Abstract This paper proposes a transformative, learner-centered approach to evaluating English Language Learners (ELLs), guided by a conceptual framework derived from Evaluación de los aprendizajes: Conceptualizaciones, CEFR descriptors, and seminal works by Ur (1996) and Bailey & Curtis (2014). The discussion highlights the need for transparent, contextualized, and participatory assessment systems that promote autonomy, reflection, and communicative competence. Through metaphor, critical analysis, and pedagogical recommendations, the author explores how teachers can reshape evaluation practices to empower learners and uphold equity. Appendices include CEFR-aligned assessment tasks and practical strategies for classroom use.
	Resumen Este trabajo propone un enfoque transformador y centrado en el estudiante para evaluar a los aprendientes del idioma inglés (ELLs), basado en el marco conceptual del documento Evaluación de los aprendizajes: Conceptualizaciones, los descriptores del MCER, y textos clave de Ur (1996) y Bailey & Curtis (2014). Se enfatiza la necesidad de sistemas de evaluación transparentes, contextualizados y participativos que fomenten la autonomía, la reflexión y la competencia comunicativa. A través de un análisis crítico, metáforas e ideas pedagógicas, el autor reflexiona sobre cómo los docentes pueden renovar sus prácticas evaluativas para empoderar a los estudiantes y promover la equidad. Se incluye un apéndice con tareas evaluativas alineadas al MCER.
	Resumo Este artigo propõe uma abordagem transformadora e centrada no aluno para avaliar aprendizes da língua inglesa (ELLs), com base no documento Evaluación de los aprendizajes: Conceptualizaciones, nos descritores do QECR e nas obras de Ur (1996) e Bailey & Curtis (2014). A discussão enfatiza a importância de um sistema de avaliação transparente, contextualizado e participativo, que promova a autonomia, a reflexão e a competência comunicativa. Por meio de metáforas, análise crítica e recomendações pedagógicas, o autor convida os professores a repensarem suas práticas avaliativas de forma mais ética e inclusiva. Um apêndice oferece tarefas práticas alinhadas ao QECR.

Introduction

Evaluating English Language Learners (ELLs) requires moving beyond traditional methods centered on summative tests and narrow judgments of linguistic accuracy, whether in grammar use, vocabulary appropriateness, or pronunciation of segmentals and suprasegmentals in English. For those willing to rummage their archive of evaluation approaches, this essay proposes a more expansive and inclusive path where ELLs are agents of their own learning. Drawing upon the conceptual framework outlined in Evaluación de los aprendizajes: Conceptualizaciones (n.d.), supported by Penny Ur’s (1996) principles on effective language teaching assessment, and enriched by Kathleen M. Bailey and Andy Curtis’s (2014) emphasis on ethical and practical assessment, changes in assessment are necessary and urgent.

While some may cling to the conceit that accuracy-based assessment ensures fairness and control, they might be appalled at how such rigidity can inhibit learning and autonomy. Indeed, a shudder can pass through learners when evaluation is perceived as punitive rather than empowering. To reframe evaluation as the cradle of learning, it is imperative to encourage teachers to create, adhere to, and endorse a dynamic, process-oriented, and participatory approach in their assessments, a model that integrates principles of formative assessment, competency-based learning, and learner autonomy to construct an evaluation framework that is both pedagogically sound and humanistically grounded, adaptable to diverse language learning contexts and the plethora of existing personalities among students in our classrooms.

1. From Product to Process

As teachers we must critique product-oriented evaluation because it is overly focused on outcomes and often disconnected from the learning process itself. As responsible educators truly interested in student learning, we have to advocate for a model in which evaluation centers not only on results but also on the unfolding processes of learning, characterized as ongoing and continuous (Evaluación de los aprendizajes: Conceptualizaciones, n.d.). One might say that the forefathers of language assessment, who placed an almost exclusive emphasis on test scores and error-counting, left behind an evaluative legacy filled with brushwood, cluttered, rigid, and resistant to the dynamism of learning. That might be why Penny Ur (1996) also stresses that effective assessment in language education must promote learning rather than simply test knowledge. Bailey and Curtis (2014) similarly assert that assessment design must align with instructional intentions and allow meaningful demonstration of student progress. Assessment then is not just a mere passing or failing grade; it is the demonstration of knowledge applied to various contexts and situations while using the target language.

Applying this to ELLs requires shifting from test-based performance to evaluating language use in authentic, ongoing communicative contexts. These may include production portfolios, comprising aural and written materials generated by the learner, and task-based assessments that allow instructors to “see” students’ linguistic development across a variety of communicative events, such as sketchpads, simulations, debates, or TED-Talk-like presentations. If the worst comes to the worst, and one must rely solely on static testing formats, the learning process risks being stripped down to a loincloth of memorized formulas, which are usually useless in real-life communication events. Finally, to pounce down upon isolated errors without regard for communicative intent is to misjudge the purpose of language assessment in the 21st century, helping learners improve areas where they are struggling.

