Private Schools Are Only for Bad People

Send your kids to your local public school.  Even if the school sucks.  Even if it won’t teach your child anything but how to get drunk.  Even if you have better options.

That is the provocative manifesto offered recently by Slate editor Allison Benedikt.

If you follow the latest, you’ve probably seen it by now.  Since I can’t keep up, I didn’t hear about it until this morning, and then only from the heated reaction it sparked among conservative commentators such as Ross Douthat, Erick Erickson, and Rod Dreher.

Benedikt’s diatribe was meant to poke the conservative bear.  She opens with the bear-poking line, “You are a bad person if you send your children to private school.”

Her argument, in a nutshell, is this: only if all parents send their kids to their local public schools will those schools improve.  If you send your kid to a private school, you are hurting everyone for the sake of your own perceived benefit.  Ipso facto, you are a bad person.

She proudly proclaims that she went to crappy schools and turned out okay.  She didn’t learn anything about history, literature, science, or math, but she did get drunk behind the bleachers with kids from different social backgrounds.

In fact, she promises that your children will do fine in bad public schools, if you are the sort of person who cares enough to pull your kids out of public schools.

Predictably, conservatives couldn’t resist such low-hanging ideological fruit.

Rod Dreher proclaimed, “This is one of those things that only a left-wing ideologue can possibly believe.”

Ross Douthat tweeted, “Everything for the state, nothing outside the state, nothing against the state.”

Erick Erickson twisted the knife, declaring that Benedikt only holds this outlandish position because her husband told her to.

But Benedikt’s position, minus the blogosphere-riling rhetoric, is nothing new or strange.  Indeed, for anyone who has studied the history of American education, even at a public school, Benedikt’s call for full enrollment in public education sounds traditional, even boring.

It was Horace Mann, after all, in the years before the Civil War, who midwived our system of public education.  In those years, our notions of “public” and “private” had not yet taken hold.  Parents or sponsors paid out of pocket for most formal education.  Those schools that required no tuition were commonly known as “charity” schools, fit only for the lowest class.

Mann realized that tax-funded education could only work if it received the endorsement, and the children, of the emerging affluent business classes.  This is why he made a powerful two-pronged appeal.  First, Mann argued that tax funds must be used to pay for tuition-free education, an education available to all.  Second, he argued that everyone should send their children to these schools.  These would not be “charity” schools, Mann argued.  They would not be “church” schools, or “dame” schools.  In today’s lingo, he would have insisted that these would not be “government” schools.  Rather, the name Mann promoted was the name Benedikt and other commentators would use for generations, even centuries: Public Schools.

Benedikt’s essay is intentionally provocative.  But its central idea is as old as American public education itself.  Our public schools can only function if they have the full-throated support of the public.  That support, as Mann argued and as Benedikt repeats, will come most easily if everyone sends their children.

 

Required Reading: Christian Jihadis and Presbyterian Ayatollahs

The Christian terrorists are coming for you.

That has long been the hysterical message about “dominionism” present in American media and even academic writing.  But is it true?

In an illuminating recent article in the Journal of Religion and Popular Culture, Michael J. McVicar analyzes the ways “dominionism” has been used as a rhetorical cudgel over the past thirty years.

Though McVicar specifies he’s not trying to offer an authoritative biography of dominionism, nor a prescription for handling dominionism, his article still offers a helpful guide to the ways this bogey has developed, among evangelical Protestants and among the broader culture.

As McVicar recounts, in the 2012 presidential primaries accusations of “dominionism’s” influence flew fast and furious.  Michele Bachmann and Rick Perry in particular stood accused of close ties to dominionism.  For many in the media, that implied a vague sort of theological imperialism, a desire to impose religious strictures on American public life.

McVicar traces the talk about “dominionism” back to criticism by evangelical writers in the 1980s of two Christian movements, Rousas J. Rushdoony’s Christian Reconstruction movement and Earl Paulk Jr.’s Kingdom Now movement.  Leading evangelical authors insisted that such movements did not and could not represent mainstream evangelical theology.

