Everything we do, we do for someone.

The simplest things we do for ourselves. We grab that chocolate bar on the table and eat it, and it makes us happier.

Unless the chocolate bar is homemade, we probably paid money for it. We do other things, working for a living, to get the money to get those chocolate bars for ourselves.

(We also get chocolate bars for our loved ones, or for people we care about. Whether this is not in a sense also getting a chocolate bar for yourself is left as an exercise to the reader.)

What we do for the money, in turn, is driven by what would make someone else happier. Sometimes this is direct: you cut someone’s hair, they enjoy the breeze, they pay you, you enjoy the chocolate.

Other times, this gets mediated. You work in HR at a haircut chain. The shareholders want more money, to buy things like chocolate bars, so they vote for a board who wants to do what the shareholders want so as not to be in breach of contract and get fewer chocolate bars, so the board tells you to do things they believe will achieve that, and you do them because that’s how you get your chocolate bars. Every so often, the shareholders take a look at how many chocolate bars they can afford and adjust.

Compared to all this, academia is weirdly un-mediated.

It gets the closest to this model with students. Students want to learn certain things because they will allow them to provide other people with better services in future, which they can use to buy chocolate bars, and other things for the sheer pleasure, a neat experience almost comparable to a chocolate bar. People running universities want more money from students so they can spend it on things like giant statues of chocolate bars, so they instruct people working in the university to teach more of the things students want. (Typically in a very indirect way, for example funding a department in the US based on number of majors rather than number of students.)

But there’s a big chunk of academics whose performance is mostly judged not by their teaching, but by their research. They are paid salaries by departments based on the past quality of their research, or paid out of grants awarded based on the expected future quality of their research. (Or to combine them, paid salaries by departments based on the expected size of their grants.)

And in principle, that introduces many layers of mediation. The research universities and grant agencies are funded by governments, which pool money together in the expectation that someday by doing so they will bring about a world where more people can eat chocolate bars.

But the potential to bring about a world of increased chocolate bars isn’t like maximizing shareholder value. Nobody can check, one year later, how much closer you are to the science-fueled chocolate bar utopia.

And so in practice, in science, people fund you because they think what you’re doing is neat. Because it scratches the chocolate-bar-shaped hole in their brains. They might have some narrative about how your work could lead to the chocolate bar utopia the government is asking for, but it’s not like they’re calculating the expected distribution of chocolate bars if they fund your project versus another. You have to convince a human being, not that you are doing something instrumentally and measurably useful…but that you are doing something cool.

And that makes us very weird people! Halfway between haircuts and HR, selling a chocolate bar that promises to be something more.