Bias is a seasoning of life

Bias is not entirely the enemy of humanity, but neither is it something we can freely indulge. In everyday life, our preferences, memories, and personal attachments give each of us a unique way of experiencing the world. However, when we turn to evaluating facts, constructing knowledge, or making judgments that affect others, bias can distort our understanding, lead us to accept only what reinforces our existing beliefs, and reject contrary evidence. More dangerously, when bias is concealed beneath academic credentials, specialized terminology, and an appearance of erudition, it can become a form of pseudo-intellectualism: using the authority of knowledge to protect the ego rather than to seek the truth.

The issue, therefore, is not whether human beings have biases, but whether we can recognize the limits of our own understanding and how we respond to evidence. We can maintain our personal preferences without turning them into universal truths; we can defend a position while remaining willing to reconsider it; and we can respect experts without treating their authority as absolute. A rich life needs room for emotion and difference, but a trustworthy body of knowledge requires scientific thinking, intellectual honesty, and the willingness to accept that we ourselves may be wrong.

Imagine a weekend morning when you are faced with two choices for breakfast. On one side is a traditional pho restaurant tucked away in a small alley, with old tables and chairs that are deeply connected to your college years. On the other is a modern restaurant that clearly publishes nutritional information, calorie counts, and sanitation procedures. If your goal is to control your calorie intake or choose a meal that fits a particular diet, the information provided by the modern restaurant may be more useful. But if you want to recover the familiar feeling of a time long gone, the old pho restaurant may offer a value that a nutrition label cannot measure.

There is nothing wrong with choosing the familiar pho restaurant. You do not need to prove that its pho is the best in the city in order to have the right to love it. The problem arises only when personal attachment begins to influence judgments that ought to be tested. If you always remember the times when the restaurant served an excellent bowl of pho but overlook the occasions when the broth was too salty, and then conclude that the restaurant has never had a worthy competitor, you may be falling into confirmation bias: the tendency to notice, interpret, or remember information in ways that reinforce existing beliefs.

The same thing happens when we defend our hometown sports team regardless of its performance, assume that the music of the decade in which we grew up is always superior to that of later generations, or believe that a traditional product must necessarily be better than a newer one. Such tendencies can make conversations lively, generate enjoyable debates, and help people find common ground. But we should remember that it is precisely our memories, preferences, and emotions that make life rich; bias emerges when these elements cause us to evaluate reality unfairly or inaccurately.

In everyday life, human beings also cannot spend time analyzing every choice comprehensively. When standing before dozens of brands of toothpaste in a supermarket, we often choose a familiar brand rather than reading and comparing all the information about every product. When we meet someone who is well dressed, we may form a positive impression before actually understanding their character. When we see a book with an attractive cover, we sometimes automatically expect its contents to be equally engaging. In psychology, some cases like these can be explained through cognitive shortcuts and the halo effect.

These shortcuts help us make quick decisions in a world overflowing with information. They are not always wrong, but they can lead to inaccurate judgments. Someone who dresses elegantly is not necessarily kind; a beautifully designed book does not necessarily contain profound ideas. The important point is not to force ourselves to analyze everything to the point of exhaustion, but to recognize when a quick judgment is sufficient only as an initial guide and when it needs to be examined more carefully.

Therefore, living thoughtfully does not mean eliminating all personal emotions and preferences. We can love a particular food because of the memories associated with it, choose a book out of curiosity, or remain attached to a style of music because it has accompanied us for many years. But freedom of preference does not mean immunity from evidence. We can cherish what we love without turning it into a universal standard for everyone else.

This also raises an important question about education. In environments that place excessive emphasis on predetermined answers, students may gradually develop the habit of seeing any answer that differs from the textbook solution as a mistake to be avoided. When this happens, learners may become more concerned with producing an accepted answer than with asking questions, experimenting with different explanations, or examining the limits of their own thinking.

An education that encourages independent thinking needs to create space for difference, but it should not equate difference with correctness. An opinion does not become correct simply because it is novel, just as a position does not automatically become wrong because it differs from the majority. Learners should be encouraged to articulate their own perspectives while also learning to explain the basis for those perspectives, listen to contrary evidence, and revise their views when compelling reasons arise. The goal of education is not to produce people without their own intellectual tendencies, but to help them understand the limits of their own cognition.

The distinction between personal preference and the accuracy of a judgment becomes even more important when we enter the realm of science. Looking back to the seventeenth century, we encounter a period of particular significance in the development of modern science. Thinkers and scientists such as Francis Bacon, Galileo Galilei, Robert Boyle, and Isaac Newton helped advance a new approach to nature: rather than relying solely on the authority of long-established doctrines or deductions considered self-evident, people needed to observe, conduct experiments, measure, and compare hypotheses against evidence.

This was not a moment when science suddenly became completely objective, nor was it a time when all human biases disappeared. Rather, it was a period in which experimental methods and various forms of knowledge verification developed rapidly, helping to transform how people constructed and evaluated claims about the natural world.

