Academic publishing

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New OpenAI tool renews fears that “AI slop” will overwhelm scientific research


New “Prism” workspace launches just as studies show AI-assisted papers are flooding journals with diminished quality.

On Tuesday, OpenAI released a free AI-powered workspace for scientists. It’s called Prism, and it has drawn immediate skepticism from researchers who fear the tool will accelerate the already overwhelming flood of low-quality papers into scientific journals. The launch coincides with growing alarm among publishers about what many are calling “AI slop” in academic publishing.

To be clear, Prism is a writing and formatting tool, not a system for conducting research itself, though OpenAI’s broader pitch blurs that line.

Prism integrates OpenAI’s GPT-5.2 model into a LaTeX-based text editor (a standard used for typesetting documents), allowing researchers to draft papers, generate citations, create diagrams from whiteboard sketches, and collaborate with co-authors in real time. The tool is free for anyone with a ChatGPT account.

“I think 2026 will be for AI and science what 2025 was for AI in software engineering,” Kevin Weil, vice president of OpenAI for Science, told reporters at a press briefing attended by MIT Technology Review. He said that ChatGPT receives about 8.4 million messages per week on “hard science” topics, which he described as evidence that AI is transitioning from curiosity to core workflow for scientists.

OpenAI built Prism on technology from Crixet, a cloud-based LaTeX platform the company acquired in late 2025. The company envisions Prism helping researchers spend less time on tedious formatting tasks and more time on actual science. During a demonstration, an OpenAI employee showed how the software could automatically find and incorporate relevant scientific literature, then format the bibliography.

But AI models are tools, and any tool can be misused. The risk here is specific: By making it easy to produce polished, professional-looking manuscripts, tools like Prism could flood the peer review system with papers that don’t meaningfully advance their fields. The barrier to producing science-flavored text is dropping, but the capacity to evaluate that research has not kept pace.

When asked about the possibility of the AI model confabulating fake citations, Weil acknowledged in the press demo that “none of this absolves the scientist of the responsibility to verify that their references are correct.”

Unlike traditional reference management software (such as EndNote), which has formatted citations for over 30 years without inventing them, AI models can generate plausible-sounding sources that don’t exist. Weil added: “We’re conscious that as AI becomes more capable, there are concerns around volume, quality, and trust in the scientific community.”

The slop problem

Those concerns are not hypothetical, as we have previously covered. A December 2025 study published in the journal Science found that researchers using large language models to write papers increased their output by 30 to 50 percent, depending on the field. But those AI-assisted papers performed worse in peer review. Papers with complex language written without AI assistance were most likely to be accepted by journals, while papers with complex language likely written by AI models were less likely to be accepted. Reviewers apparently recognized that sophisticated prose was masking weak science.

“It is a very widespread pattern across different fields of science,” Yian Yin, an information science professor at Cornell University and one of the study’s authors, told the Cornell Chronicle. “There’s a big shift in our current ecosystem that warrants a very serious look, especially for those who make decisions about what science we should support and fund.”

Another analysis of 41 million papers published between 1980 and 2025 found that while AI-using scientists receive more citations and publish more papers, the collective scope of scientific exploration appears to be narrowing. Lisa Messeri, a sociocultural anthropologist at Yale University, told Science magazine that these findings should set off “loud alarm bells” for the research community.

“Science is nothing but a collective endeavor,” she said. “There needs to be some deep reckoning with what we do with a tool that benefits individuals but destroys science.”

Concerns about AI-generated scientific content are not new. In 2022, Meta pulled a demo of Galactica, a large language model designed to write scientific literature, after users discovered it could generate convincing nonsense on any topic, including a wiki entry about a fictional research paper called “The benefits of eating crushed glass.” Two years later, Tokyo-based Sakana AI announced “The AI Scientist,” an autonomous research system that critics on Hacker News dismissed as producing “garbage” papers. “As an editor of a journal, I would likely desk-reject them,” one commenter wrote at the time. “They contain very limited novel knowledge.”

The problem has only grown worse since then. In his first editorial of 2026 for Science, Editor-in-Chief H. Holden Thorp wrote that the journal is “less susceptible” to AI slop because of its size and human editorial investment, but he warned that “no system, human or artificial, can catch everything.” Science currently allows limited AI use for editing and gathering references but requires disclosure for anything beyond that and prohibits AI-generated figures.

