When files tied to Jeffrey Epstein were released, computer scientist Scott Aaronson was startled to find his name listed repeatedly. In 2010, while at MIT, he received a query from a proxy offering to fund a research project. He had never met Epstein; his mother warned him against engaging, and he declined.
Epstein, who had no scientific training, cultivated a role as a patron of science—funding an exclusive 2006 physics conference and offering grants to researchers. He used philanthropy to build ties to scientists and institutions, experts say, helping to launder his reputation despite his crimes.
Philanthropy is a major funding source for U.S. science. Estimates put private giving at around 20% of research funding at institutions, and it operates with limited transparency and little standardized oversight. That creates opportunities for donors to influence the field or rehabilitate their public image without public scrutiny.
“One of the really massive failings with philanthropy is that because it has so little transparency, it doesn’t generate the scrutiny that it deserves as a significant form of power in a society,” says Stanford professor Rob Reich, who studies philanthropy’s effects on democracy. Legal disclosure requirements are narrow, so vetting typically falls to universities and individual researchers.
Jeffrey Flier, former dean of Harvard Medical School, says reputational risk was not top of mind for many academics before the Epstein revelations. Fundraising can consume a large portion of senior administrators’ time, and incoming offers of support often prompt an instinctive, practical response: the money could enable important work. Institutions, Flier notes, tend to reserve their most intensive scrutiny for the largest gifts and the most prominent naming opportunities.
Universities do publish donor policies and perform reputational checks, says Roger Ali of the Association of Fundraising Professionals, but critics contend that these efforts are uneven. Epstein’s donations were sometimes sizable over time but often structured as many smaller gifts, which can draw less attention.
Some institutions pledged greater transparency after Epstein’s crimes came to light, but structural change has been limited. Reich points to other examples—like the Sackler family’s donations tied to the opioid crisis—as illustrations of how philanthropy can obscure harmful conduct. He argues for requiring private universities to disclose donor identities, amounts, and any restrictions or intent attached to gifts.
“Universities should shoulder the responsibility of making transparent their own donor policies so that a richer public discussion can happen,” Reich says. He acknowledges that not all giving is irredeemable—there are cases where donors who have committed crimes later give as a form of atonement—but decisions about accepting such gifts should be public and deliberative.
Advocates of current practice urge caution in sweeping reforms. Fundraisers and institutions emphasize existing checks and the need to balance accountability with the benefits philanthropic support brings to research. But the Epstein case has prompted renewed calls for clearer norms and more consistent disclosure so that the influence of private money on science is visible and subject to public debate.