Francis Bacon was particularly concerned with obstacles to human understanding. In Novum Organum, published in 1620, he presented his theory of the “idols,” referring to tendencies and habits of thought that could cause people to misunderstand reality. Among them, the “Idols of the Cave” describe how each individual sees the world through a personal lens shaped by education, habits, experiences, and individual characteristics.

A person who has become convinced of a hypothesis may unconsciously pay greater attention to data supporting it while discounting contrary evidence. Another person may place excessive trust in a theory simply because it has been passed down by respected authorities. Such tendencies do not necessarily arise from dishonesty. Sometimes they operate even when researchers genuinely want to discover the truth.

The history of astronomy provides a clear example of the importance of testing beliefs through observation. For centuries, the geocentric model exerted enormous influence over how people imagined the universe. Yet new observations and models gradually challenged traditional explanations. This transformation did not occur simply because one individual decided to abandon an old belief. It emerged through a process of model building, accumulating observations, debating interpretations, and reassessing existing evidence.

Isaac Newton’s study of light also demonstrates the role of experimentation. In his experiments with prisms, he investigated how white light could be separated into different colors. Rather than relying solely on existing ideas about the nature of light, Newton used experiments to examine how light interacted with a prism. The value of the method lies in requiring a hypothesis to confront observational results, even when those results differ from initial expectations.

Robert Boyle’s studies of air and pressure likewise illustrate this transformation. Through experimental apparatus and measurement, Boyle and his collaborators investigated the relationship between the pressure and volume of a quantity of gas under particular conditions. The results depended not simply on what the researchers hoped to find, but also on experimental design, the reliability of instruments, and the interpretation of data. For this reason, making methods transparent, describing experimental conditions, and allowing others to examine the results are essential to the development of science.

Similarly, Antonie van Leeuwenhoek’s microscopic observations opened a world of living organisms invisible to the naked eye. Tiny organisms in water and other specimens raised new questions about life and the natural world. Yet a scientific observation is meaningful not merely because a researcher honestly records what they see. It must also be understood in relation to the observational instrument, the method of description, and the process of confirmation and comparison with other observations.

These examples show that science does not become trustworthy because scientists can completely escape all bias. They are human beings too, with their own beliefs, expectations, and cognitive limitations. What gives science its strength is the effort to develop methods that can detect and reduce the influence of those limitations: systematic observation, measurement, replication, transparency of methods, debate, and the willingness to reconsider conclusions.

Data also do not automatically speak for themselves. Researchers still have to choose questions, design methods, determine what should be measured, and interpret results. Therefore, objectivity in science does not mean the absence of subjective perspectives. Rather, it means not allowing an individual perspective to become the sole basis for determining what is considered true. A trustworthy scientific conclusion must be able to withstand examination, questioning, and criticism from others.

If bias is an obstacle to understanding, then pseudo-intellectualism presents a more complex challenge: bias can be dressed in the clothing of knowledge, protected by academic titles, and amplified by social influence.

In academic life and public discourse, not everyone who uses specialized terminology, cites numerous studies, or possesses impressive titles necessarily engages in scientific thinking. A degree may reflect a process of training, but it does not, by itself, guarantee that every statement made by its holder is correct. Fluency can make an argument sound highly persuasive, but it cannot replace evidence. And someone with extensive knowledge in one field does not automatically become an expert in every other field.

Pseudo-intellectualism is not simply a lack of knowledge, nor is it the same as making a mistake. What matters is how a person uses knowledge and responds to the limits of their understanding. When someone repeatedly invokes reputation instead of argument, uses complicated terminology to conceal a lack of clarity, selectively chooses evidence that supports an existing position, or attempts to diminish critics rather than answer their questions, we have reason to examine the seriousness of their intellectual practice.

One notable manifestation of pseudo-intellectualism is turning confidence into evidence of competence. A speaker may assert something in a highly confident tone, present a coherent story, and offer numerous examples that appear relevant. But upon closer examination, those examples may not adequately support the conclusion, may have been removed from their context, or may represent only one part of the issue. Rhetorical persuasiveness can then create the feeling of understanding without necessarily producing genuine understanding.

Another manifestation is using knowledge to protect the ego rather than to test one's beliefs. An open-minded thinker may defend a hypothesis with the strongest arguments available while still accepting the possibility that the hypothesis needs to be revised. By contrast, someone who places the ego above truth tends to make their position resistant to questioning. Every piece of supporting evidence is treated as confirmation; every contrary piece of evidence is dismissed as flawed; and anyone who disagrees may be accused of ignorance, bad motives, or lacking the qualifications to speak.

In such cases, confirmation bias is no longer merely an ordinary cognitive limitation. It can become a self-protective mechanism maintained systematically through status, language, and power. Instead of asking whether they might be wrong, people seek to prove that they cannot be wrong.

More concerningly, when this behavior appears among people who influence education, policy, or public opinion, its consequences can extend far beyond an individual disagreement. The public may confuse authority with correctness, titles with substantive competence, and an impressive statement with a conclusion that has actually been tested. Specialized terminology, originally developed to help people understand the world, can then become a wall separating audiences from the very issue that needs to be explained.

