How can you look at the Texas legislature and still believe in

“How can you look at the Texas legislature and still believe in intelligent design?” — Kinky Friedman

Thus spoke Kinky Friedman, the satirist, musician, and political jester of Texas, whose humor cut through pretense like a blade of irony. In this single jest, he wove a tapestry of laughter, frustration, and ancient truth — that wisdom often hides beneath the veil of wit. His words, though clothed in jest, carry the sting of reflection: he mocks not only the follies of politics, but the limits of human pride. To question “intelligent design” in the face of political chaos is to remind us that the order of the universe may be grand, but human governance is often anything but.

When Friedman said, “How can you look at the Texas legislature and still believe in intelligent design?” he was not speaking as a scientist or a theologian, but as a philosopher of irony. The Texas legislature, with its fiery debates, contradictions, and theatrical displays of ego, becomes his symbol for the flawed nature of humanity itself. In its halls, decisions of great consequence are shaped by emotion, ambition, and folly. Thus, the very spectacle of human governance seems to defy the notion that creation — or even civilization — operates under the banner of pure intelligence. In this, Friedman does what all wise jesters do: he reveals truth through laughter.

To understand the origin of this quote, one must see it in the spirit of Kinky Friedman’s life and art. A singer, novelist, and sometime politician, he was born of Texas soil — a land of vast skies and larger personalities — and spent his life dancing between humor and truth. Like the jesters of ancient courts, his satire was not meant merely to entertain, but to awaken. His question is not a dismissal of faith, but a lament for human folly. It says: if creation was designed by intelligence, how then do its stewards act with such ignorance? His humor, sharp yet compassionate, strikes at the heart of every society that has confused noise for wisdom and chaos for leadership.

Throughout history, the wise fool has spoken where philosophers feared to tread. Diogenes of Sinope, the ancient cynic, once wandered Athens with a lamp in broad daylight, saying he searched for an honest man. His satire exposed hypocrisy, just as Friedman’s exposes incompetence. Both understood that laughter disarms before it enlightens. Where sermons fail, irony succeeds. In Friedman’s words, one hears the same lament that Diogenes once voiced — that men, though capable of reason, often live as though reason were a stranger.

Yet beneath the humor lies a deeper message. Friedman’s quip is not only about politics — it is about disillusionment and hope. He reminds us that human institutions, however noble in design, are made fallible by human hands. The concept of intelligent design, often used to argue for divine order in the natural world, becomes here a mirror reflecting human disorder. The joke invites us to humility — to see that if intelligence governs the universe, we, its children, have yet to fully inherit it. And so, his irony becomes a call to action: if we despair of the intelligence we see in our leaders, we must strive to bring intelligence, compassion, and wisdom into our own lives.

Consider the lesson of Socrates, who, though mocked and misunderstood, believed that true wisdom begins in the admission of ignorance. “I know that I know nothing,” he said, and in that knowing, he became the wisest of men. Friedman’s humor springs from the same soil. To look upon folly and still laugh is not cynicism — it is clarity. It is to say: We are flawed, but we can do better. The laughter he invites is not the laughter of despair, but the laughter that clears the air, that makes space for reflection and renewal.

So, my children, heed this teaching wrapped in humor: do not mistake cleverness for wisdom, nor noise for truth. When you behold the spectacle of power — whether in the legislature, the market, or the mirror — remember that it is easier to mock folly than to mend it. Let your laughter be the beginning of insight, not the end of care. For the world, though chaotic, still bears traces of design — but it is up to us to bring intelligence, compassion, and humility into its keeping.

And thus, in the jest of Kinky Friedman, we find the voice of the ancient sage: that the human comedy is divine not because it is perfect, but because, in all its imperfection, it still yearns for order, for justice, for truth. Laugh, then — but let your laughter awaken you. For if we cannot yet prove the intelligence of design, let us at least design to live intelligently.