Forty-Four Years in French Academia—And Why It’s All Gone Wrong

Editor’s Note: The following article was originally published by the Observatory of University Ethics on July 12, 2025. The Observatory translated it into English from French. I have edited it, to the best of my ability, to align with Minding the Campus’s style guidelines. It is crossposted here with permission.

This text is a look back at my experiences and feelings after 44 years of research activity, first as a doctoral student, then as a researcher at the CNRS (French National Centre for Scientific Research), and finally as a university professor, now emeritus. Having returned to the CNRS in 2023, the medal obtained in 2006, and actively participated in a petition denouncing bureaucratic obstacles to research, I will not push back the answer to the question in the title any further: yes, it was better before, and in proportions such as I could never have imagined.

I would like to point out that my field of research is somewhere between experimental physics, learned in the laboratory of Nobel Prize winner Louis Néel in Grenoble, and Natural Sciences, learned at the Universities of Paris and Grenoble. This field involves a lot of fieldwork, based on observation and sampling, often solitary or in pairs, in all corners of the Earth—or even the solar system—and experimental laboratory work with the dependence that this implies on investment in equipment and technical personnel.

Between 1981 and 2025, what has changed? I will articulate the indictment in three parts: bureaucracy, research ecosystem, and higher education ecosystem. To complete this, I will conclude by taking a step back and offering some brief reflections on iconic 20th-century naturalists.

An activity vampirized by an all-powerful bureaucracy

The public academic sector, involving hundreds of thousands of employees and millions of students across the country, obviously requires a complex organization that operates primarily with financial support from the state and local authorities, and with high expectations from citizens and decision-makers. Forty years ago, this management was entrusted to peers, chosen for their experience, their authority, and their ability to devote themselves to the collective. These managers were assisted by one or more management and secretarial staff to ensure the flow of mail and forms necessary for financial commitments, missions, recruitment, etc. They provided the interface with managers above them, generally still peers, and in the event of obstacles, they could intervene at the next level, even going all the way to the ministry, to argue directly. All of this already constituted a “bureaucracy” in the sense that its actors with a shred of power were more often in their offices than in the field, but we could discuss, and these officials were our peers, sharing the same goal of creating and transmitting knowledge.

Research in the era of management

The current bureaucracy has just been brilliantly analyzed in a post full of illuminating concepts and reference. I highly recommend reading it. What characterizes our current bureaucracy, besides its managerial language elements straight from business schools, is that its key links often have no professional experience in scientific research and higher education—graduates from Sciences Po, HEC, ENA or a master’s degree in Administrative Law, recruited directly into the administration after their diploma—or have lost all contact with them for decades. In 2007, the chief of staff of the Minister of Higher Education and Research was a university professor, a brilliant researcher from the ENS who continued to publish scientific articles as the first author. In 2024, it was an HEC graduate from Polytechnique, apparently without any personal experience in Higher Education and Research, but clearly an expert in the workings of the state. The contrast is not necessarily anecdotal.

Our interface with the administration is no longer a human with whom we can discuss also the rain and the weather, but a multitude of software—appearing and changing at a frantic pace making illusory the idea that we will end up knowing how to use it—produced by private or public services having no idea how our activity is carried out. This software promoted to “save time”—and especially compensate for the shortage of administrative positions—are so dysfunctional that they cost us an increasing amount of time and energy, and, what’s more, instead of relieving managers, they themselves have to struggle to constantly debug these gas factories. Today, our middle managers are much quicker to pass down directives and sanctions from the upper echelon than to defend our interests at the upper echelon, for fear of displeasing.

A bureaucracy disconnected from the field

For a concrete example, I fought for a year and a half to be reimbursed for expenses of several thousand euros during a mission in Africa where I had to pay a large sum in cash to a military escort—demanded by my security defense officer and the French embassy—fuel from illiterate street dealers, and compensation to a village chief for letting me pitch our tents in his compound and who had to sacrifice a goat from his herd to restore us. Faced with people whose only mission experience is traveling with their attaché cases to the major cities of France for meetings and juries, which is why the famous Goelett and Notilus software was designed, how can we understand each other? Christopher Columbus also suffered martyrdom at the Spanish Court, first to obtain the three caravels that allowed him to discover America, then on his return to justify the fact that he had not brought back a quantity of gold equal in weight to that of the glassware loaded on the outward journey. But his mission was titanic and fabulous compared to mine, and we would be right to believe that the reign of reason should have progressed since 1492. Columbus at least did not have to provide the RCS and VAT numbers of the village chiefs he met.