At the same time, we should be careful not to turn the concept of “pseudo-intellectualism” into a label for anyone who disagrees with us. A person can be wrong while remaining sincere; a scholar can defend an inaccurate hypothesis while still working seriously. Error by itself does not prove dishonesty or incompetence. Even rejecting a position accepted by the majority is not automatically evidence of pseudo-intellectualism. What needs to be examined is how the person constructs their argument, uses evidence, acknowledges limitations, and responds to information that conflicts with their position.

This is also a test of ourselves. When we encounter a view with which we disagree, do we actually examine the argument being made, or do we simply look for reasons to dismiss the person making it? When we read a study that supports what we already believe, do we examine its methods and limitations, or do we immediately share it because we feel validated? When we are challenged, are we willing to reconsider our argument, or do we immediately regard the person challenging us as an adversary?

If we use the concept of pseudo-intellectualism to criticize others but never apply the same questions to ourselves, we risk reproducing the very problem we claim to oppose. Bias does not exist only among people whom we consider uninformed. It can also exist among people with advanced degrees, extensive experience, and even among those who believe they are defending the truth.

Therefore, scientific thinking is necessary far beyond the laboratory. In a society saturated with information, we cannot rely solely on titles, academic credentials, or the persuasive power of a speaker to determine what deserves our trust. We need to learn to ask: Where is the evidence? Is the argument consistent? Has contrary evidence been considered? Does the conclusion go beyond what the evidence actually permits us to conclude? Is the person making the claim willing to revise their position when new evidence emerges?

These questions are not intended to reject professional expertise. On the contrary, they help us respect expertise appropriately: by placing trust in competence, methods, and evidence rather than blindly submitting to status or reputation. A healthy academic culture does not require everyone to agree with one another; it requires everyone to take responsibility for explaining why they believe what they say and to remain willing to have those arguments examined.

Looking back, bias is not a simple category of either good or bad. The things we love, the memories we preserve, and the experiences that have shaped us contribute to our individual identities. But when these attachments cause us to accept only information that confirms our views, ignore contradictory evidence, or judge others through unsupported stereotypes, they can become obstacles to understanding and fairness.

We do not need to abandon our favorite pho restaurant simply because another restaurant provides more detailed nutritional information. Nor do we need to stop loving the music of an earlier era simply because later generations have different tastes. But when making a judgment about quality, evaluating a person, developing policy, or conducting research, we need to distinguish between what we want to believe and what the evidence actually allows us to conclude.

And when we encounter people who claim to represent knowledge, we do not need to rush either to admire them or to reject them. We should look at how they reason, how they use evidence, and how they respond to the possibility that they may be wrong. A genuinely intellectual person does not need to be right all the time, but needs the honesty to acknowledge what they do not know, the humility to listen, and the courage to revise their position when there are sufficient reasons to do so.

Perhaps intellectual maturity does not mean eliminating every personal imprint in order to become an objective machine, nor does it mean defending every belief we hold in the name of identity. It means being able to recognize when we are living through memories, preferences, and emotions, and when we need to place those things before the scrutiny of evidence.

We can live through emotion without turning emotion into truth; we can maintain our personal identities while remaining willing to reconsider what we believe. We can also possess extensive knowledge without ceasing to question the limits of our own understanding. The richness of life comes from the differences among people, while the reliability of knowledge comes from our ability to test, question, and revise what we believe to be true.

Perhaps the most important thing to reflect on about bias is not how to eliminate it completely, but how to understand its role in the way we think and act.

Be confident enough to let your brain form biases, hypotheses, and distinctive ways of seeing the world. Without confidence, we may hesitate to ask questions, be afraid to propose unconventional hypotheses, or lack the courage to pursue ideas that have not yet been accepted by the majority. Scientific research also needs this kind of confidence: the confidence to be curious, to question what seems obvious, to propose a new explanation, and to begin the journey of seeking evidence.

But distinguish between being confident enough to form a bias and being confident that your bias must be correct. The first can open the door to knowledge; the second can close it. A researcher needs enough confidence to believe that a hypothesis is worth testing, but also enough intellectual honesty to accept that the results of the research may disprove that very hypothesis.

If you believe something, have the courage to pursue it through research. If the evidence supports what you believe, present the findings clearly. If the evidence contradicts that belief, have the strength to revise or abandon it. The value of research does not lie in proving that you were right from the beginning, but in discovering what is true, even when the answer differs from what you expected.

And if you are confident enough to believe that you can see something others have not yet seen, be humble enough to accept that others may discover something you have overlooked. This is not a contradiction between confidence and humility. It is the combination necessary to ensure that independent thinking does not become stubbornness, that knowledge does not become a tool for protecting the ego, and that scientific inquiry does not become merely a journey of confirming what we already believe.

Be confident in your questions, but do not force the evidence to submit to your beliefs.