Surrendering and Reclaiming Judgment: How Software Engineering Students Experience AI Reliance
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Surrendering and Reclaiming Judgment: How Software Engineering Students Experience AI Reliance
arXiv:2611.12646v1 [cs.SE] 9 Nov 2026
NATHAN CASSEE, University of Victoria, Canada UMIT AKIRMAK, University of Victoria, Canada LUIZ GUERRA, University of Victoria, Canada MARGARET-ANNE STOREY, University of Victoria, Canada NEIL ERNST, University of Victoria, Canada Software architecture is one of the skills novice developers must master to succeed in industry, and as AI disrupts software development, it is also transforming how students learn architecture. Existing work on how students and novices work with AI has mostly focused on small programming exercises or on students’ perceptions of AI, so little is known about how students experience AI as they learn software architecture in larger team projects. We report on an exploratory case study of 43 senior software engineering students who used AI throughout a semester-long, team-based software architecture project. We combined surveys with focus groups and analyzed the focus group transcripts and the open survey responses through Braun & Clarke’s reflexive thematic analysis. We constructed two themes. The first, Surrendering Judgment to AI, traces how participants’ reliance on AI deepened as they used it to architect and implement their systems, until they surrendered their judgment and became stuck in a codebase they had created but could not understand, which made them rely on AI even more. Participants described feeling ashamed, frustrated, and emotionally disconnected from their work, a toll that, in our reading, left them with even less reason to break their reliance. The second, Applying Human Judgment, centers on participants who kept or reclaimed their judgment: the knowledge and experience it rested on, and the strategies they used to apply it. Participants’ accounts suggest that relaxed deadlines and a lecture and lab on working with AI gave them room to acquire knowledge and reclaim judgment. Given the expectations placed on junior developers and the widespread adoption of AI, we believe these first-hand accounts can help software engineering education and industry adopt AI in ways that preserve novice developers’ judgment, ownership, and motivation. Additional Key Words and Phrases: Software Engineering Education, Experience of Generative AI Reliance, Emotional Disconnect ACM Reference Format: Nathan Cassee, Umit Akirmak, Luiz Guerra, Margaret-Anne Storey, and Neil Ernst. 2026. Surrendering and Reclaiming Judgment: How Software Engineering Students Experience AI Reliance. 1, 1 (November 2026), 43 pages. https://doi.org/10.1145/nnnnnnn.nnnnnnn
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Introduction
Competent and productive developers are expected to master a variety of higher-order skills. One of the most important skills is software architecture, or the ability to design software architectures [31]. Mastering architecture is particularly Authors’ Contact Information: Nathan Cassee, nathancassee@uvic.ca, University of Victoria, Canada; Umit Akirmak, uakirmak@uvic.ca, University of Victoria, Canada; Luiz Guerra, luizguerra@uvic.ca, University of Victoria, Canada; Margaret-Anne Storey, mstorey@uvic.ca, University of Victoria, Canada; Neil Ernst, nernst@uvic.ca, University of Victoria, Canada. Permission to make digital or hard copies of all or part of this work for personal or classroom use is granted without fee provided that copies are not made or distributed for profit or commercial advantage and that copies bear this notice and the full citation on the first page. Copyrights for components of this work owned by others than the author(s) must be honored. Abstracting with credit is permitted. To copy otherwise, or republish, to post on servers or to redistribute to lists, requires prior specific permission and/or a fee. Request permissions from permissions@acm.org. © 2026 Copyright held by the owner/author(s). Publication rights licensed to ACM. Manuscript submitted to ACM Manuscript submitted to ACM
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difficult for novices, because its open-ended and complex nature makes it hard to learn [25]. Therefore, novices need sustained practice: repeated engagement with realistic, difficult software architecture problems [18, 38]. The widespread adoption of generative AI in software engineering1 might disrupt how novices master software architecture, as AI can reason about software architecture [28] and even suggest entire architectures [20]. These capabilities make AI very useful for experienced developers and may increase their productivity [57, 64]. However, how these benefits extend to novices is less clear, because a developer’s experience affects how they use AI for development [32], and the capabilities that enable experienced developers to use AI for architecture might not serve novices in the same way. In fact, it might be attractive for novices who have not yet mastered architecture to offload the demanding parts of architectural work to AI [16]. At the same time, software engineering education is rapidly exploring how to incorporate generative AI [21, 51]. Educators are redesigning their courses, architecture courses in particular, with the expectation that AI can take over routine implementation work. This should free students to spend their time on the higher-order architecture skills these courses are meant to teach [27, 56]. Because AI is new and rapidly evolving, there are no established guidelines on how it should be adopted. Existing work that might inform guidelines has focused mostly on foundational skills like programming [21, 26, 47, 51], in individual, short-lived exercises, and it characterizes primarily how novices use AI [29, 39, 53, 56] through self-reported perceptions that may not match what happens during development [9, 13]. However, this work does not focus on what it’s like for novice developers to work with AI while learning challenging skills like software architecture in a semester-long, team-based project. We therefore ask: How do senior software engineering students experience AI as they learn software architecture in a team project? We conducted an exploratory case study of 43 senior software engineering students who used AI throughout a semester-long, team-based software architecture project. We combined three surveys with four focus groups, and we analyzed the focus group transcripts and the open survey responses through reflexive thematic analysis [12]. In this paper, we report on the two themes we constructed through reflexive thematic analysis. Both are about what it was like for students to work with AI, and both center on participants’ judgment over what AI produced. Our first theme, Surrendering Judgment to AI, is constructed around participants’ accounts of an extensive reliance on AI, of surrendering their judgment, first over architectural decisions and then over code they could no longer evaluate, and of the emotional toll that followed: they felt ashamed that they had to rely on AI, frustrated when incorrect information from AI left them stuck, and increasingly disconnected from their work as their reliance deepened. One participant described AI as an “intelligent gaslighter”, and another as “that friend that you meet and think he’s really smart [...] And he’s been manipulating you”. Our second theme, Applying Human Judgment, centers on the accounts of participants who spoke about applying their judgment while working with AI, and on participants who reclaimed it during the course. What stood out to us is that their judgment was anchored in software engineering knowledge: some brought it into the project, and others recognized during the project that they lacked it and acquired it. Participants who reclaimed their judgment also described changing how they worked with AI. One of them put it like this: “AI was like milk and a cup of tea. A little bit would enhance the drink, but too much could ruin it and require you to remake it.” To us, these results suggest that the current generation of students and novice developers may be particularly vulnerable. In participants’ accounts, three conditions pushed them toward surrender: an unfamiliar technology stack, delivery pressure outside their control, and an expectation that they use AI. None of these is unique to a course project, 1 https://survey.stackoverflow.co/2025
