The Year of the Monkey

Lauren Roberts

It must be awful to dedicate a considerable portion of your professional life to justice and ethics only to have history constrict it to a single, small piece of misjudgment that forever after defines you in the history books. Naturally I am not referring to Richard Nixon, who remained unacquainted with ethics to the day of his death and deserves his bastardized fate, but about William Jennings Bryan, three-time presidential candidate, political and social progressive, and best known for his fiery participation in one of the most famous trials of the twentieth century.

Born in 1860 as the son of a Baptist preacher, Bryan grew up in Salem, Illinois. He dreamed of following in his father’s footsteps and would have done so had he not feared water (baptism immersions were common), and he became a Presbyterian at the age of 14. Bryan enjoyed both books and outdoor sports, but it was in college that he gained his oratory skills for which he would be known throughout his life. After college, he entered law school, and later moved with his wife to the place he believed held opportunity, Nebraska.

He was right. Three years after they settled there, in 1890, Bryan, known as “the Boy Orator of the Platte,” launched his political career and became the first Democratic congressman in Nebraska’s twenty years of statehood. He served two terms in Congress, then became editor of the Omaha World-Herald, a platform he used to create a lecture circuit for the promotion of populist ideas. 

In 1896, Bryan gave the first of his great speeches which became known as the “Cross of Gold” speech. He argued that the dollar should be backed by more plentiful silver rather than gold at the Democratic National Convention. The ending—a rousing, electrifying one that produced enthusiastic applause for 30 minutes—ended thusly: “You shall not press down upon the brow of labor this crown of thorns; you shall not crucify mankind upon a cross of gold.” His first nomination for president followed. Though he lost that election to William McKinley, it was close: 47 percent of the vote was for him.

Twice again, in 1900 and 1908, he was the Democratic nominee for president. “The Great Commoner,” as he was known, campaigned on issues of anti-imperialism, consumer protection, regulation of trusts and campaign finance reform. Though he lost both of those elections as well, his influence over the Democratic Party was substantial, and its focus turned to blue-collar workers, farmers and minorities. When the Democrats won in 1912 with Woodrow Wilson, Bryan was named Secretary of State. But when Wilson moved the country away from its policy of isolationism and toward involvement in World War I, Bryan resigned. He profoundly disagreed with the decision and, freed of political considerations, he turned to social issues such as women’s suffrage and prohibition.

Probably the key to understanding Bryan is knowing that he saw no line between politics and religion. His values were faith-based as was his energetic pursuit of social reforms. He had a deep distrust of science and “scientific elites.” To Bryan, the soul was far more important than the brain. He had come to believe that science was responsible for what he viewed as the weakening of the country’s moral fiber, and the controversial theory of evolution came in for particular scrutiny. 

He had known about it, had “looked it over” at an early age and found it improbable. But since it was discussed almost exclusively in scientific circles, he paid it little attention. However, in the 1900s, the controversy entered the public school system. A book published in 1916 titled The Belief in God and Immortality claimed statistics showed that a college education eroded students’ religious beliefs. Bryan soon became convinced that evolution presented a real and present danger to the country’s moral health. By 1920, he was calling it “the most paralyzing influence with which civilization has had to contend during the last century.” And in 1921, he published a pamphlet entitled, The Menace of Darwinism,” in which he wrote: “Under the pretense of teaching science, instructors who draw their salaries from the public treasury are undermining the religious faith of students by substituting belief in Darwinism for belief in the Bible . . . The tendency of Darwinianism, although unsupported by any substantial fact in nature, since no species has been shown to come from any other species, is to destroy faith in a personal God, faith in the Bible as an inspired Book, and faith in Christ as Son and Saviour.”

The man known as The Great Commoner found a thread with small-town America where religious values were strong, and that thread grew stronger. His oratory skills and ear for a phrase—“When I want to read fiction, I don’t turn to Arabian Nights. I turn to works of biology; I like my fiction wild.”—brought him support in his new campaign to ban the teaching of evolution in public schools.

By 1923, Bryan had begun focusing his efforts on state legislation, and in early 1925, he traveled to Tennessee where he spoke on the topic, “Is the Bible True?” Within days, legislation was introduced there prohibiting instruction on the subject of evolution in state schools. That legislation read in part: That it shall be unlawful for any teacher in any of the Universities, Normals and all other public schools of the State which are supported in whole or in part by the public school funds of the State, to teach any theory that denies the story of the Divine Creation of man as taught in the Bible, and to teach instead that man has descended from a lower order of animals.

On May 7, 1925, John Scopes, a schoolteacher was arrested for using George W. Hunter’s A Civic Biology in the classroom. Five days later, Bryan was invited to become part of the prosecution. Despite not having been in a courtroom for 30 years, he agreed for he believed the real issue to be “the right of the people speaking through the legislature, to control the schools which they create and support.”

Bryan arrived Dayton two months later on Tuesday, July 7 prepared to fight for a “righteous cause.” Three hundred people enthusiastically greeted him as he as stepped down from the last car of the train. The New York Times wrote that Bryan “is more than a great politician, more than a lawyer on trial, more even than one of our greatest orators, he is a symbol of their simple religious faith.” Bryan had come to the right place.

It seems an odd thing for a man who was politically and socially progressive, indeed, ahead of his time in many ways, to be so religiously conservative. But according to biographer Lawrence Levine, “Bryan always mixed religion and politics. He couldn’t conceive of one without the other because religion to him was the basis of politics. Without religion there could be no desire to change in a positive way.”

