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There’s a thread that links Galileo to Orwell: defending the obvious when the obvious becomes inconvenient.
In 1984 everything collapses to a single question: 2+2=5 (for the arrogance of power) or 2+2=4 (for the objectivity of facts)? That is exactly why science safeguards freedom: facts do not depend on authority.

Today, in an information ecosystem that is saturated and polarized, media and algorithms can overturn common sense, create noise, and sow doubt precisely where the data are clear. As a result, even glaring truths stop being taken for granted: war crimes, dangerous commercial practices, political scandals—even when they are in plain sight—can be blurred by opportunistic narratives.

The obvious, the silly and the true had got to be defended.
Truisms are true, hold on to that!
The solid world exists; its laws do not change.
Stones are hard, water is wet,
objects unsupported fall towards the earth’s centre.
With the feeling that he was setting forth an important axiom, he wrote:
“Freedom is the freedom to say that two plus two make four.”
If that is granted, all else follows.
(George Orwell, Nineteen eighty-four).

Why science protects freedom

Science is not infallible, but it is corrigible. And, above all, it is public: anyone with adequate tools can verify. That makes it a genuine democratic antibody.

• Measurement — what isn’t measured remains opinion.
• Replicability — a result counts only if others can obtain it.
• Transparency — methods and data must be accessible.
• Peer review — quality control is dialogue, not hierarchy.
• Prediction — a theory is strong when it anticipates new facts.
• Retractability — changing one’s mind in light of evidence isn’t weakness; it’s strength.

These principles aren’t just for laboratories; they belong in civic life.
When evidence shows a product is harmful, we act.
When data document violations or abuse, we investigate.
When errors emerge, we correct course. Reality is not up for a vote.

In science, “the humble work of one can outweigh the authority of many” (a line often attributed to Galileo). That is why science is sometimes feared—and precisely why it can be the last rampart of freedom, capable of exposing malicious narratives.

Doubt, yes. Denial, no.

Methodological skepticism is the engine of science. Denialism is something else: the choice to ignore evidence for political, economic, or identity convenience. Confusing the two destroys public debate.

A civic commitment

Defending scientific objectivity does not mean idolizing experts; it means demanding transparent rules: open data, declared conflicts of interest, time and tools for verification. It also means protecting researchers from censorship and gatekeeping—because without freedom there is no mutual checking, and without mutual checking democracy recedes.

In the end, the stakes are as simple as an addition: if 2+2 no longer equals 4, who gets to decide what it equals?

A seven-line manifesto

1. Facts come before narratives.
2. No power has a monopoly on truth.
3. Transparency is a condition for trust.
4. Doubt is a duty; denying data is an abuse.
5. Changing one’s mind with new evidence is progress.
6. Science is a public good, not a faction.
7. 2+2=4. That’s where democracy begins.

The term revolution is today used to describe radical shifts in culture or politics, but it’s important to remember that the word itself was borrowed from physics. In astronomy, a revolution describes the orbit of a celestial body around another: the Earth revolves around the Sun. This simple scientific fact, once revealed and accepted, led to a domino effect of ideas that would forever change the foundations of Western society.

In Bertolt Brecht’s play The Life of Galileo, there’s a poignant moment that captures the cultural shock of discovering that Earth is just a planet like the others, not the center of the universe as once believed. People started to say that, if the Earth is not divinely fixed at the center of creation, then perhaps the King, too, is just a man. Perhaps Popes are simply people like all others. Once you accept that nature does not revolve around some special ones, it’s not such a leap to imagine that society shouldn’t either.

It’s no coincidence that the scientific revolution preceded political ones like the Enlightenment and, ultimately, the French Revolution. The demotion of Earth from its cosmic pedestal led to the dethroning of rulers from their political ones.

Science, and especially physics, is one of the most peaceful yet potent vehicles for revolution. Unlike violent upheavals or even political campaigns, science doesn’t need armies—it changes the world by enlightening our understanding of nature. In this sense, physics might even be more revolutionary than Gandhi.

Einstein’s work in the 20th century had similar effects. The theory of relativity redefined our concepts of space and time and reminded us how small and precious our place in the universe really is. But with these revolutions came new humility and respect of nature—a realization that we are not the masters of the universe but participants in a much larger, harmonic order. Quantum mechanics, however, remains an “unfinished revolution”.

And yet, despite all these transformative breakthroughs, it’s possible that the era of great scientific revolutions has slowed. For instance, maybe quantum mechanics is not understood not because we lack intelligence, knowledge, or tools, but because we may lack freedom.

Perhaps the next answer—the key to unifying quantum mechanics and relativity, solving the deepest paradoxes in physics—is already before our eyes. But we may not see it, or worse, we may not want to see it. Why? Because revolutions are disruptive. They threaten power structures, institutions, and reputations. They demand a shift not just in mathematics but in mindset. And so, just as Galileo’s telescope was once dismissed by dogma, today’s radical ideas may be dismissed by an orthodoxy that hides behind complexity, bureaucracy, or the illusion of progress.

Politicians and also the scientific community are not immune to the social forces that resist revolution. When authorities and gatekeepers decide what is or isn’t acceptable to question, debate becomes constrained. Academia can turn into peer pressure. And platforms meant to disseminate knowledge can become mechanisms of exclusion.

True scientific revolutions do not flourish under censorship. They demand openness, dialogue, and the courage to challenge what is established. Perhaps the question is not whether we are smart enough to find the next great theory, but whether we are free enough to discuss and accept it.