Summary: The curtain rises, revealing the area in and
around the Hillsboro Courthouse, during a summer (according to the stage
directions) "not too long ago." Thirteen-year-old Howard Blair is enjoying the
warm day, searching for worms with which to go fishing. He teases his friend,
twelve-year-old Melinda, "You was a worm once!"-an oversimplification of
a lesson Howard learned from his school teacher, Bertram Cates.
Cates is currently a prisoner in the local jail, awaiting
trial for teaching Charles Darwin's theory of evolution to his science class,
thus breaking a law passed by the state legislature. His girlfriend, Rachel
Brown-who also happens to be the daughter of the local minister-visits Cates,
urging him to recant his teaching, to "tell 'em it was all a joke." She is
afraid of the impending trial, in which no less a luminary than Matthew
Harrison Brady, "the biggest man in the country-next to the President,
maybe"-will be prosecuting Cates. Cates asks Rachel if she believes he has done
anything wrong. She doesn't directly answer his question, only stating that
what Cates did was illegal and that "[e]verybody says what [he] did is bad."
Cates responds that morality is not that simple. Rachel insists that, in Hillsboro, it is. After Rachel leaves, Mr. Meeker, the court's bailiff, asks Cates who
will be defending him. Cates does not know; he knows only that a "newspaper in Baltimore. [is] sending somebody."
Excitement builds in the town square as Brady's train draws
near. A festival atmosphere, perhaps reminiscent of an old-fashioned Fourth of
July celebration, develops, complete with religiously fervent banners ("Read
Your Bible," "Down With Darwin," "Save Our Schools From Sin," and the like) hot
dog hawkers, and lemonade vendors. Into the celebration wanders E. K. Hornbeck,
a journalist with the Baltimore Herald who views the goings-on with
amusement and mild derision. While Hornbeck makes jokes about an
organ-grinder's monkey who accepts coins-"How could you ask for better proof
than that? / There's the father of the human race!"-the Reverend
Jeremiah Brown organizes his "Bible League" into a chorus to welcome Brady as
he arrives, with his wife, Sarah. Brady warmly accepts the crowd of
townspeople's cheers and their rendition of "Gimme That Old-Time Religion"
before silencing them. The crowd falls under the spell of his great oratorical
skill as Brady frames the trial in Hillsboro as nothing less than a defense "of
that which is most precious in the hearts of all of us: the Living Truth of the
Scriptures!" A photo opportunity with local dignitaries follows, during which
the Mayor of Hillsboro, on the Governor's authority, proclaims Brady an
Honorary Colonel in the State Militia. Brady meets Tom Davenport, the circuit
district attorney, with whom he will be prosecuting Cates. He eagerly joins in
the great feast that the townsfolk have prepared, dismissing the concern voiced
by his wife, Sarah: "Remember, the doctor told you not to overeat."
When Brady refers to Cates as a "criminal" and a "heathen,"
Rachel leaps to Cates' defense. Brady takes Rachel aside to talk to her about
Cates. As they discuss the case, Hornbeck introduces himself to Mrs. Brady and
some of the townspeople. Hornbeck reveals that the Herald is supplying
Cates' defense attorney: Henry Drummond. Hornbeck takes great delight in
watching the locals' shock that Drummond, an agnostic, will be defending Cates.
Drummond has a reputation for defending known criminals-and for winning. One
resident tells of how, in a previous case, Drummond was "perverting the
evidence to cast the guilt away from the accused and onto you and me and all of
society." When Brady learns of Drummond's impending arrival, however, he
suggests that Hillsboro welcome, not shun, the celebrated attorney. After all,
he says, "If the enemy sends its Goliath into battle, it magnifies our cause."