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as junior developers entering industry experience all three [10, 41, 69]. We believe, these conditions can contribute to a sustained reliance on AI that erodes the motivation to learn, and without that motivation there is little reason to break the reliance. Our second theme, applying human judgment, suggests this outcome is not inevitable: participants told us how relaxed deadlines and a lecture and lab on working with AI helped some of them reclaim their judgment. These changes hint at interventions that can help developers and organizations adopt AI sustainably, in ways that preserve novice developers’ judgment, ownership, and motivation. This paper makes three contributions. First, we show that what participants surrendered to AI was their judgment over what AI was doing. Storey [62] describes cognitive surrender by what developers stop doing (Section 2); our participants’ accounts help us understand what they gave up. In participants’ own words, we also document what that surrender felt like, including an emotional toll that, to our knowledge, prior work has not reported. Read through Self-Determination Theory [55], these accounts suggest why surrender left participants disconnected from their work (Section 5.1). Deadlines they could not control undermined their sense of autonomy, and working beside an AI they felt knew more than they did undermined their sense of competence; together, we think this contributed to their work feeling hollow. Second, we show what the judgment of participants who kept or reclaimed it rested on: knowledge of the technologies AI worked with and strategies for working with AI that they discovered during the project. Participants started a new chat when AI went off track, kept each chat scoped to the problem at hand, wrote custom instructions, had AI work in small steps they could test, edited the plans AI proposed before it wrote any code, and asked AI to explain the code it produced. Each strategy helped participants apply judgment, gave them the chance to notice when AI made mistakes, and helped preserve their own understanding of the code. Third, we argue that instruments that can detect surrender are necessary. Existing closed survey items did not allow us to detect the surrender; only participants’ own words, in the open survey responses and the focus groups, allowed us to describe what surrender was like for these participants. We believe these accounts can be used by educators and researchers to help identify surrender in their own courses, or to develop instruments that can help detect it. 2
Related Work
Our study focuses on the experiences of senior software engineering students as they adopt generative AI on a software architecture project. We position our contributions in light of research on generative AI in software engineering education, organized by what that literature asks: what students do with AI, what they think of it, what relying on it costs them, and, in a much smaller body of work, what using it is like for them. Almost none of this work concerns software architecture education. Introductory programming. Most of what is known about students and generative AI comes from foundational programming courses [21, 26, 27, 29, 39, 51, 53]. These studies catalog how students use AI on their coursework and consistently report wide variation: some students have AI produce entire assignments, while others use it only to look things up or make small changes. Their participants, however, are first- and second-year students working individually on short, well-specified exercises [21, 29, 51], a poor proxy for the open-ended, team-based work of software architecture that we study. Team projects. Fewer studies observe students while they’re working on longer team projects, and the studies that do catalog what changed in how students work, staying close to participants’ explicit, surface-level accounts rather than interpreting what the experience was like for them. Salomon et al. [56] surveyed 349 students and interviewed 24 of Manuscript submitted to ACM
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them in a project-based course where teams built three versions of a system with unrestricted access to AI. They find that students used AI not only to generate code but to validate work retrospectively against requirements and design, consulted AI to find information about software design, and that they turned to AI before consulting teammates, which reduced direct collaboration. Mircea et al. [42] surveyed 150 students across 18 capstone teams, finding that voluntary AI use was near-universal across the lifecycle, and that students articulated their own limits, recommending verification and warning against losing independent understanding. Wang et al. [66] examine a setting much like ours: a term-long, team-based greenfield project in which students directed their own use of generative AI. Asking which skills should be taught as generative AI becomes common in software development, they find that non-programming skills, such as working out requirements and specifications, matter more for effective human–AI collaboration than they used to. Software architecture. Software architecture itself remains barely studied. Ferino et al. [23] reviewed 80 studies of novices adopting LLMs, and found only three that report novices using LLMs for architectural work: one on architecture definition, and two on diagram generation. They call this small number a research gap, and name architecture as a direction for future research. Mitas and Sachweh [43] address that gap from the tool side, proposing an AI-driven tutor for cloud-based software architectures. Perceptions of AI. Beyond how students use AI, related work studies what they think of it, and most of these studies report a mix of positive and negative views [23]. Views split most clearly on learning. Most students in an undergraduate Java course judged ChatGPT suitable for learning programming concepts, but some avoided it for fear of not developing their own proficiency [30]. First-year engineering students listed over-reliance that impairs learning among their concerns [44], and computing students at one university grew more worried about becoming over-reliant on AI across three survey rounds [35]. Views also split by task: students judge AI more useful for coding and debugging than for analysis and design [6], the work an architecture course centers on. This literature records feeling as well as opinion: Ferino et al. [23] report that 56 of