At Notre Dame, few things are as bleak as a gray November day after you have finished studying physics or organic chemistry at “Heschella” (Hesburgh Library x Coachella, per my friend group). 

My fellow upperclassmen, you know the feeling. And it will be here before we know it. Here’s a reminder of what the next few months have in store: 

Long nights in the library until your eyes physically cannot stay open. You collect your belongings and march to your dorm. You then maybe sleep for five hours, if you’re lucky, in a nervous NREM2 state. 

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Your half-shut eyes may hit the snooze button once or twice, if you’re daring. If you’re like me, the insanely early alarm erupts your heart with adrenaline and anxiety. 

When walking into Nieuwland, you feel a humid cloud of heat hitting your body. Entering the classroom, you smell that familiar sulfur-chalk stench and see the robin egg-colored booklets lining each seat of the sterile classroom. 

Blue books used to just be a staple of certain classes and exams, but this semester promises more. According to The Wall Street Journal, sales of blue books are increasing at public colleges. At the University of Florida, sales were up 50% last school year and 80% at UC Berkeley over the past two academic years.

The reason? AI. 

Although sales are up at these public university bookstores, the demand reaches into all major academic institutions, including Notre Dame.

This semester, many of my classes’ syllabuses similarly note the return of a blue book, even in writing and philosophy courses, which typically have multiple take-home essays. 

One of the syllabuses reads, “At least two of these papers will be written by hand in class in an old-fashioned Blue Book. Thanks AI!”

Another says, “On dates specified in the syllabus, classes will commence with a 20-minute written exercise consisting of either a short essay or 2-4 brief questions.”

Reading these syllabuses initially rattled memories of long nights preparing whiteboards full of reactions, equations and definitions. 

Didn’t I leave physics — and blue books — in junior year?

But then my professors elaborated that because it seems like all students use AI, blue books and oral exams will ensure authentic work. 

This is fair and accurate to say, but I know that some of my peers and friends, some of whom use AI for many of their classes, dread blue book exams. I am concerned for what could come next if blue books were eradicated.

Professors are saying that two main reasons are making them choose blue books: They want students to learn content, and they care about which topics students are taking away. To accomplish this without the stain of AI, they see blue books and exams as part of this process. In short, the blue book is one part to make sure that students are taking away more than memorizing that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell or that F=ma.

Inevitably, AI will further shake universities that are just learning to cope with more and more students turning to AI for completing, planning and organizing assignments. And because not every course can have exams in the format of a blue book, an alternative will likely meet AI’s growing threat.

A study from Campbell University found 86% of college students use AI in their coursework and 54% consult chatbots weekly. In a survey conducted and written by OpenAI, student participants indicated that they use ChatGPT most often for “starting papers/projects.”

At Notre Dame, there’s a sense of educational whiplash, notably a bifurcation across disciplines: Science and business classes typically have more lax rules, often permitting its use as a tool that should facilitate understanding. 

Humanities, on the other hand, usually prohibit or severely restrict AI. And for the right reasons. After all, aren’t you at Notre Dame to read a book?

Notre Dame’s official policy states that “work generated or materially modified” by AI “constitutes academic dishonesty.” It also allows instructors and professors to make their own rules and permissions.

Blue books seem to be the most robust answer to academia’s AI uncertainty. After all, we only have a pencil and scattered thoughts within the walls of DeBartolo Hall. What comes after? Probably more unappealing alternatives.

Redmond Bernhold

Redmond (Reddy) Bernhold is a junior studying biochemistry and journalism. He originally hails from Minster, Ohio but calls Siegfried Hall his home on campus. When not writing, he explores South Bend coffee shops and thrift stores. You can contact Reddy at rbernho2@nd.edu. 

The views expressed in this column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.