Is 95% of Professors’ Research Truly Pointless?
In a recent episode of the podcast Into the Impossible hosted by physicist Brian Keating, NYU Stern School of Business professor Aswath Damodaran — widely regarded as the “Dean of Valuation” for his influential work in corporate finance and valuation — delivered a stark critique of modern academia. He asserted that 95% of academic research is worthless, meaning that if it had never been conducted or published, the world would scarcely notice its absence.
Damodaran’s comment, which has since circulated widely in viral clips on YouTube, X (formerly Twitter), and LinkedIn, stems from a broader frustration with the current state of university research. He describes much of it as a byproduct of the “publish-or-perish” culture, where faculty members produce narrow, incremental papers primarily to satisfy tenure and promotion requirements rather than to solve meaningful problems or advance genuine knowledge. In his view, universities have “entirely lost their way,” prioritizing mechanical output over impactful thinking — a malaise he sees mirrored in financial markets and even in the overuse of rigid models that mistake process for insight.
The provocative 95% figure isn’t drawn from a formal empirical study but serves as rhetorical emphasis to highlight what Damodaran sees as systemic waste. He argues that the incentive structure rewards volume and citation-chasing over depth, relevance, or real-world application, leading to a flood of mediocre or redundant work.
This sentiment resonates with longstanding critiques of academic publishing. Studies on citation patterns (drawing from databases like Web of Science and Google Scholar) reveal that a significant portion of published papers receive few or no citations over time. In fields like the humanities and some social sciences, uncited rates can exceed 70–80% after several years, while in natural sciences and medicine, the figure is lower — often in the 10–20% range for long-term uncitedness. Readership is even harder to quantify, but older analyses suggested many articles are seen by only a handful of people beyond peer reviewers and authors.
Broader issues compound the problem: the replication crisis in psychology and other fields, widespread p-hacking (manipulating data to achieve statistical significance), and the predominance of trivial, incremental contributions rather than paradigm-shifting ideas. In some disciplines, negative or null results go unpublished, further skewing the literature. These factors fuel the perception that a large share of research — perhaps 30–70%, depending on the field and how strictly one defines “value” — adds little lasting substance.
Yet the 95% claim remains hyperbolic. Even uncited papers can serve indirect purposes: they train graduate students in research methods, document what doesn’t work, or form small building blocks for future work. Damodaran himself exemplifies a counterpoint — his own teaching, books, and online resources on valuation have had enormous real-world influence, far beyond typical academic output.
The discussion taps into a growing disillusionment with higher education’s priorities. Commenters on the podcast clips — including former PhD students, professors’ family members, and industry professionals — often share anecdotes of “junk” research, ethical compromises, or outright irrelevance. Some point out that fields like finance or STEM may fare better due to practical applications, while others (e.g., certain social sciences or humanities) face harsher judgment.
Ultimately, Damodaran’s blunt assessment underscores a core tension: academia’s dual mission of education and knowledge creation has tilted heavily toward the latter in ways that often prioritize metrics over meaning. As universities face rising costs, student debt concerns, and technological disruption (including AI that can automate rote analysis), the cracks in the system are becoming harder to ignore.
Whether the true “waste” percentage is closer to 20%, 50%, or Damodaran’s eye-catching 95%, the call for reform is clear. Researchers and institutions might benefit from asking a simple question: If this work vanished tomorrow, would anyone — or anything — truly miss it? For too much of what’s published today, the honest answer may be no. Shifting incentives toward quality, relevance, and impact could help restore purpose to the pursuit of knowledge.
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