The False Theology of Easy Science

I know I’m not the only American befuddled by President Trump’s recent admission that he began a prophylactic course of hydroxychloroquine. His previous embrace of this malaria drug, untested on COVID-19 and known to be dangerous even to those who actually need it, seems weird from a man who’s previously described himself as a “germaphobe” and conceals his medical records. But, on further consideration, I’ve realized it’s all one piece with his slipshod scientific record.

And not just his. For all I dislike Trump, his attitude actually reflects a broader American relationship with science, one which embraces supposedly radical discoveries, but distrusts the often tedious process. President Trump’s insistence that a pill, a “disinfectant,” or other minimally invasive treatment, will provide a quick fix, is consistent with his repeated invocation of miracles. He’ll embrace any solution to make the problem go away quickly, and avoid anything slow, time-consuming, or boring.

We Americans want pills for everything. I recall complaints, going back at least to the 1990s, of doctors feeling badgered by patients for “antibiotics” to treat colds, flus, and other viral infections. (Antibiotics only treat bacterial infections.) Or consider the mental disorders we regularly treat with pharmaceuticals: antidepressants for mood disorders and stimulants for ADHD, when we already know all but the most severe forms of these diseases don’t actually respond well to drug therapy.

This desire for pills which instantaneously cure difficult diseases recalls the science-fictional desire, common in Cold War paperbacks, for small capsules which deliver every human nutrient in one morning swallow. Pop a pill, you’ll never be hungry again! This belief persisted well into the 1970s, but by the 1980s, science had demonstrated that food wasn’t optional. We eat our spinach, not just for its chemical content, but because its fibrous texture has specific biological benefits.

“Modernism,” as a philosophy, starts with the presumption that one overall theory will someday emerge which explains all reality in one concise postulation. Marxism, Empiricism, and Utilitarianism are all examples of theories which attempt to explain all reality briefly. We could attach pop science to this list, since lazy-minded individuals (and I frequently include myself in this) look to science to provide a closed-system explanation that exempts us from thinking about the exceptions and contingencies.

American media, with whom Trump has courted an adversarial relationship, actually agree with him on this. The practices known to work, like mask-wearing, avoiding contagion vectors, and staying home, are deeply unsexy. Instead, they repeatedly name-check concepts like rushing to a vaccine, like they think this is Star Trek, and Spock and Bones need only pull an all-nighter to conjure their snake-oil. Or they quote “herd immunity” in ways that reduce the concept to pseudoscience.

As an aside, herd immunity really exists. To cite one relevant example, a small minority are violently allergic to the MMR vaccine. These people rely upon everyone else to have functional immunity to the deadly diseases this vaccine prevents, so the diseases cannot gain toehold in the population. That’s what “herd immunity” means: when a disease simply can’t pass through the population, because too few people are vulnerable. Not, emphatically, letting diseases wash over everyone.

In other words, the mass media, like the president, is clearly scientifically illiterate. They like rushing into science whenever photogenic people Anthony Fauci or Katie Bauman announce some profound discovery, and treat that particular discovery as closed. But this isn’t science; it’s more akin to theology, and specifically to bad theology, basically a belief that trumpets blow, angels descend, and the Truth gets distributed on a parchment scroll. The long, difficult tedium gets written out.

When we don’t see this tedium, we forget it exists. Musicians need to practice; novelists need to edit multiple drafts. The finished product doesn’t roll out perfectly the first time. Science isn’t the end result, but rather, science is the long, difficult practice of asking questions and testing the resulting answers. Like theatrical rehearsals or the test run of a new airplane, most of the process happens privately, because to outsiders, it’s mostly just boring.

Science exists, yes. But it isn’t a matter of citing buzzwords like “disinfectant” or “herd immunity.” Science is a process, and like the processes of governing or eating, the scientific process is often slow, glamourless, and pedestrian. And frequently, rather than reaching for simple pills to pop or UV lights to shine up somebody’s ass, science begins by admitting our vast domains of ignorance. Good science, like good religion, requires admitting what we don’t know.