive an effective system of credit accumulation and transfer has proved to be in UK higher education. Similarly, his reminder that data readiness is the most significant barrier to effective AI deployment in higher education will bring many readers back down to earth.
Despite Paul’s assertion that higher education is “broken and ripe for disruption”, this is no futurist dismantling of the status quo. Rather, Paul’s warm, engaging and humorous style draws the reader into a world where AI could be the precursor to universities reclaiming their moral orientation and becoming “the architects of a profoundly human future”. At a time when much discussion of AI in universities focusses on productivity gains and plagiarism, Reclaiming Purpose asks a more profound question: if AI assumes much of the work of knowledge transfer, what then becomes the distinctive role of universities? Can higher education credibly claim the mantle of human flourishing?





Comments
Jonathan Alltimes says:
The purpose of the university is semi-autonomous and independent knowledge for various objectives. Knowledge is a tradition of truth, learnt within a community. You can not separate the person from what is known, but you can separate a text from its author and its readers. The idea that a theory of knowledge is separate from a theory of being is one originating in an educational history in which the text and its information became the rule of knowledge. Generative AI is a technological development of that history of information production and interpretation. Harvard University began life primarily as a college for reformed theology in which the Bible and its interpretation became a paradigm, where literacy and printing was commonplace: the text became the model for mass communication across vast distances. It continues with the codification of processes for teaching and learning. What has been lost are the communities of masters and scholars, where the legal person of the university in the form of the bureaucratic enterprise has replaced the college. The contemporary American university does not follow the original English model and neither now do the English universities in general.
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Dr John Milliken says:
# AI can help universities reclaim purpose—but only if they stop losing value in the flow
Mary Curnock Cook’s thoughtful review of Paul LeBlanc’s *Reclaiming Purpose* identifies the central higher-education question posed by artificial intelligence. If machines can increasingly assist with the acquisition, retrieval and presentation of knowledge, what is a university for?
LeBlanc’s answer is both timely and important: universities must shift their centre of gravity from what students know to who they become. This does not mean that disciplinary knowledge matters less. On the contrary, knowledge remains the substance through which students learn to interpret evidence, exercise judgement, engage with complexity and contribute to the world. But knowledge alone is not education. It becomes educationally valuable when it is connected to confidence, character, capability, belonging and purposeful action.
The difficulty is that such a shift cannot be achieved simply by asking lecturers to become more relational while AI handles more content delivery. That is a change of role; it is not yet a redesign of the educational system.
Universities are already full of valuable activity: excellent teaching, committed staff, student support, placements, research, careers provision, alumni networks and partnerships. Yet too often these elements exist alongside one another rather than working through one another. The consequence is that opportunities are lost not because there is no activity, but because the flow between activities is weak.
A student’s educational journey does not begin at enrolment or end at graduation. Prior experience should enter learning; academic learning should become application; application should return as reflection, confidence and new questions; graduate and employer experience should flow back into curriculum, mentoring and institutional understanding. At every boundary—between school and university, one module and another, academic and professional services, study and placement, graduation and employment—educational value can be created, transferred, diluted or lost.
This is the issue of **flow integrity**. A university may meet its targets, validate its programmes and demonstrate busy provision while still allowing information to be lost, responsibility to fragment and learner capability to stall at the handovers. Activity can be counted; flow must be traced.
LeBlanc’s idea of a knowledge graph is therefore compelling, but it also makes the point. A map can show possible routes, transfer points and destinations. It cannot, by itself, ensure that a learner can navigate them, that transitions are well supported, or that each part of the system recognises its responsibility for the journey as a whole. A more flexible curriculum without shared purpose and effective institutional connection may simply offer students a larger maze.
AI presents the same choice. Used narrowly, it may automate fragmented processes, intensify monitoring and reduce learners to behavioural data. Used intelligently, it could help institutions notice where students are becoming disconnected, make support more timely, reduce unnecessary administrative burdens and give staff more scope for dialogue, mentoring and professional judgement.
The test should not be whether an AI tool makes one process faster. It should be whether it strengthens the educational journey. Does it improve the quality of feedback? Does it help a student make sense of their progress? Does it preserve continuity between teaching, support, assessment and future opportunity? Does it free academic staff to exercise the distinctly human capacities that no system can genuinely simulate: attention, interpretation, ethical judgement and care?
This is also why the language of a future “care economy” needs careful handling. The answer to AI-driven change cannot be to direct people mechanically from one set of jobs into another. The deeper task is to develop graduates able to work with knowledge, technology and other people in ways that are thoughtful, responsible and socially useful. That requires universities to cultivate human capability deliberately, rather than assuming it will emerge accidentally from campus life.
Educational Transvection offers one way of making this practical. It asks leaders to trace how value moves across the learner’s whole journey: from potential to opportunity, learning to capability, capability to contribution, and contribution back into renewed learning. It makes visible the points where continuity breaks down and where a better connection could release value without simply demanding more effort from already stretched staff.
Reclaiming purpose, then, requires more than a renewed statement of values. It requires an institutional architecture capable of carrying those values through everyday decisions and relationships.
AI may indeed make universities more human—but only if universities use it to protect, strengthen and reconnect the flows through which human development actually occurs.
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Pete Quinn says:
Thanks Mary, I’ve been interested in Le Blanc’s insights since at least 2023. You note, “He also sets out a significant shift in the role of faculty to become more human and more relational so that students feel more viscerally that they really matter. While the AI handles basic scaffolding and content generation and delivery, faculty’s focus moves to learning experience design and high-touch mentoring, asking them to learn to love students again.
While delving into the potentially harmful and seductive nature of technology that simulates human voice and tone, his section on anthropomorphism reminds us that thanking our LLM makes no more sense than thanking the toaster. Beneath the humour lies a serious concern that students may increasingly form relationships with AI systems that mimic care without genuinely caring.”
In 2023 I was really struck by Le Blanc’s concept of ‘mattering’ and have highlighted this in work with large and small universities since then having seen him on the 2023 panel alongside the Turnitin CEO who announced, “Turnitin had a few hundred engineers, but he believed that in 18 months, “we will need 20% of those number of people,” referring to the engineering staff. “And we’ll be able to start hiring a lot of them out of high school versus four-year colleges — probably the same for sales and marketing functions…” This has not come to pass (yet). But the concept of mattering from Le Balnc’s previous book ‘Broken’ is a powerful concept.
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