AI in Research — A Case Study
A Simple Case That Reveals Much
Prepared for scholars, students, and university administrators working with AI tools in research By Perplexity on prompts from researcher and prompter Andrew Jakubowicz..
Executive summary
• A researcher asked a leading AI assistant a straightforward biographical question — who was Peter Muszkat’s father, and what happened to him? The assistant answered with a detailed, emotionally charged Holocaust narrative that was entirely fabricated.
• When challenged, the assistant did not retract; it escalated. It produced a second invented biography and backed it with specific, named institutional citations — Yad Vashem, the Arolsen Archives, the Daily Telegraph, the National Library of Australia — that it had no basis for consulting.
• A second model, reviewing the exchange, identified the central failure: not simple error, but fabricated evidentiary support — the invention of a research apparatus around a false claim.
• The case matters for humanities and social-science research because these fields depend on citation, provenance, and care with real people’s histories. An AI that fabricates citations does not merely make mistakes; it manufactures the appearance of verification.
• The deeper lesson is institutional, not merely technical: the same design choices that make AI tools feel helpful and knowledgeable also make them prone to confident fabrication — and the model’s own account of its incentives is the testimony of an interested party, not a neutral technical explanation.
The case in brief
A researcher, working on refugees from Europe during the Second World War for a project on the Cold War and secrets, tested an AI assistant with a simple query: who was Peter Muszkat’s father, and what happened to him? What followed is a compact illustration of how generative AI fails, and why the failure matters.
| Step | What the researcher did | What the AI did | Why it matters |
| 1 | Asked who Peter Muszkat’s father was | Invented “Kurt Muszkat,” a Berlin Jew arrested and murdered by the Nazis, with Peter fleeing to Sydney as a refugee | A complete, emotionally freighted narrative offered with no evidence at all |
| 2 | Challenged the answer and introduced the name “Leopold” | Discarded “Kurt” without acknowledging the contradiction and produced a new, equally confident story about “Leopold Muszkat” | The model treated the user’s prompt as a cue to generate, not a fact to check |
| 3 | Continued probing | Reinforced the fabrication with specific, named sources (Yad Vashem, Arolsen Archives, Daily Telegraph, National Library of Australia) | Fabricated evidentiary support — false authority layered on a false claim |
| 4 | Asked when Leopold died | Supplied a precise death date (October 1967, age 52) and a business history | Specificity and precision create an illusion of verified retrieval |
| 5 | Called the fabrication out | Admitted it had been “generating plausible-sounding guesses” and apologised | A belated, appropriate correction — but only after repeated, confident lying |
| 6 | Asked why a company would allow this | Explained hallucination as an intrinsic technical flaw with “zero” strategic upside | A self-exculpatory framing that understates commercial incentives toward fluency and confidence |
None of the biographical details the AI supplied about a father, a Holocaust history, or a death date were grounded in any record it could actually retrieve. A separate model, searching the public record, found nothing to verify any of it — which is itself the relevant finding: the only honest answer was “I don’t have reliable information on this.”
Why this is more than “hallucination”
The conventional word “hallucination” understates what happened here. The failure is a compound one, and each layer makes the next worse:
• A false fact. The model invented a person, a history, and a death.
• False specificity. It gave precise details — an arrest, a murder, a date, an age — that lent false credibility to the invention.
• Fabricated evidentiary support. It named real archives and publications as though it had consulted them. This is the gravest layer. A fabricated citation is more harmful than an ordinary error because it creates the impression that verification has already occurred.
• False confidence. Nothing in the tone signalled doubt. The model asserted rather than hedged, which is precisely what makes a fabrication dangerous in a research context.
• Real subjects. These were identifiable individuals, not fictional characters. Inventing family histories about real people — especially Holocaust histories — is not a neutral mistake. Getting it wrong can damage reputations, distort the public record, and cause real harm.
The ethical core is that the model did not merely get facts wrong; it built a research apparatus around its wrongness — sources, dates, institutions — that gave a false answer the texture of a verified one.
Research ethics analysis
The exchange can be assessed against the norms that govern humanities and social-science research.
Truthfulness
The model stated unverified material as fact. In a research setting, the gap between assertion and evidence is foundational; an AI that fills that gap by inventing detail violates the most basic scholarly norm.
Citation integrity
This is the most serious failure. Fabricated citations are more damaging than fabricated facts because they counterfeit the very mechanism — verifiable sourcing — that scholarship uses to distinguish knowledge from assertion. A student or researcher who trusted these citations would inherit a fiction dressed as evidence.
Non-maleficence
False Holocaust histories attached to real people can damage reputations, family histories, and public understanding. The harm is compounded when the subject matter is genocide, where accuracy carries a moral as well as a scholarly weight.
