Agnosticism Is A Nonsense Word

Ok, if you call yourself an agnostic, I reserve the right to call you a wimp; a big girl’s blouse, if you will. It’s a pretty simple conundrum – if I ask you, “Do you believe in any gods?” and you answer, “I don’t know”, you are only “agnostic” in a pedantically semantic sense, in as far as we cannot ever “know” for certain about such things. However, please for one minute consider the term “atheist.” The term simply means, “someone who does not believe in gods”, meaning that all agnostics are inherently atheists as well. If you answer, “I don’t know”, you’re still saying that you don’t believe, because you don’t live your life as if some celestial dictator exists – you’re just reserving judgement until further notice, which is exactly what atheists do, only we do it better. There doesn’t need to be a difference between atheists and agnostics – we essentially believe exactly the same things, but while the former are open about it, the latter hide behind political correctness and (sometimes) sanctimony to avoid having to present an opinion either way. In short, get off your fence.

A propos, this whole concept of “knowing” that there is or is not a divine or supernatural element in our lives is wholly ridiculous – of course we cannot know for certain – we simply have to analyse what we see in the world and come up with the best conclusions we possibly can given the evidence available. It is for this reason that I have a real problem with theists claiming that they “know” a god exists, when they in fact mean that they are certain that a god exists. Knowledge implies verification and actual proof – facts are known because the way the world works can be observed and independently ratified, ending up with a conclusion that constitutes what we consider “knowledge”. Blind speculation and evidence from experience simply cannot count when it comes to such claims, so the notion that a theist can posit that they know that such a being exists is risible – please demonstrate your “knowledge” before you try to make us all see the fairy as well. I’ll let you use the word “certain”, but that’s the limit I’m afraid, chaps. I also see an equal problem with atheists stating that there is categorically no such thing as a god, since that claim would, paradoxically, require omniscience. We are all, therefore, regardless of what we think, agnostic in one way or another - it's on the same level as saying you're a homo sapiens, obviousness-wise.

Charlie x

First Part Nearly Over

So it would appear that the first bit (not quite half) of my time in Angoulême is drawing to a close; all I can say about this is that time is sneakier than Mathew Bloch, and that’s certainly saying something. For my terminal (year abroad-related) post of 2010, therefore, I thought I’d bring a few miscellaneous items to your attention.

Firstly, French dogs are a strange combination of evil and completely insane. Those of you who know me at all well know that I’m not exactly a fan of our canine “friends” at the best of times, but these little blighters take the biscuit. Every single time I go for a run (it’s becoming a daily thing now), the same batshit dog runs alongside me, albeit on the other side of a garden wall, and attempts to eat me. No joke. If it weren’t for the wonders of modern construction technology, I’d be a carcass by now, my entrails being sifted through by a pack of ravenous hounds desperate for human blood. Hyperbolic, moi? The dog-owners also appear to let their beasts urinate and defecate merrily on the pavement without bothering to clean up after them. Ergo, French dogs are not my friends.

I thought I’d come prepared before I left for Angoulême back in late September, and decided to bring a large box of Yorkshire Tea with me, believing it to be superior to any tea I would be able to find in Frog. However, I was thinking about my reasons for doing so the other day, and realised that my rationale was completely bunk. It went something like this: I like strong tea; Yorkshire Tea must be strong because it’s gritty and northern, a bit like Geoffrey Boycott. Not fancy, pretty unattractive, but boy does it get the job done when you need it. It’s the kind of tea you’d drink before disappearing down a mine for 36 hours for £3.70 before returning to beat your children with a riding crop. It’s Yorkshire Tea, so it must be tough. “But”, I hear you say, “The tea itself is not from Yorkshire – it’s from Ceylon or Madras or Peking or somewhere wonderfully subcontinental” (yes, I’m using the Empire words intentionally) – “It’s just the merchants and packing folk who are from Yorkshire.” And you’d be right...maybe they just package it in a special way to make it tougher – don’t ruin the illusion for me, people!

Charlie x

Whoa, it's been over a week. How time flies etc...

Ok, exciting things would be useful to report at this point, such as my trip to Bordeaux, where they had a Christ(sic)mas Market and, somewhat peculiarly, a rather large antiques' market tacked on at the end of it. While Bordeaux was in itself a rather pleasant city from what I saw of it, the market itself was a tad disappointing. There were no individual-looking stalls, nothing palpably decorative or twee; it was all a little bland it must be said. That and I wanted to buy gloves, but there was not a single glove-selling place which catered for anyone with a Y chromosome. Bad times. However, the trip on the whole was an enjoyable one, and it certainly made a change from a weekend in Angoulême, despite the exciting food that was available there a couple of weekends ago. So yeah, Bordeaux 1 - 0 My Hands.

