Evolution is unobservable. It's based on blind faith in a few dry

In the words of Ray Comfort, the saying — “Evolution is unobservable. It's based on blind faith in a few dry bones and on unreliable dating systems in which the gullible trust. Kids should be allowed to make up their own minds about this issue, and not be censored to 'one side is all we will let you hear.’” — rings like the challenge of a prophet crying in the marketplace of modern minds. Its meaning is not in the denial of science, but in the awakening of the soul to question authority, to discern between knowledge and the illusion of certainty. It is a call to intellectual freedom, to let thought wander unchained through the wilderness of ideas, and to let the heart, as well as reason, guide what is true.

In the ancient days, when the philosophers of Greece gathered under the starlit colonnades, men like Socrates would stand before the youths of Athens and ask, “How do you know?” He was condemned for such questions, for the rulers feared that open inquiry would loosen their grip upon the minds of the young. In this same spirit does Ray Comfort speak — not as a destroyer of science, but as one who reminds the world that belief itself can wear the mask of evidence. When we say something is “proven,” we must ask: by whose measure, and upon what unseen assumptions?

For evolution, in Comfort’s eyes, is not the enemy, but the emblem of how easily man bows before what is unseen, declaring faith in unobservable processes as though they were the gods of old. He does not mock the bones of the earth, but the blind faith that interprets them without humility. To say “it must be so,” without room for doubt, is to close the gate through which wisdom enters. The wise know that knowledge is a river without end — flowing, changing, wearing down the stones of certainty with every new discovery.

There was once a man named Galileo, who raised his telescope to the heavens and saw moons circling Jupiter. The Church, mighty and sure in its doctrine, declared him heretic. Yet centuries later, men of science became the new priests — certain, unbending, scorning all who questioned their scripture. Thus, the circle turns: one dogma replaces another. The quote, therefore, is a warning to every age — that when any man claims complete truth, whether he holds a cross or a microscope, wisdom dies a little.

Let us then remember the freedom of the mind, the sacred right to hear all sides before choosing one’s path. To censor is to steal the seed of wisdom from the soil of youth. A child who hears only one voice will never know the harmony that comes when reason and conscience sing together. The words of Comfort call not for rebellion against science, but for balance, that golden mean the ancients prized — where inquiry serves truth, and not pride.

The story of Socrates should stand as a torch to this generation: he who drank the hemlock rather than betray the pursuit of truth. He did not tell men what to believe, but taught them to think for themselves. So too must we allow the young to seek, to weigh, to doubt. For the truth that survives questioning is the truth worth keeping.

Thus, the lesson is clear: do not surrender your mind to the noise of certainty. Question even the things you cherish. Let no authority, sacred or secular, steal your right to wonder. To follow this path, speak gently but boldly, listen to every voice — even those that challenge your own. Read, reflect, and above all, dare to doubt. For doubt, when tempered with humility, is the beginning of wisdom.

In this way, Ray Comfort’s words echo across time as a call to intellectual courage — a reminder that truth is not owned by the loudest or the learned, but revealed to the humble and the free.