Incentives in the Academic Science Ecosystem
“Show me the incentive and I’ll show you the outcome.” Charlie Munger
Though some of you may be intimately familiar with the workings of an academic lab, it occurs to us that many of our readers may need a brief introduction to the cast of characters in our story. They will show up in multiple places, so let’s take a moment to get to know them. Note that we will focus here on the organization of a typical biological science laboratory in a U.S. “R1” university (per the Carnegie Classification of Institutes of Higher Education, these are doctoral degree-granting institutions with very high research activity). Although generally relatable to other natural sciences in R1 institutions, other disciplines may be structured differently (there is no concept of a “lab” or “group” in some disciplines, for example). Further, there is a panoply of institutions with different foci in the research ecosystem (e.g. those with graduate programs but only granting a master’s degree, primarily undergraduate institutions (PUIs) that do research only with undergraduates). In these different institutions, your mileage may vary greatly. Please do comment below about differences between the system we here describe and your experience. And if you know all this stuff, skip down to the “Incentives” section below.
Characters in the Research Ecosystem
Professors direct the research that occurs within their research group, often called a “laboratory” or “lab.” This lab may take their name (e.g. the Lindemann Lab) or may be named to describe what the lab researches (e.g. the Diet-Microbiome Interactions Lab); practically, these are used interchangeably. In the U.S., our strong cultural predilection for good ol’ rugged individualism has resulted in a system in which most labs are led by a single professor and populated otherwise by their trainees. More rarely, labs may be led by a pair of professors or more who work together and share leadership, either equally or unequally. In the U.S. professors come in three flavors – assistant, associate, and full – as they become fully growed-ass scientists (a technical term). Here, these labs will be led by a professor of any rank; in many other countries, laboratories will be led by a full professor and incorporate assistant and associate professors in a hierarchy (and thus will typically be bigger than their U.S. counterparts). Importantly, in the U.S. professors are not typically awarded tenure (in places that award it) until they are promoted to associate professor; this tenure provides a (mostly) secure lifetime position. Consequently, achieving sufficiently to be promoted with tenure is generally the major driving motivation of the assistant professor. There are many criteria for promotion, and all institutions are a little different – but one fundamental component is academic reputation, as displayed through publication of scholarly work (in the sciences, typically journal articles – in the humanities, often books). In institutions with a tradition of shared governance (that is, the faculty run the educational enterprise of the university), successful promotion requires positive votes of faculty colleagues in department and higher-level committees.
Thus, papers are the currency of the academic ecosystem – they serve as the fundamental basis for promotion and tenure and also as the de facto proof of expertise (and employability) for rising trainees. With respect to research, a professor also (alongside perhaps a few, less-common members of the academic ecosystem) serves as a principal investigator (PI) on grants. PIs are generally responsible for the research and interactions with the granting agency, serving as the chief director of the research and administrator of the research money. Beyond a negotiable generous (or not) startup package when new professors first begin at an institution, research in the U.S. academic ecosystem is typically entirely self-funded by PIs and it’s typically expensive; consequently, the grants are essential for recruiting students and conducting experiments, which, in turn, generate papers and the consequent academic reputation. Recursively, papers serve as proof of a PI’s scientific and technical capability and are also required to get grants. That’s where the startup funds come in – one must use them wisely to maximize publication output. Professors have all the authority to direct their lab’s research (keeping in mind that the research will be judged by vote of their colleagues) and, therefore, all of the responsibility to direct the research. In essence, professors are owners of scientific small businesses – chief cooks and bottle washers (when times are tight) of their laboratories. Finally, it is important to mention that the degree to which a professor is expected to support their own salary on grants varies by institution and position – at Purdue, as is typical of land grant institutions, our nine-month academic year salary is paid by the university; we can optionally hire ourselves on grants during the summer if we want to do work and be paid. At medical schools and research institutions, professors may be required to fund half (or often more) of their salaries themselves on grants.
