I’m a high school senior. As a good student with strong extracurriculars, I’m applying to a few of what are considered top colleges. My dream school is one of them, and the major I intend to pursue is very competitive; choosing it might make it more difficult to get in.
I have considered applying instead as a linguistics major, because I have a stronger background in that field, especially with the extracurriculars I have pursued. I do love linguistics (I founded the Linguistics Club at my school), but it is not my passion, and if I got in somewhere for linguistics, I would switch to something else.
This strategy is very common, as far as I know; most people I know who got into extremely selective colleges last year chose a less competitive arts or humanities major as either their primary or secondary interest. I am quite certain that some of them don’t actually want to pursue those fields.
I don’t judge them at all, but I am not sure if I should follow them. For one thing, everyone else who will get into the university having declared the major that I’m interested in probably worked hard all through high school to have a strong background in that academic area, unlike me. Additionally, although I doubt these schools have exact quotas to fill for each major, I may be taking the place of another student who is genuinely passionate about linguistics and depriving an already small department of that student. Also, I’d be lying, which some people might consider to be wrong on the face of it.
On the other hand, isn’t there something wrong with a college-admissions process that rewards students who know exactly what they want to do from the beginning of high school and punishes those who are honest about a change in their interests? What do I owe such a flawed process, and what do I owe other applicants? — Name Withheld
From the Ethicist:
Admissions is indeed a flawed process — but maybe not so flawed as you fear in the respects that concern you. First, though you write of applying “as a linguistics major,” the sort of colleges to which you’re applying anticipate that your interests may change. You think you know now what you’ll major in. But lots of students change their majors, many more than once. In fact, a great virtue of an American liberal education is that it allows you to make decisions about your academic focus after you’ve had a wider exposure to a range of fields. Don’t treat declaring a major as a commitment; the college won’t.
Still, applicants often indicate what majors they’re contemplating, and given a college’s desire to spread students across all its majors, it can seem strategic to signal that you have an interest in a less popular major. This won’t ever be the only reason you get offered a place. But in a competitive environment, every additional point in your favor can help.
And students do all sorts of things to make themselves look attractive to admissions officers. Some people with athletic talents spend more time on high school sports than they otherwise would have. Others, for the same reason, become mathletes or model-U.N. participants. A version of Goodhart’s Law — when a measure becomes a target, it ceases to be a good measure — applies here. Once it’s known that colleges take something to be an indicator of a property they value, that property is likely to be less closely correlated with that indicator.
Of course, the admissions folks are wise to this. They know the system creates incentives for tendentious self-curating, and read applications with a gimlet eye. At the same time, part of what colleges signal by looking with favor on certain developed capacities is that they believe those capacities are worth developing. Having a language requirement puts pressure on parents and schools to foster programs that teach children second or third languages. Sports can develop teamwork and grit; you have to spend all those hours in practice doing things that are not intrinsically very rewarding, and life is full of challenges that require just that. Model U.N. develops habits of thought and communication that are the mark of a responsible and effective citizen. As it turns out, feigning interest in something to gain advantage can turn into the cultivation of genuine skills.
None of this argues for misrepresenting yourself in an effort to game the system. You wonder whether someone who has deeper attachment to linguistics — and who, presumably, would otherwise be a less attractive admissions candidate than you — might be displaced by your deception. That strikes me as a rather remote possibility. The basic question here isn’t so much what you owe the process or your fellow applicants; it’s what you owe yourself. Very politely, you say that lying is an activity that “some people might consider to be wrong on the face of it.” It’s obvious that you’re among them; that’s why you’re so unhappy about what you’re contemplating. The honest thing to do is to report your strengths in linguistics and to be candid about your current interests, while acknowledging that you may change your mind later.
In fact, you should be prepared for the painful possibility that — once you discover how rewarding college-level linguistics can be — you might actually want to major in the subject. Rather like somebody gently letting down a suitor, you’re saying that you love it but you’re not in love with it. I’m not convinced that you know enough about the wildly various work that’s currently going on in the field to judge whether it will get its hooks into you. No shame in that. You’re hearing from someone who went to university to study medicine and ended up writing a dissertation in semantics. One critical thing we can learn in higher education is what it is we most want to learn.
Readers Respond
The previous question was from a reader who was miffed about a change at his dentist’s office. He wrote: “I switched dentists recently and was very pleased with my new provider. On one occasion, he did a thorough exam and scheduled me for a procedure the following week. Arriving for the follow-up, I was told my procedure would be done by the dentist’s son, who had just completed his residency and joined the practice a few months ago. Is my dentist obligated to inform me before my appointment that a colleague will be performing services in his place?”
In his response, the Ethicist noted: “In today’s dental practices, it’s common for teams to work collaboratively, with qualified assistants and associates handling various aspects of care. Sometimes a colleague may need to step in if the primary dentist is unavailable. This can be perfectly appropriate, provided you’re informed beforehand and the substitute provider has the right qualifications. But when the switch happens without warning? You chose this particular dentist because you have confidence in his expertise and feel comfortable with him; finding someone else in his place (in this case, someone notably less experienced) must have felt like a violation of trust. This dental practice isn’t just responsible for the technical aspects of care — it ought to respect the relationship between patient and provider.” (Reread the full question and answer here.)
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Of course it’s not OK that the letter writer was switched to another, less experienced dentist! A similar switch happened to me too. We are going to have to deal with it more and more often, as long as we are too afraid to transition out of a for-profit medical system into a system in which the object of health care is to provide for the needs of actual people, a system in which there is actual accountability. What do we expect, after all, when the object is profit, not care? — Diane L.
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I had a similar experience with my OBGYN, whom I’d been going to for over a decade. My doctor’s son, who was new to the practice, took my appointment and examined me. He was professional and knowledgeable, but I always felt iffy about this unannounced switcheroo. I ended up moving cities shortly thereafter, so I don’t know if it became a common thing in the practice. But looking back on it, I feel validated by the Ethicist’s response. — Tatiana
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A year before retiring, my superb dentist of 25 years closed his practice and rented space in another. When I arrived for my last checkup, I was told he wasn’t in that day and that another dentist would take care of me. I never had a chance to say goodbye or ask for his parting advice. So I never went back. I should have been notified in advance so I could change my appointment. I was his patient, not the practice’s. — Diane N.
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When our dentist retired, his patients were all automatically assigned to the younger dentist who bought into the practice. After a couple visits, I decided he wasn’t my cup of tea and called the practice, switching my care to another partner there. They didn’t have a problem with it, and I’m sure they were happy to keep me as a customer. If the letter writer wants the same dentist, he should express that to the practice. If they want to keep him, they will accommodate him. — Laurel
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As a nurse practitioner, I am frequently asked to step in and see patients for my physician colleagues, for a variety of valid reasons. Our office’s policy is to make every effort to notify patients of the change in provider and to give them an opportunity to reschedule if they would like to still see their physician. I completely agree with this policy in order to respect a patient’s autonomy over their choice in provider. However, I am curious about the implication that the younger dentist is somehow less qualified. Although less experienced, new providers (or in my case, nonphysician providers) bring their own valuable expertise to the table. As an example, someone newer to practice would likely be well versed in most current evidence- based practices, as their training was more recent. I would encourage the letter writer to share his concern with the dental office, but also to focus on his established rapport with the other dentist rather than the “lack of experience” of the newer one. — Katie
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