By Ole M. Sandberg
What can we know about uncertainty – and what can’t we? During the LTTA in Iceland someone mentioned how difficult it is to communicate scientific uncertainty to the public, and this is a topic I find crucial. How do we convey that there are things we don’t know, which are nonetheless important, when it is traditionally the role of scholars and journalists to speak only about what we do know?
My educational background is in philosophy, so I am used to “not knowing.” I am not a scientist, and I cannot pretend to know more about the Earth’s climate than the professionals who study it. Yet I have been teaching, writing, and thinking about the climate crisis for around ten years, and I try to keep up with the science. Even if I cannot evaluate scientific models directly, I can recognize patterns and trends.
For example, when I wrote my first paper on social and political imaginations of the climate crisis, I studied the latest IPCC report. Even without being a scientist, it was clear that many of their medium- to long-term predictions had already become reality. Landslides, droughts, hurricanes, and floods were already happening. It felt almost eerie to write about potential futures based on a report that models the future but is already describing the present.
IPCC reports are snapshots of how people in the past thought about the future based on the trends they observed. The data they use comes from papers published years before the report, and the report itself takes years to assemble because it requires consensus. In cases of doubt, the scientists tend to use conservative estimates—the ones that predict a future most like the present. The result is that by the time the report is published, we are already living in the future it describes. Time is moving faster than their models.
Limiting reports to what is consensual and conservative is a noble attempt to protect scientific authority. Scientists want people to trust science and understand that false predictions could undermine that trust. They do not want to appear alarmist—and I respect that.
But this caution can backfire. When the public sees and feels that reality is worse than the reports suggest, trust in scientific institutions can decline. People may feel that information is being withheld—and often they are correct. Uncertain data and worst-case scenarios are left out.
Even climate scientists themselves express concern. Some criticize the IPCC for modeling only up to a two-degree temperature increase. Anything beyond that is difficult to model, but by only reporting within this scenario, the official narrative presents a future that seems more manageable than the one we may be heading toward—uncertain and difficult to communicate while maintaining credibility. The problem is that uncertainty is an existential condition we all must confront in the Anthropocene.
Models that assume the future will follow past patterns are not fit for this task. That does not mean we should abandon them, but in an accelerating world, we also need the courage to explore the unknown. We know one thing for certain: the future is uncertain. Refusing to talk about the unknown is effectively refusing to talk about the future. People sense this—they notice something is missing, and they are right.
When scientists themselves look for information outside official narratives, it should be no surprise that the public does too. People turn to stories, Hollywood, science fiction, prophets, or conspiracy theorists—sources that resonate with how they feel and help them make sense of uncertainty. This is not irrational; it is a natural response to a world where only what is certain is spoken about publicly.
We have a model of scientific authority based on an era when knowledge was stable and predictable. Experts were trusted because they studied a specific area and knew more than anyone else. But the world has changed. Complex systems—like the climate—connect natural and social sciences. Human societies are part of the climate system: we influence it, and it influences us.
Social factors, culture, emotions, and societal responses to information are hard to model but directly affect climate outcomes. In this sense, climate journalism becomes part of the system, shaping behavior and perceptions.
In the Anthropocene, human factors are central. Nature and human science must be integrated, and we must move beyond disciplinary boundaries. We need to embrace the unknown because what we do not know can profoundly affect what we think we know.
This also applies geographically. Iceland, for example, is an island, but fully embedded in global systems. Climate events elsewhere affect it—droughts, floods, trade disruptions, or financial crises all have consequences locally. Even localized climate models must account for global processes.
A useful analogy is the Arctic tern, or kría in Icelandic. It breeds in Iceland during the summer but migrates to the South Pole for the southern summer—about 40,000 kilometers twice a year. Everything along this journey affects the bird, and thus Iceland. To protect Iceland, we must also consider the global system.
These observations raise questions about the role of scientists: how they maintain authority while communicating uncertainty, how disciplines are organized, and how we report knowledge. Journalists face the same dilemma: Should they report only on scientific consensus, or also highlight less certain but critical scenarios? Some outliers may be dismissed as fringe, others may be well-founded. Sticking strictly to certainty works in a stable world—but in a rapidly changing one, this model is inadequate.
I do not have all the answers. But I know the questions are vital. In a world of uncertainty, we must learn to take the unknown seriously—scientifically, journalistically, and socially.
*This article is based on a presentation given during the LTTA in October 2025. Ole M. Sandberg is a lecturer and researcher in philosophy at the University of Iceland.