Most important, McVicar argues, these evangelical criticisms served to propagate the labels “dominionism” and “dominion theology.”

Soon, writers outside of evangelical circles appropriated evangelical critiques.  In the late 1980s and early 1990s, McVicar writes, secular critics “appropriated much of the evangelical press’s criticism of dominion theology while simultaneously reframing it within the discourses of political progressivism and cultural pluralism.”

Soon, McVicar argues, scholar/activists such as Sara Diamond popularized a caricature of dominionism as the “central unifying ideology for the Christian Right.”

Much of the treatment of “dominionism” in these journalistic and academic treatments has contributed to a frenzy over the connections between conservative Christianity in America and violent, militant religion in other parts of the globe.  For some, “dominionism” serves as proof that all conservative Christians secretly want to take over secular institutions.  For others, “dominionism” is nothing but a bogey of progressive nightmares.

McVicar pushes a more subtle line.  There is such a thing as dominionism, he avers.  However, talk about dominionism usually tells us more about the speaker than about the subject.  Evangelical critics have defined dominionism out of bounds for evangelical belief.  Secular and progressive critics have defined dominionism out of bounds for civil American culture and politics.

Of course, as regular readers of ILYBYGTH are keenly aware, these issues of definition and boundary construction are central to school politics.  I’ve argued in these pages that anti-dominionist rhetoric is more often a blunt instrument than a real effort to shape policy.  If conservatives want to establish schools that include prayer or Bible reading, for example, critics can accuse them of anti-American “dominionism.”  If conservatives want to restrict the teaching of evolution or of sexual information, critics can accuse them of creeping “dominionism.”

Such talk doesn’t help make better schools.  But understanding this kind of talk and the way it has developed historically does promise to help us understand how American education really works.

McVicar’s website tells us that he is working on developing these arguments in a book under contract with the University of North Carolina Press.

We’ll look forward to it.

Further reading: Michael J. McVicar, “‘Let Them Have Dominion:’ ‘Dominion Theology’ and the Construction of Religious Extremism in the US Media,” Journal of Religion and Popular Culture 25.1 (Spring 2013): pp. 120-145.

 

 

Beware: “Government Schools”

What’s the difference between a “government school” and a “public school?”

It seems a “government school” is one calculated to impose a sinister ideology of sloth, poor manners, high spending, and bestial morality on its students.

At least, that’s what reading today’s conservative headlines would lead one to believe.

Anyone who browses certain conservative writers and activists will soon notice this ubiquitous usage.  Again and again, we read about “government schools” instead of about “public schools.”

For example, pundit James Ostrowski warns readers to pull their children out of “government schools.”  There’s nothing more important if readers want to “save America, not to mention your own kids.  Government schools,” Ostrowksi warns,

Were not established out of any dire need for them but rather for a variety of crass religious, political and economic motives.  They were not immaculately conceived but rather were born out of a toxic stew of religious absolutism, Prussian militarism, utopian socialist leveling, special interest greed and power lust.

It is not only the history of “government schools” that troubles Ostrowski.  Today’s government schools, he insists, are “loaded with crime, bullying, drugs and sexual promiscuity.  They indoctrinate students into a false view of American history, one that is invariably favorable to ever-expanding government.”

Ostrowski’s jeremiad may sound far-fetched to some readers, but his strident anti-public-school-ism is widely shared among conservative commentators.

“Government schools” force students to act like slaves, we read.

“Government schools” expose children to drugs, sex, and even early deaths, we read.

