Science Never Stands Outside History

Modern people place enormous trust in science. Perhaps greater trust than at any other time in history. Whenever uncertainty arises, we instinctively turn toward research, statistics, experts, and documentation. For many, science represents the most reliable form of knowledge we possess. It is associated with objectivity, rationality, and methodological control. In a world marked by rapid opinions, political conflicts, and emotionally charged debates, science often appears as something stable and secure — a place where facts may be separated from opinions and where reality may be described as it truly is.

In many ways this trust is understandable. Modern science has transformed human life in ways previous generations could scarcely have imagined. Medicine, technology, and the natural sciences have contributed to reducing disease, increasing life expectancy, and creating insights that have reshaped entire societies. It would be both historically blind and arrogant to ignore this.

Yet there is also a danger when science is presented as though it stands completely outside history.

For science is not merely a collection of neutral facts. It is also a human activity. It is carried out by people living within particular cultures, belonging to particular institutions, and shaped by their own historical time. This does not mean that science is therefore meaningless or arbitrary. But it does mean that science itself must also be understood as historically situated.

Perhaps this is difficult to acknowledge because modern societies often make a sharp distinction between subjectivity and objectivity. We tend to imagine that scientific method enables human beings to free themselves from history, culture, and personal perspective. The researcher is expected to observe the world from a distance, control personal emotions, and describe reality exactly as it is.

But can human beings ever truly step completely outside the world to which they themselves belong?

I do not believe so.

Even the most advanced scientific method always begins with particular questions. And questions never arise in a vacuum. They emerge within historical and cultural contexts that make some problems visible while leaving others invisible. The questions an era asks often reveal as much about the era itself as about the object of research.

This becomes especially clear when we look back at the history of science. Many theories once regarded as objective and unquestionable now appear limited or even deeply problematic. Not necessarily because the researchers were foolish or dishonest, but because they too thought within particular historical horizons. They saw the world through languages, values, and assumptions that seemed self-evident in their own time.

Perhaps the same is true of us.

We like to believe that our own age is more enlightened than previous ones. Modern people often portray history as a gradual liberation from myth, religion, and prejudice. Science is then presented as the opposite of tradition and historical limitation. Yet perhaps this itself is a historical narrative belonging to modernity.

For modern science is also shaped by particular ideals and views of human beings.

What counts as relevant knowledge, which methods are considered legitimate, and which questions receive attention are not determined by objective facts alone. They are also shaped by society, economics, politics, and cultural priorities. This does not mean that research is “false.” It simply means that science never emerges outside history.

I believe this becomes especially visible in relation to human and social questions.

Within the natural sciences it is often possible to isolate phenomena and study them under controlled conditions. But when research concerns human beings, society, and culture, the situation becomes far more complex. Human beings are not merely objects to be observed from the outside. They are interpretive beings already living within language, relationships, and historical contexts.

I experienced this myself during many years in social work and later in academia. Professional education naturally seeks knowledge that may strengthen practice. One wants methods that work, theories that explain, and research that can support decision-making. All of this is important. Yet over time I gradually discovered how difficult it is to fully understand human beings through standardized categories alone.

A human being is always more than what can be measured.

In social work one could encounter two families that looked remarkably similar on paper while in reality living within entirely different worlds. Relationships, atmospheres, silence, shame, hope, and experience could not easily be captured in forms and registrations. Yet these very dimensions often had decisive importance for how life was actually lived.

This does not mean that research is useless. But it does mean that human reality always exceeds our models.

Perhaps this is precisely where practical philosophy becomes important. Not as an opposition to science, but as a reminder that science itself is part of human history and interpretation. Practical philosophy reminds us that no method can completely free human beings from language, culture, and historical situatedness.

We can also see this in the way scientific concepts change over time. Terms once used as self-evident professional descriptions may later come to feel offensive or insufficient. Diagnoses, classifications, and theories change not only because new data emerges, but because society’s understanding of the human being also changes.

Science moves with history.

Yet modern society often carries a strong longing for certainty. People desire clear answers and stable facts. Perhaps this is understandable in a time marked by uncertainty and rapid change. But the danger arises when objectivity is understood as complete liberation from human interpretation.

