the right to learn things their parents dislike. Yet few cosmopolitan intellectuals have appreciated, let alone addressed, the complex ethical issues latent in the first fundamentalist controversy. One who did, at least occasionally, was a native New Yorker, Walter Lippmann. In New York World editorials, Lippmann compared Scopes to the persecuted Galileo. Nor did he sympathize with "these millions of semi-literate, priest-ridden and parson-ridden" voters. Even so, reflecting broadly on the fundamentalist controversy, he found the Protestant modernism exemplified by Fosdick less forthright and intellectually rigorous than the conservative case made by Machen.
Ridicule, a more frequent cosmopolitan reaction to fundamentalism, was used effectively by Sinclair Lewis. After touring the hinterland in search of clerical hypocrites, Lewis settled into a New York hotel to finish writing Elmer Gantry . Gantry was partly modeled on John Roach. Reviewing the novel for the New York Post in 1927, Straton condemned Lewis's "disordered" mind and denied that there
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"was such a man as Elmer Gantry." Straton's side lost the cultural battle. Except among theological conservatives themselves, the picture of fundamentalism drawn by Lewis, H. L. Mencken, and fellow debunkers became standard fare.
Contrary to convention, the fundamentalist movement of the 1920s did not die with Bryan. In 1928 theological conservatives formed part of the broad band of Protestants opposing the election of Alfred E. Smith because he was a Catholic. To Southern Methodist Bishop James Cannon, a mild theological conservative but avid prohibitionist, the Democratic presidential nominee represented the "kind of dirty people that you find today on the sidewalks of New York"; New York City itself was "literally Satan's seat." Protestant defections cost Smith several traditionally Democratic southern and border states. Yet many fundamentalists did vote for Smith, considering his New York accent, hostility to Prohibition, and Catholic faith less significant than his farm program or his party's commitment to racial segregation.
The Great Depression, which began a year after Smith's defeat, was more than an economic crisis. Instead of evaporating, those cultural issues that had disrupted American life during the 1920s persisted in a less prosperous context. Some were soon resolved; for example, Democratic victories in 1932 doomed Prohibition. Others were evaded by shrewd politicians; building his remarkable coalition, Franklin D. Roosevelt won votes from most "priest-ridden" Roman Catholics and "parson-ridden" theological conservatives. Still other issues retained emotional power; many fundamentalist clergy, viewing the Depression as God's punishment for the decadent twenties, prayed for a revival rather than an economic recovery.
The Depression and New Deal moved some fundamentalists to become activists on the political far right. During the 1920s, Rev. Gerald B. Winrod had been a second-rank leader in the World Christian Fundamentals Association. Initially suspicious of Roosevelt for pushing repeal of Prohibition, Winrod by 1933 had convinced himself that the New Deal represented an agency of a vast international Jewish conspiracy against Christian civilization. He took seriously the anti-Semitic forgery, The Protocols of the Learned Elders of Zion, which he regarded as a sort of supplement to biblical prophecy.
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Indeed, he remained a devout fundamentalist even as he became an avid anti-Semite. According to Winrod, the resemblance between the multiarmed Beast of Revelation and the multifeathered blue eagle of the National Recovery Administration illustrated the New Deal's satanic affinities.
Like social gospelers on the opposite side of the theological and political spectrums, fundamentalist far-right agitators remained a minority. Most theologically conservative clergy spent the Depression tending to their congregations. Not only did they preach and pray