I have officially decided that many of my students are worse than useless when it comes to actually turning up to things/applying themselves. I discovered today that no fewer than 5 people in one of my classes had been suspended for not doing work or skipping lessons, and was quite frankly astonished that they didn't just get rid of the lot of them and start again. Special mention must go to one of my students today who turned up just to tell me that the others weren't going to, thus saving me 10 minutes' worth of sitting around like a lemon waiting for my non-existent students. He gets a gold star and a sweetie, but the others not so much.

Anecdote alert: I am running semi-regularly at the moment (about four or five times per week on average), and tend to have a pretty similar route every time. However, my regular "back straight", as it were, is a large sports' centre in Ma Campagne which was today being used for some sort of athletics meeting. Imagine my surprise, therefore, when I turned the corner, cutting through a gap in the hedge, only to be greeted by 50 or so French cross-country runners hurtling their way around a course which vaguely resembled my regular running route. Cue confusion as this random British boy appears from nowhere into their midst with some momentum, pauses confusedly and scurries off to the side of the course, attracting bizarre glances all the while. At least there was no ice this time...

Charlie x

And Another Thing...

Snow has returned to Angoulême, though I imagine it won't linger for as long as people would like, but still. I'm actually intruiged to see whether the French are any better at dealing with snow than we are in the UK - will there be mass disruption or does life just carry on as per? On verra...

I watched a debate the other day between Christopher Hitchens and Tony Blair in Toronto: it was really weird seeing Blair back on a stage speaking in exactly the same way, making the same unnecessary hand gestures and talking the same old bollocks as he did as PM. Yet I still felt strangely nostalgic watching the now-very-grey Tony do his thing - I never particularly supported Blairite politics, but for some reason there was this lingering feeling of solidarity between me and this much-maligned former politician...I can't really explain it. On another note, what a difference a week makes for Hitch. Whereas he looked well, sharp and fresh against Bill Dembski, the cancer certainly looked like it was winning in Toronto - here's hoping it was just a bad day and that his recovery is forthcoming.

I'm certainly more of a Times man than a Guardian man, but I will certainly dabble in the latter when the situation requires it (Charlie Brooker helps, it must be said). What does amuse me now is that the Guardian were so vocal about their support for the Lib Dems before the election and are now, quite rightly and understandably, castigating the Lib Dem section of the coalition for going back on all their promises. They have the right to feel aggrieved by Clegg and co, given his stance on tuition fees before May, but one wonders how they could have possibly supported anyone other than the Lib Dems prior to the election - they simply had nowhere to go. Being a centre-left paper means that they often attempt to take the moral high ground on certain issues, but aligning themselves with Labour would have been highly impractical, leaving them with no real alternative other than Nick, Vince et al. Their anger is therefore justified, but not altogether surprising - they indeed could certainly be accused of a lack of foresight.

Being without internet on the weekends mean that all sporting results come as a massive surprise to me on Monday afternoon when I can once again check up on them. No more so than the Gabba test - I was expecting nothing short of an England second-innings collapse followed by a strong media backlash...so imagine my surprise on Monday to discover what had really happened, given my last update had been at the end of the third day! This is England we're talking about, right? I'm still sceptical about our chances, and don't think we're as good as people are saying just yet, but for the first time I'm actually daring to hope, albeit with everything crossed.

Charlie x

Hair, Flair and the Fallout From Blair

So it's been nearly a week, and things are hotting up...ish.

Firstly, I've just returned from having the speediest haircut of my entire life. It was just a case of my explaining to the lady what I wanted before she set off at Mach 1 to remove as much hair from the top of my head as she possibly could, without appearing to care a great deal about the actual consistency of length etc. It reminded me of the people who work at the checkout in French supermarkets - rapidity is the order of the day, where they veritably fling each product through the scanner, testing both my reflexes and bagging abilities simultaneously. My theory about this aberrant behaviour is that the pace of life is sometimes so slow in Western Europe that they feel forced to make up for it in other aspects of life, giving everyone more time to wander slowly down the streets and embrace every other person they meet, "inconnu" or otherwise.