Mandy Hill, managing director of academic publishing at Cambridge University Press & Assessment, has been even more blunt. In October 2025, she told Retraction Watch that the publishing ecosystem is under strain and called for “radical change.” She explained to the University of Cambridge publication Varsity that “too many journal articles are being published, and this is causing huge strain” and warned that AI “will exacerbate” the problem.

Accelerating science or overwhelming peer review?

OpenAI is serious about leaning on its ability to accelerate science, and the company laid out its case for AI-assisted research in a report published earlier this week. It profiles researchers who say AI models have sped up their work, including a mathematician who used GPT-5.2 to solve an open problem in optimization over three evenings and a physicist who watched the model reproduce symmetry calculations that had taken him months to derive.

Those examples go beyond writing assistance into using AI for actual research work, a distinction OpenAI’s marketing intentionally blurs. For scientists who don’t speak English fluently, AI writing tools could legitimately accelerate the publication of good research. But that benefit may be offset by a flood of mediocre submissions jamming up an already strained peer-review system.

Weil told MIT Technology Review that his goal is not to produce a single AI-generated discovery but rather “10,000 advances in science that maybe wouldn’t have happened or wouldn’t have happened as quickly.” He described this as “an incremental, compounding acceleration.”

Whether that acceleration produces more scientific knowledge or simply more scientific papers remains to be seen. Nikita Zhivotovskiy, a statistician at UC Berkeley not connected to OpenAI, told MIT Technology Review that GPT-5 has already become valuable in his own work for polishing text and catching mathematical typos, making “interaction with the scientific literature smoother.”

But by making papers look polished and professional regardless of their scientific merit, AI writing tools may help weak research clear the initial screening that editors and reviewers use to assess presentation quality. The risk is that conversational workflows obscure assumptions and blur accountability, and they might overwhelm the still very human peer review process required to vet it all.

OpenAI appears aware of this tension. Its public statements about Prism emphasize that the tool will not conduct research independently and that human scientists remain responsible for verification.

Still, one commenter on Hacker News captured the anxiety spreading through technical communities: “I’m scared that this type of thing is going to do to science journals what AI-generated bug reports is doing to bug bounties. We’re truly living in a post-scarcity society now, except that the thing we have an abundance of is garbage, and it’s drowning out everything of value.”

Photo of Benj Edwards

Benj Edwards is Ars Technica’s Senior AI Reporter and founder of the site’s dedicated AI beat in 2022. He’s also a tech historian with almost two decades of experience. In his free time, he writes and records music, collects vintage computers, and enjoys nature. He lives in Raleigh, NC.

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Science paper piracy site Sci-Hub shares lots of retracted papers

Most scientific literature is published in for-profit journals that rely on subscriptions and paywalls to turn a profit. But that trend has been shifting as various governments and funding agencies are requiring that the science they fund be published in open-access journals. The transition is happening gradually, though, and a lot of the historical literature remains locked behind paywalls.

These paywalls can pose a problem for researchers who aren’t at well-funded universities, including many in the Global South, which may not be able to access the research they need to understand in order to pursue their own studies. One solution has been Sci-Hub, a site where people can upload PDFs of published papers so they can be shared with anyone who can access the site. Despite losses in publishing industry lawsuits and attempts to block access, Sci-Hub continues to serve up research papers that would otherwise be protected by paywalls.

But what it’s serving up may not always be the latest and greatest. Generally, when a paper is retracted for being invalid, publishers issue an updated version of its PDF with clear indications that the research it contains should no longer be considered valid. Unfortunately, it appears that once Sci-Hub has a copy of a paper, it doesn’t necessarily have the ability to ensure it’s kept up to date. Based on a scan of its content done by researchers from India, about 85 percent of the invalid papers they checked had no indication that the paper had been retracted.

Correcting the scientific record

Scientific results go wrong for all sorts of reasons, from outright fraud to honest mistakes. If the problems don’t invalidate the overall conclusions of a paper, it’s possible to update the paper with a correction. If the problems are systemic enough to undermine the results, however, the paper is typically retracted—in essence, it should be treated as if it were never published in the first place.

It doesn’t always work out that way, however. Maybe people ignore the notifications that something has been retracted, or maybe they downloaded a copy of the paper before it got retracted and never saw the notifications at all, but citations to retracted papers regularly appear in the scientific record. Over the long term, this can distort our big-picture view of science, leading to wasted effort and misallocated resources.

