We’re taught that science is split between theory and experiment. You either sweat away with pencil in hand, furiously scribbling equation after obscure equation, searching for answers. Or you sweat away in a laboratory or observatory, performing experiment after repetitive experiment, trying to wrangle some sort of clue from nature’s jealous grasp.

This view is…incomplete.

First, it completely ignores the fluid nature of scientific research - the lines between theory and experiment are very fuzzy. And secondly, it completely ignores a way of performing science that is relatively new: the rise of the machine.

The physical sciences use mathematics to understand nature. That is our stock-in-trade: we model systems with math, we analyze experiments with math, we discuss results with math.

But some (heck, most) math problems are too hard (heck, impossible) to solve with pencil and paper. Enter the computer, a machine specifically designed to…well, compute.

All modern-day scientists are basically amateur computer programmers. Computers are used to evolve predictions from initial conditions, to perform numerical experiments in situations where we can’t perform real ones, for data analysis, for…understanding nature. For doing science.

If you’re interested in science, I hope you like computers.

Peer review is an absolutely essential tool to the scientific machine. You may think you have a great, novel idea - a unique answer to a unique question - and that you developed the most excellent way to structure it.

You are careful in your research, meticulous in your methods. You write a lengthy paper weaving the threads of the history of your field, how your work plays into the greater context, what new advances you have achieved, exactly how you did it, and how the broader community can learn from your wise movements.

You submit to a prestigious academic journal. You wait. Finally, the editor comes back with the decision from the anonymous referees.

Rejected.

The work isn't novel. You made a major methodological mistake. Your conclusions aren't supported by the research. And don't even get me started on the grammar - did your kid write this for you?

You withdraw your paper from consideration; it's not worth fighting this battle. You submit to another prestigious academic journal. You wait. Finally, the editor comes back with the decision from the anonymous referees.

Accepted!

An important contribution to the field. Sound methodology. Strong, well-reasoned conclusions. And don't even get me started on the grammar - so excellently written that my kids could follow it.

Peer review is an absolutely essential tool to the scientific machine, but it's also a human enterprise. It has flaws. The actual peer review happens in the months and years after an article is published, when the community can poke and prod at the work and decide if it's worth keeping around. Peer review and acceptance into a journal isn't an end, it's a beginning.

The phrase “popular science” has a benign enough definition: communicating science to the general public. Science center demonstrations and exhibits, blogs, videos, and even TV shows are all lumped into that broad category. And it can be done by anybody, really. Sometimes scientists themselves take a break from their research to drop some nuggets of wisdom on social media. Sometimes they transition to full-time science communication. Sometimes non-scientists catch the bug, read a lot, and jump in with both feet. Sometimes they dabble in their spare time while remaining a functioning member of society.

It’s all good, except when it isn’t. Like all benign and beneficial things, it can turn sour. There are many fuels that the popular science engine needs to run: money, exposure, attention, and more. As long as these fuels are mixed just right to further enhance the science-explaining game, it leads to great outcomes. But sometimes the priorities get flipped, and that’s when popular science turns sour: when it’s more about the “popular” and less about the “science”.

When money, or exposure, or attention becomes the priority and goal for itself, with science and science communication following, then what’s the point? Is the mission being served? Is the science being served? Are the audiences being served? This is the danger of popular science: there are many things needed to make it happen, but they can quickly flip from being servants to masters.