Professors and their research labs are organized into departments and then further into institutes, schools, colleges (and etc.) to compose the modern university. Though those administrative levels impact how research labs function in their local context, we won’t focus on them further as they do not much direct the research enterprise besides voting on promotion decisions. This is because knowledge generation – and scientific enterprise – in the U.S. is directed at the lab level – and, increasingly, in networks of labs that freely choose to collaborate, switching partners and building teams depending upon the grant opportunities available.
Typically, the bulk of the research in an academic lab is performed by graduate students. These come in two flavors (Master’s and Ph.D.) that principally differ in the length of time they perform research and, consequently, the level of expertise gained. In the U.S. STE (and sometimes M, of STEM) grad students are supported with tuition remission and a modest stipend while they perform their studies. Although rarely some are supported by fellowships, most of the time these benefits derive from part-time (typically, half-time) work they perform on behalf of the university in either research or teaching assistantships. Research assistantships are in rare occasions funded by the college or department to which a professor belongs, but more commonly are funded by their professors through research grants.
More familiar to many are teaching assistantships (as those who have been through undergraduate education at a place where graduate students exist have almost invariably had at least one), in which graduate students assist with teaching a course. Graduate students begin their academic careers taking coursework, but once these courses are complete shift focus to only their research work. This research work becomes codified in a master’s thesis or a Ph.D. dissertation, as well as published journal articles. These then serve as an externally visible portfolio of the student’s abilities and serve as the basis on which they will be evaluated for future opportunities.
After completion of a Ph.D., a small number of graduating students will enter the journeyman phase of academic training and become postdoctoral scientists (alternately called scholars, fellows, and associates; “postdocs” for short), depending upon institution. In some ways similar to a residency in medicine, these scientists have a full-time role in research (no coursework or teaching, yay!) and can fully devote their work to build their scientific resume (that is, publishing many, high-impact publications) with the hope of securing a coveted faculty position in the future. Although there are a few federal grant programs (typically, fellowships) that allow (at least domestic) postdocs to secure their own funding (chiefly, paying their own salaries), the majority of these scientists are funded by their PI’s research grants. Authority and responsibility afforded postdocs are entirely dependent upon the PI – in some cases they are nearly autonomous within the boundaries imposed by the funded grant’s scope, in other cases they are little more than super grad students. Postdocs are on limited-term contracts, typically yearly.
Although many of us may recall being undergraduate students, only a small minority of undergrads ever end up doing research outside of a class environment, even in STEM fields – so you may not be familiar with how these students contribute in the laboratory. If you will allow a brief PSA, we are huge proponents of undergrads being involved in the research enterprise. Doing undergraduate research allows one to determine whether they enjoy research (and may want to do it is as a career) without any career risk (like – oops, turns out I didn’t really want to go to grad school!). Further, trying to do something nobody else has done teaches critical thinking and problem-solving skills like no other activity we know (except, perhaps, for competitive debate, but that’s a story for a different day). For both of these reasons, a consistent record of (and letter of recommendation from) undergraduate research may result in being an author of a publication and greatly improves one’s chances of being accepted into graduate school (and success in grad school). Finally, for most of us, it is our only opportunity to contribute to the generation of new knowledge solely for humanity’s sake. If you’re an undergrad with the opportunity available to you, we strongly encourage you to find a great lab and get involved (it was hugely important for Steve’s career path, so we pay it forward in the Lindemann Lab/DMIL).
Undergrads are occasionally paid to do research (hourly, typically), but more commonly are enrolled in research credits – essentially a one-person independent study course in which research is the objective. Because this research must fit into an often-exacting courseload, undergrads are typically quite limited in the time they can spend in the lab (10 hours a week is a relatively high level of commitment). As such, although they sometimes perform their own projects independently, more often they assist other scientists in the laboratory or take charge of a subcomponent of a postdoc or grad student’s project. During the summers, some undergrads stay on to perform part- or full-time research.
