Storytelling can bring science to life and inspire action

Science has never existed in a vacuum. Yet, the way it’s written and shared often makes it feel like it does. Technical language, emotionless tone, and a third-person perspective dominate scientific writings and make them feel cold and inaccessible.

These rules help maintain objectivity, but they also build a wall between science and society. In a time of climate crisis, biodiversity collapse, and widespread ecological grief, that wall needs to come down.

Scientists at the University of Exeter believe that storytelling – not just data – is essential. Their new perspective, published in People and Nature, invites the scientific community to experiment with more personal, emotional, and narrative-driven ways of communication.

The goal is not to dilute the science. It is to open it up and make it resonate. And in doing so, to inspire the public, policymakers, and even other scientists to act.

When facts aren’t enough

The motivation behind this call is clear. Global temperatures are rising. Biodiversity is shrinking. We are dangerously close to irreversible tipping points. And yet, the political and public response often falls short.

The authors point to the case of climate scientists Dr. Rose Abramoff and Dr. Peter Kalmus, who were penalized for protesting at a major scientific conference.

Their protest – “Out of the lab and onto the streets” – was seen as a break from objectivity. But it also highlighted the emotional weight that many scientists carry.

“As environmental scientists ourselves, we feel frustration, a sense of loss, fear and sometimes helplessness at the lack of action to protect the planet,” noted Professor Karen Anderson, one of the lead authors.

Scientists are not robots. They feel the urgency, but their training often keeps them from expressing it.

How scientific writing became emotionless

Scientific writing hasn’t always been so detached. Its current form began in the 17th and 18th centuries when so-called “gentleman scientists” wrote for peers. This legacy shaped how we write science today: objective, methodical, and impersonal.

“That form of writing clearly has its place – but we’re not only debating technical aspects of science for academic interest,” said Dr. Katherine Crichton.

That traditional model, however, is poorly suited to communicate with wider audiences. The gap between scientific evidence and public understanding has only grown. Scientists publish their findings in research journals, but few outside academia ever read them.

Meanwhile, media coverage distorts, simplifies, or omits vital details.

Storytelling makes science memorable

Stories are not just entertainment. They’re a means by which humans understand the world. We evolved with stories. We remember them. We feel them. And crucially, we act on them.

“Humans are inspired by stories. By telling better stories, scientists can help inspire meaningful action to protect ourselves by protecting our environment and the planet,” said Dr. Crichton.

Narratives can drive change in ways data alone cannot. The authors cite philosopher Donna Haraway, who argues that life itself may not be at stake – but ways of living and dying are.

The issue is not that scientists don’t care. It’s that their writing style hides their humanity. It hides their hope, grief, wonder, and fear. This paper suggests it’s time to stop hiding.

The missing half: Behind the science

One of the most powerful ideas in the paper is the notion of a “dark twin” – the unspoken story behind the clean, published version of research. Inspired by scientist Merlin Sheldrake, this dark twin includes the chaos, serendipity, and emotional weight of doing science.

These are the parts that people connect with. How did the researcher feel when standing on a melting glacier? What was it like getting sick at high altitude while collecting soil samples in the Himalayas? These experiences reveal the full reality of science as a human endeavor.

The Exeter researchers even provide one such dark twin. It recounts fieldwork in Nepal, altitude sickness, meals cooked in remote lodges, and the scent of incense plants. The story reads like a travelogue, yet it builds up to a scientific insight. It shows how science actually happens – in the messiness of real life.

Emotions don’t undermine credibility

The worry, of course, is that emotional stories could be seen as unscientific. That they might undermine credibility. But the authors argue otherwise. Emotions and storytelling don’t distort the science – they contextualize it.

“We study these ecosystems because we love them – but we are expected to be removed from our subjects,” noted Professor Angela Gallego-Sala.

That artificial distance limits how effectively scientists can communicate. Scientific journals enforce this distance through style guides and traditions. But those conventions don’t reflect the reality of how science is done – or why it matters.

The cost of silence

If scientists don’t share their own stories, someone else will. And the public might hear only the loudest, most extreme narratives. Often, those are doom-laden headlines or overly simplified takes.

This imbalance creates despair or apathy. When every headline screams catastrophe, people may shut down emotionally. The paper warns against letting only the bleakest versions of science reach the public.

Hope matters, and so does empathy. Both can be built through honest, heartfelt storytelling. That’s why the authors argue for more stories that show resilience, solutions, and human connections to nature.

Emotional storytelling in science

There are already some success stories. Suzanne Simard’s use of terms like “mother trees” helped people understand and care about complex ecological systems. She faced criticism for using emotional language, yet her work reached millions.

“We’ve separated ourselves from nature so much that it’s to our own demise … The result is that we have loss of old-growth forests. Our fisheries are collapsing. We’re in a mass extinction,” she said.

Simard’s approach proves that emotional, metaphor-rich storytelling can bring science to life. It helps people see nature not as a concept, but as kin.

Reimagining the role of the scientist

The paper makes another important point: scientists have the privilege of witnessing environmental change firsthand. They see the beauty and the damage. That perspective should not stay hidden.

By writing from the frontlines, scientists can show the stakes more clearly. They can make their work more transparent and accessible. They can also build public trust, which is eroding in an age of misinformation.

“There is plenty of other academic work that advocates for scientific storytelling. The problem is that these other pieces don’t demonstrate how this can be done,” Professor Anderson noted.

That’s what this paper offers – concrete examples, models, and encouragement.

Storytelling brings science to life

The authors end with a clear invitation: experiment. Try new formats. Write personal biographies. Share the dark twin of your paper. Record videographic stories. Let readers see the journey, not just the results.

“It’s the start of a different type of experiment – an experiment with stories,” said Professor Anderson.

They argue that science communication should not be an afterthought. It should be treated with the same care and creativity as the research itself.

This is not about replacing data with feelings. It’s about recognizing that feelings are part of science too. That behind every study is a person who cared enough to ask a question and search for answers.

The perspective, published in People and Nature, is titled “We are storytelling apes: experimenting with new scientific narratives in a time of climate and biodiversity collapse.”

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