The speedy House action apparently caught the public off guard. No letters to the editor for or against the Butler bill appeared in any major newspaper of the state prior to the House vote. A deluge of letters followed that action. Further, petitions to the legislature and newspaper editorials on the subject only began appearing after the House passed the bill. Of course, final enactment required action by the Tennessee Senate and governor, so plenty of opportunity remained to influence the outcome. By that time, proponents and opponents had thoroughly rehearsed the arguments that would capture the nation’s attention during the Scopes trial.
Opponents of the legislation went to work on the Senate. “It was noticed by me that the ‘anti-evolution bill’ was passed by the house of representatives yesterday,” one letter to the
Nashville Banner
observed. “Is it the intention of all those who advocate free expression ... to let this pass unprotested?”
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Clearly not, as scores of opponents wrote letters to state newspapers reflecting the outrage, even shame, undoubtedly felt and expressed by countless Tennesseans over the House action. “Let us not blow out the light as long as the student desires to learn,” one writer pleaded.
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“According to the greatest scientific authorities on earth, evolution is no longer regarded as a theory but an established fact,” another declared. “But the legislators persist in hearing the teaching of Billy Bryan, Billy Sunday and all the rest.”
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Comparisons to Galileo’s trial and Bruno’s execution were commonplace. “I fear we will never stamp out the evolution theory, for old Bruno was burned and old Galileo thrown in prison,” a sarcastic writer protested, “and yet the damnable round earth theory is still being taught.”
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The inevitable references to monkeys also appeared. “No one needs better proof of the truthfulness of Darwin’s theory than to visit Capitol Hill and view some its occupants,” a typical letter joked. “Someone said they sprang from monkeys and that one would be forced to believe they had not sprung very far.”
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Several state newspapers jumped into the fray at this point. “There is no reason why the discoveries of geology and astronomy should be challenges to Christian faith,” an editorial in the
Nashville Tennessean
advised.
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“The quicker this jackass measure is booted into a waste basket, the better for the cause of enlightenment and progress in Tennessee,” the
Rockwood Times
added.
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The
Chattanooga Times
reprinted an editorial declaring, “Perhaps if there is any other being entitled to share Mr. Bryan’s satisfaction at this Tennessee legislature it is the monkey. Surely if the human race is accurately represented by that portion of it in the Tennessee house of representatives, the monkey has a right to rejoice that the human race is no kin to the monkey race.”
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Tennessee’s modernist clerics, although vastly outnumbered by their fundamentalist counterparts, held influential pastorates in several cities and joined in condemning the antievolution bill. Indeed, one liberal preacher gave lawmakers such a tongue-lashing that, after a newspaper reprinted his comments, the House took the unusual step of passing a resolution denying them.
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Thirteen Nashville ministers, most of them either Presbyterians or Methodists, expressed their opposition in a petition to the Senate.
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Chattanooga’s leading liberal pastor, M. S. Freeman, began a widely publicized series of sermons on modernism by criticizing the proposed statute: “I believe that such laws emanate from a false conception that our Christian faith needs to be sheltered behind bars.”
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The modernist leader R. T. Vann, who played a lead role in opposing antievolution legislation in North Carolina, delivered an address in Memphis on the need for academic freedom in science education. “Now, granted that we may and must teach science in our colleges,” he argued, “this teaching must be done by scientists.... Neither priest nor prophet nor apostle, nor even our Lord Himself, ever made the slightest contribution to our knowledge of natural science.”
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Already, the three main tactics for attacking the antievolution measure had emerged: the defense of individual freedom, an appeal to scientific authority, and a mocking ridicule of fundamentalists and biblical literalism; later, they became the three prongs of the Scopes defense.
Senators readily responded to these arguments. Just two days after the House passed the Butler bill, the Senate judiciary committee voted down Shelton’s antievolution measure with the comment that the legislature should not “make laws that even remotely affect the question of religious belief.”
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Six days later, the committee also rejected the Butler bill. Caught in the middle between its judiciary committee and the House, the full Senate vacillated. First, it considered a move to kill the Butler bill outright, then it adopted a motion to schedule the legislation for an expedited vote. Finally, it sent both antievolution bills back to the judiciary committee for reconsideration during a month-long legislative recess that began in mid-February.
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This provided time for antievolutionists to counterattack. They made the most of their opportunity.
“As near as we can judge,” one reader wrote to the
Nashville Banner
in early February 1925, “the house of representatives has passed the bill ... , the senate judiciary committee has recommended the bill for rejection ... , and the forum has thus far been monopolized by those who oppose the bill. It is time something was said for the other side.”
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This writer, and dozens of other antievolutionists who sent letters to the editors of Tennessee newspapers in support of the Butler bill, displayed an understanding and acceptance of Bryan’s basic argument that the majority should oversee the content of public school instruction, at least with respect to the teaching of “unproven” theories that profoundly influenced social and spiritual values.
These public letters raised familiar issues. “Why should Christians and other good citizens be taxed to support the groundless guesses of infidels, which are being taught under the pretense of scientific discovery?” one asked.
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“No one is opposed to research or the word evolution, but ninety-nine per cent of the people of the United States oppose the objectionable teaching that man ... evolved from some sort of lower animal life,” another protested. “If the public is opposed to such teaching it is their inalienable right through the lawmakers to pass a law prohibiting such teaching in schools supported by taxation.”
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Many of these letters were written by women, such as the one asking, “What are mothers to do when unwise education makes boys lose confidence in the home, the Bible, the government and all law?”