In our dealings with the administration, we no longer talk about the realities of research and teaching, but about the market code, the rules of public accounting, auditing, the Court of Auditors, and, quite quickly, if we dispute, the wrath of the Accounting Agent, the only master after Jupiter.

Where does the decision come from to give all power to these high priests, impervious to reason, and who consider us slaves to their cult of regulatory purity pushed to the point of absurdity? The CEO of the CNRS wrote to me recently to assure me that he was totally powerless against them. Forty years ago, we were perhaps still in the time of the “mandarins,” rightly criticized for the feudalism it underpinned, but in any case, they had the power to impose it on the administration.

The end of common sense

To be recruited after passing the CNRS researcher competition in 1985, I had to provide administrative proof of my resignation from my position as a trainee civil servant at the École Normale Supérieure (ENS). But according to ENS regulations, I could only be “released” if I provided proof of employment in the public service, in the form of a proper document, a document that I could not obtain from the CNRS without prior discharge from the ENS. A typical administrative impasse, linked to a contradiction between the independent procedures of two organizations, as is commonly encountered. Once the impasse was noted, common sense prevailed in a few telephone conversations: the ENS personnel department was kind enough to provide me with the necessary discharge at the cost of a—real but temporary—breach of their regulations.

One of my former non-EU doctoral students was recruited as a researcher in a prestigious national research organization in 2023. Barely a month before his scheduled start date on January 1st, the personnel department realized that he could not be recruited for many months, due to the accreditation procedure for entering a “sensitive” laboratory. When he complained to the administration about it, explaining that he had already resigned from his previous position abroad, given up his apartment, and moved to France, the only solution offered by the administration was “you just have to register as unemployed.” This is how the best foreign researchers are welcomed in our country.

Some will surely criticize me for this vitriolic indictment by saying, “You’re exaggerating, most of the time—sometimes I would say—administrative procedures are completed without problems.” But the problem is precisely the stress generated by the impossibility of trusting the administration 1) to carry out a procedure without us having to periodically check that it hasn’t gotten bogged down, 2) to spontaneously offer us a way to put oil in the seized cogs, instead of the fatalistic observation, “I don’t think it’s going to be possible” and “another time we’ll do it differently.” As in the song, we are in a state of permanent insecurity and the feeling of being helpless in the face of the ordeal that each step constitutes.

A degraded research ecosystem

The basis of a researcher’s work is having the time and freedom of mind to venture eagerly into the unknown margins of knowledge. The researcher’s “available brain time” shrinks like shagreen once the administrative tasks are completed, the responses to the countless calls for tenders necessary to obtain resources—a large part of which will be devoured by management costs—are written, and the stress generated is evacuated. Success in calls for tenders is often conditioned by a very directive direction of research themes, the bonus given to applications, to social or market demand, with, for the evaluators of the applications, the insistence placed on the criteria of project feasibility and risk reduction. All this promotes research that purrs and can assure decision-makers that five years before the end of the project—case of the ANR—we already know in detail the results of the research described in the project and in the pompous “Data Management Plan.” Personally, I don’t call this research; just the production of pre-acquired data. Those of us who don’t give up on pursuing innovative avenues not recognized by this system, finance them by diverting funds obtained from “cushy” projects, in the words of Antoine Petit. The ANR would not have funded Christopher Columbus if he had announced his intention to discover America, and therefore, would have had to oversell a “new route” to the Indies. Similarly, the academic publishing system makes it infinitely easier to publish articles confirming and paraphrasing the previous consensus, rather than making a groundbreaking discovery, the seed of a new paradigm. With the incentives to maintain a constant output of publications, to transform trials immediately, to dilute results, it is not surprising that among the millions of research articles published each year worldwide, the vast majority will receive no citations other than those of the group of researchers who authored the publication.

Field sciences and experimental sciences are particularly handicapped in the French academic system, given the powerful administrative barriers placed on the acquisition or maintenance of measuring instruments, the hiring of collaborators, and the carrying out of somewhat complex remote missions. In the context of international competition, French researchers are racing with their feet in a sack, while their international competitors are comfortable in their own skin, because they can use their funds without any control. beforehand and with simple and effective tools.