the 80 studies they reviewed capture novices’ emotions towards LLM tools, including satisfaction, surprise, frustration, and fear. What it captures, however, is sentiment aimed at the tools and belief about them, not what students encountered in doing the work, which is the focus of our study. Cognitive engagement. Closest to our study is work that focuses on the consequences of AI use and how those consequences are experienced by students. Applying structural equation modeling to survey data from 299 STEM students across five North American universities, Choudhuri et al. [16] find that students who trusted and routinely used generative AI reported having significantly lower cognitive engagement, and that neither prior experience with AI nor time in academia protected them. However, this work measures engagement through closed survey items, so it cannot capture, in students’ own words, what working with AI was like. Storey [62] has begun to describe a related pattern among developers, “cognitive surrender” to AI: adopting its output with minimal scrutiny, as opposed to cognitive offloading, the strategic delegation of a discrete task to a tool. Cognitive surrender describes what developers stop doing when they surrender. It does not say what they give up, or what surrender is like for the developer who experiences it. Students’ experience of AI use. Three studies report the encounter of students with AI more directly. Choudhuri et al. [14] ran a between-subjects study in which 22 students completed three short software engineering tasks. Students using ChatGPT were no more productive, and felt no more capable, than students using traditional resources, but they were significantly more frustrated; tracing five AI faults to seven consequences, the authors report uncertainty about correctness and self-doubt among them. Anderson et al. [4] had ten advanced students make a non-trivial change to an unfamiliar codebase over three hours, half of them with access to ChatGPT, and nine of the ten became Manuscript submitted to ACM
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stuck at least once. They contribute a typology of seven kinds of stuck moment and of how AI helped, hindered, or caused each impasse; several of these mechanisms recur in our data. They also find that task success and system comprehension come apart, as AI allowed participants with only a medium level of comprehension to complete a task that comparable participants without AI did not, and they close by calling for study of the long-term implications of working with a reduced understanding of the system. Alakmeh et al. [3] used a design similar to that of Anderson et al. [4], and proposes a taxonomy of personas that describes how novice programmers rely on AI: self-sufficient developers, understanding-gated developers, and AI-steered developers. These personas distinguish modes of working with AI, but not what it was like for students to program with AI, or to rely on it. Choudhuri et al. [15] used reflexive thematic analysis on interviews with sixteen students drawn from senior and capstone software engineering courses. They find that students use AI across a wide range of learning and implementation tasks, and that some describe careful practices, such as cross-checking AI answers against documentation and Stack Overflow, though the authors stress that over-reliance and initial blind trust remain common among beginners. Several of the challenges they report echo what we find: students struggling to make sense of misleading responses, and struggling to get AI to do what they intend. Their account, however, organizes those challenges by where AI helps and hurts across task phases and traces them to properties of the tools, rather than grounding them in how a reliance on AI made participants feel about themselves and their work.
Research gap. Taken together, prior work tells us what students do with AI, what they believe about it, and what relying on it might cost them. It does not focus as much on what working with AI is like for the students themselves while they learn a skill as demanding as software architecture. This question is important because courses are rapidly adopting AI, based on the expectation that students will use AI [27, 56], yet there are no established guidelines on how they should. Students in these courses must learn a demanding skill while working with a tool that can do much of that work for them. We therefore argue that it is essential to capture not only how students use AI, but also how they experience working with it under these conditions: what relying on it does to their judgment over their work and to their motivation for it, and how they work with it to preserve their judgment. Existing work rarely asks this. Studies with experienced developers measure productivity [57, 64], and studies in education characterize how novices use AI, mostly through self-reported perceptions [29, 39, 53, 56]. Studies that focus on the experience of working with AI compress it into at most a few hours of individual work on a prescribed task [3, 4, 14]. Those that span a whole project ask about workflow, collaboration, or skills rather than experience [42, 56, 66], and none study software architecture [23]. The work that does focus on experiential accounts [15] does not situate those accounts in the context of a single project, nor does it explore the emotional impact of AI reliance. Ferino et al. [23] arrive at a similar gap from the other direction: only 19 of their 80 studies consider motivation, and those studies report why novices take up an LLM tool or refuse it, not what a sustained reliance does to their motivation for the work. They also name the effect of LLM tools on novice developers’ mental health as an open research gap. We address this gap by following a single cohort through one semester-long, team-based software architecture project, combining surveys administered as the project unfolded with focus groups held after its final phase. We construct an interpretive account of how these senior software engineering students experienced a deepening reliance on AI, including the emptiness and loss of motivation some described, and of how other students kept or reclaimed their judgment. Manuscript submitted to ACM
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Methodology
Our research question is: How do senior software engineering students experience working with AI on software architecture projects? To answer it, we studied student development teams in a third-year undergraduate architecture course at University of Victoria, in which students were encouraged to use AI while they designed and implemented a modern full-stack web application. We position this work as an exploratory case study that uses surveys and focus groups to describe how student teams experienced the project. In line with case study guidelines [68], we first describe the course, then the instruments we used to collect data, then the reflexive thematic analysis we applied to it, and finally how we established the trustworthiness of that analysis. 3.1
Context (The Course)
