Imagine opening a magazine and seeing an advertisement proclaiming, “More doctors smoke our brand than any other cigarette,” followed by a report showing a man proudly standing beside a scale model of a nuclear-powered car. Today, such publications are quite inconceivable, yet they existed only 50 years ago.

We all know that our trust in lab coat-donning scientists and emerging technology has declined. This decline runs parallel with an increase in the demand for transparency, accountability, and ultimately, participation – a process that can be labelled the “democratization of science.” But how do you democratize expertise? Is it not a contradiction in terms to make special knowledge everyone’s business?

This apparent contradiction is sometimes used by scientists and engineers to question or mock the idea of democratizing science. A scientist could ask quite legitimately: “If anecdotal data from lay scientists is so valuable, then why do they make me work so hard to transform my anecdotal observations into experiments and publishable results?” An engineer might facetiously say, “If the public has time to calibrate our Large Hadron Collider, then please be my guest, I need all the help I can get.”

However, a decline in trust is legitimate, because trust must be earned and does not represent a “right” of an educated class (although scientists may lament that trust was lost by tobacco researchers, DDT regulators, or the operators of Three Mile Island, rather than by scientists in general). The legitimacy of this increased public attention and skepticism is not in question, because everyone agrees – experts and the public – that science and technology are very important. The resulting call for greater understanding and direction of the work of scientists and engineers (especially those that are publicly funded) is thus reasonable – we do not need to debate *if* science and technology should be democratized, but when, where, and how.

There are two discrete areas in the enterprise of science and technology where public involvement is most feasible, and each addresses an issue of great interest to the public. One is how to set scientific goals; the other is how to manage scientific risk.

In regard to goals, the governance of modern science and technology needs to be organized so that its funding and direction is informed by the goals of society – in other words, by culture, values, and ethics. For example, it matters to the public if $500 million in new funding goes toward research in either “biotechnology and genomics,” or “organic farming and alternative medicine.”

Second, the approach to risk management and decision-making needs to be better informed of the risk tolerance and benefit expectations of the public. Current regulatory approaches are rigid and old-fashioned (regulation is a legal instrument, after all) and there is a lot of room for improvement. When the breadth of risk assessments is determined within new regulations, it's very rare that the public is consulted.

For example, we test the toxicity of a new pesticide on fish but not on frogs; on birds but not on bats; on water fleas but not non-crop plants. These selections may have been made with very good reason by the regulators – but they do represent values, an environmental ethic, even, and it is seems legitimate to consider public views on what ought to be protected by the regulatory system.

By focusing on how we set goals and weigh risk, we will achieve a more democratic science and technology enterprise in areas of greatest concern to the public – areas which also happen to be immensely suitable for such reform.