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Study finds that we could lose science if publishers go bankrupt

Need backups —

A scan of archives shows that lots of scientific papers aren’t backed up.

A set of library shelves with lots of volumes stacked on them.

Back when scientific publications came in paper form, libraries played a key role in ensuring that knowledge didn’t disappear. Copies went out to so many libraries that any failure—a publisher going bankrupt, a library getting closed—wouldn’t put us at risk of losing information. But, as with anything else, scientific content has gone digital, which has changed what’s involved with preservation.

Organizations have devised systems that should provide options for preserving digital material. But, according to a recently published survey, lots of digital documents aren’t consistently showing up in the archives that are meant to preserve it. And that puts us at risk of losing academic research—including science paid for with taxpayer money.

Tracking down references

The work was done by Martin Eve, a developer at Crossref. That’s the organization that organizes the DOI system, which provides a permanent pointer toward digital documents, including almost every scientific publication. If updates are done properly, a DOI will always resolve to a document, even if that document gets shifted to a new URL.

But it also has a way of handling documents disappearing from their expected location, as might happen if a publisher went bankrupt. There are a set of what’s called “dark archives” that the public doesn’t have access to, but should contain copies of anything that’s had a DOI assigned. If anything goes wrong with a DOI, it should trigger the dark archives to open access, and the DOI updated to point to the copy in the dark archive.

For that to work, however, copies of everything published have to be in the archives. So Eve decided to check whether that’s the case.

Using the Crossref database, Eve got a list of over 7 million DOIs and then checked whether the documents could be found in archives. He included well-known ones, like the Internet Archive at archive.org, as well as some dedicated to academic works, like LOCKSS (Lots of Copies Keeps Stuff Safe) and CLOCKSS (Controlled Lots of Copies Keeps Stuff Safe).

Not well-preserved

The results were… not great.

When Eve broke down the results by publisher, less than 1 percent of the 204 publishers had put the majority of their content into multiple archives. (The cutoff was 75 percent of their content in three or more archives.) Fewer than 10 percent had put more than half their content in at least two archives. And a full third seemed to be doing no organized archiving at all.

At the individual publication level, under 60 percent were present in at least one archive, and over a quarter didn’t appear to be in any of the archives at all. (Another 14 percent were published too recently to have been archived or had incomplete records.)

The good news is that large academic publishers appear to be reasonably good about getting things into archives; most of the unarchived issues stem from smaller publishers.

Eve acknowledges that the study has limits, primarily in that there may be additional archives he hasn’t checked. There are some prominent dark archives that he didn’t have access to, as well as things like Sci-hub, which violates copyright in order to make material from for-profit publishers available to the public. Finally, individual publishers may have their own archiving system in place that could keep publications from disappearing.

Should we be worried?

The risk here is that, ultimately, we may lose access to some academic research. As Eve phrases it, knowledge gets expanded because we’re able to build upon a foundation of facts that we can trace back through a chain of references. If we start losing those links, then the foundation gets shakier. Archiving comes with its own set of challenges: It costs money, it has to be organized, consistent means of accessing the archived material need to be established, and so on.

But, to an extent, we’re failing at the first step. “An important point to make,” Eve writes, “is that there is no consensus over who should be responsible for archiving scholarship in the digital age.”

A somewhat related issue is ensuring that people can find the archived material—the issue that DOIs were designed to solve. In many cases, the authors of the manuscript place copies in places like the arXiv/bioRxiv, or the NIH’s PubMed Centra (this sort of archiving is increasingly being made a requirement by funding bodies). The problem here is that the archived copies may not include the DOI that’s meant to ensure it can be located. That doesn’t mean it can’t be identified through other means, but it definitely makes finding the right document much more difficult.

Put differently, if you can’t find a paper or can’t be certain you’re looking at the right version of it, it can be just as bad as not having a copy of the paper at all.

None of this is to say that we’ve already lost important research documents. But Eve’s paper serves a valuable function by highlighting that the risk is real. We’re well into the era where print copies of journals are irrelevant to most academics, and digital-only academic journals have proliferated. It’s long past time for us to have clear standards in place to ensure that digital versions of research have the endurance that print works have enjoyed.

Journal of Librarianship and Scholarly Communication, 2024. DOI: 10.31274/jlsc.16288  (About DOIs).

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