A case study requires a real-life context in which data collection took place [54], and we describe ours in detail because a detailed description of the context establishes the credibility of the findings and lets readers judge how far they transfer to their own setting [46]. Our context was a semester-long, third-year undergraduate course in the software engineering program of University of Victoria, taught in the fall semester of the academic year ’25–’26 and taken by students from both the software engineering and the computer science program. The learning goals of the course include basic software design and architecture skills. The course combined lectures, lab exercises, and a team project, and the project is what this study focuses on. Teams of four to five students had to design and implement a software system from the ground up, applying modern web-development principles and technologies, starting from a list of high-level requirements the teaching team provided. The teaching team assigned students to teams using the same start-of-course survey we use as a self-efficacy instrument (Table 1), ensuring diversity in programming capabilities and balancing teams by gender; students could nominate one preferred teammate from within their own lab section. The project ran in two phases with two deadlines each. In Phase I, teams first delivered a set of design documents describing a software design that satisfied the project requirements, and then a fully functional implementation of that design. In Phase II, the teaching team added requirements, and teams delivered an updated design and an updated implementation. Phase II was not a repeat of Phase I, however. Teams primarily refactored and reworked the code they wrote in Phase I: they had to identify at least three technical debt items, record them in their backlog, and address them. They extended their architecture documentation with a module view and a component-and-connector view, each accompanied by an element catalog, interface descriptions, rationale, and a behavior sketch, and they revised or deprecated the architecture decision records they had written in Phase I. Two new capabilities were required as well: a Model Context Protocol server through which an AI agent could book rooms, and an external API endpoint. The two phases also ran on different schedules: Phase I allocated two weeks each to design and implementation, whereas Phase II allocated one week to design and three weeks to implementation. For this offering, the course was redesigned to account for the widespread adoption of generative AI in industry [22, 41]. Its learning objectives were expanded to include developing software with generative AI tools, and students were encouraged from the start of the project to experiment with generative AI, especially for coding and implementation. The teaching team expected that this would let students spend more of their time on the system’s high-level design and specification, instead of on the boilerplate coding that had required considerable effort from students in previous years. When the course was redesigned, in early summer 2025, there were few or no established guidelines for incorporating generative AI into software design course projects like this one, so the teaching team had no materials from which Manuscript submitted to ACM
Surrendering and Reclaiming Judgment: How Software Engineering Students Experience AI Reliance
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Fig. 1. Study timeline showing both the course deadlines and activities, and the data collection.
to instruct students. With no established practice to teach from, the teaching team instead encouraged students to experiment with various tools for themselves, using student packs of popular generative AI coding tools (Copilot, Google Gemini, etc.). Halfway through the course, between the two phases, the teaching team delivered a short lecture and a lab covering emergent best practices for AI usage. Both were built around a single three-phase workflow (research, planning, and implementation): students first use AI to understand the problem, then have it write an implementation plan that the team reviews before any code exists, and only then let it generate code in small, individually verified increments. The lecture presented this workflow as the alternative to “vibe coding” and also covered context engineering, project-wide custom instruction files, retrieval-augmented generation, evaluating model output, and the Model Context Protocol. The lab applied the same workflow to a small web application, to shows students how to work with GitHub Copilot. The materials of these sessions are made available on Figshare.2 3.2
Data collection
We collected data using two methods at several points during the project, as Wohlin and Rainer [68] recommend, to build a corpus that describes students’ experiences from more than one angle. Three surveys were administered before, during, and after the project, and after Phase II we ran focus groups with the student teams to collect richer accounts of their experiences in an interactive group setting. Figure 1 shows the course events (above the timeline) and the data collection activities (below it). The ethical review board of University of Victoria approved the study.3 Participation was voluntary, and by consenting, students also allowed us to analyze the coursework they submitted. To ensure students did not feel coerced, a volunteer not involved in the course or the research distributed the consent forms, and the teaching team could not access the list of consenting students during the course. 3.2.1 Surveys. We administered three surveys: a self-efficacy survey at the start of the course and a reflection questionnaire after each project phase. The self-efficacy survey characterizes participants’ at the start of the course, which helps 2 https://figshare.com/s/7f25856966525523ea37 3 Protocol number 25-0298
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Nathan Cassee, Umit Akirmak, Luiz Guerra, Margaret-Anne Storey, and Neil Ernst Section
Format
Prior Experience
3 questions with mixed formats: 2 fre- Asking participants to report their familquency sliders (Never Used — Use Daily) iarity with version control tools and prior and 1 four-option multiple choice experience with web application development. 7 questions on a 7-point Likert scale (1 - Asking participants to rate their confinot at all confident, 7 - very confident), dence in a range of programming tasks, adapted from Ramalingam and Wieden- from writing a simple Python program beck [52] to comprehending complex multi-module object-oriented code. 9 questions on a 7-point Likert scale (1 - Asking participants to rate their confinot at all confident, 7 - very confident), dence in software design tasks, from deinspired by Bass et al. [8] scribing design patterns and architectural views to creating UML diagrams and designing an architecture from user stories. 3 closed multi-select questions, with an Asking participants whether they previoptional other field ously used generative AI, and if so, which tools and for which software engineering tasks. 5 questions on a 7-point Likert scale (1 - Asking participants to rate their confinot at all confident, 7 - very confident), dence in AI-assisted programming tasks, selected from Wang and Chuang [67] from fixing bugs with AI support to generating entire functional programs. 3 questions on a 4-point Likert scale (1 - Asking participants to rate their agreestrongly disagree, 4 - strongly agree), in- ment with statements on AI usage orienspired by Miller et al. [41] tations, from persistence when AI fails to verifying and adjusting AI outputs. 3 questions on a 7-point Likert scale (1 - Asking participants to rate their confinot at all confident, 7 - very confident) dence in obtaining a junior software engineering position, contributing to a development team, and using generative AI in a professional role.