“Evolution is the merciless law by which the strong crowd out and kill off the weak,” Bryan himself said, and he believed that the Bible countered this with “the law of love.”

The trial lasted eight days. Well-known reporter H.L. Mencken had a field day with “The Monkey Trial” as he termed it. His daily reports were devastating in describing the trial, the town and especially Bryan.

July 10
The town boomers have banqueted Darrow as well as Bryan, but there is no mistaking which of the two has the crowd . . . Bryan has been oozing around the country since his first day here, addressing this organization and that, presenting the indubitable Word of God in his caressing, ingratiating way, and so making unanimity doubly unanimous.

July 13
 It would be hard to imagine a more moral town than Dayton. If it has any bootleggers, no visitor has heard of them. Ten minutes after I arrived a leading citizen offered me a drink made up half of white mule and half of coca cola, but he seems to have been simply indulging himself in a naughty gesture. No fancy woman has been seen in the town since the end of the McKinley administration. There is no gambling. There is no place to dance. The relatively wicked, when they would indulge themselves, go to Robinson's drug store and debate theology . . .

July 14
Bryan . . . has these hillbillies locked up in his pen and he knows it. His brand is on them. He is at home among them. Since his earliest days, indeed, his chief strength has been among the folk of remote hills and forlorn and lonely farms. Now with his political aspirations all gone to pot, he turns to them for religious consolations. They understand his peculiar imbecilities. His nonsense is their ideal of sense. When he deluges them with his theologic bilge they rejoice like pilgrims disporting in the river Jordan . . .

July 16
This old buzzard, having failed to raise the mob against its rulers, now prepares to raise it against its teachers. He can never be the peasants' President, but there is still a chance to be the peasants' Pope. He leads a new crusade, his bald head glistening, his face streaming with sweat, his chest heaving beneath his rumpled alpaca coat. One somehow pities him, despite his so palpable imbecilities. It is a tragedy, indeed, to begin life as a hero and to end it as a buffoon. But let no one, laughing at him, underestimate the magic that lies in his black, malignant eye, his frayed but still eloquent voice. He can shake and inflame these poor ignoramuses as no other man among us . . . In Tennessee he is drilling his army. The big battles, he believes, will be fought elsewhere.

Bryan spent the first four days listening and waving a large palm-leaf fan to ward off the heat of a southern summer. He finally broke his prolonged silence when debate began on the question of whether the defense could present expert witnesses to testify about evolution or Biblical interpretation. So much was his speech anticipated that the judge warned spectators that too much applause might cause structural damage to the building. 

Bryan began by describing the question of whether the defense would be allowed expert witnesses as “the broadest question that will possibly arise” in the trial.  The law is straightforward, Bryan insisted, and nothing experts could say would be relevant to the guilt or innocence of John Scopes. With that he turned to an attack on “the absurdities” of Darwin, often addressing the audience rather than the court. “The Bible is not going to be driven out of this court by experts,” he declared.

It was the seventh day of the trial when Bryan made his biggest mistake. Opposing attorney Clarence Darrow called him to the stand as an expert witness on the Bible. The move was absurd, but Bryan seized it. Undoubtedly he felt his oratorical skills and firm beliefs would enable him to “make” his case. But Darrow was an equal match and equally firm in his convictions that religion did not belong in the public schools. When Darrow’s questions flew at him—When exactly was the earth created? How many days did it take? Where did Cain get his wife?—Bryan found himself in trouble.

“No greater contrast in men could be imagined,” Mencken wrote. “The traps of logic fell from Mr. Darrow's lips as innocently as the words of a child, and so long as Mr. Bryan could parry them he smiled back, but when one stumped him he took refuge in his faith and either refused to answer directly or said in effect: ‘The Bible states it; it must be so.’”

The judge tried to stop the grilling, but Bryan indignantly refused to step down: “I am simply trying to protect the word of God against the greatest atheist or agnostic in the United States!” Perhaps biographer Levine said it best when he wrote of Bryan, “His literal acceptance of the Bible did not lead to his rejection of evolution so much his rejection of evolution led to his willingness to accept literally certain portions of the Bible.” 

Though legally he won the trial—John Scopes was convicted—Bryan ultimately lost. He died in his sleep a mere five days later, his diabetes, the stifling heat of the courtroom and the relentless battering by the press having taken their toll. He was widely mourned (though not by everyone), and given a burial in Arlington National Cemetery. Though it probably cost him several years of his life, the decision had been an easy one for Bryan. Given a choice, he said, “I would rather begin with God and reason down than begin with a piece of dirt and reason up.” 
 
Note: It was primarily Bryan’s oratorical skills that made him so successful. If you want to experience it for yourself, you can listen to early recordings.

Bookmark specifications: For President: Wm. J. Bryan
Dimensions: 6” x 2”
Material: Silk
Manufacturer: Unknown
Date: Circa 1900-1908
Acquired: eBay


Almost since her childhood days of Mother Goose, Lauren has been giving her opinion on books to anyone who will listen. That “talent” eventually took her out of magazine writing and into book reviewing in 2000 for an online review site where she cut her teeth (as well as a few authors). Stints as book editor for her local newspaper and contributing editor to Booklist and Bookmarks magazines has reinforced her belief that she has interesting things to say about books. Lauren shares her home with several significant others including three cats, nearly 1,300 bookmarks and approximately 1,200 books that, whether previously read or not, constitute her to-be-read stack. She is a member of the National Books Critics Circle (NBCC) as well as a longtime book design judge for Publishers Marketing Association’s Benjamin Franklin Awards. Contact Lauren.