Let me tell you something that’s been gnawing at me for weeks: the University of Montana’s new president, Dr. Jeremiah Shinn, isn’t just another administrator trying to keep up with the times. He’s a man who seems to understand that the very concept of a university is under siege. And not just from AI or budget cuts, but from the existential question of why we even bother with higher education anymore. I mean, if a chatbot can write a thesis and a robot can code a startup, what’s left for humans? That’s the elephant in the room, and Shinn is trying to herd it into a more productive conversation.
Here’s the thing: Shinn’s talking points are refreshingly pragmatic. He’s not here to wax poetic about the ‘ivory tower’ or the ‘liberal arts tradition’ for its own sake. Instead, he’s fixated on the brutal reality that students need jobs, and employers need skills. But what makes this particularly fascinating is how he’s framing the problem. He’s not just saying, ‘Let’s align our programs with the economy’—he’s suggesting that universities have to become partners with businesses, almost like co-CEOs of the future workforce. Personally, I think that’s both brilliant and terrifying. It’s brilliant because it acknowledges that colleges can’t operate in a vacuum anymore. But it’s terrifying because it risks turning education into a glorified vocational training center, which feels like a betrayal of the very idea of a university.
Now, let’s talk about AI. Shinn says it can answer questions but lacks discernment. That’s a line I’ve heard before, but what he’s really doing is trying to justify the liberal arts. He’s arguing that in a world where machines can process data, humans need to be the ones asking the right questions. But here’s the kicker: who gets to decide what those questions are? If universities are now gatekeepers of ‘critical thinking,’ does that mean they’ll start policing which ideas are ‘worthy’ of exploration? I’m not sure. What I do know is that this is a dangerous game. The moment you say, ‘We’re teaching discernment,’ you’re inviting a thousand debates about whose discernment counts. And that’s a power struggle I’d rather not see played out in lecture halls.
Then there’s the issue of program cuts. Shinn mentions reviewing offerings to align with ‘student needs’ and ‘state priorities.’ But here’s what I find especially interesting: when a university starts talking about ‘stewardship of resources,’ it’s often code for trimming fat. Which means goodbye to niche programs, hello to more STEM majors. And while I get the argument that the economy needs engineers, not just English majors, this feels like a slippery slope. What happens when the only degrees that matter are the ones that can be quantified? Will philosophy departments become extinct? Will creative writing be rebranded as ‘content strategy’? The answer, I fear, is yes. And that’s not just a loss of diversity—it’s a loss of the very thing that makes us human.
Let’s not forget the elephant in the Oval: enrollment growth. Shinn’s talking about expanding research and keeping the university ‘relevant.’ But relevance is a moving target. If a university is constantly chasing the latest trend, does it ever stop being a university? I’ve seen this before—colleges becoming corporate training centers, swapping out professors for consultants, replacing libraries with incubators. It’s not that I’m against innovation, but there’s a difference between adapting and becoming a shell of your former self. Shinn’s challenge is to walk that line without falling off the cliff.
And here’s the deeper question: What does this all mean for students? If the goal is to get a job, then maybe the university model is already broken. But if the goal is to become a thinking, questioning, creative human being, then we’re all in trouble. Because the system Shinn is trying to navigate is built on the premise that education is a transaction—a degree for a paycheck. But what if the real value of a university is in the chaos of ideas, the friction of debate, the messiness of learning? That’s not something you can measure in ROI. And that’s why I think Shinn’s vision, while necessary, is ultimately incomplete. He’s addressing the symptoms, not the disease.
So here’s my take: We need more presidents like Shinn—pragmatic, forward-thinking, and willing to engage with the real world. But we also need more people who are willing to ask the hard questions. Because if we reduce education to a pipeline for jobs, we risk losing the very thing that makes us capable of creating the jobs in the first place. The future of higher education isn’t just about preparing students for the workforce. It’s about preparing the workforce for the future. And that requires a little more than just aligning with employers. It requires a little more than just cutting programs. It requires reimagining what a university can be in a world where the rules are constantly changing. And I’m not sure we’re ready for that yet.
