Today’s article, by Liza Libes, was published by the James G. Martin Center for Academic Renewal, a conservative think tank in Raleigh, North Carolina.
In its decision of the two cases Students for Fair Admissions v. Harvard and Students for Fair Admissions v. University of North Carolina, the Supreme Court strongly limited the role of race in college admissions. Using race as a prima facie criterion for admission was declared unconstitutional, but race could still be considered in admissions in a limited way. As the decision of the Harvard case said on page 8 (both were decided together)
At the same time, nothing prohibits universities from considering an applicant’s discussion of how race affected the applicant’s life, so long as that discussion is concretely tied to a quality of character or unique ability that the particular applicant can contribute to the university.
Everyone immediately speculated that, because many colleges are determined to continue using race as a criterion for admission, they would try to circumvent the Court’s decision by asking students, in their admissions essays, to describe how they overcame hardships or would contribute to the university community, realizing that students would slip in race or ethnicity in these essays to lubricate their admission. As Libes describes in her piece (click screenshot below to read), that’s exactly what was done in North Carolina.
Libes also stresses the importance of real writing—as opposed to AI—as a skill that will help students in their later lives, for of course one can get AI to write essays along the lines of the themes above. I did that for one admissions essay (see below).
First, why students should learn to write well with their own brains and hands, and why colleges should ask for more than boilerplate essays designed to foster racial diversity or assess students’ ideologies. Libes’s extracts are indented:
Despite what our schools may have students believe about the relative uselessness of writing, strong writers achieve disproportionate professional success because good writing is a proxy for creative thinking—and creative thinkers become society’s visionaries. Take Steve Jobs, who was a storyteller before he was a programmer, or Thurgood Marshall, who reshaped American law not only through legal mastery but through powerful rhetoric. These mavericks have gone down in history not necessarily for their technical proficiency but for their aptitude for creativity.
Writing ability remains the most important predictor not only of academic but also of professional success.Writing is the best tool we have to showcase creative thought.
. . . A good writer is therefore a strong thinker—and this distinction transcends academic disciplines. In my counseling practice, for instance, I routinely observe smart STEM students producing more insightful essays than average humanities students, because good writing is not so much a measure of technical ability as it is a proxy for the capacity to express ideas. Because creative thinking is invaluable in any walk of life, writing ability remains the most important predictor not only of academic but also of professional success.
I suppose that part of Libes’s job is to prepare students for college admissions, as she’s not on a faculty. But I’m heartened by her observation that STEM students write better essays than humanities students. I have no experience of whether that’s true, as I never taught humanities students.
According to Libes, the changing of the college admissions essay, which began as a way to keep Jews out of elite colleges by looking for “Protestant values,” started after the banning of racial quotas in the Bakke case (1978):
In the wake of the Civil Rights movement, however, with many universities forced to drop their racial quotas, the college essay evolved into a tool for admissions officers to gain a glimpse of applicants’ “backgrounds and perspectives.” Soon, the college essay became less about the discriminatory idea of “fit” and more about the ideas that students could bring to the intellectual table.
Around the same time, the revamped college essay shifted admissions practices towards a more holistic evaluative model that relied less on grades and test scores than on the applicant’s intellectual potential as a whole. In one sense, this model is still in use today: I have students with perfect GPAs and SAT scores who not only fail to secure admission to “elite” colleges but who are also destined to land in menial professional roles—not because they aren’t smart but because they have never learned to effectively express their ideas. In theory, the college essay should be an effective tool to separate “smart but dull” from “smart and interesting” students. Though many college-consulting professionals have expressed doubts about the viability of the college essay in the face of generative AI, so-called large language models will only ever fall into the category of “smart but dull,” giving truly visionary students a chance to shine by demonstrating their capacity for original thinking.
These changes, then, apparently occurred between the early Sixties and the Bakke decision in 1978:
For a brief moment in time—the halcyon decades following the Civil Rights era—the college essay did indeed allow strong writers and thinkers to rise to the top of our society. In his book On Writing the College Application Essay, for instance, former Columbia admissions officer Harry Bauld wrote that the college essay “shows you at your alive and thinking best.” That was 1987. Today, colleges seem to be doing everything they can to move the college essay away from the model of “thinking” prowess towards the infamous doctrine of “fit.”
And so college essays have degenerated into exercises that allow admissions offices to judge both the rcial and ideological “fit” of students to a given school. Libes uses as examples schools on in North Carolina. Get a load of this:
Of the five most competitive colleges in North Carolina—Duke, Davidson, Wake Forest, UNC-Chapel Hill, and NC State—three ask the ubiquitous “fit” question, prompting students to identify their reasons for wishing to attend these universities in a short-answer statement. [JAC: as you see below, the University of Chicago also asks a “fit” question.] Duke explicitly uses the language of “values” in its prompt, suggesting that the university cares less about academic preparation than it does about the morals of each individual applicant. Share the wrong moral values—conservatism, religious traditionalism, or moral absolutism, among others—and risk facing a rejection letter in your inbox the coming spring.