It seems the phrase “public school” still retains too many positive connotations to suit the taste of some commentators.  In order to convince readers of the terrors of public education, many conservative activists seem to have adopted the label “government schools” instead.  With this flip of a rhetorical switch, those innocent red schoolhouses on the hill have been replaced by gloomy outposts of centralizing overreach.  “Government” schools carry all the terrifying baggage among some conservatives of any other government program.  If schools are outposts of the government, then they must be outposts of the regime to strip Americans of their traditional religion, their ferocious independence, and their hard-earned tax money.

I’ve been intrigued by this common rhetorical switch among conservatives lately.  It is a powerful yet simple change.  After all, no one can gainsay the fact that public schools are, indeed, government institutions.  But if we think of them as “public,” they seem to belong to us all.  If we think of them as the “government,” then we can rally Tea Party angst and energy to reject them.

The historian in me grew curious to track back this change in conservative school talk.  I looked back through all my overstuffed files and reading notes.

The earliest usage I could find traced back to the influential conservative pundit Sam Blumenfeld.  Blumenfeld wielded significant influence in the 1980s.  My research in the National Archives revealed that Blumenfeld’s work was promoted by the highest levels of William J. Bennett’s Education Department.

It was Blumenfeld that offered the earliest example I could uncover of calling public schools “government” schools.

In his 1981 book Is Public Education Necessary?  Blumenfeld warned that public schools did not live up to their own positive reputation.  Public schools did not work to promote democracy.  They did not function as religious and ideologically neutral institutions.  They did not wisely use public money.  They did not hire quality teachers.  In short, public schools, Blumenfeld argued, did not deserve their unassailed reputation as necessary governmental institutions.

In effect, Blumenfeld insisted, a student going to public school “emerges indoctrinated in a body of secular values as if he had gone to a sort of government parochial school.”

Now, I’m not suggesting that today’s conservative pundits are all deriving their use of the term “government school” directly from Sam Blumenfeld.  But his use was the earliest I could find.  My hunch is that Blumenfeld’s considerable influence among conservative educational activists did a great deal to promote the term’s widespread popularity today.

 

 

Decadence and the Fall of American Public Education

Things today ain’t as good as when I was young.

That’s the central notion, the vaguely articulated impulse, the often-unexamined presumption behind a good deal of conservative educational rhetoric.  Schooling these days has declined from glory days of the past.

In an essay in The American Interest, Charles Hill warns of the real consequence of decadence in American life.

As Hill notes, the idea of civilizational decline and fall is an old one.  Yet Hill insists that it retains explanatory power; Hill makes the case that twenty-first century America is sliding into a dizzying downward spiral.  Everything from technologically induced “screen culture” to awkward proletarianization of elites can be better understood as part of a lamentable decadence.

As Hill concludes,

Around the turn of the 19th to the 20th century, “decadence” arose as a romantically thrilling elitist fashion, providing a “sweet spot” in which a privileged, self-selected class could revel in dissolute practices while applauding their own cultural superiority. At the turn of the 20th to the 21st century something akin has emerged—call it a democratized form of decadence—among a far wider swath of the population, with the support of government and approbation of the cultural elite. Many observers have gazed upon such phenomena, then and now, and have seen mainly the sources of shifts in the art world. We move from the 1913 New York Armory Exhibition to mainstreaming of “street art” a century later rather effortlessly. But if what is at stake is world order, with national character and identity as its foundation stone, and democracy as the procedurally and practically most efficacious political form, then the fate of the art world may be the least of our concerns.

The essay is worth reading in its entirety.

Of particular interest here are its implications for American education.  Hill makes a few points about this himself.  For one thing, he notices the disturbing intellectual ramifications of “screen culture” especially among the young.  A generation accustomed to viewing people on computers, tablets, TVs, and phones, able to view without being viewed, Hill argues, adds a “new dimension” to old ideas about decadence.  Weaned on screen culture, Hill says, young people “can become oblivious to others.”

In a nuts-and-bolts way, Hill notes the way our current decadence has squeezed out learning in favor of training.

Of more consequence than the specific educational ramifications argued by Hill is the sense of decline Hill articulates.