If you’ve been paying close attention, you will have noticed that the whole lab staff, apart from the professor, are temporary - fellow travelers for awhile and passers-through on their academic journeys. They are sometimes joined by a motley crew of visiting scholars and interns who join the laboratory, typically for a year or less. These include professors from other domestic and international universities on sabbatical, undergraduate and graduate student interns in a variety of exchange programs, and foreign visiting scientists. The latter are often funded by their home countries (and, sometimes, the U.S. State Department through programs like Fulbright) to facilitate technical and intercultural exchange. The key insight is that structurally high turnover is the inescapable reality of academic science. In fact, training and releasing generations of students into the big wide world is the overwhelmingly predominant way the teaching mission of the university is accomplished. However, this objective is set exactly at odds with its research mission, which relies upon the development of institutional knowledge and skill in projects that sometimes operate on decadal time frames (or more, like the Lenski Long-Term Evolution Experiment).
Staff scientists are the counterexample to all the above. Being the only other people in the laboratory who do not (necessarily, at least) plan or hope to move on to something bigger and better, they are glue that holds the academic lab together. They sit alongside the professor as repositories of institutional knowledge and technical ability. They are entrusted with the components of projects and lab functions that are the most critical for successful continuation of research. They often assist the PI with the management of other researchers and lab tasks. However, staff scientists are now a luxury available to only the best-funded labs. Once, technician roles were often maintained on “hard” funds – that is, derived internally from the university’s budget. Now, staff scientists are nearly always supported on “soft” money – those derived externally from grants. And they aren’t cheap. What this means is that they are, in the end, as ephemeral as the grants that support them (though, often spread across multiple grants, which gives some diversification benefit). Most professors would give an appendage to keep their staff scientists employed – over time, they become an extension of the PI themselves in how they conduct research, and, most importantly, they are the only other member of the lab who shares largely the same set of incentives.
Incentives
“An incentive is a bullet, a key: an often tiny object with astonishing power to change a situation.”
Steven D. Levitt, Ph.D., Freakonomics, p. 16
Whether you’ve read nothing of the above or all of it, the important take home message is this: incentive structures vary considerably across the academic laboratory because nearly all of its staff have expiration dates. A professor is a CEO – building a research career, hiring (and, regrettably, sometimes firing) students and staff, making decisions on resource allocation and seeking funds to keep it running, churning out publications to earn the reputation and the tenure that comes with it (as well as eventual promotion to full professor). As such, even though the PI is often forced to think more short-term to keep the lights on, the PI is perpetually aware of and attempting to build the long-term research enterprise, position for future opportunities, and assure longevity to this research they passionate care about and forsook much higher salaries elsewhere to spend their lives performing. The PI cares about organization, sustainability, institutional knowledge, productivity, and efficiency. The staff scientist typically shares all of this – given that their job security directly depends on the PI’s success in grant writing (and thriftiness in resource management). In contrast, the graduate student (either flavor) is just trying to graduate on time (or, even better, early). The undergrad is there for some experience – maybe they want to work really hard and do a thesis or publish a paper, or maybe just a line on a resume and a letter of recommendation to medical school. Maybe this semester they have a heavy courseload and so may skip research this time. The postdoc is working hard on launching their own academic career, developing the bona fides of a strong, freshly minted assistant professor. Faster is definitely better here.
None of these have incentive to care about the long-term success of the laboratory much, beyond the personal affection they may have (or not) for the professor that trained them. They may still be very influential in and supportive of their alma mater lab of their own desire, but their expenditure of time and energy to support that long-term objective is entirely personal. Look, they may promise to wrap up the last few drafts of manuscripts after they graduate, they may mean it very sincerely, and they may actually do it. They may assist the next generation of students inheriting their projects. But we have to be real – they are moving on to different full-time jobs and, often, increasingly busy family lives. There is only so much evening and weekend time and only so much academic filial duty. Those that desire a faculty position have incentive to crank all those papers out, no matter how many nights out with friends or hours of sleep it costs, to get the publication count up. But a large share of a lab’s trainees are bound for industrial roles and/or professional schools, where those extra publications are nice and shiny but don’t translate to any practical outcome. It’s hard for anyone to sustain a high level of effort in that environment, despite the best of intentions. And even if one is able to do so, it is short-lived. And, frankly, it should be. Once people have graduated, they’re not on the lab’s payroll anymore. Asking for the occasional favor is one thing – few people pay their friends to spend a few hours helping them move beyond beer and pizza, for example - but a system of asking for (or expecting) a lot of free work from people who don’t stand to benefit much from it has serious ethical concerns.
