How man invented god.
Once upon a time, there was something a woman could not explain. For this woman, it was lightning. The woman saw god in the lightning in two ways: first, she could not explain the lightning. Second, she saw the lightning as something that had structure—that must have an explanation. Because she herself could not explain it, she needed someone that could. And thus, she created god.
Lightning here is simply an example. The critical unknown can be anything. All things in the universe must have explanation and those explanations must be provided NOW. Thus, the woman produces god again and again, each day, every time these two phenomena coincide: something exists that cannot yet be explained, and yet it must be explained.
The woman becomes agnostic when she becomes unsure of whether these things can be explained. The big bang—maybe string theory explains it. Life—maybe abiogenesis explains it. Humanity—maybe evolution explains it. Lightning—maybe it is just electrons erupting from a charged atmosphere. Or something.
Soon she becomes awash in frustration: who cares, anyway, whether lightning has an explanation or not. As soon as she tries to explain what she does not understand, or understand how others explain it, she is forced to confront not the truth, but the specter of herself in the unknowing.
This visage, the ghost of the ignorant haunts her. When she opens her mouth, the ghost's hand covers her mouth. The ghost leans in and whispers in her ear, "remember me? I am the one who was stupid. I was the fool. Don't you remember how they laughed?"
And thus, from her fear of not knowing, she chooses not to even think of explanations. People become phenomena; her home becomes nature. The Specter of Unknowing stands beside her, holding her back. Soon, she can only espouse that which she knows with absolute certainty.
A man meets this woman, now, at this point—when she has finally transformed into the crippled body of an atheist. "There are explanations of the lightning," is all she can whimper. She is trying to warn him—don't think of what you don't know for certain. Don't demand explanations. Just accept that they are there, and be done with it.
"But when I close my eyes, and pray," the man says, "I hear the voice of GOD speaking to me." He shakes his head and looks down at her with pity. "How can I explain that?"
The woman closes her eyes. She prays, and she hears nothing. "You're crazy," she says.
"No, you're crazy," the man says. And with his words, the ghost of unknowing vanishes into thin air—forgotten.
The Atheist stands—and stands tall. "No, you're crazy!" she cries. Her voice fills with the thrill of pronouncement.
"No, you're crazy!" the Theist cries, outrage at the insult. And from a woman, no less.
And silent, god looks down at the screaming children, and the palm of his hand smacks his omnipotent forehead.