As I’ve argued elsewhere, it is nearly impossible to understand the conservative impulse in American educational thought and activism without grasping the power of the idea of decadence.  Leading conservative intellectuals—even ones from very different backgrounds—have all grounded their educational philosophy on a notion that the educational system in the United States has ground down in a systematic pattern of decline.

In his landmark work Capitalism and Freedom, for example, free-market theorist Milton Friedman insisted that American public education entered a noticeable period of decline after the American Civil War when the government “gradually” (page 85) stumbled into the near-total “‘nationalization,’ as it were, of the bulk of the ‘education industry’”(page 89).

Conservative education leader Max Rafferty agreed about the decadence, but argued for a different time and cause.  The problem really began, Rafferty believed, in the 1930s, when “Dewey-eyed” reformers injected a deeply flawed notion of education into the American cultural bloodstream.  Instead of learning heroic truths and facing moral challenges, students in post-1930 “life-adjustment” classrooms only learned to revel in their own inability to determine right from wrong.  Such decadent teaching and learning, Rafferty argued in his 1963 book Suffer, Little Children, produced a weak generation, unable to combat the existential threat from “a race of faceless, godless peasants from the steppes of Asia [that] strives to reach across our bodies for the prize of world dominion.”

Though he viewed the goals of education very differently from Rafferty and Friedman, creationist leader Henry Morris agreed that public education had declined dramatically.  The root of the problem, Morris argued in his 1989 book The Long War Against God, lay in a one-two punch of Unitarianism and secularism.  The first blow had come in 1869, when Unitarians took over Harvard University.  Their example led American education away from its roots in what Morris considered to be authentic Christianity (pages 46-47).  The second decisive weakening came later, with John Dewey’s rising influence in public education.  That influence, Morris argued, led public schools away from religion into a markedly anti-religious humanism.

These examples could be multiplied nearly endlessly.  William J. Bennett, for instance, has argued with his Index of Leading Cultural Indicators that American culture as a whole—especially including its public schools—has declined terrifyingly since 1960.

It is taken as an article of faith among many conservative educational thinkers and activists that education today is worse than it has been.

This is more than the common griping about “kids these days.”  This is more than the old story about how when I was young I had to walk to school barefoot, through ten feet of snow, uphill both ways.

To understand conservative thinking about education, we have to understand this assumption of decadence.  Not many activists articulate this sentiment as clearly as the intellectuals described here.  Not many offer the careful examination of the meanings of decadence expressed by Charles Hill’s recent essay.

But behind many of the policies promoted by educational conservatives lurks this ubiquitous sentiment: things today are worse than they have been in the past.  Schools today are worse than they have been in the past.

 

Life, the Universe, and Nothing

Why is there something rather than nothing?

Is it reasonable to believe there is a God?

Has science buried God?

The Australian City Bible Forum recently posted two video discussions about these questions between prominent science-atheist Lawrence Krauss and religious apologist William Lane Craig.

What they didn’t discuss is what should be included in public schools.  Surprisingly, in the end it is the arguments of Lawrence Krauss that suggest a sort of intellectual dictatorship in science classes, a stern refusal to consider the claims of dissent, even when that dissent represents a majority opinion.  Of course, that is exactly the accusation made by leading creationists.  I don’t buy those creationist arguments, but I do want to understand why we can insist that creationist students learn science the way we define it.

The two veteran debaters did not engage in a formal debate on these timeless questions.  Rather, the City Bible Forum offered a “conversation” between the two speakers.  Each speaker had fifteen minutes to lay out his ideas.  Then the two were open to questions.

The moderator called for a “respectful, intelligent discussion.”  To that end, the evangelical organization invited moderators of very different backgrounds.  For the first discussion, the CBF asked TV journalist Scott Stephens.  For the third, a local atheist academic, Graham Oppy.

For those of us interested in understanding the conservative influence of evangelical religion in American public life, the discussions are worth listening to in their entirety.