A devastated higher education ecosystem

Nearly 80 percent of a given age group has a baccalaureate today. This was less than 30 percent forty years ago. Only 32 percent of these high school graduates will reach the Bachelor’s level, sometimes after five years of study—compared to 12 percent 40 years ago. Since the human brain has not evolved significantly since the appearance of Homo Sapiens, it was predictable that the average level of the student population would fall sharply, also taking into account the decline in the level of primary and secondary education, and the fact that many of the best high school graduates are fleeing the University.

The University, which was the pinnacle of the education system, has become a vast storage center for those who have not had the chance to enter the workforce, or into selective courses guaranteeing them a job upon graduation. Teachers must turn a blind eye to the fact that the majority of those who listen to them, half-heartedly, absolutely do not have the capacity or even the desire to assimilate the program theoretically planned for the course. The University, incapable of leading the majority of students to a serious degree, prefers, under the guise of innovative teaching methods, to establish bridges in all directions or to talk about “social responsibility,” and above all to organize the exit at the top—a discounted diploma—for those who should never have entered university.

The collective pressure not to give grades below average is becoming increasingly strong. Students have understood this well and can easily claim an “improvable 40.” We therefore understand their lack of motivation. Obviously, there is always a significant fraction of the classes that deserve to be there, but their abilities remain fallow given the general gloom. If only this waste stopped at the Bachelor’s degree—in a “secondarisation” announced for a long time—but this is not the case: due to the lack of willingness to assume the selection, the path which leads to the Master’s degree is also wide open: France is by far the first OECD country in terms of Master’s degree holders in the 10-25 age group: 34 percent—compared to 24 percent in Germany, 15 percent in the United Kingdom and an OECD average of 17 percent. Is this reasonable, when a significant proportion of these young people will ultimately have a job that is theoretically accessible with a vocational certificate, a university diploma (DUT), or a higher national diploma (BTS)?

When, after years of thesis and post-doctoral work, followed by a highly selective competitive exam, a young teacher finds himself facing this audience, how can he not be disillusioned? The teacher is there in theory to “train in research and for research” an audience that is most often not there for that but to console itself for not having found a place in BTS, IUT or preparatory classes. We are asked to provide professional training, when we know very little about the targeted professions. Can we call this a schizophrenia of the system? In any case, it inevitably impacts the morale and motivation of teachers. By constantly creating new diplomas, courses, etc., to absorb cohorts of high school graduates and students, even teachers are struggling to explain to students the logic of the courses they are offered.

These teachers are exhausted by the complexity of specific tools—timetable software, individual service management, grade reporting, online course interfaces, etc.—and by the incessant reformatting of models. Demotivated by the narrow possibilities for promotion or transfer, they do not even have the opportunity to recharge their batteries in research given the slump described above.

Many teachers have virtually no opportunity to share their research experience with students, absorbed as they are by low-end or zany undergraduate tutorials, such as “student personal project” or “games of the goose.” They then tell themselves that the skills required to teach at university today are more a matter of a BAFA (French National Diploma of Advanced Studies) than a doctorate. The fierce competition for “interesting” courses—disciplinary or research-oriented, in Master’s courses, for example—means that relationships between colleagues easily turn sour and many forgo opportunities to take a breather through retraining leave or delegations, for fear of not being able to find their favorite courses upon their return.

Historical perspective: a short escapade to the 19th century

The end of the 18th century and the entirety of the 19th century saw, if not the birth, at least the main structuring of modern science. It was a blessed time for science: Napoleon repeated that he regretted having chosen a military career rather than a scientific one and preferred to spend his leisure time with his colleagues at the Academy of Sciences rather than with his generals. Throughout the century, we see scientists being courted by those in power and solicited to participate. A sad contrast with today, where opinion makers are listened to more than experts by our political decision-makers.

Let’s take a look at some of the most notable figures among the great naturalists of the time. Cuvier, Humboldt, Darwin, and Fabre are among the most notable, as they were the founders of vertebrate paleontology, modern geography, the theory of evolution, and entomology. The table below summarizes the key elements of their biographies, as presented by Wikipedia.

