Ah, the Royal Society. The oldest scientific institution in the UK, home to Isaac Newton’s apple, Charles Darwin’s heretical beard, and Stephen Hawking’s galactic swagger. You know, the place that exists to “promote and support science.” And what does the Royal Society do when one of its Fellows helps oversee the defunding, censorship, and slow suffocation of science itself? Well, apparently, it sends a strongly worded email and then retreats into the shadows like a disappointed Victorian governess who can’t bring herself to spank the naughty child.
Let’s set the stage. Elon Musk—space overlord, electric car messiah, meme czar, and now head of the US Department of Government Efficiency (charmingly and ominously abbreviated as Doge)—has been helping the Trump administration gut scientific research like it’s an overbudget fish. Doge has become a blunt instrument for budgetary bloodletting and ideological sanitization. Peer-reviewed? Not unless it’s peer-approved by MAGA hats and TikTok influencers. Censorship in academia? Only if it helps the vibes. Funding? Who needs NIH grants when you’ve got vibes and vibes alone?
Naturally, scientists in the UK—a country that still clutches its lab coats and ivory towers with Churchillian dignity—weren’t thrilled that one of their prestigious Fellows had become the bureaucratic blade doing science dirty. Cue: outrage. Letters. Resignations. Scientists flinging awards back at the Royal Society like angry contestants on a rigged reality show. “Take back your medallion! I’d rather be unawarded than complicit!”
And yet, for months, the Royal Society did… approximately bugger all.
The ‘Please Don’t Be That Guy’ Email
Now, to their credit, they eventually did something. Sort of. Sir Paul Nurse, president-elect and Nobel Prize winner, put on his stiffest upper lip and wrote to Musk in March with an admirably British mixture of courtesy and passive aggression. The message? Essentially: “Dear Elon, the Trump administration is absolutely wrecking science over here. If you could, maybe, possibly, kind of… do something?”
Musk responded immediately, probably because “Paul Nurse” sounds like an AI character in a steampunk RPG. He asked for details, which Nurse then sent—along with a suggestion to consult with actual public-sector scientists, which is like asking Dracula to attend a garlic tasting. And then?
Crickets. Silence. The sound of Teslas whirring ominously over scorched scientific institutions.
So in May, Sir Paul followed up with another letter. This time, his tone shifted subtly from “concerned headmaster” to “jilted partner who’s not mad, just disappointed.” He gently suggested that, perhaps, if Musk was unwilling or unable to help, he should consider whether he really belonged in a society whose entire purpose is to support science.
That’s right. In a diplomatic masterstroke of scientific understatement, he essentially said: “Either help stop the arson, or hand over your fireman’s badge.”
Elon’s Response: Delayed Ghosting with a Sprinkle of PR Panic
Was there a reply? Nope. Not until the Royal Society warned they were going public with this correspondence. Suddenly, Musk emerged like a student who remembers the group project is due in an hour. His response? A brief, noncommittal blip—just enough to feign engagement, not nearly enough to matter.
At this point, the Royal Society had a choice. They could follow through, defend their values, and finally show some spine… or they could do what they ultimately did: announce that “it was not in the interests of the Royal Society to pursue disciplinary action against Mr. Musk.”
Ah yes, nothing says scientific integrity like institutional inaction. The motto of the modern academic elite might as well be: “Better silent than decisive.”
Courage or Cowardice? Let’s Go With ‘Strategic Gutlessness’
Now, to be fair, some fellows supported this limp-wristed approach. They worried that punishing Musk could set a precedent: what if they had to question the other controversial Fellows? What if someone wrote a mildly spicy tweet about peer review and suddenly got booted from the ivory tower?
But others, thankfully, still had functioning backbones. One Fellow called the Society’s actions “terrible cowardice.” Another said leadership seemed more interested in managing future fireworks than upholding ethical standards.
And here’s where the Royal Society’s reluctance becomes less about protecting science and more about protecting status. Let’s be honest: Musk isn’t just a Fellow. He’s The Elon Musk—poster boy of innovation, PR magnet, and perhaps the only Royal Society Fellow with both a flamethrower and a crypto exchange. Having him on the roster brings flash, clout, headlines. Kicking him off would be like the Oscars uninviting Leonardo DiCaprio for dating someone under 25: noble, but unthinkable.
The Great Gaslight of “Scientific Commitment”
Let’s rewind to Musk’s excuse. He claimed he had a strong commitment to science. Oh? This from the guy currently chairing an agency that views research budgets like a piñata at a libertarian barbecue? A man who thinks government grants are “woke subsidies for elitist nerds,” and who recently liked a tweet suggesting the CDC should be replaced with a poll on X?
Let’s not pretend Musk is simply being misunderstood. He’s the one giving anti-science forces the tools and budget to reanimate McCarthyism with a STEM degree. His tenure at Doge has seen peer-reviewed journals buried under a landslide of politically convenient nonsense, public health guidance rewritten to match vibes, and entire departments dissolved in the name of “efficiency.”
That’s not scientific commitment. That’s sabotage in a lab coat.
Royal Society’s Code of Conduct: Now 20% More Useless!
Stephen Curry, a structural biologist and professional conscience, hit the nail on the head: if Musk shows no commitment to the Royal Society’s values, he should be out. The code of conduct isn’t a menu—“Hmm, I’ll take the integrity and the excellence, but I’ll skip the accountability, thanks.”
But alas, the code is now about as meaningful as a Terms of Service checkbox. Sure, it exists. But enforcement? That’s for peasants and junior academics—not for Silicon Valley’s richest sentient meme.
Resignation By Suggestion: The British Way of Saying “GTFO”
There’s something hilariously British about this whole saga. Rather than revoke Musk’s fellowship outright, they politely suggested he consider resigning. That’s like asking your cheating spouse if they “still feel committed to this marriage” while they’re actively texting their mistress across the table. It's not discipline. It’s tea-soaked delusion.
Imagine if the Nobel Committee operated like this. “Mr. Putin, we understand you've weaponized biology, but if you feel conflicted about your commitment to peace, perhaps you’d consider handing back your Peace Prize?” (Actually, maybe don’t imagine that. Too real.)
The Royal Society’s Schrodinger’s Backbone
In the end, what we’re left with is a deeply conflicted institution: one that wants to stand for science, but not if it gets messy. One that wants integrity, but also wants Elon Musk’s name in the brochure. One that has a code of conduct but lacks the conduct to enforce it.
This whole affair is a case study in modern scientific cowardice: the inability—or unwillingness—of prestigious institutions to stand up to power, especially when power comes dressed in money, Twitter followers, and Mars rockets.
Because make no mistake: the Trump administration’s war on science is real. The role Musk plays in it is real. And the damage being done to public trust in research, in truth itself, is not something that can be waved away with a shrug and a posh email.
Final Thoughts: When in Doubt, Eject the Billionaire
Let’s put it bluntly. The Royal Society has two options: be a sanctuary for science, or be a sanctuary for celebrities who torch it. You can’t be both. If your fellowship roster includes people actively undermining scientific institutions, your fellowship is no longer a badge of honor. It’s a nameplate on a sinking ship.
If the Royal Society truly wants to live up to its founding ideals, it needs to remember what it’s for: promoting and supporting science. Not supporting people who treat science like a branding opportunity one minute and a political chew toy the next.
And if Elon Musk doesn’t want to uphold the values of science? Then don’t politely ask him to consider resigning.
Fire him.
Because if you’re too afraid to do that, then maybe it’s not just Musk who should be questioning his place in the Royal Society.
Maybe it’s the Royal Society that needs to resign from itself.