Here at ILYBYGTH, I don’t really care very much about the nature of science or religion.  I don’t care very much about whether or not the universe was created ex nihilo.  I don’t care—as Craig and Krauss debate—whether or not an infinitely good God can cause the murder of Canaanite children.  Such things are interesting, but they only make up the background, IMHO, for the really interesting questions.  For me, the rubber only hits the road when we get to discussions about the ways these issues influence real life; the ways such ideas change policy in places such as public schools.

For example, the discussions can help illuminate one of the most stubborn mysteries of American public education.  To folks like me it remains endlessly surprising that so many Americans support the use of religion in public school.  As readers are aware, majorities of Americans support the inclusion of creationism in public-school science classes.  Americans also often support the notion that prayer and Bible reading can be parts of a public-school experience.

The wide-ranging discussion between Drs. Krauss and Craig sheds some light on this head-scratcher.  In the first conversation, “Has Science Buried God?” Professor Krauss acknowledges that religious belief is the default psychological state for most people.  Krauss agrees that “we all want to believe.”  Such desires, Krauss argued, only demonstrate our own intellectual weakness and laziness, our willingness to accept the simple in favor of the true.  “We have to work hard,” Krauss admonished, “to overcome that desire to believe.”

Not surprisingly, Dr. Craig disagreed. But more interesting to me is that even Professor Krauss conceded that most people will tend toward religious thinking.  Though Krauss repeated his accusation that teaching young children religious ideas amounted to “child abuse,” he still acknowledged that such ideas made the most sense to the most people.

If that is indeed the case, if most people will tend toward religious explanations of life, then it should come as no surprise that they want to teach such religious explanations to their children in public schools.

Indeed, for folks aware of the sometimes-ugly history of American education, Professor Krauss’ position raises some difficult questions.  For example, ought public schools impose ideas on children if those ideas are inimical to those children’s families?  In the 19th century, educational leaders often argued that the King James Version of the Bible must be read in every public school, in spite of the objections of Catholic leaders.  Since the Bible was the truth, these schoolmen reasoned, every child must be forced to hear it.

Such reasoning does not acknowledge the legitimacy of dissent.  It does not recognize the “public” nature of public education.  In order to include the entire community, authentic public education would have to recognize the legitimacy of the beliefs of the community.

Professor Krauss, no doubt, would protest that science classes must teach science, not religion.  But, as he should also acknowledge, the boundaries of science have at times been difficult to define.

If, as I do, we still want to insist that public schools teach evolutionary science and not creationism, we are left with the sticky question: Who decides what is “science”?  A majority of mainstream scientists?  That, I’m guessing, is how scientists like Professor Krauss would argue.

How will that majority opinion protect the legitimate views of dissenters?

And if we want to rely on majority opinion, what about the much larger popular majority that wants creationism taught as science?

Easy but Painful: Converting to Atheism

What would it mean for religious people to abandon their faith?

Yesterday we saw an example of this process from Jerry Coyne’s blog Why Evolution Is True.

As “Matthew” describes, leaving his conservative Christian faith was not very difficult.  But it was painful.  And it can teach us some important lessons about conservatism and education.

First, Matthew’s story confirms the fears of many young-earth creationist activists.  Folks at organizations such as Answers In Genesis and the Insitute for Creation Research have long argued that learning about evolution can (or will) lead to atheism.  According to Matthew, that was exactly his experience.  For Matthew, evolution was a “gateway” idea for rejecting Chrisitianity in toto.  For young-earth creationists, this must come as proof of long-held fears.  For evolution educators, this must demonstrate that young-earth creationists have a point when they lament the atheistic implications of evolutionary theory.

