Does believing in God still make sense?

Written by Vahid Zekavati

Copyright: NLP Radio

Introduction:

In a world led by science and technology, millions still search for something beyond reason — in the silence of night or the depths of a crisis. This book is an invitation to feel the unseen, to listen to that quiet voice echoing in every human heart.

In God: The Hidden Presence, the Revealed Force, we face three fundamental questions: Is belief in God rational? Does our psyche recognize Him? And can deep human experiences serve as evidence of His existence?
This book does not argue for God through religious debates, but through reason, psychology, and intuition — an inner journey for those seeking not final answers but a touch of presence.

A book for sincere skeptics, for weary seekers, for those who long to rediscover faith not through fear but through deeply human experience.
If you have ever whispered in the dark, “If You exist, show Yourself,” this book is for you.

📖 Chapter One

God and Reason: Is Belief in God Rational?

Why should I believe in something I cannot see? That question haunted me since childhood. When our religious teacher said, “God is always with us,” I would look at the sky and see nothing.

As I grew older, I realized I wasn’t alone. Millions across history have lived with this doubt. Some gave up, some fought it, and some, in the darkness, glimpsed a light.

The question isn’t whether we’ve seen God, but whether reason can point to something beyond the material. When used properly, reason is more than calculation — it’s a window into meaning.

The first time I encountered the idea of a “First Cause,” my mind trembled. If everything has a cause, then where did the universe come from? Can we regress infinitely?

Philosophers said no. There must be a point where everything begins — but that point itself has no beginning. Something caused everything, yet needs no cause itself.

That’s called the “First Cause.” Whatever we name it — God, Prime Mover, Pure Being — reason insists such a point must exist. And that point may be the fingerprint of God.

But my mind wasn’t satisfied that easily. If God exists, why hide? Why such ambiguity? Could this intricate order really be a blind accident?

Just look at the order: planetary orbits, atomic structure, genetic codes, neural languages, music, mathematics. None of it resembles chaos. It all feels like the echo of a greater Mind.

If you see a clock, you don’t assume it built itself. Why then believe that the brain, far more complex, came from nowhere?

Some say, “It’s just nature.” But how did nature organize itself? Who defined gravity, the speed of light, or the stability of protons?

In this order, one can hear a silent Mind. Perhaps voiceless, but its signs appear in every cell, every galaxy, and even within our own reasoning.

And if the universe is designed, can we ignore the Designer? Perhaps you don’t care about the name, but the presence — a shadow of meaning — is undeniable.

In university, I discovered the moral argument: If there’s no absolute God, then there are no absolute values. In that case, who’s to say injustice is wrong?

If morality is merely a social contract, then Nazis could claim they were right. But our hearts scream in silence that torturing a child is always wrong.

Where does this moral sense come from? Why do we instinctively sense right and wrong, even before being taught? Must there not be a standard beyond humanity?

Perhaps that standard is the quiet voice that stirs our conscience and wakes us up. A voice that comes not from outside, but from within — yet seems rooted in an external truth.

No matter how rational you are, you cannot deny that reason alone does not satisfy. The mind thirsts for meaning, and meaning collapses without a stable source.

If God exists, He is not just an answer but the beginning of deeper questions. He gives direction to reason and draws unity from confusion.

In days when everything felt meaningless, one thought gave me peace: perhaps behind the chaos, something is awake — something that still sees us.

Maybe God reveals Himself not through miracles but in everyday order, in the voice of physics, and in hearts still longing for justice. And maybe, to see Him, we must look not with eyes, but with reason.

In the end, my reason found what my eyes never did. A light that only shines in darkness. A voice heard only in silence. And a presence — hidden, yet undeniable.

📖 Chapter Two

God and the Psyche: Is the Need for God Within Us?

Sometimes we feel something is missing inside us, but we can’t name it. We’re not hungry, sick, or lonely, yet a quiet voice whispers: “Something’s not right.” And that whisper can be overwhelming.

Even at the height of success, a wave of emptiness may hit us. We have a home, family, and future — yet in the middle of the night, a void appears that nothing can fill.