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Such letters expressed the sentiments of many Tennesseans and called for action by the Senate. “I glory in our so-called ignorant Legislature,” a self-professed fundamentalist wrote. “Would to God we had more Bryans and fewer Darwin advocates. I do hope that the Senate will concur with the House and pass our evolution act.”
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On the day that the full Senate voted to revive consideration of the Butler bill, Senator John Shelton sought Bryan’s help. “I am writing to know just what form of legislation you would suggest,” Shelton inquired. “Other members have asked me to write you for suggestions before the matter comes up for final passage.” The Senate sponsor of the legislation then invited Bryan to address a joint session of the legislature following the upcoming recess.
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Bryan declined this invitation but offered one suggestion on the bill. “The special thing that I want to suggest is that it is better not to have a penalty,” he advised. “In the first place, our opponents, not being able to oppose the measure on its merits, are always trying to find something that will divert attention, and the penalty furnishes the excuse.... The second reason is that we are dealing with an educated class that is supposed to respect the law.”
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With no penalty, of course, there would be no martyrs to the cause of freedom—and no Scopes trial—simply obstinate schoolteachers flaunting the public will. Bryan could foresee the public relations impact of both courses. On the brink of victory, however, Tennessee crusaders ignored his words of caution.
Two other national fundamentalist leaders did appear on the scene at this time, Billy Sunday and J. Frank Norris—with Sunday having the greater impact. Norris, Riley, and Bryan could preach to the converted and mobilize conservative Protestants into a fighting force; Bryan also could mesmerize a political audience; but no fundamentalist of the twenties could match Sunday’s ability to draw a crowd and win converts. A Billy Sunday crusade would hit a town like the arrival of the Ringling Bros. Circus, with Sunday performing in all three rings at once. The former Chicago Cubs outfielder would preach and pray, sing and shout, and leap across the stage delivering rapid-fire sermons before huge audiences.
During February 1925, Sunday broke his custom of spacing his appearances by returning to Memphis for a second crusade in as many years. An opening night audience of more than five thousand heard him proclaim “a star of glory to the Tennessee legislature, or that part of it involved, for its action against that God forsaken gang of evolutionary cutthroats.” The crowds grew as the eighteen-day crusade continued, with Sunday regularly denouncing, as he repeatedly described it, “the old bastard theory of evolution.” He damned Darwin as an “infidel” on one occasion and shouted, “To Hell with the Modernists,” on another, but reserved a special scorn for teachers of evolution. “Education today is chained to the devil’s throne,” Sunday proclaimed in one typical staccato outburst. “Teaching evolution. Teaching about prehistoric man. No such thing as pre-historic man.... Pre-historic man. Pre-historic man,” at which point, the
Commercial Appeal
reported, “Mr. Sunday gagged as if about to vomit.” Any deeper issues regarding the social and spiritual implications of naturalistic evolution were lost in a superficial plea for biblical literalism. Indeed, one local journalist described Sunday’s Memphis crusade as “the most condemnatory, bombastic, ironic and elemental flaying of a principle or a belief that [he] ever heard in his limited lifetime and career from drunken fist fights to the halls of congress.”
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“All kinds, varieties, and species came out to hear Sunday,” wrote the
Commercial Appeal,
which gave daily, front-page coverage to the event. Thousands attended Men’s Night, where males could freely show their emotion out of the sight of women. Even more turned out for Ladies’ Night. The newspaper reported that “15,000 black and tan and brown and radiant faces glowed with God’s glory” on Negro Night. An equal number of “Kluxers”—some wearing their robes and masks—turned out for the unofficial Klan Night. Special trains and buses brought people from all over Tennessee. Many legislators appeared on one or more occasions. Total attendance figures topped 200,000 people, which represented one-tenth of the state’s population.
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By the time Sunday left and Norris arrived, on the eve of the Senate vote, Tennessee fundamentalists were fully aroused. Compared to Sunday’s bombast, Norris’s suggestion that the evolution teacher “has his hands dripping with innocent blood” sounded downright conciliatory. At least Norris spoke in complete sentences. “Tennessee has before her citizens a bill which aims at the teaching of evolution in the schools,” he observed. “I sincerely hope that Tennessee will be the first state to [do so] by enactment of her legislature.”
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Norris’s hope by this time was the people’s will and the legislature’s intent. On March II, at its first meeting following the legislative recess, 50 the Senate judiciary committee approved the Butler bill without amendment. Ten days later, the full Senate concurred by a vote of twenty-four to six, and sent the bill directly to Governor Peay for his signature. The scant opposition was scattered among senators from rural and urban districts from both political parties, without any apparent pattern other than personal conviction.
The Senate vote followed a spirited, three-hour floor debate in which proponents stressed majority rule and the religious faith of schoolchildren. Speaker of the Senate L. D. Hill, a devout Campbellite Christian who represented Dayton in the upper house, set the tone. At the outset, he barred consideration of an amendment designed to ridicule the legislation by additionally outlawing instruction in the round-earth theory. He then stepped down from the Speaker’s chair to give an impassioned plea for the bill. “I say it is unfair that the children of Tennessee who believe in the Bible literally should be taught things contrary to that belief in the public schools maintained by their parents,” the Speaker declared. “If you take these young tender children from their parents by the compulsory school law and teach them this stuff about man originating from some protoplasm or one-cell matter or lower form of life, they will never believe the Bible story of divine creation.” Senate antievolution bill sponsor John Shelton added that taxpayers “who believe in the divine creation of man should not be compelled to help support schools in which the theory of evolution is taught.” One reluctant supporter justified his vote “on the ground that an overwhelming majority of the people of the state disbelieve in the evolution theory and do not want it taught to their children.” A more enthusiastic proponent estimated that this majority included “95 percent of the people of Tennessee.”
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