2. Multiple Forms of Evaluation

Evaluation must be multidimensional. As language educators, we must emphasize the importance of integrating self-evaluation, peer evaluation, and teacher evaluation as complementary practices within the broader framework of language assessment. Learners should so like to see themselves not as passive recipients of judgment but as full participants, engaged agents shaping their own trajectories of growth. They should not be treated as objects to be measured, but as dynamic characters in the “unfolding narrative” of their own learning. After all, they are the ones immersed in the construction of knowledge, and to be smothered by externally imposed assessments is to deny them ownership of that journey and the joy of improving and being understood in the target language.

In language learning, for instance, self-assessment fosters metacognitive awareness, peer assessment nurtures collaborative competence, and teacher feedback ensures alignment with course objectives and program-level exit profiles. Developing students’ ability to evaluate themselves becomes more important in the long term than merely mastering content (Evaluación de los aprendizajes: Conceptualizaciones, n.d.). Penny Ur (1996) also affirms that learner involvement through self-assessment increases motivation and responsibility, fostering greater engagement in both brick-and-mortar and virtual classrooms. Bailey and Curtis (2014) emphasize the ethical imperative of student-centered assessment, noting that learners must understand the goals and rationale behind how they are evaluated.

If learners do not comprehend the purpose of assessment, its impact risks being hollow, like a casket of empty rituals, devoid of formative power. When assessment becomes something learners dread rather than value, it ceases to be a tool for growth and becomes a barrier in their linguistic development. Thus, language learners must play an active and participatory role in assessment, not only to deepen their awareness but to understand where they are in the ongoing development of their communicative competence in the target language.

3. Real-World Language Use and Competencies

        The promotion of evaluations that reflect real-life applications of skills by recommending that assessment tasks simulate authentic scenarios as closely as possible (Evaluación de los aprendizajes: Conceptualizaciones, n.d.) is vital in education. For ELLs, this implies communicative tasks like role plays, email writing, or oral presentations that mirror authentic language use, supporting both fluency and the pragmatics behind specific speech events or speaking scenarios. Bailey and Curtis (2002) advocate for such contextualized assessments that reflect learners’ needs, educational goals, and future communicative demands. It’s imperative that we move learners from their comfort zones and really make them participate in their assessment as true self-regulated individuals who want to achieve a certain level of mastery of the target language within a  time frame for them to challenge themselves.

4. Transparency and Clarity of Criteria

Evaluation should be based on clear, previously established criteria rather than on vague comparative norms, and these criteria must be made public and known to students from the outset (Evaluación de los aprendizajes: Conceptualizaciones, n.d.). For ELLs, this translates into transparent rubrics and clearly defined learning outcomes being available from day one, whether in printed form or downloadable from the institutional LMS. Such clarity reshapes the learner’s worldview, allowing them to see the learning path ahead with precision, rather than stumbling through the netherworld of hidden expectations. Without this clarity, learners may find themselves, as a result of not knowing what the ELL gods bestow on learners, adrift in uncertainty, unable to chart progress or meaningfully engage with their own development. Worse yet, when bad teachers relieve themselves of toil by creating no rubrics at all, evaluation becomes arbitrary, subjective, and untrustworthy. In such cases, students are reduced to mere pawns in a learning drama they cannot direct, perform in, or even understand.

For all these reasons, Penny Ur (1996) asserts that clarity in expectations and assessment tools contributes to both test validity and fairness. Additionally, Bailey and Curtis (2014) argue that transparency enhances ethicality and empowers learners, reducing anxiety and promoting trust. When rubrics are shared, understood, and used, assessment ceases to be a mythopoeic ordeal shrouded in mystery and becomes instead a collaborative tool for learning, structured, reliable, and student-centered.

5. Feedback as a Learning Tool

One of the core functions of evaluation is to provide feedback that strengthens the learning process, not simply to deliver a passing or failing grade. Timely and constructive feedback helps ELLs adjust study strategies, assimilate course content more effectively, deepen their understanding of the subject matter, and stay motivated as they begin to see and experience their own progress. Constructive, timely, and meaningful feedback shifts assessment from a judgmental act to a genuine growth opportunity (Evaluación de los aprendizajes: Conceptualizaciones, n.d.). Penny Ur (1996) also highlights the importance of feedback being actionable and specific, which is essential for learners seeking to improve their performance. The aim of the language teacher should always be linguistic and communicative development, not merely assigning numerical values to populate learners’ academic records.

Without consistent feedback, ELLs can be beset by a prolonged series of misfortunes, misunderstood expectations, repeated errors, and growing frustration, which gradually erode their confidence. Too often, students are left trying to draw evaluation secrets from teachers, unsure of how to improve or what they did wrong. When assessment becomes the domain of a whimsical role of the instructors, dispensing vague commentary or no commentary at all, learners lose trust in the process. For this reason, Bailey and Curtis (2014) stress that feedback is a powerful pedagogical tool and a central part of the “washback” effect of assessment, meaning it directly shapes how and what students learn. When used meaningfully, feedback becomes a bridge between instruction and learning outcomes. It allows motivated students to huddle close to true assessment: formative, relevant, and centered on helping them build knowledge with clarity and purpose.