Some psychologists call this void a sign of a deep psychological need. Like spiritual hunger or thirst for meaning — something that money, relationships, or fun can’t satisfy.

Viktor Frankl, an Austrian psychiatrist, survived Nazi camps not because of food, but because of meaning. He said: “Man needs meaning to live — not just survival.”

And for many, that meaning is found in the idea of God. Not necessarily the religious God, but the image of a final reason, a watching eye that hasn’t abandoned us to meaninglessness.

I’ve also felt that when I drift from spirituality, my anxiety increases. As if my psyche, without a connection to something higher, is like a body that cannot breathe.

Carl Jung, the great psychologist, said God isn’t just a concept, but an archetype — something embedded in the human unconscious since the beginning, even if its shape and name differ.

This means even someone raised without religion still holds a picture of God in their psyche. They may deny it, but they can’t delete it.

Jung believed a healthy psyche is one at peace with its archetypes — not at war with them. And God, he said, is one of the deepest.

So perhaps faith isn’t blind belief, but a psychological mechanism for inner harmony. Sometimes we pray not to change the world, but to calm ourselves.

Numerous scientific studies show that belief in a higher power reduces anxiety, depression, and stress. Not just in the religious, but even in spiritual non-believers.

Even prayer, meditation, or deep silence causes physiological changes: lowered heart rate, stabilized blood pressure, and a stronger immune system.

Is this just suggestion? Maybe. But even if so, it shows that our psyche enters into dialogue with “God” — and this dialogue brings energy and balance.

In moments when no one can be trusted, some turn to the sky — not to find answers, but to remember they’re not alone. And sometimes, that’s enough.

Sometimes we feel seen by something or someone — even if we don’t know who it is. In the stillness of meditation or nature, we feel embraced. And that experience is real.

When meaning is lost, the psyche gets sick. Just as a body starves without food, the mind wilts without a connection to the “why” of existence.

For some, meaning comes from art, for others from love — and for many, from God. That God is the hidden presence with whom our unconscious keeps speaking.

Perhaps the endurance of religions is rooted in this deep psychological need. Even in secular societies, people need to feel part of something bigger than themselves to escape isolation.

And if our psyche longs for God, perhaps it’s because some truth within us already knows Him — even if our tongue denies it. Perhaps God lives in our psyche first, not in books or temples.

In the end, we must ask: Is the need for God a sign of delusion or a sign of truth? If thirst doesn’t prove the existence of water, then how did we ever discover water?

When the human psyche longs for something this powerfully, we cannot simply call it illusion. Maybe the need for God is a mirror of a truth we’ve not yet fully reached — but are still moving toward.

📖 Chapter Three

God and Experience: What If I Have Felt Him?

Sometimes, no argument can convince us — but one short moment, one personal experience, changes everything. It’s not logical, not explainable, but so real you can no longer ignore it. Like the smell of rain on dry earth, or a sudden silence at sunset.

Once, I prayed through tears. Not with beautiful words, but with a silent cry from a tired heart. I wasn’t expecting a miracle. Yet that night, something inside me calmed — for no reason, without logic — just peace.

A few days later, a seemingly unsolvable problem resolved in an unexpected way. I won’t claim it was God’s doing. I only say: it felt more like a response than a coincidence.

I know thousands have, in moments of crisis, sensed a presence, a voice, or an energy they had never felt before. Not from outside — from deep within.

These experiences rarely fit into words. People say, “I felt seen,” or “It was like being held,” or even “Suddenly everything became light.” And that feeling changed their lives.

Maybe these are delusions. But aren’t all loves delusions too? When beauty shakes your soul, does it need scientific proof? Must everything be explained with numbers?

In nature, I’ve had moments I cannot explain. Times I felt one with all existence. No boundaries. Just “being” — and tears made of gratitude.

Mystics call these moments intuition or revelation. Times when the “I” dissolves, and the soul connects to something higher — not through reason, but through presence.

Such insights often arrive unexpectedly — in silence, exhaustion, love, death, pain. And when they come, you can’t deny them, even if you can’t recreate them.

