Kaveri Sheth, a postdoctoral researcher in linguistics at the École Normale Supérieure in Paris, has spent years observing this phenomenon. Having recently completed her own Ph.D., Sheth has occupied the unique space between student and early-career researcher, a transition that often involves mentoring the next wave of undergraduates and graduate students. As a scholar who studies how children acquire language—often through the powerful mechanism of imitation—she is acutely aware of how humans learn by observing those around them. This awareness has led her to a sobering conclusion about the state of higher education: academia is currently trapped in a cycle of inherited mentorship, where the traumas of the past are inadvertently visited upon the scholars of the future.
The core of the problem lies in the very structure of the academic world, which is built upon a centuries-old model of apprenticeship. Scholars are not merely trained by institutions; they are trained by individuals. These advisers were, in turn, trained by their own advisers, creating intellectual lineages that can be traced back through decades, or even centuries. While these lines of descent are often celebrated for the way they preserve and evolve scientific and humanistic thought, they also serve as conduits for culture—including its most toxic elements. Along with research methodologies and theoretical frameworks, mentors pass down norms regarding overwork, emotional distance, harsh criticism, and the blurring of professional and personal boundaries.
Sheth notes that many advisers justify their severity as a form of necessary conditioning. The phrases "That’s how I was trained" or "It made me stronger" are frequently used to rationalize behavior that, in any other professional context, might be viewed as counterproductive or even abusive. The underlying implication is that hardship is not a bug in the system of doctoral training, but a vital feature—a crucible that separates the worthy from the weak. However, Sheth argues that this perspective conflates survival with thriving. While many students do survive these environments, they often do so at a tremendous cost to their well-being and their long-term passion for their fields.
During her own time as a graduate student, Sheth experienced the profound weight of this culture. She describes moments of deep-seated doubt that had nothing to do with the quality of her research and everything to do with her sense of self-worth. In an environment where feedback often feels less like a guide for improvement and more like a final judgment on one’s character, it is easy for students to internalize negative signals. This internalization leads to a dangerous assumption: if a student is struggling, it must be because they are inherently inadequate or unworthy of a place in the academy.
What makes this dynamic particularly insidious is the lack of malicious intent. Many advisers do not set out to harm their students. On the contrary, most are dedicated scholars who care about their fields. However, these mentors are often operating within a system that leaves them overwhelmed, undersupported, and buried under impossible workloads. When an adviser is drowning in their own professional pressures, their mentorship often becomes a secondary priority, leading to neglect or outbursts of frustration. Yet, as Sheth points out, the absence of intent does not erase the reality of the impact.
The consequences of this breakdown in mentorship are now being recognized at an institutional level. Universities are increasingly forced to confront a mental health crisis among graduate students, with rates of anxiety, depression, and burnout reaching alarmingly high levels. Research has shown that the quality of the relationship between a student and their adviser is often the single most important factor in determining whether these pressures remain manageable or become crushing. A good mentor can serve as a buffer against the external stresses of academia; a poor mentor can amplify them.