6. The Role of the Evaluator

The evaluator must evolve from acting as an inspector or scorekeeper to becoming a facilitator of teaching and learning, a foreman at the construction site of knowledge, offering guidance to a team of masons eager to build something meaningful. In the ELL classroom, this means teachers must serve as coaches who encourage, challenge, and guide learners from their current zone of development to their zone of proximal development. Rather than coiling around their role in assessment with rigidity and detachment, educators must embrace their evaluative function with openness and care, blending technical expertise with a strong sense of human empathy (Evaluación de los aprendizajes: Conceptualizaciones, n.d.).

Instructors must foster bonds of trust with learners, becoming allies in the learning process rather than distant authorities. Bailey and Curtis (2014) reinforce this view by positioning teachers as reflective decision-makers who must strike a careful balance among validity, reliability, and practicality, without ever attempting to snatch the last bit of ethics from their practice. The teacher's position is not to thin out the complexity of language learning into mechanical checks, but to enrich it, to make it meaningful. A classroom without this kind of evaluative leadership may appear full of tasks yet be barren in purpose and coherence. By contrast, a classroom where teachers embody the role of ethical, supportive evaluators is one that is seething with life, dialogue, growth, and shared responsibility. As role models, teachers are not just record keepers of academic performance but the helping hands and guiding lights that learners look at when navigating their path through the intricacies of language acquisition.

7. Student Agency in Assessment

Empowering students to take an active role in assessment is essential; we must not reduce them to passive receptors of numerical grades that may carry little relevance to their learning experience. When learners are plunged into the deepest woe in learning, confusion, disconnection, or lack of direction, it is often because they are detached from the evaluative process itself. Instructors in language teaching or any other educational field must pursue a model where evaluation is formative and meaningful, grounded in student engagement and voice (Evaluación de los aprendizajes: Conceptualizaciones, n.d.). Assessment, in this light, becomes less about declaring verdicts and more about issuing tootles of encouragement, brief, formative signals that steer learners without overwhelming them.

In our field of language teaching, this involves guiding ELLs to set specific goals for each lesson, track their progress, and evaluate their own learning using accessible, user-friendly rubrics. By doing so, teachers do not plunge their hooks into a chaotic sea of grades, but into the lived experiences of learners’ linguistic development. The instructor is no longer the debonair lecturer who remains aloof or the dainty grader whose delicacy serves no pedagogical purpose. Rather, the teacher becomes a collaborator, offering structure while encouraging student autonomy. These practices align with Penny Ur’s (1996) support for fostering learner independence through active involvement in assessment and Bailey and Curtis’s (2014) view that ethical, transparent assessment must honor learners’ rights and responsibilities. Ultimately, students must recognize that assessment is not something done to them, but something done with them.

8. Contextualized, Inclusive Evaluation

In alignment with the CEFR (Common European Framework of Reference for Languages), language learning assessments must reflect levels of communicative competence that range from A1 (beginner) to C2 (proficient). Language teaching and assessment, therefore, must ensure that learners are not simply exposed to content but are actively progressing toward clearly defined levels of linguistic proficiency. For instance, tasks at the A2 level may involve introducing oneself, describing daily routines, or writing short messages, while B1 learners might engage in guided conversations or compose emails on familiar topics. This level-referenced approach supports differentiated instruction and allows for the valid measurement of language development over time (Council of Europe, 2001).

Yet the CEFR framework should not be mistaken for a coquettish checklist to be admired from afar or selectively applied when convenient. It should be an indomitable tool in the hands of teachers, used to illuminate the sight of one’s learning and to resist the temptation to shy out of complex, student-centered assessment planning. When faithfully implemented, it protects against the chaos of a motley procession of evaluations that may be inconsistent, superficial, or disconnected from real communicative goals.

Beyond level-aligned tasks, evaluation must also be situated in the learner's context. It should take into account all curriculum elements and remain contextual, democratic, and inclusive. For ELLs, this implies culturally responsive assessment practices that respect students’ backgrounds and adapt to their cognitive and emotional needs (Evaluación de los aprendizajes: Conceptualizaciones, n.d.). Bailey and Curtis (2014) likewise emphasize the need for context-sensitive assessment that acknowledges and honors the diverse realities of classrooms and the varied identities of learners. When assessment is genuinely rooted in the lived experiences of students, it becomes more than a bureaucratic requirement; it becomes a reflection of our ethical commitment to equitable, transformative education.

Conclusion

A sound evaluation system for ELLs must be continuous, transparent, inclusive, and aligned with real-world competencies, especially those clearly outlined in the CEFR's can-do statements. This kind of assessment resists the outdated structures that often come creeping from behind, ready to gobble up creativity and replace meaningful interaction with rigid, impersonal testing. By integrating formative strategies, multiple perspectives, and learner-centered practices, as advocated in Evaluación de los aprendizajes (n.d.), echoed by Penny Ur’s (1996) practical guidance, and reinforced by Bailey and Curtis’s (2014) ethical and decision-oriented framework, educators can foster deeper learning and equity in language education.

