Chapter 1. The Right to Try
- Andrew Mytaf
- Jan 28
- 8 min read
Updated: Mar 19
Imagine, for a moment, if atheists applied the same fervour to finding arguments for a Divine existence as they do to refuting it. What might that approach look like?
At first glance, the idea seems contradictory, perhaps even absurd, as it challenges atheism’s core principles. Sceptics might argue that they are not defending atheism per se but rather acknowledging a lack of convincing evidence for the supernatural. This is fair when limited to empirical data, yet within the field of ontology, there’s room for more ambitious exploration.
Some might say this ground has been well-trodden. But let’s be honest: atheists rarely seek evidence of a divine presence; instead, they tend to dissect what religious heritage has produced. But what if we shifted this approach? What if we tried, just once, to view the question from the perspective of a true seeker? Could atheists, by earnestly attempting to rationalise faith, actually elevate the state of religious thought?
Here, you might suggest that most sceptics fall under this category—agnostics, open to the possibility of the supernatural should compelling ontological arguments or empirical evidence arise. Yet this openness is often rather passive. What I’m proposing is that we ignite a passionate desire to rationalise faith. Why not give it a try?
Granted, many sceptics might find this call akin to reciting incantations during a scientific experiment to improve the results. But any honest sceptic should approach the realm of religious thought with genuine objectivity. This isn’t about simple assertions like ‘I was there’ or ‘I prayed’; rather, it calls for creativity—transforming incantations into focus-enhancing formulas, persuading the mind (or, as some might put it, the observing magician) that everything works when approached with the right framework.
At this stage, one might be tempted to dismiss the exercise as mere self-deception—the same self-deception that has, in the past, stifled civilisation and hindered human progress. Yet, optimism about the eradication of religious consciousness is equally naive. Predictions regarding the demise of faith have persisted since the Renaissance, yet they consistently underestimate the peculiarities of human psychology. Voltaire’s famous remark on the necessity of faith may have been less naive than sceptics assume.
Carl Jung, the eminent psychologist, proposed that religious symbols and narratives are rooted in our collective unconscious—archetypal patterns shared universally by humanity. He argued that these archetypes have a psychological foundation, offering an explanation for the persistence of religious thought even in our increasingly secular age.
Today, we may view the deep influence of these archetypal structures as a limitation of our inherited… “database,” something we aim to transcend by expanding it beyond ancient psychological patterns. But we cannot ignore that our minds appear hardwired to seek meaning in the seeming chaos of existence. Perhaps, propelled by a genetic impulse to survive, we instinctively reach for the notion of infinite existence.
As Jung emphasised, this psychological characteristic suggests that eradicating religious thought may be a Sisyphean task. Yet, this opens the possibility of utilising these deeply ingrained psychological mechanisms to reconcile rationality with a more motivated and effective framework in humanity’s shared pursuit of perfection.
In this context, Viktor Frankl’s insights are particularly relevant. A psychologist who survived the horrors of Auschwitz, observed a remarkable pattern in the survival and psychological resilience of prisoners. In the camp, where, beyond the routine extermination machinery of Auschwitz, many perished from profound depression that led to exhaustion and a surrender of the will to live.
Frankl observed that those who survived often possessed a purpose that transcended their own existence. Some longed to see the garden they had planted bloom; others sought to keep promises made to loved ones; still others were driven to complete unfinished work. People would give up with each new piece of terrible news—whether it was about the destruction of their home village, the loss of manuscripts, or simply the recognition that the world they had known was gone forever.
However, Frankl found that those with aspirations that transcended earthly existence demonstrated the greatest resilience. These people drew strength from what he called an “otherworldly resource”—a purpose beyond this life, often rooted in faith or transcendent ideals. This gave them resilience in conditions where physical strength alone proved insufficient.
Alexander Solzhenitsyn observed a similar phenomenon in the hard labour camps of the Gulag. Even while he himself remained an atheist, he recognised the psychological resilience among those with religious dispositions.
A wealth of independent studies supports these observations. By “independent,” I mean studies untainted by institutional bias, unlike some studies that appear to contradict these findings but carry clear ideological agendas. A straightforward deductive analysis reveals that fatalists and those who believe in a divine presence or a supernatural ‘friend,’ inherently find it easier to endure adversity and trust that, eventually, everything will turn out well, eternally.
Moreover, it’s possible to predict a universal positive effect for humanity as a whole. Despite the destructive baggage associated with religious doctrine, careful analysis suggests that the negative consequences stem not from religion itself but from human flaws that have shaped it. This points to the possibility that a well-crafted or thoughtfully interpreted religious concept could act as a unifying force, capable of dissolving national divisions and tribal prejudices that neither education nor innate empathy alone seem able to overcome. Although human tribalism may seem superficially benign, you cannot eradicate the biases that stem from it—the underlying causes of all wars, oppression, and injustice.
Even without considering the broader benefits, it would be naive to think that simply ridding society of religion, at its current economic and educational level, would fundamentally improve the situation. Some cite statistics showing that the majority of prisoners identify with a religion rather than atheism, but this fact only highlights the scarcity of true atheists.
True atheistic conviction, however, is exceedingly rare. Achieving this certainty demands not only rigorous education but years of philosophical inquiry—a privilege few possess in today’s world. Most people are, at their core, amorphous in their beliefs, adhering to prevailing norms and repeating slogans or doctrines without any real conviction. While religion imposes a restraint through the concept of an external, divine observer, without it, individuals may gravitate towards socially popular notions that make them feel superior while lacking internal accountability.
