The Objectivity Machine

The reading room of the Institute was, once again, full of equipment.

At the centre of the table stood a large metal contraption resembling a hybrid of a microscope, a typewriter, and a small filing cabinet. Several brass tubes protruded from its sides. A slot at the top held a stack of paper.

Mr Blottisham stood beside it with evident satisfaction.

Miss Elowen Stray examined the apparatus with cautious fascination.

“What does this one do?” she asked.

Blottisham straightened proudly.

“It produces objective knowledge.”

Elowen raised an eyebrow.

“I see.”

At that moment Professor Quillibrace entered, teacup in hand.

He stopped and regarded the machine thoughtfully.

“My word,” he said. “Have we industrialised epistemology?”

Blottisham grinned.

“You might say that.”

Quillibrace set his cup down and circled the device slowly.

“And this remarkable instrument…?”

“The Objectivity Machine.”

“Of course.”

Blottisham tapped the metal casing.

“You put observations in here”—he indicated a funnel-shaped opening—“and the machine removes all the subjective elements.”

Elowen looked intrigued.

“And what comes out?”

Blottisham pulled a lever. A sheet of paper slid neatly from a slot on the side.

“Objective facts.”

Quillibrace examined the paper.

On it was typed:

RESULT: OBJECTIVE

“How efficient,” he said.

Blottisham beamed.

“You see, the problem with ordinary thinking is that people’s biases get in the way. But science is objective.”

Elowen leaned slightly closer to the machine.

“And this device guarantees that?”

“Exactly.”

Quillibrace folded his hands.

“My dear Blottisham, may I ask a small question?”

Blottisham sighed.

“You’re going to dismantle it, aren’t you?”

“Not at all.”

“Go on then.”

Quillibrace gestured toward the funnel.

“What sort of observations does one place into the machine?”

Blottisham shrugged.

“Scientific ones.”

Elowen smiled.

“And how do we decide which observations count as scientific?”

Blottisham hesitated.

“Well… they’re collected by scientists.”

Quillibrace nodded thoughtfully.

“And how are they collected?”

“Using instruments.”

“Which instruments?”

“The appropriate ones.”

Quillibrace tilted his head slightly.

“And who determines which instruments are appropriate?”

Blottisham paused.

“Well… the scientific community.”

Elowen leaned forward.

“So before the observation even reaches the machine, a great many choices have already been made.”

Quillibrace nodded.

“A most perceptive remark.”

Blottisham crossed his arms.

“But the machine removes bias from the results.”

Quillibrace examined the typed page again.

“And how does it do that?”

“It filters out subjective interpretation.”

“And what counts as subjective?”

Blottisham frowned.

“You know… opinions.”

Elowen spoke gently.

“But someone must decide which interpretations count as opinions.”

Blottisham stared at the machine.

“Well… yes.”

Quillibrace gestured lightly at the device.

“So the machine depends on human decisions at every stage.”

Blottisham looked slightly uneasy.

“That doesn’t mean the results aren’t objective.”

Quillibrace nodded.

“Quite so.”

Elowen tilted her head.

“Professor, what does objectivity actually mean?”

Quillibrace considered the question.

“In science,” he said, “objectivity usually refers to something rather specific.”

“What?”

“A result that does not depend on the particular perspective of an individual observer.”

Blottisham brightened.

“Exactly! That’s what the machine guarantees.”

Quillibrace raised an eyebrow.

“Does it?”

Blottisham gestured impatiently.

“Well the machine treats everyone’s observations the same.”

Elowen thought for a moment.

“But the procedures used to analyse the observations…”

“Yes?”

“…are still chosen by people.”

Quillibrace inclined his head.

“A crucial detail.”

Blottisham sighed.

“So the machine doesn’t actually create objectivity.”

“No,” said Quillibrace gently.

“It simply performs procedures that people have agreed upon.”

Elowen’s eyes lit slightly.

“So objectivity isn’t something the machine produces.”

“No.”

“It’s something the scientific community achieves.”

Quillibrace lifted his teacup.

“A beautifully phrased conclusion.”

Blottisham stared at the machine again.

“So the real source of objectivity…”

“…is not the device,” Quillibrace finished, “but the shared methods that guide its use.”

Blottisham slumped slightly.

“That’s much less dramatic.”

Quillibrace smiled faintly.

“Perhaps.”

Elowen glanced at the paper still lying on the table.

“So when scientists say a result is objective…”

“Yes?”

“They don’t mean it appeared magically from a machine.”

Quillibrace chuckled softly.

“No.”

“They mean it can be reproduced and agreed upon across different observers.”

Blottisham sighed.

“So objectivity isn’t the absence of people.”

“No.”

“It’s the coordination of many perspectives.”

Quillibrace nodded.

“My dear Miss Stray,” he said, “you have grasped the essential point.”

Blottisham looked thoughtfully at the contraption.

“Well,” he said at last, “perhaps the machine still has some use.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“What sort of use?”

Blottisham pointed to the typed sheet.

“It reminds us how much work is required before anyone is willing to write the word ‘objective’.”

Quillibrace smiled.

“My dear Blottisham,” he said, “that is a remarkably objective observation.”