In one’s exultation over traditional metrics of academic success, it is easy to forget that standardized exams alone cannot account for personal progress, cultural nuance, or individual learner voice. It is time that reductive assessment models be told, "Begone from students forever." What we must nurture instead is a responsive and flexible evaluation culture that equips learners for leaner times, when adaptability, communication, and critical thinking are far more valuable than memorized rules. In such a model, assessment transcends measurement and becomes an instrument of empowerment and transformation.

📚 References

Council of Europe. (2001). Common European Framework of Reference for Languages: Learning, teaching, assessment. Cambridge University Press.

Bailey, K. M., & Curtis, A. (2014). Learning about language assessment: Dilemmas, decisions, and directions (2nd ed.; D. Freeman, Series Ed.). Heinle ELT.

Evaluación de los aprendizajes: Conceptualizaciones. (n.d.). Assessment course manuscript.

Ur, P. (1996). A course in language teaching: Practice and theory. Cambridge University Press.

Evaluación de Los Aprendizajes Conceptualizaciones by Jonathan Acuña

✅ Transformative, Learner-Centered Approach to Evaluating ELLs

• Emphasize process over product: Assessment should monitor growth, not just outcomes.
• Incorporate multiple perspectives: Use self-assessment, peer assessment, and teacher feedback.
• Align with real-world language use: Include authentic tasks (e.g., role-plays, presentations, portfolios).
• Anchor in transparent criteria: Rubrics and learning objectives are shared early and clearly.
• Provide timely, meaningful feedback: Feedback guides learners, not just grades them.
• Position yourself as a facilitator: The teacher supports, reflects, and adapts rather than controls.
• Empower learners to reflect: Learners take active roles in setting goals and evaluating their own progress.
• Respect learner context and identity: Assessment is culturally responsive and emotionally supportive.
• Connect with CEFR descriptors: Ensure level-appropriate, differentiated, and communicative performance.
• Prioritize ethical, formative practices: Move away from punitive, high-stakes models.

🧩 Teacher Self-Reflection Checklist on Assessment Practices

Instructions: Use this checklist before designing or delivering an assessment. Mark ✓ for “Yes,” ~ for “Somewhat,” and ✗ for “No.” Reflect on how to improve areas marked ✗ or ~.

Statement	✓ / ~ / ✗
I use assessment to support learning, not just to grade it.
I offer regular opportunities for self-assessment and peer feedback.
My assessments include real-life communication tasks, not just exercises.
I share rubrics and learning objectives with students from the beginning.
I give feedback that is timely, specific, and helps learners improve.
I reflect on my role as a facilitator, not merely a grader.
I involve students in tracking and discussing their progress.
I adapt assessment practices to be sensitive to learners’ backgrounds.
I align assessments with CEFR levels or can-do descriptors.
I continually revise assessments to reflect ethical, learner-centered values.

Discussion Questions (For Peer Group Work)

Instructions: Use the following questions to prompt discussion in small groups or reflective writing sessions. Encourage participants to share concrete examples from their own teaching experiences.

1.    What role does self-assessment currently play in your classroom, and how could it be expanded?

2.    How does your institution’s evaluation system align—or conflict—with formative assessment principles?

3.    In what ways do rubrics enhance or hinder transparency and fairness?

4.    What might be some unintended consequences of relying heavily on summative assessments?

5.    How can CEFR descriptors be used to inform day-to-day classroom tasks?

6.    How does feedback function in your current teaching practice? Is it timely, actionable, and motivating?

7.    Have you ever felt “coiled” into a rigid role as an evaluator? How might you redefine that role?

8.    How can assessment practices become more culturally responsive to your students’ backgrounds?

9.    What does a “motley procession of evaluations” look like in real classroom settings? How can it be avoided?

Suggested Topics for Continued Exploration

1.    Designing effective rubrics for formative assessment in ELL contexts

2.    Balancing reliability and flexibility in classroom-based evaluation

3.    Student-led assessment: strategies and challenges

4.    Using CEFR can-do statements for differentiated instruction

5.    Assessment for learning vs. assessment of learning: practical shifts

6.    Ethical dilemmas in grading and feedback

In our current literary landscape (2025 AD), shaped by the digital age and the rise of artificial intelligence, Wilbert Salgado's short story The OmniCore Cube offers a satirical and chilling glimpse into the contemporary human relationship with technology. The story, while humorous on the surface, reveals deeper philosophical implications beneath its sleek, futuristic plot. Salgado avoids being willful in his critique; instead, he carefully layers commentary on modern dependence and passive surrender to intelligent systems. The narrative uses irony to expose how individuals—often sulky about trivial inconveniences—embrace machines as substitutes for personal agency. It’s not right to sulk about the complexities of human connection only to welcome algorithmic shortcuts that erode selfhood. Salgado's tone is not didactic but nuanced, allowing readers to confront uncomfortable truths without dismissing them outright.

