Since adulthood, I have struggled to answer the question: "what religion are you?" and "do you believe in God?"

I was raised in an English family where basic Christian traditions were observed, including the important festivals, the Christening of babies and marriage in Church. I, myself, married in Church, and it was a wonderful experience.

But when I hear people talking about God and religion, I find that I automatically question their obvious faith in the existence of God. Irrespective of which religion they belong to, I find that I am subconsciously deeply sceptical, and wonder how anyone can talk of God as if His existence is an indisputable fact.

Over the years, I have found myself engaged in fascinating conversations over the existence of God. Sat on a balcony in Ibiza in the early 90’s, a close friend and I debated the issue through the night, and well into the next day, aided and abetted by a steady flow of inexpensive, locally produced wine. On a course at the University of East Anglia some years ago, I recall inadvertently offending a colleague by asserting that I didn’t “believe in a Father-Christmas type of God”. He was a devout Christian of some non-conformist denomination, I can’t remember which, but the experience demonstrated to me that there are certain times when religion is a subject best avoided.

I currently reside in Cape Town, South Africa, which, to the surprise of many outsiders, has an enormous Muslim population. Many of my work colleagues are Muslims and are also members of the “Cape Coloured” community. I have found that, without exception, they are devout, true believers in their faith, but at the same time are very open and always delighted to talk about their religion and help me to understand their traditions. Their outlook is deeply refreshing and contributes to the wonderful, multicultural experience that a stint in South Africa can deliver.

But my exposure to people of faith has not helped to alleviate my own doubts. My nature is to question everything, to trust nothing I am told unless some evidence is presented that I can understand. During my years of formal education I took opportunities, although never majoring in theology or religious studies, to gain exposure to the study of world religions where possible. This, and other experiences during my life, have led me to conclude that the major religions of the world have been developed over centuries as a mechanism of governance and social control. Countless leaders have relied upon their subjects’ fear of a greater power, an unseen but all-seeing God, to keep their subjects in line, for fear of a far greater punishment than earthly leaders could mete out.

Our own Prime Ministers, even in the 21st century, make a show of attending Church and making reference to God when it suits them to do so. I find it impossible, in my heart, to believe that men who have the ability to climb the greasy pole of British politics, and the mentality to want to, truly believe in the existence of God in the traditional Christian sense.
I’m sure you will have formed the opinion by now that I am, indisputably, an Atheist. But if I am, why do I pray?

Not every day. I don’t go to Church. I rarely pray to give thanks for anything and I might not pray for weeks, even months, at a time.

But then something in my life goes wrong. A relative is diagnosed with a life threatening illness. I can’t contact my wife who is travelling by car on an unfamiliar route. The child of a close friend is charged with a criminal offence. A foetal scan reveals something suspicious.

These are examples of genuine experiences which have led me, without thought or deliberation, to close my eyes and ask God for help. I have prayed at night in bed, whilst driving, even whilst sitting in business meetings, that those tests will come back clear, that my loved one will get home safely, and that the wrongly accused will find justice.

But how can this be? Why do I turn to God at times of worry, times when events outside my sphere of control are of such great concern? If you asked me, I would tell you that I think it is unlikely that God exists, in any form.

But there is something deep inside my psyche that wants Him to. That is the key. I do not have faith. I do not really believe. But I do have hope. In my heart, I want there to be a God. I want to have someone, or something, that I can turn to, a force so powerful and benevolent that it will help influence events, heal the sick, protect the vulnerable. I want it to be all-seeing, to be able to hear my prayers that are only spoken inside my head. I want it to be omnipotent, omnipresent, and be able to hear my lone voice despite the millions of others directed toward it. I don’t want it to care that, at times, I don’t really believe that it exists. I don’t want to have to perform countless rituals through the course of a day like an ultra orthodox Jew must. I don’t want to have to live a perfectly pure life to accrue credit for the next one. But sometimes, when the chips are down, I want a caring, compassionate, paternal force to help me out, and to protect those I love.

So what am I? First, I doubt very much that I am unique. I am not technically an atheist – well, not all the time. But I am not strictly a “theist” either. I wondered if, perhaps, I am an Agnostic, and began to investigate what that term means.

According to various sources, an Agnostic can be someone who believes that we do not yet know whether there is a God, and if there is, what He actually is. An Agnostic might also believe that we cannot, possibly ever, know. There are then some other variations on the theme, such as an Agnostic-Theist, who believes that we don’t / can’t know, but makes the choice to believe in God anyway. Conversely, an Agnostic-Atheist doesn’t know, but doesn’t care either.

I have not yet been able to identify a tag that fits me though. I guess I am a form of Agnostic. I truly don’t know the answer to whether God exists or not. I cannot blindly believe in something I cannot touch or see and have seen no believable evidence of. But sometimes I turn to Him anyway, just on the off-chance, in the desperate hope that He might, just might, exist. Consequently, there is evidently too much doubt in my mind as to his non-existence to call myself an Atheist. I am an Agnostic, but one which has some hope, rather than faith, in the existence of God.

So I hereby declare the advent of a new belief classification (I wanted to say “new religion” then, for dramatic effect, but that would not have been accurate!)

The Hopeful Agnostic? Agnostic Hopefuls?

My thesaurus has helped me out. I will call myself an Agnostic Optimist. That will make it much easier for me to answer the question “what religion are you”?

I may even try putting it on application forms. And if explaining its meaning becomes too tiresome, I can simply direct people to this website….