Last Friday, while attending a soirée at the house of one of the other assistants here, some French friends of theirs rocked up with a guitar and an accordian. It was the sort of situation you'd imagine an Englishman creating in an attempt to lampoon French culture, but THIS WAS FOR REAL. Needless to say, it was pretty exciting. Never have the words "Can I play on your accordian" had more connotations...

So there are protests again, this time involving smashing vans. Great. The more damage that's done as part of the democratic right to protest, the more public sympathy for the upcoming plight of students is going to dwindle - it's really not difficult to fathom. So here's my take: if you want to protest, go ahead and do so peacefully; I will support you to the hilt. If you want to act like thugs, please have the decency to kindly fuck off and not do it as part of a reasonable demonstration, thus ruining the reputations of those who actually care about the politics of the matter. Preferably this controlled thuggery can be contained within certain areas, perhaps like Fight Club without the schizophrenia. Or with - either's fine with me.

Predicting an Ashes fightback,

Charlie x

Loose Ends

Ok, no rant from me today - am just tying a few things here.

1) I passed a sign the other night that said "Club des personnes âgées" - I'm so intruiged as to what that means? Is this U3A or a retirement home? It reminds me of a new-Labour plan to not let old people know they're old..."You're old and need care, but we don't want you to feel like a burden. Come to our club instead." That's my take on it anyway.

2) Surely banks can waste less paper. I mean really, 3 envelopes with additional unnecessary rubbish contained therein to convey a card to me is not a good use of their time and energy. It's not just here, it's everywhere. Silly people.

3) This is the bowing to peer pressure part of the blog. I've been bullied by a certain other assistant here into talking at length about a certain activity, so shall endeavour to humour her in an attempt to save my metaphorical eardrums. Basically, she feels the need to act like a frog occasionally, and as a result of this, launches herself at a certain, very tolerant, English boy in what is colloquially known as a "frog hug." She crouches, springs, and lands, with various consequences. Add the ingestion of soft drugs into her system and the results can certainly be interesting (most of all ocularly). Anyway, that's my shout-out - she wants this thing to go viral, so girls, if you feel like acting like an amphibian, you have my blessing. Here endeth the lesson.

4) Q. When is a bin not a bin?
     A. When it's laden.

No good? It's a mere digression from my actual point, namely that at what point does a bin cease to be a bin due to damage. I tried to put something in one the other day that resembled a pot with broken slats, and I couldn't be certain whether to go for it despite the possibility that it would just fall out straight away. Oh the civil dilemma...
That's all for now, folks.

Charlie x

Angoulême Has Mormons!

The title says it all basically. I was stopped in town on the way home last night by 2 Mormon chaps who were doing missionary work, in Angoulême of all places. Now, my knowledge of Mormonism is pretty sketchy, but I certainly didn’t let that stop me having some fun with these guys. After having asked me what I believed, they proceeded to tell me about their revelation stories, both of which involved their god revealing himself in prayer to them. When I asked for evidence of this celestial dictator, they responded in the most wonderful fashion: “Look at the earth.” Sweet, no? A question followed about whether I thought evolution was the cause of life on earth (I had to double-take at this point), and they finally offered me a Book of Mormon. I am still angry with myself for not taking it – free comedy literature should never be turned down, but for some reason this didn’t occur to me until after they’d moved on. So no Book of Mormon for me – alas.

This leads me on to something vaguely serious though. The 2 guys, both of whom were my age, clearly had no way of dealing with a conversation that did not follow their script – it was like talking to small, Mormon clones of Ray Comfort supporters. They did not possess the tools to argue their case, admitting to me freely that they had no chance of convincing me of their god’s existence, and in a way I pitied them. Growing up in an environment where you are not privy to a basic level of education, scientific or otherwise, before being thrust into a secular nation such as France to preach, does not sound like a healthy way to spend one’s formative years. They were very nice people; it is merely a shame that unfounded beliefs can be hammered in so strongly and unerringly into such young minds that they become unaware of reality.

As for the actual year abroad stuff, it’s really quite rainy. Little work is being undertaken due to the vagaries of my timetable, allowing me to sleep, eat, play the odd spot of golf and see friends ad nauseam. The real stuff recommences tomorrow though, whereupon I shall do my first full week (weeks for me here are always 4 days) for nearly a month – quite frankly it’s a disgrace that I’m being paid to do so little, but I certainly shall not complain!

Charlie x