Some people change after these experiences. An addict who prays one night and never touches drugs again. A killer whose heart softens. A woman who dreams of a face and changes her life.

If thousands across cultures and histories report similar “God experiences,” can we not call that a kind of evidence? One that speaks human — not scientific — language?

Even children sometimes speak of strange experiences. Talking to someone with wings. Saying they saw God. Should we call all of this fantasy, or respect the possibility of wonder?

There are moments that split life into before and after. Like the moment when a voice inside you says, “You mattered. You were seen.” That sentence can heal a decade-old wound.

Some say, “If you felt it, it’s just in your head.” But can’t we also say, “If you felt it, maybe it’s true”? Why has feeling become so discredited in a world obsessed with data?

Perhaps experience is where God reveals Himself — not in debates, not in scriptures, but in your tears, your fears, the moment you can’t go on anymore.

I believe God lives in moments. In a shared gaze, the warmth of a hand, a stranger’s smile who didn’t know how lonely you were.

God may not be a person. Perhaps a force or awareness flowing through moments. Something you find when you lose yourself. Something that shows up when you surrender.

In the end, no experience can be proven. But does it matter? What touches your heart, changes your path, and lights your hope — is real enough.

God may be hidden, but in the experiences that shake us, we can see traces of Him. A presence without words. A light without shape. A love without condition. It takes just one moment to feel it.

🧭 Conclusion

Can You Still Say There Is No God?

When reason, psyche, and experience all silently point toward one truth, can we deny it? Even if we don’t know its name, can we ignore its voice? Can we call the light we’ve seen in darkness a mere illusion?

We’ve learned that reality isn’t only what the eyes can see. Sound, love, time, and even numbers are invisible, yet real. So why should God’s unseen presence be denied?

If everything has a cause — and the universe is filled with order, meaning, and beauty — then something must be behind it. A cause without a cause. That cause is what hearts call “God.”

This world is not cold and random. It’s warm and intentional. Intelligence flows through it. A gaze is woven into its fabric. And that gaze sees us — even when we do not see ourselves.

Within us, something called God is resting — beyond culture, religion, or language. The force that brings us to tears, to prayer, to surrender — that power has many names, but one presence.

You can fight God. You can ignore Him. But you cannot deny Him. Because even in denial, you are still speaking to Him. That contradiction itself proves He is near.

If God were a delusion, how have so many across history — without contact — had the same experience of Him? Can billions dream the same dream without knowing?

When experience repeats, it becomes science. And the experience of God’s presence has repeated across cultures, centuries, and generations. Shouldn’t we accept it as we accepted gravity or light?

When you pray and feel something respond inside, when you’re saved at the last moment, when silence holds someone’s presence — these are not accidents. These are signs.

God is not only in the heavens, but deep in our hearts. Not only the Creator, but the Witness. Not only the Witness, but the Companion. Like breath — always there, even when unnoticed.

Reason is convinced by the universe’s order. The psyche recognizes its longing for meaning. And experience testifies through tears, trembling, and healing that Something Greater is here.

So if someone asks: “Can you prove God exists?” say: “Yes, because nothing else explains this much meaning, this many experiences, this strong a presence.”

And if they ask: “Where did you see Him?” say: “In the moment no one was there, but I wasn’t alone. In the moment I broke, but something lifted me. In the light that warmed my heart for no reason.”

This faith isn’t blind. It’s built on reason, psyche, and experience — a bridge with three pillars. Even if you question one, the bridge holds strong.

God doesn’t need a lab to be proven. He was here before us, breathing with us, living in us. And maybe all proofs are simply reminders that we had forgotten Him.

Today, I can no longer deny God. Looking back, I see He was always there — even when I wasn’t. He stayed with me, even when I left Him.

If there’s something holding the world, something that turns dark nights into light mornings, something that calms the heart — that something is Him. That is “God.”

So yes, now I can say: God exists. Because all things, all signs, all voices, all rescues have led me to Him. And this is no longer doubt — this is certainty.