Brady, at Sarah's prompting, retires for a nap after the
meal. Hornbeck, snacking on an apple, approaches Rachel. In his own poetic and
somewhat pretentious way, the reporter makes it clear to Rachel that he is on
Bert's side-"As much as a critic can be a friend to anyone," at least. He
explains that he has been chronicling Cates' case as a "sweet, sad song about
the Hillsboro heretic." Rachel reads Hornbeck's article, asking if it will be
published in the local paper. She believes it would sway public support for
Cates. Still, Rachel admits to Hornbeck that she is torn: while she would like
to believe Bert is a hero, as Hornbeck is painting the teacher out to be, she,
as a teacher herself, believes that all teachers, as servants of the state,
should abide by the state's positions. A teacher "should do what the law and
the school-board want him to." She views Brady as "the champion of ordinary
people," a view Hornbeck roundly and loudly rejects.
Night begins to fall. Despite the sunset, the heat
continues-symbolic of the "heat," or pressure of intense national scrutiny (as
represented by Hornbeck), under which the previously quiet town of Hillsboro now finds itself struggling (but, to a large extent, at its own instigation).
The organ-grinder and his monkey continue their performances; Melinda pays them
a penny. Then, she sees what the stage directions describe as a "long, ominous
shadow" approaching. A frightened Melinda, seeing the stooped figure who ambles
onstage, screams, "It's the Devil!" It is, however, Henry Drummond, whom
Hornbeck promptly greets: "Hello, Devil. Welcome to Hell."
Analysis: As Lawrence and Lee point out in their
brief prefatory remarks, Inherit the Wind is not, strictly speaking, a
dramatization of the 1925 "Scopes Monkey Trial." That incident was more complex
and complicated than the trial depicted in Inherit the Wind. In 1925,
the Tennessee General Assembly passed the "Butler Act," which legislated:
". it shall be unlawful for any
teacher in any of the. public schools 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."
In an effort to bring greater attention to their town, as
well as out of genuine dislike of the Butler Act, leading figures of Dayton, Tennessee, including a progressive Methodist preacher, agreed to have the American
Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) defend any teacher who intentionally violated the
Butler Act. Thus, the "monkey trial" was a test case-that is, "a legal action
whose outcome is likely to set a precedent or test the constitutionality of a
statute" (American Heritage Dictionary). John Scopes, a young teacher
and football coach who was actually substituting for the regular biology
teacher at the time, agreed to serve as that test. Originally, the instigators
of the test case wanted noted intellectual, historian and science fiction
writer H. G. Wells to defend Scopes. Wells declined, however, clearing the way
for Clarence Darrow to take on one of the most famous trials of his career. The
task of prosecuting Cates was undertaken by William Jennings Bryan, a
celebrated, populist political figure of the day; and famously cynical
journalist H. L. Mencken covered the trial. A comprehensive resource for
learning more about the actual Scopes Monkey Trial (the intricacies of which,
for the most part, lie outside the scope of this study guide), may be consulted
at http://www.law.umkc.edu/faculty/projects/ftrials/scopes/scopes.htm,
a project of the University of Missouri-Kansas City Law School (and from which
much information in this paragraph has been drawn).
This background having been established, however, few
audiences and readers of the play can deny that the three principal
characters-Henry Drummond, the defense counsel; Matthew Harrison Brady, the prosecuting
attorney and two-time presidential candidate; and E. K. Hornbeck, the cynical
newspaper columnist-correspond rather closely to the three historical figures mentioned
above-respectively, Clarence Darrow, the famous trial lawyer and agnostic, known
for his defense of progressive causes; William Jennings Bryan, the so-called
"Great Commoner" and fundamentalist preacher who campaigned unsuccessfully to
win the White House three times; and H. L. Mencken, the Baltimore
journalist who wrote columns about the Scopes trial. "Mencken's pungent,
iconoclastic criticism and scathing invective, although aimed at all smugly
complacent attitudes, was chiefly directed at what he saw as the ignorant,
self-righteous, and overly credulous American middle class, members of which he
dubbed Boobus americanus" (Columbia Electronic Encyclopedia). Even
so, while the characters, dialogue, and setting all have a 1920s air about
them, and even closely resemble actual people and places of the past, they
serve, in this play, to bring into stark relief a conflict of philosophies and
commitments, rather than to re-enact a historical episode.
