Science Is Not Absolute
This is one of the most valuable lessons I have ever been taught.
Take a scientific experiment that seeks to examine the effect of a medication on patients; COVID vaccines, for example. The aim is to determine the effectiveness of a vaccine: whether it can protect someone from COVID or not. But first, we must identify COVID itself and distinguish it from pneumonia, the common flu, and other illnesses.
Then, who are we testing on? Are these young, fit, and healthy individuals? And how do we measure ‘fit and healthy’? The point is, variables are virtually infinite. To truly assess the effectiveness of these vaccines, we would need to examine them over a long period. In science, we must also confront the fundamental question of ethics. What if these vaccines are effective against COVID but cause harm in other ways? Is it ethical to provide them?
Often, we take scientific facts as absolute truths, but in reality, we must accept the inherent subjectivity of science in its handling of variables. Science is, ultimately, an art of discovery. Like humans, it evolves. Over time, new theories emerge, sometimes disproving old ones, and the story continues. This is not an argument for radical skepticism or never accepting anything as true. Rather, it is an invitation to maintain an open mind, to remain questioning and skeptical.
This is how we remain free: by recognising the subjectivity behind what we often call objective knowledge. Even history is not immune. A single piece of new evidence: a statement from a military leader revealing the true reason for an invasion, can reshape the narrative entirely. Just as humanity discovered the Earth was round, not flat, monumental shifts in understanding can occur.
As people of the modern world, it is easy to think we are superior to our ancestors, who relied on compasses to navigate a world they had not fully explored, while we rely on Google Maps with a cartographical awareness of the whole world. In essence, however, we are the same. In thirty years, science will advance further, offering new, evidence-based theories that reshape our understanding of what we currently accept as hard facts.
Consider this exercise from my first Theory of Knowledge (epistemology) class in sixth form. We were asked to think of a statement that is 100% true. One student said, “I know the colour of my pencil case is red.” The rebuttal: “Ok, what is red?”
“It is this colour.”
“Explain it to me so that I may understand: what is red? How do you know that your perception of this colour is the same as what I see when I see red?”
You may observe subjectivity in the very words he is using, showing that we all relate to things in different ways. What is ‘truth’ for one person may not be universal; one individual’s statement of truth is not necessarily a truth for another.
Another student said, “I know I exist.”
“How do you know you exist?”
“Because I can feel with my hands, I can see you, I can breathe, I can hear.”
“So existence is the presence of the senses?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what if someone cannot see? Does that mean they do not exist?”
“No.”
“Well, how do you define existence?”
“Life.”
“Well, what is life?”
“Breathing.”
“What about the Sun, Moon, mountain they exist in life.” So on and so forth
You see that as soon as you begin to question these statements, truth becomes slippery.
The point of the exercise was to explore the concept of truth: to find a statement that could withstand questioning, one that held truth not just for oneself, but for others as well. It was a lesson in the delicate and subjective nature of truth—a lesson to carry throughout life. Not to disregard everything, but to keep one foot in the truth whilst the other is able to ascertain the degree of its truth.