Also, Matthew’s story shows how difficult it will be to improve evolution education in the United States.  For many resistant students, as sensitive science-ed types such as Lee Meadows and David Long have pointed out, evolution is not just one idea among many.  Evolution is word that provokes profound cultural, psychological, theological, and even existential anxiety among some students.  As Matthew’s story demonstrates, only when a student from this background actively seeks an alternative way of understanding the world can such evolutionary theory take hold.

Finally, though, Matthew’s story shows how important evolution outreach efforts are.  Matthew started his odyssey away from conservative religion by browsing internet sites and podcasts.  The educational work of organizations such as the National Center for Science Education has been a leading source for such evolution content online.  Matthew’s story shows how important that work can be, even if it must seem frustrating at times.

 

It’s Your Own Fault

It’s your own fault if you’re bored this fall.

Binghamton University is hosting some events that will certainly be of interest to all ILYBYGTH readers.

For those in the area, there will be some great ways to think and discuss the possible meanings of American educational conservatism.

I’ll keep the list updated, but so far there are three talks of note.  All of them are free and open to the public.

1.) September 11, noon-1:30, IASH conference room, Library North 1106: Adam Laats, “‘Democracy’ and American Education, 1930-1960.”

Yours truly will be presenting some ideas from my current book about American educational conservatism in the twentieth century.  Specifically, I’ll be talking about the ways conservative activists in groups such as the American Legion framed “democracy” in strikingly different ways than did progressive educational thinkers such as John Dewey.  The talk will be part of the series of faculty fellows’ talks at Binghamton’s Institute for Advanced Studies in the Humanities.

2.) September 24, 5-6:15, specific topic TBA: Mario Rios Perez.

I’m not sure what he’ll be talking about, but Professor Perez (of Syracuse University) has done some great work with the history of schooling in Chicago.

3.) November 18, 5:00: Warren Douglas Allmon, “Creationism in 2013: Not in the Headlines but Never Far Away.”

Professor Allmon will be talking as part of the EVoS series of Monday seminars.  He is a paleontologist at Cornell, our neighbor to the north.  When I heard he was coming to our friendly campus, I looked up his sort-of recent article about the culture of creationism in Evolution: Education and Outreach.  In that article, Professor Allmon makes the powerful point that resistance to evolution is about more than just the knee-jerk “religion vs. science” clichés that we hear so often.  He argues that Americans’ resistance to evolution comes from five distinct categories.  As Allmon argues, “this multiplicity of causes is not sufficiently appreciated by many scientists, educators, and journalists, and the widespread rejection of evolution is a much more complicated problem than many of these front-line practitioners think it is.”

Hear hear!  Can’t wait to hear his talk in November.

Hope to see you there…

 

 

Creationist Rebels in the Classroom

How can we improve evolution education in this country?  Some suggest that new science standards will do the job.  Others suggest evolution educators need to get to creationists’ kids early.

Good ideas.

But there are also proud creationist teachers in schools, folks such as Daniel Brown.[*]  In a World Magazine article about the influence of intelligent-design workshops for teachers, Brown proclaimed,

When the culture tells me I’m not allowed to think outside the Darwinian box, it makes me want to think outside the Darwinian box.

Several teachers described their devotion to include creationism despite pressure to teach evolution.  Brown, for example,

avoids legal quicksand by teaching in a way that prompts students to do their own thinking. As a physics teacher, he doesn’t talk about biology, but introduces the concept of fine-tuning in the universe. For example, the Earth’s atmosphere blocks harmful radiation from the sun but is transparent to the visible light needed for photosynthesis. The Earth is an ideal distance from the sun to host liquid water, and our solar system is ideally placed to avoid dangerous radiation from the center of the galaxy. Brown ends such talks by suggesting to students, “It kind of makes you think!”

Another public-school teacher felt pressured to quit her job.  She told World Magazine she followed a “middle-of-the-road” path, but her principal accused her of infusing her classes with faith.  In the end, she took a less-than-perfect job at a Catholic school.  The school still taught evolution, but at least the teacher was allowed to praise the Lord in class.