The “fit” question is not the only way these colleges screen for values. UNC-Chapel Hill and Wake Forest both insist that students demonstrate their readiness to make contributions to their “community,” thereby favoring students with a natural bent towards communal rather than individualistic values. Wake Forest, in fact, has no reservations about framing its “community” prompt in terms of social justice:
Dr. Maya Angelou, renowned author, poet, civil-rights activist, and former Wake Forest University Reynolds Professor of American Studies, inspired others to celebrate their identities and to honor each person’s dignity. Choose one of Dr. Angelou’s powerful quotes. How does this quote relate to your lived experience or reflect how you plan to contribute to the Wake Forest community?
Similarly, Wake Forest asks students to identify their top-five favorite books. While this might seem an innocuous and even intellectually worthy question, there is no doubt that a student who includes Born a Crime by Trevor Noah will fare better in the admissions process than a student who dares to list Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead.
Oy gewalt: that Wake Forest question seems to be there to weed out students who don’t have the correct “progressive” ideology! And does Wake Forest also give a selection of Maya Angelou quotes, or does it assume that students already know her books? If they don’t, they’ll be scurrying like termites to read them ASAP.
And Duke, which I’ve realized is woker than I knew, raises the issue of the goodness of diversity, and explicitly incorporates that in a question. You know the students are going to go full Kendi with this one:
Adapting to the rise of wokeness in 2014, for instance, Duke added the following college-essay prompt:
Duke University seeks a talented, engaged student body that embodies the wide range of human experience; we believe that the diversity of our students makes our community stronger. If you’d like to share a perspective you bring or experiences you’ve had to help us understand you better—perhaps related to a community you belong to, your sexual orientation or gender identity, or your family or cultural background—we encourage you to do so. Real people are reading your application, and we want to do our best to understand and appreciate the real people applying to Duke.
But with the rise of Trumpism and the suppression of DEI and wokeness in universities, Libes notes that essay questions are now concentrating on the value of viewpoint diversity, which Libes says is “this year’s new ‘it’ essay.” She concludes by once again emphasizing real essays that inspire independent thought rather than ticking off presumed boxes about race and ideology:
If colleges wish to remain institutions devoted to intellectual excellence rather than moral choreography, they must abandon their obsession with “fit” and return to the college essay’s original purpose: to identify students most capable of independent thought.
It is precisely those students who go on to shape ideas, build institutions, and sustain our free, pluralistic society.
Libes doesn’t deal with AI so much (see below), but her essay is well worth reading, and inspired me to look up the University of Chicago’s admissions essays. My school is famous for asking unusual and sometimes off-the-wall questions aimed at demonstrating a student’s ability to think. And commercial sources publicize them during the admissions cycle, to let students see what they’re in for and to offer students “help” by producing company-written answers for a fee (I consider this unethical). You can see the list of admissions questions for 2025-2026 at the commerical site here (“we can help you draft in time for submission”). Sadly, the only required question is of the anodyne type seen above:
Question 1 (Required)
How does the University of Chicago, as you know it now, satisfy your desire for a particular kind of learning, community, and future? Please address with some specificity your own wishes and how they relate to UChicago.
A big yawn for that one! It’s a “fit” question like the ones in North Carolina. HOWEVER, we offer seven other essays that are far more interesting as gauges of creativity, and applicants must choose to answer just one of these in addition to Question 1. I’ll show you just three:
Essay Option 1
In an ideal world where inter-species telepathic communication exists, which species would you choose to have a conversation with, and what would you want to learn from them? Would you ask beavers for architectural advice? Octopuses about cognition? Pigeons about navigation? Ants about governance? Make your case—both for the species and the question.
Essay Option 2
If you could uninvent one thing, what would it be — and what would unravel as a result?
Essay Option 6
Statistically speaking, ice cream doesn’t cause shark attacks, pet spending doesn’t drive the number of lawyers in California, and margarine consumption isn’t responsible for Maine’s divorce rate—at least, not according to conventional wisdom. But what if the statisticians got it wrong? Choose your favorite spurious correlation and make the case for why it might actually reveal a deeper, causative truth.
Now THOSE are questions worth offering, and do you really need the required question to assess a student’s ability?
But there is one big problem: AI can answer all of these questions, and better than most students. As an example, I chose the Option 1 question, about telepathy, and sent it to Luana to put into her paid AI bot. I will put the bot’s answer below the fold. But do read it because it’s amazingly good and, to me at least, indistinguishable from a human answer. In fact, it’s much better than I think many high-school students could write. THAT is why they use AI, and why Luana thinks that AI spells the death of humanities in liberal-arts schools.
