Many of us saw religion as harmless nonsense. Beliefs might lack

When Richard Dawkins, the modern apostle of reason and science, declared, “Many of us saw religion as harmless nonsense. Beliefs might lack all supporting evidence but, we thought, if people needed a crutch for consolation, where’s the harm? September 11th changed all that,” he spoke as one whose eyes had been opened to the dark potential of belief unrestrained by reason. His words echo not with the scorn of an enemy, but with the grief of a witness — a man who saw faith, once tolerated as a comfort for the uncertain, transform into a weapon that shook the world. In this reflection lies the weight of an ancient warning: that ideas, though invisible, hold the power to build civilizations or bring them to ruin.

Before that fateful day, Dawkins — like many in the modern world — viewed religion as an old mythology lingering at the edges of enlightenment. It offered solace, perhaps illusion, but seemed mostly benign. In a time when science had conquered disease and illuminated the heavens, he saw faith as a harmless relic — a story whispered to ease the fear of death and the mystery of existence. Yet on September 11th, 2001, when men, driven by religious zeal, turned passenger planes into instruments of devastation, that illusion shattered. In an instant, belief proved itself not merely a private comfort but a force of immense consequence, capable of twisting morality, justifying horror, and reshaping the destiny of nations.

The origin of this quote lies in Dawkins’s transformation after those events, a moment that defined his later writings, especially in The God Delusion. For him, September 11th was more than an act of terror — it was a revelation of how faith divorced from evidence and compassion can corrupt the human heart. Those who committed the attacks were not driven by greed or madness alone; they were guided by conviction — the certainty that they were doing the will of the divine. In that certainty, they found the courage to die and to kill. Dawkins saw in this the greatest danger of all: the unyielding mind, the soul that obeys authority without question, that values promise of paradise over the sanctity of life.

Yet this struggle is not new. In every age, humanity has wrestled with the double-edged sword of belief. The Crusades, the Inquisition, the witch trials — all were born of men who thought they served the good, but whose faith blinded them to compassion. But let us not be deceived: Dawkins’s words are not merely an assault on religion, but a call for vigilance — a reminder that any ideology, when elevated beyond question, can become a fire that consumes its followers and the innocent alike. For what he condemns is not faith itself, but fanaticism, that fever which begins in devotion and ends in destruction.

Consider the tale of Hypatia of Alexandria, the philosopher who lived during the twilight of the ancient world. A teacher of mathematics and astronomy, she represented the spirit of reason in a city torn by religious strife. Yet her brilliance became her doom. The mobs, incited by zealots who saw her as a threat to their creed, tore her apart in the name of God. Her death stands as an eternal monument to Dawkins’s warning: that when belief demands the death of thought, both truth and humanity perish together. The tragedy of 9/11 was but a modern echo of that same ancient blindness — proof that progress of knowledge does not always bring progress of spirit.

Still, Dawkins’s quote invites not despair, but awakening. It challenges each of us to examine the foundations of our convictions — to ask not only what we believe, but why. Faith, when born of love and guided by reason, can inspire art, courage, and mercy. But faith without reflection, faith without humility, becomes tyranny of the mind. Dawkins calls us, therefore, not to mock belief, but to test it, to temper it with truth, and to guard it from the poison of absolutism. In this, there is wisdom that even the devout may heed.

Let the lesson, then, be this: never surrender your reason, for it is the lamp that guards the soul from darkness. Respect belief, but never permit it to silence compassion or inquiry. Whether in religion or ideology, beware the comfort that blinds and the certainty that kills. As Dawkins learned, ideas are not harmless — they are the architects of history. The wars of men are born first in the temples of their thoughts.

So live as one who believes not in vengeance or blind devotion, but in understanding. Let your faith, if you have it, be humble before evidence, and your reason, if you cherish it, be gentle toward the mysteries it cannot yet explain. For only when heart and mind walk together — neither enslaved, neither supreme — can humanity hope to rise above the shadow that Dawkins saw on that terrible day, and turn the power of belief once again toward the light.