One might expect that freedom from myths would redirect people towards societal accountability. Yet, we frequently overestimate the influence of occasional interactions with the so-called ‘global community’ and the sense of responsibility they engender.
Even if negative ideologies were eliminated from society, most people would struggle to move from a consumerist mindset to one of contributing values. This mindset belongs to those whose restraint developed through the public nature of their activities—responsibility held by reputation, fear of losing community recognition, or occasionally more primal fears linked to survival or worsening conditions.
Ideas about the well-being of all humanity and future generations are values we almost impose upon ourselves, driven by empathy—a trait initially intended to support the survival of the group by creating a fear of losing favourable conditions. Yet, by recognising the origins and nature of this mechanism, we have ironically weakened its original function. Empathy has, in a way, fallen victim to human intellectual progress. Now, we understand that personal gain will be higher in our preferred timeline if we disregard the common good. We have learned to control our “conscience instinct” for profit, often resorting to misinformation and creating false impressions.
Religious belief was a saving grace, but if we are to eliminate that too, unique conditions must emerge: we would already need to have ensured our own well-being, be intellectually capable of overcoming the priority of our own pleasure needs, and, most importantly, have created a factor of publicity, where each individual is observed or ideally appeals to a larger audience. All of this, in a sense, would generate an “external observer effect” capable of replacing the “God effect.” The larger the audience, the stronger the imitation of deep religiosity and devoted service to ideas, but the perfect result will only be achieved on a foundation of intellectual development (otherwise, there is a risk of cult formation) and economic abundance (otherwise, it becomes mere tribalism masked as global unity).
Without sufficient coverage of each of these factors, individuals will cut corners whenever possible, so long as it doesn’t endanger their position or survival.
In the absence of a strong intellectual and value-based foundation in society, there’s a risk of what might be called an “unrestrained crowd” effect. People may begin mindlessly echoing loud ideological slogans and, at the first opportunity to avoid punishment, may give in to vandalism, looting, and violence. For such a crowd, ideology becomes nothing more than an excuse to indulge in base instincts—the thrill of adrenaline-fuelled destruction, looting, and even murder. A worse outcome emerges when efforts are made to control such masses by shaping a collective narrative, creating an external observer effect and a “tagged” incentive context that supports needed ideas. This search for situational benefit inevitably spirals out of control, forming a robust external observer effect that stands in opposition to the rational and objective good of society. This is evident in decisions like hiring practices, where choices are sometimes made not based on merit but to satisfy quotas for artificially created subcultures—a perfect example of how situational benefits can overshadow rational considerations.
The problem with militant atheism under the slogan “Better a bitter truth than a sweet lie” is that individuals whose convictions were shaped by publicity are detached from the average person’s perception of reality. They seek to dismantle internal barriers without offering adequate external ones. If the economic and intellectual resources of a given period are limited, and there is no feasible way to bring everyone under a ‘public monitor’ that substitutes an omnipresent, engaged observer, then even simulations of religious practices—such as public ‘baptisms’ into atheism or regular oaths before the community to uphold the common good—will ultimately prove ineffective.
We can see the practical consequences of this principle in studies on the influence of belief in free will on corruption. Participants were split into two groups: one group was given material asserting that free will is a scientifically accepted fact, and the other was told that free will is an illusion. After some time, researchers compared the ethical behaviour of the two groups. Consistently, those who believed in free will exhibited more ethical behaviour. Years later, to address objections from advocates of determinism, a similar experiment was conducted with individuals already convinced that free will didn’t exist, without any preparatory lectures. In this case, the results did not show the same ethical gap as in previous studies. Likely, participants already understood their accountability to society, feeling public responsibility for their ideological group—a phenomenon akin to the ‘external observer’ effect.
A similar range of results could be expected if all humanity adopted atheism. Those with sufficient prosperity, intellectual resources, and public scrutiny might demonstrate the ethical behaviours often linked to atheist principles. However, for the majority lacking these conditions, the shift could place immense strain on, if not destabilise, the legal system. This doesn’t even address society’s marginalised groups, who are often over-represented in penal systems—a point some atheists cite as proof against religion’s efficacy as a moral deterrent.
Additionally, when referencing the rise in social responsibility and economic success in “atheistic countries” with small populations, few consider what prior conditions enabled these outcomes.
A reflective sceptic might argue that no one is suggesting we simply tear down the “stool” supporting religious foundations—the pillars on which a civilisation only beginning to awaken from superstition still depends. After all, humanism rests on freedom of speech and belief. And some may even remember the modified phrase attributed to Voltaire: “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.”
Yet simple tolerance of religious thought is not my objective in this book. My aim is bold and ambitious: to rationalise faith in a way that could transcend blind dogmatism. After all, complete rejection of faith is exceptionally rare, whereas positive evolution in doctrines and religious views is a regular occurrence.
Human psychology works in a particular way: our perception of reality becomes our reality, and denying it is like denying life itself. In contrast, rationalising beliefs is like an organ transplant—foreign at first, but eventually, tolerance develops.
In this way, sceptics too may come to view faith not only with tolerance but also with openness, preserving a delicate balance within the natural processes of human growth.
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