So how can we push more and better evolution education into America’s classrooms?  It won’t hurt to have better standards.  It won’t hurt to expose more students to more science.  But we must start by acknowledging the durable and powerful cultural roots of creationism.

For instance, in spite of the tone of beleaguered victimhood of the World Magazine article, these teachers all received training and encouragement this summer at a workshop run by the intelligent-design focused Discovery Institute.  Such programs represent a continuing effort to prevent mainstream science from taking over America’s science classrooms.  Institutions such as the Discovery Institute will likely continue actively to promote various creationist ideas as good science.

Also, we also have to consider the stubborn effective resistance of creationist teachers themselves.  The teachers profiled by World Magazine did not simply stumble onto an intelligent-design dissent.  They eagerly sought out the aid of outside agencies in their continuing fight to promote creationism in their own classrooms.

 


[*] A pseudonym.

Jesus, Measles, and the Fight against Science

Does Jesus want your children to get measles?

A recent outbreak at a Texas mega-church highlights the tangled connections between faith, schooling, and science.

The fight against evolution gets all the headlines, but as this story shows, the connections between religion, education, and science can get a lot more convoluted.

As journalist Liz Szabo reported in Religion News Service, Eagle Mountain International Church in Newark, Texas, seems to be ground zero for a recent measles outbreak.  Twenty-five people in all have been sickened, fifteen of whom have direct connections to the church.

A visitor to the church from an unnamed country in which measles are common seems to have sparked the mini-demic.  Pastor Terri Parsons has warned of the connections between vaccinations and autism, a connection mainstream scientists have decisively pooh-poohed.  However, Pastor Parsons has also now encouraged members of the EMIC community to get vaccinated against measles.

According to the RNS story, the infected young people are all home-schooled and apparently unvaccinated.

So does Jesus want children to get measles?  Of course not.

But skepticism runs deep among conservative Christians.  In this case, conservatives did not trust mainstream science’s claims that immunizations were a good idea.  Nor did they trust the state board of education enough to agree that all children of a certain age must get the measles vaccine.

 

An Age of Denial—of History

Attention, fellow followers of the evolution/creationism controversies!  Want to read

  • Hysterical exaggerations?
  • Misleading claims?
  • Willful ignorance?

Then look no further than the pages of the New York Times.

These aren’t the ravings of a fringe Bible-thumping creationist, nor are they the feverish exhalations of a Dawkins wannabe.
Rather, the New York Times recently ran a sadly mistaken opinion piece by physicist Adam Frank of the University of Rochester.

Professor Frank and I are on the same side of these debates.  We both want better evolution education in America’s schools at every level.
But Professor Frank engaged in some terrible punditry that even his allies must protest.  Frank made the tortuous claim that

Narrowly defined, “creationism” was a minor current in American thinking for much of the 20th century. But in the years since I was a student, a well-funded effort has skillfully rebranded that ideology as “creation science” and pushed it into classrooms across the country. Though transparently unscientific, denying evolution has become a litmus test for some conservative politicians, even at the highest levels.

Creationism is not Professor Frank’s only concern.  He also blasted America’s growing—or at least durable—disdain for climate-change science and vaccination science.  For those notions, Frank may have a point.  But his claims about creationism don’t pass the smell test.

Even on his own terms, Professor Frank muddles things.  He opens by acknowledging the fairly flat lines of American creationism illustrated by Gallup polls.  Since the 1980s, about 42-44% of respondents have agreed that God created humanity in pretty much its present form at some point in the last 10,000 years.

How, then, does it make any sense for Frank to conclude that his “professors’ generation [in the 1980s] could respond to silliness like creationism with head-scratching bemusement”?  Creationism in the 1980s was a roaring lion, pushing “two-theory” laws onto the books in states such as Arkansas.  Indeed, President Reagan swept into the White House based, in part, on his ardent support for creationism.