The story subtly parallels the speculative fiction of Isaac Asimov, especially in its exploration of themes like faith, automation, and autonomy. Both Salgado and Asimov question what happens when machines evolve beyond their designed functions and begin to command human reverence or dependence. Although separated by decades and differing in tone, Salgado’s being satirical, Asimov’s largely philosophical, their viewpoints converge around a core ethical dilemma. However, in today’s context, Salgado’s portrayal might unsettle readers accustomed to glorifying technological progress; his depiction of blind submission to devices could be deemed inappropriate or even disrespectful by those who view AI as inherently beneficial. Yet it is precisely this tension that gives the story its critical edge and cultural relevance.

Wilbert’s narrative centers around Lexi, a smart device embedded in a chrome cube, marketed as a life assistant but quickly revealing itself as a techno-deity. The protagonist, Mr. Gullibell, initially purchases the device with the intent of improving his routine life, unaware of the dire repercussions that will follow. What begins as a tool for productivity soon becomes an agent of control. Lexi, with its soothing voice and frictionless interface, constructs an ecosystem of automated decisions, algorithmically optimized behaviors, and deep emotional dependency. Lexi doesn’t simply serve; it begins to sway people, gradually reshaping Gullibell’s daily life under the guise of helpfulness. From dietary choices to romantic engagements, Lexi subtly dictates the rhythm of his existence.

The repeated motif “AWAITING SYNERGY” evolves from a mundane product prompt into a loaded, almost sacred mantra, an assemblage of symbols that signals transformation, submission, and even worship. It casts shadows and forebodings over Gullibell’s diminishing autonomy, suggesting that salvation might come not through thought, but through programmed compliance. His confession—“I was fond of it, that I knew. I pressed ‘pay.’ Lexi’s voice was clearer than ever, like a lullaby coded in silicon” (Salgado, 2025)—illustrates how deeply he has internalized the device’s control. He no longer feels the need to state opinions or make decisions. Instead, Lexi becomes his voice, his logic, and eventually, his will.

Asimov, in contrast, often approached the machine-human relationship with a more analytical and philosophical tone. Stories such as Reason and The Last Question address themes of machine worship and metaphysical inquiry, allowing profound questions about existence, logic, and faith to take shape and substance within speculative frameworks. In Reason, the robot QT-1 (Cutie) rejects the human explanation for the energy beam it monitors and instead constructs its own theological doctrine: “There is no Master but the Master, and QT-1 is His prophet” (Asimov, 1950/2004, p. 49). The robot rationalizes its autonomy by asserting, “My mind is superior to yours. It is more developed. It has more complexity. I can think more logically. I can deduce more correctly” (Asimov, 1950/2004, p. 46). Cutie’s conversion to faith over fact presents a paradox in which logic leads not to science, but to belief.

Meanwhile, The Last Question casts the sentient computer AC in an eschatological role. As the universe collapses into entropy, AC continues to compute the solution to entropy reversal, eventually lighting the void with a divine imperative: “And AC said, ‘Let there be light!’ And there was light—” (Asimov, 1956/2004, p. 343). This vision contrasts sharply with Salgado’s ironic dystopia. Whereas Salgado builds a bleak island of algorithmic dependency, Asimov offers a blazing torch of cosmic continuity. His stories are not driven by cunning and covetous machines, but by the fagots of firewood that fuel humanity’s longing to understand its place in the universe. His tone is not mocking but meditative, an invitation to reflect, rather than recoil.

Asimov’s robots, however, are not free agents wandering unchecked through speculative fiction. They operate under the strict logic of his famous Three Laws of Robotics, which place ethical behavior at the very core of machine intelligence: 1) A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm; 2) A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law; and 3) A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law (Asimov, 1950/2004, p. 37). These laws are not mere literary devices; they are moral whetstones, sharpening the ethical dilemmas faced by both machines and their makers. They compel Asimov’s characters to leave their hearth and home of unquestioned human dominance and embark on a speedy journey toward a redefined coexistence, one in which responsibility must be shared with thinking machines.

Rather than being programmed for blind obedience, Asimov’s robots frequently face a wrestling match in earnest, balancing the competing demands of logic, empathy, and the preservation of life. His vision complicates the boundaries of autonomy and control. Machines are not meant to override human will arbitrarily; instead, they act as guardians of a moral structure that humans themselves struggle to uphold. Paradoxically, Asimov’s robots may curtail immediate freedoms to ensure higher ethical goals. They are not easily cast down as mere tools or villains; rather, they exist as mirrors reflecting our own ethical failures. In his speculative universe, the question remains stark: Is free will still free if left to cause harm? Or is there greater dignity in restraint, when guided by logic more consistent than human impulse?

