In a development that has left scientists weeping into their beakers and theologians quietly reconsidering their life choices, the great state of Texas has decided that what its children really need is not knowledge, but a solid dose of Bronze Age mythology masquerading as biology. Governor Greg Abbott, presumably after a brush with divine revelation or perhaps a particularly aggressive batch of brisket, has signed a directive requiring public schools to teach biblical stories alongside actual science. Because nothing says 'preparing our children for the future' like insisting the universe was created in six days by a celestial bloke with a beard, while simultaneously hoping they don't notice that absolute bear pit of contradictions in the Book of Genesis.
Our own green and pleasant land, meanwhile, has responded with the kind of quiet dignity that only a nation that once colonised a quarter of the globe can muster. We have politely but firmly declined to follow Texas down this rabbit hole of ludicrousness. The Department for Education, in a statement so dry it could desiccate the Gobi Desert, reaffirmed that British schools will continue to teach evolution, the Big Bang, and the general principle that the world is, in fact, round. We will not be trading Charles Darwin for a 3,000-year-old collection of desert fables. We will not be replacing chemistry sets with felt boards and tales of a global flood that unequivocally did not happen.
But why stop there? If Texas is serious about this, why not mandate the inclusion of every creation myth? Imagine the linguistic hilarity of a multiverse curriculum: one week the Norse creation story with a giant cow licking a salty block of ice, the next week the Hindu account of a cosmic egg. But no, they've plumped for the tried and tested Judeo-Christian one. It's almost as if this has nothing to do with education and everything to do with a very specific culture war.
This is, of course, the same state that once fought a war over the right to own other human beings, so perhaps we should not be surprised. But let's be clear: the chasm between Texas and Britain on this issue is not merely a matter of policy, it is a fundamental difference in how we view reality itself. Britain, for all its flaws, still cleaves to the quaint notion that schools should teach children how to think, not what to think. We value empiricism, peer review, and the scientific method. We do not value the literal interpretation of a book that includes a man living inside a whale for three days, which, I should add, is biologically impossible unless you are a very small and extremely well-adapted microorganism.
And let's talk about the sheer hypocrisy. These are the very same people who decry 'government overreach' when it comes to mask mandates or vaccine requirements. But when it comes to forcing a particular religious doctrine into the classroom, suddenly the state cannot interfere enough. It's the death knell of logic.
Meanwhile, in Britain, we have our own problems. Our children are taught critical thinking, but they also spend a significant portion of their education learning how to fill in forms to claim Universal Credit. We have crumbling school buildings and a shortage of teachers. But at least we don't have politicians marching into science lessons and insisting that the earth is 6,000 years old, that dinosaurs coexisted with humans, and that the entire fossil record is a test of faith. We have problems, but they are problems of resources, not of fundamental sanity.
So here's a toast to you, Texas: may your children learn the difference between a metaphor and a scientific fact, may your school boards resist the allure of theocratic nonsense, and may your governor discover the joys of secular education before the next legislative session. As for Britain, we will continue to quietly produce physicists and biologists, while you produce... what exactly? A generation of creationists who think the Grand Canyon was carved by a flood? Good luck with those job applications.
Now if you'll excuse me, I need a gin. A large one. Preferably one that took more than six days to distill.