For objectivity does not necessarily mean the absence of perspective.

Perhaps genuine scientific objectivity instead requires becoming more aware of one’s own perspective. The researcher who believes he stands entirely outside history and culture risks becoming blind precisely to the ways his own vision has been shaped.

Perhaps this is where part of the difference between technical control and wisdom lies.

Technical control often seeks certainty through method. Wisdom simultaneously recognizes that human understanding will always remain limited and historically situated. This does not mean that everything is relative or arbitrary. But it does mean that knowledge must always be accompanied by a certain humility.

I believe this is especially important in our own time, when science is frequently used as authority in public debates. Many discussions almost come to an end once someone says, “Research shows.” As though research speaks with one single voice outside history. Yet research is always a living process shaped by disagreement, interpretation, and continuous revision.

History demonstrates this clearly. Science does not develop merely by accumulating more facts, but also through transformations in the very way people see the world. New perspectives open new questions. Earlier assumptions are challenged. This applies not only to the social sciences, but also to the natural sciences. Even fundamental scientific paradigms may shift over time.

Perhaps this is why the strength of science does not lie in standing outside history, but in its ability to correct itself through history.

Science is not powerful because human beings are completely objective. It is powerful because human beings are capable of challenging one another’s perspectives, testing theories against experience, and gradually expanding understanding.

This makes science a deeply human activity.

And perhaps it is precisely this humanity that modern society sometimes attempts to conceal. We like machines, numbers, and models because they appear clean and precise. Yet behind every theory stand human beings who question, doubt, interpret, and attempt to understand the world from within their own historical situation.

This also applies to education.

Universities are often presented as places of free and objective knowledge. At their best they truly are. Yet universities also carry traditions, power structures, and historical assumptions. Which voices are heard, which theories dominate, and which questions are considered legitimate all change through history.

Perhaps this is why academic humility is so important.

For knowledge may also become power. People who master professional language may easily begin believing that they see the world more clearly than others. Yet lived experience may sometimes understand human situations more deeply than abstract theory alone.

This does not mean that experience should replace research. But it does mean that human understanding is always greater than any single method.

In social work I often witnessed this in the encounter between theory and practice. A student might know every concept yet still struggle to understand what was actually happening in a meeting with a human being in crisis. An experienced social worker, on the other hand, could sometimes perceive atmospheres and relationships that could not easily be formulated theoretically.

Perhaps this is because human understanding is always bodily, relational, and historical.

We do not understand only with the intellect. We understand through experiences carried within us throughout life. This is why the researcher will always be more than a mere practitioner of method. He or she is a historical human being who already belongs to a world before research even begins.

This is not a weakness of science.

Perhaps it is instead part of its human greatness.

For science is not created by machines, but by human beings attempting to understand the world as honestly as possible within their own limitations. Scientific dialogue is therefore not an escape from history, but part of history itself.

Perhaps this becomes especially clear whenever society faces major ethical questions. Technology and research may create enormous possibilities, but they cannot alone determine how those possibilities ought to be used. Questions concerning human dignity, care, freedom, and responsibility can never be fully resolved through statistics alone.

Here practical wisdom is also needed.

Practical philosophy reminds us that human beings must always interpret the world before they can act within it. No method can replace the human responsibility of judgment. Science therefore can never stand entirely outside history, culture, or human life itself.

Perhaps this is precisely what makes genuine knowledge so demanding. It requires not only technical competence, but also the ability to recognize one’s own limitations. It requires openness to the possibility that even our most certain truths may one day appear differently.

Not because truth does not exist.

But because human beings always seek truth within historical horizons that gradually change.

Perhaps wisdom therefore begins not with the belief that we stand outside history, but with the recognition that science itself is part of it. Not as a weakness to be concealed, but as an expression of the fact that all human understanding always emerges within a living world of language, experience, and historical belonging.

And perhaps this is precisely why science still needs philosophy.

Not in order to weaken knowledge, but to remind us what kind of beings it is that seek it.