Bryan did not object to evolution in general. In fact, much like Glenn Wilson and others in Aiken who support his cause, he welcomed the idea as "theory." But he saw in it two issues consistent with his defense of the downtrodden masses, two issues which resonate deeply with twenty-first century America. For one, he believed that the insistence of the evolutionists on inserting their arguments into the American education system was patently undemocratic. "The real issue is not what can be taught in public schools, but who shall control the education system," he said. "The hand that writes the check rules the school." Bryan's other objection was a far graver issue: the acceptance of evolution as fact was dangerous for its doctrine of natural selection and the "survival of the fittest" invited a belief in eugenics, defended predatory business practices, and even justified war.

The enthusiasm for science at the turn of the century had indeed spawned a movement that advocated applying rational control over the reproductive process and hence the very path of evolution. After all, if everything else was being improved by science, why not the human species itself? "We stand on the brink of an evolutionary epoch whose limits no man can possibly foretell," pronounced Ellsworth Huntington, a professor at Yale and the president of the American Eugenics Society, " .consciously and purposefully [selecting] the types of human beings that will survive."

Racism was an implicit theme in the eugenics movement, whose members spoke derisively of the "fecundity of mediocrity" and advocated enforced sterilization of the mentally retarded. But so, interestingly, was morality. Science could be used to erase all the flaws of the human species, the eugenicists claimed, allowing for the perfectibility of man, and the true path to righteousness. "Had Jesus been among us," claimed Albert E. Wiggam, a eugenicist and author, "he would have been the president of the First Eugenics Congress."

Evolution had been taught in Tennessee's schools for some time, and without challenge, when the state legislature, in January 1925 went beyond Bryan and considered a bill that would actually declare a prohibition upon "the teaching of any theory that denied the biblical story of creation or the theory that human beings had descended from a lower order of animal." But Bryan had made the subject such a touchstone for argument nationwide and such a folk movement had built up around it, the people rallying to his side now saw the issue as "them" or "us." Ten times as many children were attending high school in 1920 as in 1890; five times more than 1910. The Tennessee law was passed by a margin of four to one to protect them from the intellectuals, the specialists, the urbanites. "Save our children for God," shouted one Tennessee senator.

[S]eventy five years later some of the same themes that inspired Bryan to defend the Tennessee statute banning the teaching of evolution have emerged in the discussions over research in genetics.

"What worries me most," says Alan Roberts, a physician and author of the ethics curriculum at the Medical College of Georgia, across the Savannah River from Aiken, "is that our ethics have not caught up with our technology." He is waving a copy of the standards of the American Medical Association, which he considers to be hopelessly outdated; then again, what isn't in a world where in just a few years the speed of research has put us face to face with the awesome responsibility inherent in changing human nature itself?

The "old" eugenics was Hitler, says Roberts. He describes the syphilis experiments the American government conducted on blacks at Tuskegee in the 1930s and the involuntary sterilization of the mentally retarded authorized by statutes in twenty-some states until the 1940s as examples of America's own abuse of its citizens' rights. Roberts acknowledges that American society has moved away from such practices. "I think the Nuremberg Trials and the [awareness of the] Holocaust were the beginning of the change," he says.

But he sees a "new" eugenics coming, in the willingness to allow parents to choose the eye color of their baby, to advertise for an egg donor with "good soccer skills" and the host of challenging questions raised by gene therapy. On the one hand, gene manipulation offers the opportunity to wipe out disease; on the other, it could meddle with the human condition. We now have the power to identify fetuses with birth defects in time to permit women to decide to abort them, and, as time passes, we will be able to know more and more about the genetic makeup of an emerging child, in effect allowing for what the eugenicists of the twenties dreamed of, control over the evolutionary process itself.

It was a misty evening in early January, 2001 when Glenn Leonard Wilson drove the two miles from his house to the administrative offices of the Aiken Public Schools for yet another meeting of the Aiken County school board. As he passed the Shoney's and the McDonald's, the Target store and the Aiken Mall, Wilson recited his speech to himself, wondering which flourish he might employ this time. Then, upon arriving, he took a seat in the front row and listened quietly as Chairman Bradley called the meeting to order.

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