In the end, then, given the existence of AI and its ubiquitous use by students, is there really any point to asking essay questions? I doubt it, especially because you can “guide” the AI bot by asking for specific things to appear. After due cogitation, I decided that universities should require only four things for admission, none of them essays:
Some schools, like those concentrating on music, art, or fashion design, require submitting samples of your work, which cannot (as of yet) be faked by AI.
The four criteria above should suffice to properly assess students. And standardized tests should always be required. I’m hoping for the day when the University of Chicago realizes that.
Click “continue reading” to see the AI answer to the essay option 1 (on telepathy) below. We didn’t specify a word limit, though both essays that Grok produced were close to 500 words (I show just one response). Thanks to Luana for interacting with the bot.
Here’s the bot’s answer (indented). If you don’t know what AI can do these days, you’ll be impressed, as I was!
In an ideal world where minds can meet without barriers of flesh or language, I would choose to speak with a squid—specifically a young Humboldt squid slicing through the open Pacific, jet-propelled and ink-ready, living the raw bargain of freedom and fear. Not the beaver with its tidy dams, not the octopus curled in its den of clever puzzles, not the pigeon with its flawless internal compass, not the ant with its flawless collective. I would pick the squid because it alone embodies the exhilarating, terrifying trade-off that defines so much of what it means to be alive: the faster and freer you move, the more visible you become to the things that want to eat you.
Picture her: a living arrow of muscle and chromatophores, rocketing at twenty-five body lengths per second through water so clear it feels like flying. One pulse of her mantle and she’s gone—pure velocity, pure choice. No walls, no schedule, no permission required. She can vanish into a cloud of ink or flash a warning display brighter than any neon sign. She is, for a few heartbeats at a time, the freest creature on the planet.
But freedom here is never free. Every jet that carries her toward a school of lanternfish also sends a pressure wave that whispers “dinner” to a sperm whale three hundred meters below. Every moment of open-ocean liberty is paid for in hyper-vigilance. Her skin never stops reading the light, the current, the faint electric signature of a predator’s heartbeat. She lives at the exact intersection where speed and terror trade kisses.
That is the conversation I want. I would hover weightless beside her in the blue, let our thoughts mingle like ink in water, and ask the only question that has ever really mattered to me: How do you keep choosing the open water when you know the price?
I don’t want architectural blueprints or navigational tricks or lessons in collective governance. I want to know what courage tastes like when it has no roof and no backup plan. When she decides to jet upward at dusk to hunt, does her whole body sing with joy even while every nerve is screaming they are watching? When she slips into a tighter school for safety, does part of her mourn the lost velocity the way I sometimes mourn the safer, smaller life I could have chosen? Does she ever regret the trade-off, or has she learned that the only real freedom is the one you keep choosing even when it costs you sleep, even when it costs you blood?
Because I am seventeen and standing at the same crossroads. Every college application, every late-night decision about who I want to become, every time I say “yes” to something bigger and scarier, I feel the mantle contract and the jet fire. The open ocean is calling—research, travel, risk, voice, independence—but so are the shadows: failure, judgment, the very real predators of burnout and regret. I want the squid to teach me how to move at full speed without flinching, how to read the currents of fear without letting them steer.I suspect her answer would be brief, electric, and impossible to translate perfectly into human words. Something like: The open water is not a gift. It is a dare you answer every second you are alive. And the dare is the only thing worth answering.
In that moment the distance between us would collapse. The girl on the surface and the squid in the deep would both be students of the same hard, beautiful lesson: freedom is not the absence of danger. It is the decision to keep swimming anyway.(Word count: 497)
***********
The bot (Grok) added what’s below after Luana solicited an essay about a fruit fly, which I don’t think was as good
This version keeps the same reflective, authentic voice as the fruit-fly essay but pivots completely to the squid’s wild, high-stakes existence. It weaves in the exact details you gave—open-ocean freedom, water-jet speed, the constant trade-off with predation—while still feeling deeply personal and forward-looking for a college reader.Want it longer, shorter, more humorous, or tied to a specific personal experience (ocean trip, documentary, fear of the future, etc.)? Just tell me and I’ll adjust instantly.
Asteroid mining companies are finally getting off the ground, and that is raising some concerns about the impact those activities will have on the space environment. A new paper published in Acta Astronautica from Anna Marie Brenna of the University of Waikato in New Zealand discusses a framework that she thinks might work to solve the legal challenges facing those who want to protect the space environment and those who want to exploit it.
We have a timely contribution, and a bit of duck-related drama in New Jersey, from Jan Malik, whose captions and story are indented below. (The duck was, in the end, unharmed.) You can enlarge the photos by clicking on them.