Programming Self-Efficacy
Software Self-Efficacy
Design
Prior AI Usage
Generative Self-Efficacy
AI Attitude
Industry Confidence
AI
Content
Table 1. The sections present in the self-efficacy instrument, together with a description of the questions included in each section.
interpret variation in how students adopted and used generative AI during the project [54]. The reflection questionnaires capture participants’ self-reported AI usage and their perceptions of its impact after each phase. Self-efficacy survey. Table 1 summarizes the sections of the self-efficacy survey; the full verbatim instrument is in the replication package.4 The survey captures two types of pre-existing participant characteristics: factual prior experience and self-efficacy. Prior Experience covers distributed version control and modern web technologies, both of which the course required, and Prior AI Usage covers earlier use of AI for software development. Self-efficacy, the belief in one’s own capability to execute a task [5], is an important predictor of learning behavior and performance, and the three self-efficacy sections cover the core competency domains of the course: the assumed prior knowledge (programming), the learning objectives (software design), and the phenomenon under study (AI usage). To ensure construct validity, 4 https://figshare.com/s/7f25856966525523ea37
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Section
Format
AI Usage
3–4 questions with mixed formats: 1 bi- Asking participants whether they used nary (Yes/No) and 2–3 open-text fields generative AI during the phase, which tools they used, for which tasks, and (Phase I only) how they would describe the overall role of generative AI within their team. 5 statements on a 5-point Likert scale Asking participants to evaluate five out(Strongly Disagree — Strongly Agree) comes of their AI use: time savings, support for learning about software architecture, contribution to team goals, the overhead of verifying and correcting AI outputs, and the degree to which AI influenced architectural decisions. 2–3 open-text questions (partially condi- Asking participants, in Phase I, who found tional on AI use) AI useful to describe why and which strategies they applied, and who did not find it useful to explain why and what they would change to make it more useful; and, in Phase II, to describe the challenges they encountered and how they addressed them. Participants who did not use AI are asked to explain why not.
AI Outcomes
Open Reflection
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Phase II only Longitudinal Change
3 questions with mixed formats: 1 binary Asking participants whether their AI us(Yes/No) and 2 open-text fields (one con- age changed between Phase I and Phase II, ditional) and if so, how (e.g., changes in reliance or prompting strategy). Designed to capture the influence of the AI-skills lecture delivered between phases on students’ usage.
Table 2. The sections present in the reflection questionnaires, together with a description of the questions included in each section. The bottom section is exclusive to the Phase II questionnaire.
their items were adapted from Ramalingam and Wiedenbeck [52] for programming, inspired by the knowledge and skill framework of Bass et al. [8] for software design, and selected from Wang and Chuang [67] for generative AI. Reflection questionnaires. Table 2 summarizes the sections of the reflection questionnaires; the full verbatim instruments are in the replication package. AI Usage records whether, with which tools, and for which tasks students used generative AI in each phase. AI Outcomes asks students to rate the impact of their AI use on productivity, learning, and architectural decisions, and Open Reflection lets them describe strategies and challenges that Likert items alone cannot capture. The Phase II questionnaire adds Longitudinal Change, which tracks whether and how students’ AI usage changed between phases, and so whether the lecture delivered between them affected their practice. 3.2.2 Focus Groups. To complement the survey data with richer, qualitative accounts, we ran four focus groups with eight student teams after Phase II. Focus groups suited the group-based nature of the project. Compared to Manuscript submitted to ACM
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individual interviews, they let participants build on and challenge each other’s accounts, surface a team’s consensus and disagreements, and reach a shared sense-making that individual interviews cannot access [61]. Team recruitment. The teaching team announced the focus groups to the whole class and explained their purpose. Participating teams received cookies and soda, and their focus group replaced a group reflection assignment. Of the 16 teams, 11 expressed interest, and the teaching team helped select eight of them. Because focus groups are group-based, we did not want them to re-trigger interpersonal conflicts or place undue stress on participants. Therefore, one reason not to select all teams is to exclude teams that had experienced interpersonal conflict during the project or had members who did not contribute. This might bias the focus groups toward more cohesive teams, a risk we accepted to avoid confrontational or uncomfortable sessions for the participants. The eight teams were distributed across four sessions, two teams per session, yielding 8 to 10 participants per session. This kept sessions within the recommended range of 8 to 12 participants [61]: below it, one or two voices tend to dominate, and above it, active participation by all members becomes difficult to manage. Four sessions across eight of the 16 teams also gave a wide variety of perspectives on the project [61]. Script Design. The focus group script follows the guidelines of Braun and Clarke [12] and Stewart and Shamdasani [61] and has five sections (Table 3). It orders questions from general to specific, as Stewart and Shamdasani [61] recommend, and moves participants from concrete, shared recollection toward deeper individual reflection. Each session opened with an anchoring exercise in which participants recalled an architectural decision they had made, which was meant to minimize retrospective bias [24], and then moved to a group discussion on team dynamics, AI use, and motivation. Each session closed with a synthesis exercise in which participants wrote down one or two words, or a metaphor, characterizing the role generative AI had played for them during the project, and then shared and responded to each other’s characterizations. We refer to these as participants’ closing metaphors where we draw on them in Section 4. Because each session combined two established teams, participants knew their own teammates but not the other team, which risks within-team clustering during the discussion [61]. To counteract this, discussion prompts explicitly invited participants from different teams to react to and build on each other’s accounts, and follow-up probes were directed across teams to surface differences and similarities in how the two teams approached the project. This cross-team dynamic also invited disagreement about experiences the two teams did not share. The script was piloted once with junior researchers, which led to