Tue, Aug 11 · 7:00 PM PDT
In 1980, Isaac Asimov observed that "there is a cult of ignorance in the United States, and there has always been." He argued that America has long harbored a strain of anti-intellectualism, sustained by the belief that "my ignorance is just as good as your knowledge." Those who devote their lives to scholarship or science are often dismissed not as experts but as "elitists"—people presumed to be arrogant, detached, or somehow threatening to ordinary citizens.
More than forty years later, the COVID pandemic seemed to expose that tension in dramatic fashion. For some, Dr. Anthony Fauci became the embodiment of scientific expertise under political attack; for others, he represented government overreach and elite arrogance. A recent Facebook post observed, “When I moved to Florida, I realized there are millions of people who have been stewing in rage for years over the lockdowns. It made me understand that the core animating force in US society is selfishness. The whole rightwing freedom thing is a thin veil for a sense of damaged entitlement.”
The hostility reached a symbolic peak last week during congressional hearings about Covid when Senator Bernie Moreno confronted Fauci with the words, "Who the fuck do you think you are?"
Was Fauci's treatment simply the result of disagreements over pandemic policy, or did it reveal something deeper—a longstanding suspicion of science and expertise in American culture? How have populism, Christian nationalism, conspiracy thinking, and social media contributed to a atmosphere in which ignorance is not merely tolerated, but at times is celebrated as a badge of authenticity, while knowledge itself is treated as evidence of elitism?
If science is increasingly viewed with suspicion, contempt, or outright hostility, what does that mean for our ability to confront existential challenges such as climate change, pandemics, antibiotic resistance, and artificial intelligence? Can a society survive if it rejects the very methods by which it understands reality?