Anthony Fauci and the Impolitics of Doubt

President Taco and Dr. Fauci have clearly differed on how to face the problem.

I struggle watching the Senate grilling America’s former chief immunologist, Dr. Anthony Fauci, for the same reason I avoid Farrelly Brothers-style doofus comedies: because it pains me to watch hapless dorks struggle. While Senators, particularly Rand Paul, fling bad-faith questions, Dr. Fauci responds by avoiding answers. This isn’t a partisan blowout, as I’d expected beforehand; it’s a disgrace to everyone who loves public policy and hard science.

Much news coverage has focused on Fauci’s diary. Senator Paul leaked reams of Fauci’s personal papers ahead of the hearing, presumably expecting the contents to embarrass Fauci and his supporters. They certainly should embarrass him for writing style—the man uses the telegraphic style and lush punctuation of a 13-year-old girl in an Elmore Leonard novel. But the contents, and the Senate's reaction to them, have proved altogether more interesting.

From the beginning of the pandemic, I compared the responses to religion. To President Taco, and most Republicans, “science” is whatever dribbles from a scientist’s mouth. Scientists are like prophets, their pronouncements are oracular truth, and our only responsibility is to make their parables useful. Watching scientists grasp at straws, change their minds, and struggle for unifying narratives, looks like secularized waffling to those who seek certainty.

I still believe that. However, I’ve come to believe the response isn’t unique to science. A certain kind of public personality believes that truth must be certain, and should never vary from first to last. Changing one’s mind, thinking of truth as conditional, and adjusting one’s language to meet the circumstances, come across to the literal-minded as vacillation and dishonesty. The small-c conservative mind seeks certainty where none exists.

Think back to recent political events. (I’m old enough that “recent” is a fungible term; bear with me.) Remember the brouhaha surrounding John Kerry’s notorious 2004 statement that “actually did vote for [a military appropriations bill] before I voted against it.” This probably submarined his presidential aspirations. Barry Glassner writes about the criticism Bill Clinton received for taking both sides of several political issues.

If Dr. Fauci can change his mind in light of new scientific evidence, it perforce follows that anybody else can, too. Senator Paul himself has stuck with the narrative that Fauci is personally responsible for the economic sinkhole the pandemic caused, if not the pandemic himself. Paul’s narrative persists despite a paucity of evidence, partly because Paul probably believes it, but also because he daren’t be seen publicly changing his mind.

Republicans, who are broadly more religious than the opposition, yearn for the moral certainty of Moses in their political leaders. Moses challenged Pharaoh, and David challenged Saul, both confident that they had God’s imprimatur. This absolute, unwavering confidence can look commanding to people confused or overwhelmed by the rapid social changes which have become hallmarks of modernity. Why can’t we all be as certain as Jesus?

My friends and veteran readers know where I’m headed here. The confidence of religion is, itself, irreligious. Moses initially tried to beg off G-d’s calling; so did Jeremiah and Isaiah. Jesus himself prayed, immediately before his arrest, to avoid what he knew came next. John, in his first epistle, warns against excessive faith: “Beloved, do not believe every spirit, but test the spirits to see whether they are from God” (1 John 4:1).

Doubt, not certainty, is the condition of life in this material world. Science is never “done;” it must constantly revise itself as new evidence arises. Lawmakers must pass the best bills available now, knowing they or their successors will repeal those bills later as conditions, economics, or public morals evolve. Prophets speak to a specific time and place, and their truths, however absolute, must face contingent interpretations.

Say what you will about Dr. Fauci’s over 100 recourses to the Fifth Amendment. (I’d suggest Fauci, a 38-year career civil servant, knew the game well enough to simply avoid common pitfalls.) For our purposes, what matters most is Fauci’s willingness to acknowledge scientific uncertainty without reaching for a pat narrative. He didn’t need to reconcile his doubt, because for him, doubt is simply natural.

Anthony Fauci makes modern lawmakers, media pundits, and other vendors of pat solutions nervous. Because, simply, he reveals that it’s okay to doubt, to question, to change your mind. Politicians squirm at this, because unshakeable certainty looks better in campaign ads. But the more command you have of the facts, the more nuanced your read, and the more vulnerable you are to doubt. Fauci says that’s okay, and that frightens grey-faced nabobs.