visiting kentucky's young earth creationist theme park

You probably heard that Republicans in the House of Representatives (regretfully) concluded their 20-plus day feud over who gets the exalted title of Speaker of the House by choosing Louisiana representative Mike Johnson for the position.

Johnson, as Media Matters noted in a round-up today, has a long history anti-LGBTQ+ activism, ranging from serving as senior legal counsel for the Alliance Defending Freedom, to introducing federal legislation similar to Florida's "Don't Say Gay" law. He has a history of empowering Trump's attacks on the 2020 election as well. In 2022 report, The New York Times described Johnson, whom the paper then characterized as a "low-profile Louisiana congressman," as "the most important architect of the Electoral College objections." Johnson, the Times said, offered a more "lawyerly" approach to election denial, decrying certain changes in voting procedures promoted as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic as "unconstitutional."

That's all, well, bad, albeit unsurprising given the GOP's embrace of its rightward flank. But what you also may not know about Johnson is that he once represented a Kentucky-based Christian theme park that consists of a 510-foot-long wooden boat modeled off of Noah's Ark in the Book of Genesis. Specifically, Johnson, on behalf of his client Answers in Genesis, filed a federal lawsuit against the state of Kentucky after tourism officials yanked their tax rebates when it became clear the venue was meant less as a generic tourist attraction than a ministry site.

I visited the Ark Encounter in July 2017 because I happened to be in the area and am very normal. Here is my story.

I had heard of the Ark Encounter before driving from Lexington to drop someone off at the airport outside of Cincinnati. Still, driving up I-75 that day the sign took me by surprise. Nevertheless, I had several hours to kill before a flight and was about to start divinity school in a month, so it seemed like a done deal — I had to go. After making a pit stop to drop a relative off for their own exodus out of middle America, I drove the 36-something-miles back down the interstate to visit the ark. The venue takes a second to get to. First, you pay to park. Then, you have to get on a bus to drive to the ark. True to lazy American form, I don't think you could walk from the parking lot.

A project of the fundamentalist Christian nonprofit Answers in Genesis, the Ark Encounter opened in 2016 in Williamstown, Kentucky, a small town with a population of fewer than 4,000. At the heart of the park is a giant wooden ark that's 510 feet in length, 85 feet in width, and 51 feet high. From Answers in Genesis' own website:

The Ark Encounter is a one-of-a-kind, historically themed attraction in Williamstown, Kentucky. In an entertaining, educational, and immersive way, it presents a number of historical events centered on a full-size Ark, which is the largest timber-frame structure in the world

The Ark Encounter demonstrates that the Bible is scientifically accurate, and it also serves as an evangelistic experience. Ken Ham, president and CEO of Answers in Genesis, the Creation Museum, and Ark Encounter, has stated, “It’s called Ark Encounter because people will encounter the Ark, and then encounter God’s Word, and then encounter Jesus Christ.”

Whether or not you encounter Jesus Christ while wandering through the three decks of the ark is a separate question. (I did not.) But AiG's description gets at the heart of the Ark Encounter project: it's proselytization via theme park. There's a zip line and a petting zoo, sure. At the end of the day, the reason why you're supposed to be there as a visitor is the experience is meant to be a kind of prayer. You're inside this giant wooden ark to remember that we live at God's mercy. The weird, landlocked boat in rural Kentucky is a reminder that He destroyed the world once and could do so again, just not by flood.

There is something awe-inducing about the site's level of campiness. There were numerous dioramas purporting to depict life for the animals and inhabitants of the ark, as well as ones showing life prior to God's decision to rid the world of excess sin through flood.

Still, even as someone who's studied religion — Christian theology, specifically — I struggled to keep a straight face while meandering through the exhibits and up the ramps that connect the different levels of the ark. Young Earth Creationism, a worldview popular among some American fundamentalist Christians though not exclusive to them, says the earth is somewhere between 6,000–10,000 years old and presents itself as a form of Biblical literalism. But if you know something about the history of exegesis, it's hard to see it as anything other than a way of twisting yourself into loops trying to get what's in Genesis to mean what you want it to. Read St. Basil's Hexameron and tell me if it seems like he believed each "day" had to consist of exactly 24-hours.

The various dioramas and displays of animals, which the museum decidedly does not refer to as "species" but instead "kinds," are really just a front for trying to square logical inconsistencies in a holy text that isn't meant to be rational in the first place.

Take this panel discussing the size of the animals on the ark:

Or this one, illustrating how Noah managed to get everything to fit:

I left after making my way through the ark, leaving the overpriced snacks and gift shop behind to return the sweltering parking lot where I had paid far too much money to leave my rental car.

On my way back to the airport, I thought about how building Biblically inspired theme parks is about as American as you can get. It's exceptional, really. The idea of munching on a hot dog and drinking a coke after wandering through various displays insisting that the entire scientific community has been lying to you about the age of our planet is not something I would associate with most other countries — or even forms of Christianity.

So maybe it's fitting that in the late stages of American empire, we're stuck with a Speaker of the House who believed this place was wrongly denied state tax breaks.