What characterizes all four of them is the short time they spent on the benches of the University before launching into active life and exploring Nature. Cuvier was a tutor at 19, then employed as a clerk, and then a “salpêtrier” during the French Revolution. At the same age, Fabre was already a teacher, while Darwin embarked on the Beagle as a naturalist at 22, for 5 years of exploration—escaping the career of doctor or pastor that his father intended for him. As the only noble and non-provincial of the four, Humboldt took more time but still became an inspector of mines at 25. He dreamed of traveling the world, and after unsuccessful attempts with Bougainville and Napoleon, he embarked at 30 for the King of Spain, bound for America.

All four of them established themselves as autodidacts in a scientific field that they had not addressed in their studies and that they had built themselves. It was by practicing, reading, and discussing with other experts that they built their scientific knowledge and prepared their fundamental discoveries. Cuvier comes to the Natural History Museum in Paris to present his personal work, impresses, and is offered a professorship and a seat at the Academy at the age of 27, despite having no recommendations or degrees in the field. He then climbs the Parisian academic ladder at breakneck speed.

While Humboldt and Darwin, after their sensational five-year voyages around the world, quickly settled into the elite of their respective capitals—Berlin and London—to stay there for the rest of their lives, Fabre, then a high school teacher in Avignon, only made a brief visit to Paris to work with the authorities, protected by a minister of Napoleon III. He burned his wings there after being accused of pornography and subversion—he allegedly taught young girls the details of flower fertilization!—he resigned from the civil service at the age of 47 and retired to the South to live off the income from the sale of his many school textbooks. Is this already a sign of a flaw in the French system, incapable of recognizing its geniuses and where the jealousy of the mediocre reigns supreme, or simply a reflection of his class of origin, peasant rather than noble or bourgeois? Cuvier, the son of a poor soldier from the eastern confines of France—hence his studies in Germany—rose to the top very early on and never came down again, perhaps thanks to the Revolution, and an ambition that Balzac found excessive and which led him to the title of baron.

In short, these founders of new scientific disciplines, whose works are still read assiduously in the 21st century, were built on the margins of the academic system. It is more than likely that these four scholars spent little time filling out forms or lecturing students, caring little about benefiting from their insights. Could they have made such a breakthrough in today’s academic world? It is doubtful. In any case, their very early entry into working life contrasts with the situation of our students, who sometimes still hang around in classrooms without knowing what to do with their lives at the age when Darwin returned from his world tour and Cuvier entered the Academy. And Fabre’s example leads us to doubt that one should wait until they have a baccalaureate plus five to be a good teacher.

Conclusions and perspectives

My feelings and those of close colleagues, as well as the many testimonies received as part of my attempts to alert the community and the general public lead me to a depressing conclusion: there are no more happy teacher-researchers or researchers in France, apart from those who have a sure way of almost no longer teaching and who are twiddling their thumbs on the research side: so they have no credits to spend, no contract workers to recruit, no distant missions, no non-EU collaborators to welcome, etc. The worst thing is that it is not really a problem of lack of resources: I have received numerous testimonies, particularly from female researchers, who after having obtained a million euros or more from the ERC, have suffered a burnout or even resigned in the face of administrative harassment that transforms the implementation of a program into a constant struggle. In which other European country is receiving ERC funding more of a calamity than an opportunity for the lucky winner?

My observation was unfortunately validated by IPSOS, which carried out a survey in 2023 on behalf of the CNRS among fourteen thousand employees of this organization. We are appalled by the results: only two to three percent of those surveyed completely agree with the statement that “management at the CNRS is effective” or that “we have managed to simplify things;” among eight adjectives proposed to describe the state of mind of CNRS employees, the first four are “motivated, worried, tired, disillusioned,” far behind “happy, confident and enthusiastic.” You cannot work at the CNRS without being motivated; otherwise, you will resign to earn more elsewhere, as many do, so the positive nature of the first adjective is questionable. Despite all the warning signs, Emmanuel Macron’s exhortations, and Gabriel Attal, nothing could even give hope that research organizations would roll up their sleeves to get out of the rut.

As for teaching, I will leave the floor to a Belgian colleague and prefer not to twist the knife in the wound of those who are still in the harness, that would be cruel on the part of a retiree. In this ambient quagmire, a glimmer of light remains: freedom of thought and expression remains intact in the academic world. But for how long?

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Image: “Siège du CNRS rue Michel-Ange Paris 6” by Polymagou on Wikimedia Commons