“This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends. This is the way the world ends. Not with a bang, but a whimper.” — T.S. Eliot
These words should be taken with a grain of salt, and not simply because Eliot left the majesty of the United States to become a Tory at age 25. No, I fear the end is upon us, but instead of Eliot’s faint, final cough of existence, we will rot at the hands of a man who feels his evolutionary display trumps higher laws. Go to Rennebohm Park. Look at the 10 “educational” displays. And then say five Hail Mary’s.
At the park, stuck into the very soil the almighty used to create Adam, are 10 signs, each describing a different phase of man’s evolutionary process. Nick Schweitzer, an attorney (typical) and designer of the display, claims it’s meant to be a teaching devise, and with text and visuals accompanying each one, they look like a legitimate tribute to the scientific explanation of our origins. But I know legitimate signs, and if I don’t see locusts or slaughtered lambs, I’m skeptical. These are not images of progress; they are academic distortions. Just like dinosaurs.
This list of human offenses seemingly teasing fate to dust our world under the cosmic table are too numerous and reviling to list in the public forum, yet I take no hesitance in singling out the lynchpin. Schweitzer, you have drunkenly initiated a game of chicken with an opponent far too cunning for you to ever overpower, and you’ve strapped humanity into the passenger seat. He is the Vin Diesel to your Paul Walker, both too fast and too furious to ever be toyed with, and yet you’ve provoked him. But not just him; Him. By bringing evolution to public parks, and by secularizing the green space God spent at least part of an entire day building from nothing, we’re now doomed.
The display, which encompasses a quarter-mile of space in Rennebohm Park on Regent Street, serves as a poorly veiled taunt to your enemies. It is not enough for you that Regent Street is already a haven for sin, with its bars and tattoo parlors and the nearby second-trimester abortion clinic. Many of us take comfort in knowing that our pro-life picket signs are put to good use, and while we recognize printer ink is pricey, it was worth the cost knowing those large photos of aborted fetuses are teaching a lesson to the community. Even more, I assume you deceive under the notion that you too are “teaching” the public, allowing it an opportunity to experience — however so slightly — the grand scope of human existence. Well, Schweitzer, misinformation is a powerful tool. Just ask Premier Obama.
A public space is no place to push an agenda. It is meant to be appreciated by all, whether they’re black or white, Missouri Synod or Wisconsin Evangelical Lutheran Synod; everybody. It’s not as if you see us commissioning large stone works depicting the Ten Commandments, because we know better. There’s only one real court to worry about, and that’s the court of the divine. And that one that keeps telling me I can’t have four wives.
We live in a world that is already divisive enough, yet we live in it together. Sure, there are some in the scientific community who back this notion of evolution, but there are many brave and intelligent souls who understand the folly of “theories.” You want to tell me that both Ben Stein and Kirk Cameron are wrong? I didn’t think so. Instead of letting these areas of contention keep man at his brother’s throat, we should focus on those aspects of life where we agree, such as the immorality of war, our responsibility to feed the homeless and the beauty of transubstantiation. At least until we’re whisked away and you’re “left behind.”
It feels dishonest. Those 10 signs you’ve erected in Rennebohm Park are meant to convey the struggle and odds man has overcome to reach this point in history. It’s a beautiful idea, and I am proud to share a similar display in my home. It’s over my bed. And in my kitchen. And in my bathroom. And there’s a second one in my kitchen. It’s a crucifix.
I must admit, every time I see storm clouds gathering, a part of me wants to rush to PetSmart and start stockpiling two of every domesticated rodent. We are not long for this Earth, and because of actions like yours, odds are that you’ll be playing intramural hoops with Satan and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar quicker than I can figure out who begat Amminidab. Alas, we can only hope God has a sense of humor.
Sean Kittridge ([email protected]) is a senior majoring in journalism.