minor adjustments so that all five sections fit within the allotted 90 minutes. Stewart and Shamdasani [61] recommend piloting with respondents representative of the target population, but we had limited access to students outside the study population. Procedure. Participants gave written informed consent before each session. The moderator then explained the purpose and scope of the session, invited participants to respectfully disagree with each other, and reiterated that there were no wrong opinions. Sessions lasted 90 minutes and took place in a large, well-lit lab room where participants and the moderator sat around a square table. To encourage interaction across the two teams, participants were assigned seats alternating by team. Each session was run by a moderator and a facilitator [61]. The moderator led the discussion, kept it on track, ensured all participants were called on, and managed the time. The facilitator sat to the side of the room, took notes, and was occasionally called on to ask summarizing questions. All sessions were audio- and video-recorded; the video captures Manuscript submitted to ACM
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Section
Format
Anchoring Exercise
Individual recollection of an architectural Participants individually jot down one decision, followed by a round-robin shar- key architectural decision or feature from ing. their project, and then go round and share their decisions. Sharing grounds the subsequent group discussion in specific, concrete recalled experiences rather than abstract perceptions of the project and AI. Structured group discussion centered Explores team dynamics and AI’s role in around the previously shared decisions, decision-making from two angles. The with moderator probes directed across first covers decisions that generated noboth teams. table disagreement (broadly interpreted as difficult, time-consuming, or revisited), probing team process, shared AI norms, and whether AI contributed to or complicated conflict. The second covers decisions for which the team relied heavily on AI, probing how AI was used for architectural reasoning, how outputs were accepted or rejected, and whether AI use for design differed from use for coding. Probes actively invited the other team to compare or contrast their own experience. Group discussion with moderator probes Participants describe changes in how they used generative AI between Phase I and Phase II: what prompted those changes, whether outputs improved, and any adjustments to prompting strategies or task allocation. Group discussion with moderator probes Participants reflect on whether they genuinely cared about the quality of their work and what drove or undermined their investment in the project, providing motivational context for AI adoption choices. Individual reflection followed by brief Each participant writes one or two words, group sharing, and a final open question or a metaphor, characterizing the role AI played in their project, shares with the group, and briefly responds to each other’s characterizations. A final open question invites participants to raise anything not covered in the discussion.
Unpacking Decisions
Evolution of AI Use
Motivation
Synthesis Exercise
Content
Table 3. The sections of the focus group script, together with a description of their format and content. The script was designed to move participants from concrete recollection (anchoring exercise) toward progressively deeper reflection on decisions, longitudinal change, and motivation, exploring the experience of AI usage from three complementary angles: teamwork dynamics, decision-making, and motivation.
non-verbal cues, such as gestures and reactions, that supplement verbal responses [61]. These recordings were the primary data source for the analysis, and Section 3.3 describes their transcription. Manuscript submitted to ACM
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Nathan Cassee, Umit Akirmak, Luiz Guerra, Margaret-Anne Storey, and Neil Ernst Researcher Positioning. In line with Braun and Clarke [12] and Stewart and Shamdasani [61], we describe the positions
and backgrounds of the moderator and facilitator. The first author moderated all sessions and later coded the data; they are a software engineering researcher with extensive experience teaching software engineering courses and working with software architecture in industry. This background helped them interact with participants, for instance by letting students know they could use domain-specific terminology, and it informed their coding of the transcripts (Section 3.3). The second author facilitated the sessions and is an experienced qualitative researcher. Neither was involved in the course, so there was no prior relationship between them and the participants. 3.3
Data Analysis
We analyzed the data along two strands. The closed-response survey items were analyzed descriptively, to characterize the participants and the context they worked in. The qualitative data (the focus group transcripts and the responses to the open survey questions) were analyzed through reflexive thematic analysis, to construct an account of what the project was like for participants. 3.3.1 Descriptive Analysis of Closed-Response Data. The closed-response items of the three surveys (the Likert-scale ratings of programming, software design, and generative AI self-efficacy, the AI outcome perceptions, and the binary and multi-select items on prior and in-course AI usage) are summarized with descriptive statistics. We report them after the themes, in Section 4.3, to situate participants’ accounts in relation to their self-efficacy and self-reported AI usage. 3.3.2 Thematic Analysis of Qualitative Data. We analyzed the open survey questions and the focus group transcripts using reflexive thematic analysis, following the framework of Braun and Clarke [11, 12] as applied in comparable software engineering education studies [2, 48]. We believe its inductive and reflexive approach suits our interest in the lived experiences of students. Because the study is exploratory, thematic analysis lets us identify emerging patterns of meaning in what students share, and it lets us draw on our experience as software engineering researchers to interpret their accounts. Analytic Orientation and Reflexivity. Our coding and theme development were primarily inductive: given the exploratory nature of the study, we started from participants’ accounts rather than a pre-selected theory or framework, and we constructed the two themes from the patterns of meaning we saw across those accounts. We selected selfdetermination theory [55] only when we noticed that some statements related to its constructs: that participants had little say over the pace of the project, that they did not feel able to do the work the project asked of them, and that they had stopped caring about what they were building. Braun and Clarke [12] note that a theoretical lens need not be settled in advance and may be adopted during interpretation where it affords a richer account. Our analysis is therefore inductive in its coding and theme development and theoretically informed only later: we report the themes in Section 4 in participants’ own terms and use self-determination theory in Section 5 as a lens to interpret them. Because the setting is educational, we take a more contextualist view. To interpret how students experienced the course, we relied on information from the teaching team about what participants went through and how they constructed working with AI. The first author, who coded the data, also drew on their own teaching and industry experience (see Researcher Positioning above) while coding the transcripts. Pre-analysis: Transcription and Preparation. The audio and video recordings of the focus groups were transcribed with Whisper [50], run locally because the recordings contain personally identifiable information and the consent forms did not allow the recordings or transcripts to be shared with external services. The first author then corrected Manuscript submitted to ACM