“Cheating may or may not be human nature, but it is certainly a prominent feature.” - Steven D. Levitt, Ph.D., Freakonomics, p. 1
“A thing worth having is a thing worth cheating for.” -W. C. Fields
Actually, there is an incentive on the part of trainees to sacrifice the long-term benefit of the laboratory for the sake of getting their own data faster and publications (and either graduation or landing a faculty job) sooner. Even the most conscientious of us humans are tempted to the cutting of some corners. Just the minor ones, you know. “Is it really necessary to record all this detail?” “Nobody else besides me even uses this collection of bacterial strains.” “I’m in a hurry, so it’s worth it to use the faster but more expensive disposable plastic rather than the reusable glassware.” And all of these might be valid reasons to do the easy thing, or they might not be. But trainees are making hundreds of these decisions every day; if the PI is chained to the computer in the office writing grants to keep the lights on and not there to be consulted (or apply correction), is it reasonable to think that they are making all of them with the long-term good of the lab front of mind? In our view – no, it’s not reasonable to expect humans will prioritize others’ interests over their own again and again. Even if the “right” behavior is known. Especially if there is no clear standard of behavior, which applies to the vast majority of situations.
We must not pretend this is just a trainee problem – the mismatch between the research and teaching missions of the academy creates perverse incentives for professors, too. The most significant among these is the refusal to graduate students who otherwise would be ready to move on with their careers. The thesis/dissertation committee is chaired by a student’s major professor. Their signature is required to successfully defend their work and graduate. And because their productivity in the lab increases with their training (and non-linearly), there is incentive for professors to find reasons to withhold it. Unlike postdocs, who can leave whenever they find another job they’d rather do, grad students are bound to this signature like the Nazgûl to the One Ring.
Consider the graph below of completely made-up numbers that - we hope - illustrate the point. Acknowledging that the error bars are huge owing to differences among individuals, by and large a trainee’s ability to positively impact the lab increases with time. The y axis represents the fraction of a PI’s productivity in the lab that a trainee could replace at each time point (based quantitatively upon the observation of one of Steve’s mentors, Dr. Peter Hollenbeck, that when one begins a lab, they are its most experienced and productive experimentalist. This we think is true, but Steve here - I will add that the longer I am out of the lab, the more I think that some of my trainees more than replace me now. So please take these imaginary numbers with an entire water softener-sized block of salt.) However, the more experience the student gains, the more productive they are. And this training is increased in rate once they have completed coursework and preliminary exam requirements and can focus on the thesis. For this reason, master’s students develop somewhat more quickly, as their coursework requirements are lower. Suffice it to say – professors are incentivized, even the very conscientious ones, to keep students longer than they ought. This incentive gets more intense when these senior graduate students are needed to train a fresh batch of junior ones.
These incentive conflicts are well-known in the academy – often discussed, age-old. But the systemic implications of this arrangement are less commonly discussed. We believe that the vast majority of people are very well-intentioned. They want to do the right thing by their students, or the right thing by their professors/coworkers/laboratories. But, it turns out, they are all human. Given the observation that the degree of cheating corresponds in part to the magnitude of what can be gained, we further submit that the way to mitigate this perennial problem is to reduce the amount of time and effort it takes to align one’s behavior with the opposite incentive structure. Meaning – the easier it is to think of my colleagues/students first, the less I’ll be tempted to cut the corner or add one more requirement. And if the teaching and research incentives can be better aligned, then everyone in the ecosystem stands to win.
Next week, we’ll discuss the some of the implications of incentive mismatch on the daily and long-term function of laboratories. And you’ll get to see some places in which I (Steve) was a quite a bit less than perfect student.
Dr. Stephen Lindemann
Loved it. Eagerly waiting for the next article!