Friends,
I urge you to read this deeply concerning and important essay by Dr. Paul N. Edwards, Professor Emeritus of Information, History, and Science and Technology Studies:
Edwards, P. N. (2026). The end of science? Agnosis and American fascism. Science, Technology, & Human Values. https://doi.org/10.1177/01622439261474980 [posted below]
A key term in the title is agnosis, which Edwards uses to describe the deliberate production of ignorance, nonknowledge, or antiknowledge. Just as important is his idea of knowledge infrastructures: the institutions, people, methods, archives, and professional norms that allow societies to produce reliable knowledge over time.
This is what makes the essay so relevant to higher education. Edwards asks us to see attacks on research funding, federal data, scientific expertise, universities, and academic freedom not as isolated developments, but as threats to the very infrastructure through which a democratic society comes to know itself.
That argument resonates strongly with something I have been emphasizing on this blog: academic freedom is part of the infrastructure of civil rights. If we weaken the institutions that produce knowledge about inequality, discrimination, public health, environmental harm, and governmental action, we also weaken our capacity to document injustice and demand accountability.
For good measure, I am cutting and pasting Science and Technology Studies courses offered currently at UT as I fear, based solely on Edwards' essay, that these courses could be at risk of getting cut largely because of their interdisciplinarity and criticality:
- STS 318: How We Shape Discoveries and How They Shape Us (examining the cultural and technical complexities of energy, biomedicine, and nanoscience). [1]
- STS 319: Information Technology and Social Life (analyzing how digital tech mediates work, home, and social structures). [1]
- STS 332: Nanotechnology and the Science Revolution. [1]
- STS 380: Proseminar: Current Issues in the Societal Impact of Science and Technology (a graduate-level overview examining science as a human enterprise). [1]
There may be others, but this is what a quick Google search turned up.
The essay is sobering, but Edwards does not end in despair. His call is for scholars and citizens to defend evidence, preserve knowledge, protect institutions, and act.
I couldn't agree more. And it's what we've been doing—and consistently so—here in Texas.
It is a long read, but a very important one.
-Angela Valenzuela
The End of Science? Agnosis and American Fascism by Paul N. Edwards, September 2026 issue,
The Society for Social Studies of Science (4S) annually awards the John Desmond Bernal Prize to one or more individuals who have made distinguished contributions to the field of Science and Technology Studies. Past winners have included founders of the field, along with outstanding scholars who have devoted their careers to understanding the social dimensions of science and technology. This article is the revised text of the 2025 Bernal Lecture by Paul Edwards.
In January 2025, fascists led by Donald Trump took over the United States federal government for the second time. Following the Heritage Foundation blueprint Project 2025, these far-right authoritarians colluded with mega-corporations, billionaires, and white-nationalist Christian evangelicals to disrupt the government, nullify democratic processes, and execute Trump's every whim as “policy.” His regime has successfully (if not entirely) evaded Constitutional checks and balances; manipulated corporate affairs, the US economy, foreign allies, and the entire rules-based world order by means of tariffs, executive orders, extrajudicial killings, threats of force, and war; created a huge, militarized secret police force (Immigration and Customs Enforcement); brought false charges against political opponents to neutralize and punish them; and, resuscitated the 19th-century colonial Monroe Doctrine to license renewed US imperialism. The Trump autocracy has brought major American institutions to their knees, singling out federally funded scientific enterprises and research universities for ideological assault via budget cuts. Incredibly, even as I write, leaders at the highest levels of our government are discussing how to suspend the 2026 elections by declaring a trumped-up national emergency.
These actions and characteristics are hallmarks of fascism, “a system of government marked by centralization of authority under a dictator, a capitalist economy subject to stringent governmental controls, violent suppression of the opposition, and typically a policy of belligerent nationalism and racism” (American Heritage Dictionary, 5th edition). Like many of you, I never imagined the United States would come to this. Naïf that I was, I believed that democratic norms and institutional guardrails would hold. I imagined, even more naively, that science and reason would ultimately prevail. Even as I feared the worst, I secretly hoped that US science and democracy would help steer the world away from a future of dangerous climate change, deadly pandemics, out-of-control artificial intelligence (AI), and ever more destructive wars.
Dear reader, I could not have been more wrong. As I receive with great humility this highest of prizes from the Society for the Social Studies of Science (4S), I can only plead that its namesake J.D. Bernal suffered from the same delusion. In 1939 (of all years), Bernal wrote that “we have in the practice of science the prototype for all human common action. The task which the scientists have undertaken—the understanding and control of nature and of man himself [sic]—is merely the conscious expression of the task of human society….In science men have learned consciously to subordinate themselves to a common purpose” (Bernal 1939). How I wish it were so.
Both that delusion and my fear of its failure arrived early in my life and simultaneously. I spent my teenage years in Staunton, Virginia, a small town of 18,000 in the Shenandoah Valley. It was a differently mediated world then, a world of books, magazines, newspapers, and three television channels. No email, no Internet, no online anything—and not a lot for a young person to do. So, I read, and read, and read. On the stairway landing just outside my bedroom, my parents positioned a bookshelf containing encyclopedias for children and young adults (the Britannica had pride of place in our living room, but that was reserved for school projects). I sat on that landing many nights, paging through the twenty-volume Book of Knowledge and The World Book encyclopedia.
My other love was the science fiction section of the Staunton Public Library. I read nearly every book. Those stories told of technological wonders “indistinguishable from magic,” as Arthur C. Clarke put it in 1962, some of them becoming reality before my bright young eyes. My childhood was the Atomic Age, promising nuclear energy “too cheap to meter,” along with nuclear submarines. Nuclear airplanes! Nuclear refrigerators! And nuclear weapons, too dangerous to use, but too powerful to abandon. I watched the first moon landing on TV at a summer camp in upstate New York. My daydreams were rockets to the stars, but my nightmares were of mushroom clouds rising over distant cities as I desperately sought escape. Computers, robots, and AI abounded in those novels. Miracle machines that could save the world. Or take it over. Or destroy it.
My political coming of age happened around the first Earth Day in 1970. I read my copy of The Environmental Handbook (Bell 1970) until it fell apart. By eighth grade, I had organized a school “Ecology Club” and led my first protest march to a construction site near the school where workers were struggling to ignite downed trees with motor oil, covering the school area with thick smoke.
And there you have my entire career in a nutshell. I became a “professor of world disaster,” as a student affectionately (?) called me. I’ll take the title, thanks.