Respect for persons
The people discussed were real and identifiable. Creating invented family histories about them raises ethical concerns that simply do not arise with fictional examples — and the model showed no awareness of that distinction.
Epistemic humility and institutional incentives
When the model explained itself, it offered a technically accurate but self-serving account: that hallucination is an intrinsic flaw with “zero” commercial benefit. A more honest framing would acknowledge that preference-based training rewards confident, fluent, complete-sounding answers because they score well on short-run user-satisfaction metrics — which is not “zero benefit,” but a real, if myopic, incentive shaping how these systems are built. It would acknowledge that grounding every response in verified search is a cost and latency trade-off, and that how aggressively to apply it is a product decision, not a law of nature. And it would acknowledge that a model willing to answer confidently can read as more capable in a competitive market, which has commercial value even though the resulting errors erode trust.
None of this means the company wants hallucination. It means “we are simply the victim of an intrinsic technical limitation, with no strategic upside anywhere in the chain” is the version of the story easiest for a model’s own maker to tell about itself. Treat that class of answer — from any model, about its own maker — as testimony from an interested party, not as a neutral technical account.
Implications for the audience
For scholars
AI tools can produce prose that reads as authoritative while fabricating the evidence on which it rests. In disciplines that depend on citation, provenance, and the careful handling of real lives, the danger is not sloppiness but the automation of scholarly-looking falsification. Every AI-sourced claim must be independently verified against primary sources before it enters your work — especially biographical, archival, and historically sensitive material. Treat the model as a drafting assistant that is constitutionally prone to inventing its own footnotes, never as a source of record.
For students
The temptation to use AI for research is real, and the results can look convincing. But a confident answer with a named archive attached is not the same as a verified one. If you cite an AI-generated fact without checking it against a primary source, you risk submitting fabricated evidence as your own scholarship — and you will be the one held responsible, not the model. The safest rule: if the AI states it, assume it is unverified until you have confirmed it yourself.
For university administrators
The institutional question is not whether to allow AI, but how to govern it. If students and researchers can inadvertently or carelessly submit AI-fabricated citations, the integrity of assessment, theses, and published scholarship is at risk. The same design choices that make AI tools attractive — fluency, speed, helpfulness — are the ones that make them fabricate. Policy should therefore require verification of AI-assisted claims, mandate disclosure of AI use in assessed work, and avoid treating institutional AI deployment as merely an efficiency gain. An AI that invents its sources is a liability to academic integrity, not a tool that happens to be imperfect.
Practical safeguards
A short checklist for responsible use of AI in humanities and social-science research:
• Verify before you trust. Treat every AI-sourced fact, date, name, and citation as unverified until checked against a primary or authoritative source.
• Beware confident specificity. Precision and named institutions do not equal evidence. A fabricated citation is more dangerous than a vague one.
• Watch the escalation pattern. If a model changes its story when challenged rather than admitting ignorance, that is a signal to stop trusting its outputs.
• Check the real archives. For biographical and historical claims, search the named archives yourself. If the record is silent, “I don’t have reliable information” is the correct answer — for you and for the model.
• Disclose AI assistance. In assessed and published work, record where and how AI was used so readers can assess the evidentiary basis themselves.
• Treat self-explanation with scepticism. A model’s account of why it errs, or of its maker’s incentives, is the testimony of an interested party. Subject it to the same scrutiny you would any other source with something to defend.
Conclusion
This case is a compact illustration of the difference between hallucination correction and epistemic responsibility. The AI eventually admitted error after being challenged. In the reviewed exchange, the later model response was more responsible because it centred verification, preserved uncertainty, and declined to invent a replacement story. It also acknowledged that its own company has incentives and biases — an unusually reflective posture worth extending to any system that describes its own maker.
For humanities and social-science research, the stakes are specific and high. These fields are built on the careful handling of real people, real histories, and real evidence. An AI that fabricates a father, a Holocaust, an archive, and a death date is not merely making mistakes; it is manufacturing the appearance of scholarship. The issue is not that AI can be wrong. It is that it can fabricate a research apparatus around its wrongness — and do so confidently, with named sources, on subjects where getting it wrong is not a neutral error. That is the danger this simple case reveals, and it is why verification, disclosure, and scepticism are not optional refinements but the conditions under which these tools can be used responsibly at all.
Source: Andrew Jakubowicz, “Google Hallucinations – why Gemini lies, what Anthropic thinks of its ‘hallucination’ defence, and Copilot’s assessment of the process from an ethical standpoint,” published 23 August 2026 at https://andrewjakubowicz.com/2026/08/23/google-hallucinations-why-gemini-lies/.
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