Frank’s personal experience with self-satisfied academic scientists in the 1980s who looked at creationism with “head-scratching bemusement” demonstrates the surprising cultural isolation of academic scientists more than it does any weakness of creationism in the 1980s.  As sociologist Elaine Howard Ecklund has argued, many scientists in elite academic settings these days show a surprising ignorance about conservative religion in America.  That may have been true of Frank’s teachers in the 1980s as well.  If they thought 1980s creationism posed no threat to mainstream science and science education, they certainly misunderstood the nature of American culture and politics.

More startling is Frank’s bizarre claim that creationism was a “minor current in American thinking for much of the 20th century.”  Such a statement reveals a breathtaking ignorance about the career of American creationism, indeed about American culture in general.

I don’t suggest that physicists such as Professor Frank need to take the time to read the excellent academic literature out there, such as Ron Numbers The Creationists, Michael Lienesch’s In the Beginning, or Jeffrey Moran’s American Genesis.  Though it wouldn’t hurt, especially if one is planning to spout off about the history of creationism in the pages of the New York Times.

But even if Frank only scanned through the Wikipedia entry on the Creation-Evolution Controversy, he would see that creationism has never been a “minor current.”  Creationism has always been embraced by leading figures; creationism has always had powerful political support.

So what could the good professor have been thinking?  How could an intelligent, informed commentator really believe that creationism has grown from inconsequential to insuperable between 1982 and today?

Perhaps Professor Frank believes that his claims are true if we look only at creationism “narrowly defined.”  That is, one could make the case that today’s sort of creationism did not exist for most of the 20th century.  This could hold some water.  After all, the sort of creationism we’re used to today is very different from that of the 1920s, 1930s, 1940s, and 1950s.  The 1961 publication of Morris and Whitcomb’s Genesis Flood heralded a new sort of creationist thought and belief.

If this is what Professor Frank meant, good for him.  But I don’t think it is.

After all, Frank does not claim that creationism has become powerful since the 1960s.  He seems to believe that creationism has escalated in political intensity since 1982.

Also, if he hopes to argue that creationism’s political power is stronger now than it has ever been, he can’t hide behind his faulty “narrow” definition of creationism.  In the first half of the 20th century, creationism—not the same creationism as today, but recognizably the same cultural and political impulse—ruled the ballot box in states across the country.  It did so far more powerfully than it has done since.

The claims of “early” creationism were far more strident than the claims of latter-day “creation scientists.”  Since the 1960s, most creationists have fought to include creationism alongside evolution in public-school science classes.  Earlier activists had much greater ambitions, hoping to ban evolution entirely.

So what can we make of Professor Frank’s anxious tut-tutting?

Frank’s misleading conclusions, I believe, result from a disturbing willingness to ignore the historical record and rely on flawed personal experience to make sweeping charges about the way America has changed over time.  The goal is to create a sense of hysteria, a sense that we are now approaching a crisis worse than any we have seen.

Such antics may make for good politics.  But they make for very bad policy-making.  Our thinking about creationism, education, and culture should be based on clear-heading thinking, not on false claims.

So, to set the record straight, let’s look at a few simple facts:

  • Is America in 2013 ferociously creationist?  Yes.
  • Do politicians truckle to creationists?  Yes.
  • Has America become more ferociously creationist since Professor Frank began his college career in 1982?  No.

It may be politically expedient to skew the history this way, but it doesn’t do justice to the facts.  In the end, this kind of misrepresentation hurts the cause of evolution education.  It depends on a false sense of crisis; it gives readers a misleading depiction of our current cultural situation.

America is not facing the strongest creationist surge in our history.  Education policy should not be based on hysterically misleading claims.  Rather, creationism today is powerful, just as it has been since before America landed on the moon, just as it has been since before America landed on Omaha Beach.

American creationism, in short, is not a sudden new challenge to mainstream science, but rather a durable tradition.  Science pundits such as Professor Frank must recognize this.