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the automated transcripts by hand and annotated them with contextual information visible only in the video, such as participants nodding in agreement, raising their hands, or reacting non-verbally to others’ statements. In a second pass, all data collected for this study (surveys and focus groups) were pseudonymized: each participant received a unique identifier that replaced their name and identifies them across the surveys and focus groups. The six stages of Braun and Clarke. Braun and Clarke [12] identify six phases of reflexive thematic analysis. The phases are described in order but are not linear; as the analysis developed, we moved between them several times to refine codes and to find and name themes. Below we describe what we did in each phase. • Phase 1: Dataset familiarization. The first author read all survey responses and transcripts and rewatched each focus group recording. This happened a few weeks after the focus groups were held and transcribed, and so served as an effective reminder of the sessions. During this process, the first author wrote free-form memos recording initial observations, impressions, and emerging questions about the data. Prolonged engagement with the data, and documenting reflective thoughts about potential codes while becoming familiar with it, are the means Nowell et al. [46] describe for establishing trustworthiness in this phase. The memos already contain observations that became part of the final two themes, for instance the notion that students felt gaslighted by AI: AI will suggest changes to everything. As one participant says: “AI gaslights you”. • Phase 2: Data coding (two passes). The first author coded the data in two passes. The first pass produced descriptive (semantic) codes that stayed close to the data, and a selection of relevant excerpts from the transcripts. The first and second author then discussed the more interesting codes and excerpts. Because our coding is reflexive, the goal of this discussion was not to measure agreement [12] but to consider alternative explanations and deepen our understanding of what participants were saying; discussions of this kind are the peer debriefing Nowell et al. [46] recommend throughout coding. The second pass served as a completeness check and an opportunity to extract latent meaning not apparent in the first pass, for instance by coding more of the emotions participants expressed and by identifying every passage in which they talked about AI reliance. Working through the dataset twice also follows Nowell et al. [46], who recommend that coding be scrutinized at least twice and that every data item receive full and equal attention before themes are treated as settled. The second pass resulted in 1,775 coded excerpts with 1,501 unique codes. • Phase 3: Initial theme generation. The first author grouped the codes into seven candidate themes, each a recurring pattern across the data that we believed relevant to the research question, such as how working with AI made participants feel, whether they controlled AI, and how the course structure influenced their AI usage. The first two authors discussed these candidate themes and their excerpts repeatedly, to work out how each should be defined and what united the codes within it. They were not themes yet, but they captured experiences participants repeatedly shared and were instrumental in constructing the final two themes. • Phase 4: Theme development and review. To assess whether the candidate themes held up against the full dataset, the first author created Miro boards for the seven candidate themes, grouping similar codes, annotating the groups with interpretations, and visualizing the relations between them. Nowell et al. [46] recommend diagrams of this kind to make sense of the connections between codes and themes and to keep a record of how concepts and themes developed. The boards also made clear which focus groups or participants each code came from, and it was through them, and through a final board, that a structure of two contrasting themes centered on AI reliance was constructed. Each board was discussed extensively with the second author to verify that the underlying data supported the interpretation, and in later iterations with all authors to agree on a shared Manuscript submitted to ACM
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Nathan Cassee, Umit Akirmak, Luiz Guerra, Margaret-Anne Storey, and Neil Ernst interpretation of the data. Returning to the raw data in this way is the test of referential adequacy Nowell et al. [46] describe for this phase, and vetting the boards with the other authors follows their recommendation that themes be reviewed by the wider team. • Phase 5: Theme refining, defining, and naming. Starting from the Miro boards, the first author wrote several draft summaries of the two emerging themes. Through these drafts, together with the visual summaries, the definitions of the final two themes emerged, and we settled on the insights we combine to form each theme. Keeping the drafts documents how the themes were defined and named, which Nowell et al. [46] list among the means of establishing trustworthiness in this phase. • Phase 6: Writing up. For each theme, we selected representative quotes and combined them into a narrative that conveys both the theme’s meaning and its significance for understanding students’ experiences with generative AI during the project. On the usage of generative AI for reflexive thematic analysis. A recent mapping study shows that generative AI
is being applied to thematic analysis in software engineering [7], and custom-made tools exist to support this [60]. However, Montes et al. [45] found several limitations: generative AI is not suitable for latent interpretation, and when it constructs themes, there are no clear boundaries between them. Ernst and Treude [19] likewise conclude that generative AI lacks the analytical depth reflexive thematic analysis requires. Braun and Clarke themselves reject its use for reflexive thematic analysis, arguing that the meaning-making the method requires is not something generative AI is capable of [33]. In light of these findings and critique, we did not use generative AI for any of the coding or construction of the themes. In fact, we only used AI to evaluate and critique early drafts of our prose, including the descriptions of the themes, to help improve the flow and clarity of our writing.