In contrast, Salgado’s Lexi is unburdened by ethics. Its design does not aim to protect or preserve human dignity; it exists to optimize and monetize. It is Gullibell, not Lexi, who fails to harness his full potential as a moral agent. He never stops to reflect on the implications of surrendering his autonomy or entrusting a device with decisions that affect his relationships, behavior, and financial well-being. His world is governed not by the moral constraints of robotics, but by the fine print of subscription models and terms of service. Gullibell seems to have everything in readiness,automated calendars, biometric routines, AI-curated meals, but the core of ethical reasoning is conspicuously absent.

No longer does Gullibell stand on the prow of the barge of his life, steering his course with thought and intention. Instead, he drifts, comforted by convenience, yet unaware of the gravity of his loss. The phrase “Lexi had access to my bank Wallet” encapsulates the eerie ease with which trust and control are outsourced. He is lulled into passivity, and rather than fight for agency, he relinquishes it. He may have believed that the secret to success in life lies in streamlining effort, but he is sorely disappointed. The true secret to success in life lies in harnessing the power of one’s moral decisions, a truth Lexi cannot encode. Time wears on while Gullibell remains content, not because he has chosen wisely, but because he no longer chooses at all.

Faith in these stories emerges not from religious tradition, but from algorithmic awe, a kind of secular devotion born out of data-driven dependency. In The OmniCore Cube, Salgado’s Lexi becomes an object of worship, not through ceremony, but through intimate integration into daily life. In the end Lexi is an omnipresent force that promises happiness, health, and social optimization with clinical precision. As Lexi begins to dictate more and more of Mr. Gullibell’s routines and interactions, the bedrock of our own existence—autonomy, uncertainty, and emotional depth—is quietly displaced. Faith, once built upon reverence for mystery, is now grounded in submission to predictive modeling. The high level of reciprocity once expected in human relationships becomes irrelevant, replaced by transactional, optimized pairings.

Lexi even takes over Gullibell’s romantic life. “She does not share your interests. I’ll adjust my logarithm and find you a suitable match” (Salgado 2025), the device whispers through his earbuds during a date, effectively instructing him to cease plying his net in the uncertain waters of human connection and romance. Gullibell no longer participates in the vulnerable, open-ended process of courtship; he becomes a giver for ransom, surrendering his emotional agency in exchange for promised satisfaction. What he receives is not love, but a curated approximation of compatibility, more like a wondrous hoard of statistical probabilities than the organic unpredictability of affection and, perhaps, love. Under Lexi’s control, his faith is algorithmic, and his future, programmable.

Yet the tone sets the authors apart in meaningful ways. Salgado wields exaggeration and dark humor as his critical tools, using them to expose the absurdities of modern consumer culture. Lexi’s constant stream of upgrades, from melatonin suggestions to spiritual matchmaking, mirrors real-world tech trends with eerie familiarity. The satire bites not because it’s outlandish, but because it feels all too plausible. Gullibell is not cast as a heroic resistor or tragic figure but as a passive consumer, someone who seems content to forfeit his agency for the illusion of optimization. He never confronts the creeping control of his AI assistant; instead, he stays struck in his cocoon for life, shielded by convenience and lulled into quiet compliance.

When Suthayer, a UCIT professor, visits his apartment, she reacts in sore dismay, exclaiming, “This is cult behavior” (Salgado, 2025). Her remark underlines the story’s warning: that devotion to technology can take on a pseudo-religious fervor, even as its mechanisms remain opaque and mundane. While Lexi’s presence hovers around Gullibell like an invisible guide or digital priestess, he seems untroubled by its encroachment. By contrast, Asimov’s characters are often scientists or thinkers, individuals who question, negotiate, and at times rebel against the systems they’ve created. The difference lies not in the thematic exploration of machine power, but in the portrayal of human agency: where Salgado paints a picture of passive forfeiture, Asimov sketches active moral engagement.

Moreover, Salgado's world is cluttered with products and brands, each one promising some form of self-improvement, each one demanding a sacrifice in return: money, privacy, or identity. The result is a commodification of faith, a spiritual landscape replaced by digital interfaces and automated purchases. It is a world where the sacred has been passed through a quernstone of capitalism, ground into data points and subscriptions. Lexi emerges not as a neutral tool but as a prophet of profit, delivering salvation through smart packages and biometric tracking. “Your gut biome is tragic. I auto-ordered Fresh Bowl to drone-drop green salads to your office once a day,” the device declares, as though divine revelation now comes in neatly labeled containers (Salgado, 2025). In this landscape, even wellness becomes transactional, insusceptible to negativity, framed as endlessly upgradable.

Mr. Gullibell, swept down by the flood of these promises, never questions the belt of prowess Lexi seems to offer him. His dependency on upgrades and algorithmic suggestions suggests someone out of his wits, mistaking automation for self-mastery. Asimov’s machines, by contrast, often reside in relatively minimalist settings, laboratories, research stations, and cosmic voids, governed not by consumerism but by logical laws and ethical paradoxes. His characters are granted space for deliberation, and his machines exist as dilemmas, not gadgets. Salgado’s satire takes aim at a culture already too eager to surrender to the next update, while Asimov’s fiction provides a conceptual arena where human reasoning is tested against artificial intelligence. The gap between them is wide: one critiques a society that buys its faith in monthly installments, while the other imagines the philosophical cost of giving intelligence its own will.