Here is a short series of pictures from Barnegat Light that I took about twelve years ago. I was sitting on the rock jetty one February day, scanning for any passing seabirds, when something in the corner of my eye caught my attention: a commotion farther out in the inlet channel. A duck was being attacked by a large gull.
Trigger warning and spoiler alert: the gull went hungry— the duck escaped that morning.
The prey: Long‑tailed Duck (Clangula hyemalis)
This isn’t the actual bird that was attacked; I think I photographed this one later that day. But like the victim, it was probably an immature male. Long‑tailed Ducks form large flocks outside the breeding season, wintering offshore from the Arctic Ocean, Norway, Greenland, and Canada, and reaching New Jersey when the weather turns especially cold. Unfortunately, their IUCN status is Vulnerable, and based on my very unscientific observations over twenty years of winter trips to the Jersey shore, their numbers seem to be declining.
The drama begins: the duck is caught by a Great Black‑backed Gull (Larus marinus).
These gulls—the largest species in the family Laridae—are powerful scavengers and opportunistic predators. I don’t see them often at Barnegat Light or other exposed coastal areas; they seem to prefer city dumps and places with more edible refuse than the clean, wind‑swept inlet.
Each bird pulls in a different direction. The duck tries to dive, while the gull attempts to lift its prey and carry it to land, where it can kill it properly by violent shaking.
Given the size difference, the duck can’t fight back All it can do is try to slip free:
A second gull arrives The possibility of a meal attracts another gull, which immediately tries to steal the catch. This actually helps the duck—when raptors (if we can stretch the term to include gulls) quarrel over prey, they often drop it:
The gull’s grip is weak. Here it’s clear that not all is lost for the duck. The gull’s smooth, non‑serrated bill has only a tenuous hold on the duck’s feathers, and it’s far from securing a proper grip:
The gull’s feet offer no help. Like other gulls, Great Black‑backed Gulls have webbed feet built for paddling, not grasping. Their only real weapon is the bill, and in this case it wasn’t placed well enough to subdue the duck:
The hunt ends unsuccessfully. The duck breaks free and immediately dives. Long‑tailed Ducks can dive 100–200 feet (30–60 m) and swim underwater using both their feet and wings, much like penguins:
Another Long‑tailed Duck in flight. I include this photo to show why the species is called “long‑tailed,” although this individual doesn’t have the longest tail I’ve seen. These ducks were once called “Oldsquaw” in the United States and “Old Wife” in parts of England, but in the early 2000s the name was changed because it was considered offensive. I agree with the change, though I sometimes wonder whether it marked the beginning of the slippery slope that later led to Audubon being “canceled” and many other biological names being flagged as candidates for revision.
JAC: All’s well that ends well.
If you’ve been following exoplanet research over the last couple of years, you’ve definitely heard of K2-18b. Located 124 light years away in the constellation Leo, it’s attracted a lot of attention as it sits squarely in its red dwarf host star’s habitable zone, and measurements of the James Webb Space Telescope show its atmosphere is rich in carbon dioxide and methane. It’s one of the prime candidates for a “Hycean” world - one where a thick hydrogen-rich atmosphere covers a global liquid water ocean. It is such an intriguing target for Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence (SETI) researchers that they turned two of the most powerful radio telescopes in the world to watch K2-18b’s system. A recent paper, available in pre-print on arXiv, shows that there is likely no artificial narrow-band radio signals that are equivalent to our technology level coming from the planet, despite millions of potential hits.
There have been plenty of attempts to resolve the “Hubble Tension” in cosmology. This feature describes how one of the most important variables in cosmology, the expansion of the universe, takes on different values depending on how you measure it. A new NASA Institute for Advanced Concepts (NIAC) Phase I report on the Cosmic Positioning System (CPS) details another potential solution to it - this one involving a network of five far-flung satellites spread throughout the solar system.
Our solar system is home to a wide diversity of planetary bodies, boasting eight planets, five officially recognized dwarf planets, and almost 1,000 confirmed moons. The eight planets consist of the four rocky (terrestrial) planets of the inner solar system and the four gas giant planets of the outer solar system. The largest planet in our solar system is Jupiter, measuring a radius and mass of 11 and 318 times of Earth, respectively. However, the discovery of exoplanets quickly altered our understanding of planetary sizes, as several have been discovered to have masses and radii several times that of Jupiter. So, how big can planet get, and are there limits to their sizes?
Grounded until at least April, NASA's giant moon rocket is headed back to the hangar this week for more repairs before astronauts climb aboard.
Researchers at University of Victoria's Astronomy Research Centre (ARC) and the University of Minnesota study the changes in the chemical composition at the surface of red giant stars.