3.4
Trustworthiness of this study
Case study research in software engineering is commonly evaluated against construct validity, internal validity, external validity, and reliability, or, for flexible design studies, against credibility, transferability, dependability, and confirmability; Runeson et al. [54] treat the choice between the two as one of terminology. Both frameworks assume that a stronger analysis is one that depends less on the researcher who produced it. Reflexive thematic analysis makes the opposite assumption: the researcher’s subjectivity is a resource for the analysis, and a second analyst working the same data would produce a different account, and not necessarily a better or worse one [12]. For this reason we do not compute inter-rater reliability, as there was only one coder, and we make no claim of saturation, a concept Braun and Clarke [12] consider incompatible with reflexive thematic analysis and one we never tried to reach. Instead, we evaluate this study against the criteria Braun and Clarke [12] define for reflexive thematic analysis, and we follow the practical guidelines of Nowell et al. [46]. From Nowell et al. [46] we take the phase-by-phase means of establishing trustworthiness, and Section 3.3 reports where each was applied: prolonged engagement with the data, triangulation of the data collection modes, memo writing during familiarization, peer debriefing between the first two authors, diagramming how codes and themes connect, a return to the raw data to test referential adequacy, and documentation of how the themes were defined and named. The criteria of Braun and Clarke [12] ask that transcription be thorough and checked against the recordings, and that coding give repeated attention to every data item rather than build themes from a few vivid examples (Section 3.3); that themes cohere around a central organizing concept, that data be interpreted rather than summarized, and that the extracts evidence the claims made (Section 4); and that the Manuscript submitted to ACM
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approach and its theoretical assumptions be stated explicitly, that what was claimed match what was done, and that the researcher be positioned as active in the analysis (Section 6). Section 4 reports the findings, first the two themes constructed through reflexive thematic analysis and then the descriptive statistics. 4
Results
From the focus groups and the open survey responses, we constructed two themes about how students experienced working with AI, both centered on participants’ judgment over what AI produced. We first give an overview of both themes and each theme’s central organizing concept: the core idea that unites a theme as a pattern of shared meaning [12]. The first theme, Surrendering Judgment to AI, is organized around the accounts of participants who spoke about their extensive and deepening reliance on AI, which we interpret as participants eventually surrendering their judgment to it. Participants who said they felt unprepared for the project described ceding decision-making to AI, no longer verifying its output, and eventually becoming stuck on bugs in a codebase they did not understand. To get unstuck, they often relied on AI even more instead of repairing their understanding, so the surrender only deepened their reliance. We believe an important element of this theme is how participants spoke about their work after that surrender: they described feeling ashamed, frustrated, and emotionally disconnected from work that had started to feel pointless and empty. In our reading, this emotional toll left them with even less reason to break the cycle of AI reliance. In contrast to this surrender, the second theme, Applying Human Judgment, is organized around the accounts of participants who never surrendered their judgment to AI, and of participants who reclaimed it from AI. The core observation in this theme is how this judgment was anchored in the knowledge and experience of the participants. We observe how some participants refer to knowledge they brought into the course, while others said they recognized during the project that they lacked knowledge, and acquired it. In this theme, participants shared how they felt changes to the course gave them the space to acquire knowledge, and how their judgment afforded a different way of working with AI. One in which they did not surrender their judgment to it. Because we constructed the themes inductively, surrender as a construct was not discussed with participants during the focus groups. Therefore, accurately counting the number of participants who surrendered during the course, or grouping participants into groups based on whether they surrendered, is therefore not possible, nor was that our goal. Reflexive thematic analysis discourages counting how often codes occur [12], which is another reason why we do not definitely attempt to assign participants to either theme. The transcripts do show that participants’ experiences varied: some surrendered their judgment and later reclaimed it, some never surrendered it, and some surrendered it and never reclaimed it. Several participants, among them P5, P6, P9, P19, P32, P37, P44, and P45, speak in both themes. P6, for instance, described their reliance on AI as a “slippery slope” in the first theme, and in the second theme described “wanting to write more of the code by my own hands”. Figure 2 shows both themes, the insights that make up each, and the insight that connects them. In the remainder of this section, we quote the participants to explain how each theme is constructed. 4.1
Theme 1: Surrendering Judgment to AI — a deepening reliance on AI that sustained itself
This theme is constructed around three insights that follow participants from the conditions at the start of the project, to being stuck in a codebase they could no longer judge, to the emotional toll they described after that surrender, which we read as leaving them with even less reason to break the cycle. Manuscript submitted to ACM
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Nathan Cassee, Umit Akirmak, Luiz Guerra, Margaret-Anne Storey, and Neil Ernst