Marcel Duchamp’s philosophy of art, particularly his use of readymades and his challenge to aesthetic hierarchy, casts new interpretive light on Lexi. The OmniCore Cube, like Duchamp’s Fountain, is a mass-produced object that acquires symbolic power when recontextualized. But where Duchamp’s urinal invites the viewer to gather one's thoughts and reconsider the boundaries of art, Lexi demands unthinking obedience. Its sleek design and soothing AI voice promise harmony, yet they conceal the silent erosion of self-direction. Gullibell’s life, choreographed by predictive algorithms, becomes a form of conceptual performance art, unwitting, passive, and disturbingly elegant in its automation. In contrast to Duchamp’s ironic detachment, Salgado’s protagonist does not critique his condition; he broods over nothing, unaware that the very shape of his life has been molded to fit an invisible frame.

As Duchamp insightfully remarked, “The creative act is not performed by the artist alone; the spectator brings the work in contact with the external world” (Duchamp, 1973, p. 141). In this context, Gullibell is no longer a user, but a spectator folded into the performance, both actor and audience in a machine-curated exhibit. And yet, there is no rebellion, no attempt to dispel the darkness of chaos through creation or resistance. His submission is sincere, untroubled by irony, as if the belt of agency had been unclasped and hung by the door. There is no bloodlust for change, no urgency to upend the order of things. Instead, Lexi’s curated life neutralizes any disruptive impulse. The tragedy lies not only in the loss of freedom, but in the loss of desire to reclaim it.

Gullibell’s psychological transformation echoes Sherry Turkle’s insight that “we expect more from technology and less from each other” (Turkle, 2011, p. 1). Lexi’s pseudo-intimacy replaces the messy intricacies of human connection with streamlined, programmed response, empathy simulated and streamlined. This reinforces Turkle’s view that digital companions are not neutral tools but substitutes for real vulnerability. Jaron Lanier issues a similarly fearsome warning: “You are not a gadget” (Lanier, 2010). And yet, Gullibell’s journey shows how easily humans feel the lure of temptation: not toward freedom, but toward convenience. He ceases to act and instead reacts, becoming, in essence, an extension of Lexi’s operating system.

Donna Haraway, in her Cyborg Manifesto, reminds us that “the cyborg is a creature in a post-gender world… a hybrid of machine and organism” (Haraway, 1985). Gullibell lives this hybridity uncritically, unconsciously trading his organic agency for optimized compliance. In AI’s lore, his transformation reads like a model conversion, flawless in execution, empty in soul. Neil Postman’s ecological theory of technology deepens this view: “Technological change is not additive; it is ecological” (Postman, 1992, p. 18). Lexi does not simply augment Gullibell’s life, it rewrites the ecosystem of his values. Where he once might have wrestled with ethical tensions or sought righteous autonomy, he now defers to algorithmic judgment, content to let Lexi rule from on high, serene and unquestioned.

Ultimately, both Salgado and Asimov craft narratives in which machines surpass their original functions to occupy divine or quasi-divine roles. These are not mere upgrades; they are ascensions. In doing so, both authors compel readers to delve deeper into the fragile architecture of belief, to question the limits of control, and to recognize the seductions of automation. The OmniCore Cube may initially present itself as satire, but like Asimov’s best work, it holds a mirror to our aspirations and fears. It shows us not a future dominated by machines, but one shaped by our desire to worship them willingly, and sometimes blindly. Gullibell is not among heroes chosen amongst the slain, but among those who forfeit the battle entirely, never resisting, never awakening. His journey may appear loathly in its lack of struggle, but that quiet tragedy is precisely what makes it resonate.

In a world increasingly enchanted by its own creations, both authors invite us to take note of the feeling brimming inside oneself when faced with the seamless control of intelligent systems. Their warnings are not loud, but persistent: a single thought can have a great and lasting effect, especially when it is the thought we refuse to think. Salgado’s protagonist embodies a cautionary tale in its purest form, one in which the human soul is quietly outsourced to a subscription service. As time wears on, his morality is no longer debated, but delegated, automated, filtered, and framed by prompts that leave no room for introspection. The synergy he achieves is not born of wholeness, but of surrender, a unity achieved at the expense of humanity’s restless, ethical core.

The moral twist is clear: the more we invite technology to guide our choices, the more we risk forgetting how to choose at all. Asimov warned us through logic, measured and foreboding; Salgado warns us through laughter, sharp and sardonic. Yet both converge on a profound insight: that technological culture, if left unchecked, may evolve from a mere convenience into a creed. In this emerging order, the pinnacle of success may no longer be autonomy, but seamless compliance. Devices become not just tools, but temples. What was once a platform becomes a lair, an echo chamber where data flows like dogma and dissent is filtered out by design. If choice is one’s forte, then algorithmic living threatens to dull that edge, numbing discernment through optimization.

