Blog – The Myth of the Neutral Scientist

Over the course of my research career, I was taught that good science requires objectivity — that a researcher should observe, not influence; report, not interpret. Like many others, I internalised the idea that neutrality was a key marker of credibility.

But as my work has increasingly intersected with issues like equity, access, and representation in dementia research, I’ve found myself returning to a tricky question: Can a scientist ever really be neutral?

I don’t ask this to be provocative, but because it is a question that has quietly shaped much of my thinking, especially when I have transitioned between roles and career stages. In the space where I exist as a researcher – between disciplines, teams, and systems – I am more aware that ever that our identities, values, and experiences shape how we ask questions, design studies, and interpret findings. And ultimately, rather than viewing this as a weakness, I’ve come to believe it is a strength, and one which is worth acknowledging more openly.

The legacy of neutrality in science

The ideal of scientific neutrality has long been woven into the fabric of research culture. It is grounded in important principles such as those of rigour, objectivity, and the pursuit of knowledge free from personal or political interference. These are values that I continue to hold in high regard, but as my work has increasingly intersected with questions of equity and inclusion, I have begun to reflect on what we mean by “neutral”, and whether that idea is always as straightforward – or as neutral – as it may seem.

The truth is, scientific norms haven’t always been neutral.

Often, they’ve reflected dominant perspectives about whose knowledge is taken seriously, which methods are seen as valid, and who gets to be considered a reliable source of truth. That doesn’t mean good science hasn’t come out of those spaces — of course it has — but it does raise important questions: Who gets to be included? Whose voices are heard? And which questions are considered worth asking in the first place?

Take dementia research, for example. We might ask:

• How do we define symptoms or outcomes — and whose experience shapes those definitions?
• Are social and cultural factors treated as things to be “controlled for”, or as central to understanding dementia itself?

These aren’t just theoretical questions. They influence how research is funded, designed, interpreted, and used. And while neutrality is often held up as a way to protect against bias, the unintended consequence can be that it ends up hiding bias instead.

We bring ourselves to the work

As researchers, we are trained to design studies that are carefully controlled, analyse the data rigorously, and interpret our findings cautiously. But here’s the thing – we also bring ourselves to every project that we are part of.

Our identities, our experiences, our values, our view of the world – none of these sit neatly outside the research process. We’re not just detached observers. And I think this matters especially in dementia research, where lived experience, context, and culture are essential to understanding the people our work is supposed to serve.

As I mentioned at the start, I’ve thought about my own relationship with neutrality a lot. I’m very interested in equity, just look at any of my blogs on here to see the tip of that particular iceberg, and I absolutely recognise that being so isn’t neutral. The way I work and the priorities of what I do as a research scientist are rooted in the things I’ve seen, the people I’ve met, the lived experiences that people have been kind enough to share with me, and the spaces I move through. Some have argued with me that anything other than the science makes the science less valid because it “isn’t neutral”, but I’d argue the opposite. It makes it more honest, more transparent, and more intentional.

The idea that who we are matters in research is still sometimes framed as a risk to objectivity. But over time, I’ve come to see it as a route to doing better science. Because when we acknowledge our positionality, we also create space for reflexivity — and with that comes a deeper, more self-aware understanding of our work. Isn’t that what most of us want? To really know the ins and outs of our research, and to do it well?

So why is it still seen, at times, as a threat to our credibility rather than an asset?

Reflexivity as a tool, not a threat

If positionality is about recognising who we are in relation to our work, reflexivity is about being honest about how that shapes the choices we make. In my experience, that doesn’t undermine the science. It makes it clearer — more open, more grounded.

In a field like dementia research, where people’s lives and experiences are central, reflexivity isn’t about being  (as was once suggested to me) “soft”, or subjective. It’s about asking better questions and noticing the gaps. It’s a skill — and one we could probably all do with practising more often.

Making room for ourselves

Just to be clear: I still believe in objectivity, robust methods, and high standards. I care about rigour, and I want to do work that holds up to scrutiny. But I’ve long since let go of the idea that being neutral means being silent about what matters to me — or pretending that I’m unaffected by the world I live and work in.

If anything, I’ve come to believe that acknowledging our perspectives makes our work stronger. When we reflect on who we are and how we show up in research, we don’t lose credibility — we gain clarity. And in fields like dementia research, where the social world is so tightly interwoven with the scientific one, that kind of clarity really matters.

Because in the end, I don’t think our humanity gets in the way of good research. I think it’s part of what makes it possible.

Jodi Watt

Author

Dr Jodi Watt is a Postdoctoral Researcher at University of Glasgow. Jodi’s academic interests are in both healthy ageing and neurodegenerative diseases of older age, and they are currently working on drug repurposing for dementia. Previously they worked on understanding structural, metabolic and physiological brain changes with age, as measured using magnetic resonance imaging. As a queer and neurodiverse person, Jodi is also incredibly interested in improving diversity and inclusion practices both within and outside of the academic context.

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