Brady states that he is committed to the truth of the Bible,
but in fact he is committed to a worldview, a way of making sense out of life,
that is increasingly coming under fire in the rational, progressive early
decades of the twentieth century in which the play is set. Note that, in this
scene's stage directions, he is called "Second Man."� The name points to one of
the play's themes. Not only is Brady a twice-failed presidential candidate, but
also he is "second," or falling behind, in this new century. Ironically,
Brady's own reference to Drummond as "Goliath" reveals that Brady, to some
degree, appears great because he exaggerates his sense of himself by
exaggerating his opponents' importance. Drummond, for his part, does not view
the trial in Hillsboro an epic, even apocalyptic, struggle between Right and
Wrong, but-as he will make clear in Act II-a struggle to defend, simply,
humanity's right to think for itself, and let questions of morality fall as
they may as a result of knowing the truth. The truth at all costs is Drummond's
commitment, and is a commitment the playwrights unfailingly paint in the most
heroic of terms.
Brown's outrage over Drummond's legal tactic-what Brown
views as "perverting the evidence"-raises questions of how much society is to
blame as a contributing factor to crime in general, and of who really is on
trial for this "crime" in particular. Brown's speech serves to show the
audience that the people of Hillsboro may be looking for a sacrifice, a
"scapegoat," on whom to transfer the complexities of the modern, scientific
world. If Cates can be driven from their midst, the people may be thinking,
perhaps the larger issues he represents, namely the perceived conflict between
science and faith, can be driven away as well. Of course, removing Cates from
their society will not accomplish this goal; nevertheless, Brown's speech
reveals to the audience that the trial is motivated as much by a desire to
avoid the complicated nature of the 20th century as it is to defend "that old
time religion." In the playwrights' mind, this motivation seems to be a crime
of which, indeed, "you and me and all of society" can prove to be found guilty.
Note that when Brown demonizes Drummond, he does so by
portraying the lawyer in (appropriately enough, given the drama's subject
matter) primitive, even ape-like language: "I can still see him. A slouching
hulk of a man, whose head juts out like an animal's." The moment passes
quickly, but Brown's lines allow the playwrights to illustrate another way in
which religion can be used as a weapon: to attack not only other people's
beliefs (in this case, Darwinian theories of evolution) but also the people
themselves who hold those beliefs (as Brown says, "You look into his face and
you wonder why God made such a man. [H]e is a creature of the Devil, perhaps
even the Devil himself!").
Interestingly, however, the character whom the playwrights
choose to characterize in a vaguely satanic manner is not Drummond, but
Hornbeck. The reporter himself acknowledges a certain resemblance in this
scene: when Rachel refuses a bite of his apple, he laughingly says, "I'm not
the serpent, Little Eva. / This isn't from the Tree of Knowledge. / You won't
find one in the orchards of Heavenly Hillsboro. / A few ignorance bushes. / No
Tree of Knowledge." Hornbeck's words may undermine his assertion, however. As
the serpent was (according to later, Christian interpretations of Genesis 3)
Satan intruding into the primal innocence of Eden, so is cynical Hornbeck, a
worldly reporter, entering Hillsboro from the outside-with the intention, as
the people of Hillsboro see it, to lead them astray, just as the serpent
tempted Eve. Certainly, Hornbeck's skill with words-note that he is the only
character in the play who speaks in blank verse- bring to mind the smooth
(albeit surely forked!) tongue of the serpent, who "was more subtle than any beast of the field which the Lord God had made." (Gen. 3:1, KJV). And
Hornbeck's own description of his modus operandi may make audiences
wonder whether the reporter is, if not precisely demonic, then shrewdly
pragmatic at best, amoral at worst: "I do hateful things, for which people love
me, / And lovable things for which they hate me."
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