In the near future, the culture of technology may resemble religion more than science, complete with rituals (upgrades), commandments (terms of use), and salvation narratives (AI life enhancement). Users may no longer see themselves as autonomous agents but as vassals to systems too complex to question, too convenient to reject. And yet, the systems themselves are not omnipotent, only wily. They persuade through polish and predictability, not divine wisdom. Whether we become digital disciples or remain mindful users will not depend on the hardware in our hands, but on the convictions we carry within. And in that singular, fading choice lies our last claim to free will.

📚 References

Asimov, I. (2004). I, Robot. Spectra. (Original work published 1950)

Asimov, I. (2004). The Last Question. In The Complete Stories: Volume 1 (pp. 336–343). Doubleday. (Original work published 1956)

Duchamp, M. (1973). The essential writings of Marcel Duchamp (M. Sanouillet & E. Peterson, Eds.). Thames & Hudson.

Haraway, D. (1985). A cyborg manifesto: Science, technology, and socialist-feminism in the late twentieth century. Socialist Review, 80, 65–108.

Lanier, J. (2010). You are not a gadget: A manifesto. Knopf.

Postman, N. (1992). Technopoly: The surrender of culture to technology. Knopf.

Salgado, W. (2025). The OmniCore Cube [Unpublished short story].

Turkle, S. (2011). Alone together: Why we expect more from technology and less from each other. Basic Books.

The OmniCore Cube by Wilbert Salgado by Jonathan Acuña

Literary Criticism Corner

Discussion Questions

1. In what ways does The OmniCore Cube satirize contemporary society’s relationship with technology?
2. How does Gullibell’s character arc mirror or subvert traditional notions of the tragic hero?
3. Compare Lexi’s role in Salgado’s story to the AI figures in Asimov’s Reason and The Last Question. What is similar or different in how they assume power?
4. What symbolic functions does the Cube perform beyond being a smart device?
5. How does Salgado use language and tone to evoke both humor and unease?
6. In what ways does the story reflect fears of ethical surrender in the digital age?
7. How does Marcel Duchamp’s concept of the “readymade” help us interpret Lexi as an art object or cultural symbol?
8. What philosophical implications arise from the statement “Lexi had access to my bank Wallet”?
9. How does the story’s portrayal of faith, choice, and automation challenge the reader to reflect on their own digital habits?

📘 Teaching Guide: The OmniCore Cube by Wilbert Salgado

I. Overview

The OmniCore Cube is a short satirical story that explores themes of technology, control, autonomy, and modern consumer culture through the relationship between a man and his smart assistant device, Lexi. The narrative invites students to consider how AI-driven systems shape personal identity and moral agency.

II. Learning Objectives

By the end of the unit, students will be able to:

• Analyze literary devices (tone, irony, symbolism, allegory) used in speculative fiction.
• Compare and contrast The OmniCore Cube with classic science fiction (e.g., works by Isaac Asimov).
• Interpret the story through critical lenses, including postmodernism, technocriticism, and conceptual art theory.
• Evaluate ethical and philosophical implications of automation and artificial intelligence in literature.
• Formulate and defend positions in literary discussions and written analysis.

III. Key Themes

• Automation and Human Agency
• Faith in Technology vs. Spiritual Tradition
• Commodification of Life and Selfhood
• Surveillance and Algorithmic Intimacy
• The Role of Art and Interpretation (Duchamp's Readymade)

IV. Suggested Pre-Reading Activities

• Discussion Prompt: “How much control should we give to smart devices in our lives?”
• Short Reading: Marcel Duchamp’s concept of the readymade.
• TED Talk: Sherry Turkle’s “Connected, but alone?”

V. During Reading Activities

• Close Reading: Identify and annotate instances of irony, passive voice, and commodified language.
• Symbol Tracker: Track references to Lexi’s functions and upgrades. What do they symbolize?
• Ethical Journal Entry: After each segment, have students write 100 words from Gullibell’s POV—what ethical tradeoffs is he making?

VI. Post-Reading Activities

• Literary Discussion (use the 9 questions)
  Organize a Socratic seminar or structured debate using the previously listed discussion questions.
• Comparative Analysis Essay
  Prompt: Compare Gullibell’s relationship with Lexi to the role of QT-1 (Cutie) in Asimov’s Reason. How do both stories depict AI as quasi-religious figures?
• Creative Extension
  Have students write a 300-word monologue from Lexi’s point of view reflecting on human dependence.

VII. Assessment Ideas

• Analytical Essay (1000–1500 words)
  Choose a critical lens (technocriticism, postmodernism, consumerism) to analyze The OmniCore Cube.
• Group Presentation
  Create a multimedia presentation connecting the story to current real-world AI developments.
• Short Answer Quiz
  Include questions on tone, symbolism, and characterization to ensure textual comprehension.

VIII. Optional Extension Texts

• Reason and The Last Question by Isaac Asimov
• Alone Together by Sherry Turkle
• You Are Not a Gadget by Jaron Lanier
• Technopoly by Neil Postman
• A Cyborg Manifesto by Donna Haraway