Back in the June long weekend, four of us took a trip to the Barossa Valley (and one day up to the Clare Valley) in South Australia. I’ve been meaning to post something about it ever since. At this rate I’m never going to get around to writing anything, so here’s our trip in pictures and links. Enjoy.

No comments

Haven’t had much time to post lately – I’ve had a few other projects on the backburner for a while, and I’ve actually gotten around to sinking some time into them in the last couple of weeks. So not much new around here.

As a slight diversion, I did spend a few minutes randomising the site banner – you’ll now see one of five banners, three of which are from my parents’ house in the Blue Mountains, which I’m housesitting every couple of weekends while they’re overseas (another thing that’s distracting me from otherwise blogworthy free time). The other new one is the view of the entrance to the Megamall from my hotel room in Manila.

It’s occurred to me that I’m never going to get around to posting about the Barossa trip – apart from the fact that I never quite worked out what was going to be interesting about it to anyone else. I’ll probably just do a bit of a photo digest and leave it at that.

And I’m collecting an impressive backlog of church billboards. No shortage of material there.

No comments

The Australian census was conducted last Tuesday. For the first time, we had the option of filling it out online. I always get a bit of a buzz out of things like that – we might have a telco that hasn’t dropped its prices in sixty years and refuses to deploy high-speed broadband because it’s not allowed to have a monopoly on it, but we can fill out our census and our tax without using a pen.

No, seriously. I’m a software engineer. This makes me happy.

A quick sample of the census:

So it’s official now. I’ve been dropped from the stats.

No comments

Things like this leave me in a slightly confused state.

On the first day in the hotel, I had the instinctive happiness that you get from being given free stuff. By the sixth day, I start to feel like they’re watching me. I have this feeling that my character will be somehow judged by which combination of bathroom products I use. So I can’t bring myself to use any of them, unless I somehow use all of them up in equal quantities.

No comments

I’ll be in Manila for a week for work. Depending on how things go, I’ll either have no time or lots of time to post.

A concerned colleague lent me a couple of books – 20 Compelling Evidences That God Exists and, a bit more out of left field, Lights in the Sky a Little Green Men. I’m planning to read the first on the plane. Review to come.

No comments

I had a genuinely bizarre conversation at work yesterday. A colleague and I were talking (via a handful of other topics) about things that should be easy to determine as true or false, but have such entrenched misconceptions that it’s difficult to do get a straight answer with, say, a ten-second Google search. One example I mentioned was the idea that the Coriolis effect causes water to drain from a sink in opposite directions in the northern and southern hemispheres. For the record, this is rubbish, or at best a massive exaggeration; although the Coriolis effect does influence the draining water, the effect is so small at the scale of a sink or bathtub that it’s impossible to detect above other influences, like the flow direction of the water as it comes out of the tap, the shape of the bowl, and the movement of the plug after you pull it out. This site describes a way that the effect can be detected on this scale, but it’s a long shot from what you’re ever going to notice when flushing your toilet. The myth has been perpetuated by a combination of gullibility, people who capitalise off demonstrating it to tourists at the equator, and a sixth season episode of The Simpsons. (Although as an Aussie, that’s the least of my objections to that episode.)

Back to the story. While we were talking about the Coriolis effect, another colleague turned around from his desk with a look of confusion and disbelief – obviously he’d believed it until this point in his life. He challenged us to explain how, when (like, I suspect, most of us) he had tried swirling the water by hand in the opposite direction, it looked like it briefly changed direction, stopped, and then changed back. He completely dismissed the idea that the shape of the plughole and the sink, the motion of the water after hitting the sink from the tap, and the general chaotic effect of him swirling his hand through it would have a much more obvious effect than the difference between the radius of the earth from one side of the sink to the other. Didn’t want a bar of it. I asked him, if he had amassed such a body of evidence, which direction he thought the water did go in in the southern hemisphere; he couldn’t remember, but he knew it was the same. (He later said it was counterclockwise, but he didn’t sound too confident.)

This went back and forth for a while, until I demanded that we take the argument to the sink in the bathroom. We couldn’t find a plug in the bathroom so we went to the kitchen. (Incidentally, this gives you some idea of the immense scheduling pressures of our job.) On the way, the story started to change a bit; he started suggesting that a sink was too small, and there wouldn’t be time to see the swirl change direction in a small sink. We were told that we’d have to go home and fill up a bath – a bath – and then we’d see it all swirling in the same direction. The funny thing is that, until we actually went to look at a sink, there was no mention that there was a minimum size at which you’d see the effect. We tried the sink anyway, with results that I think it would be generous to call inconclusive; but as the water (with bits of paper to see which way it was moving) went down the plughole, the slightest movement in any direction was pointed to as evidence that the direction was changing.

We then tried an appeal to authority (read: Google), and the story changed again, to something like: “It might not be the rotation of the earth that does it, but something makes the water go down the sink the same way.” I suggested that there might be a legal requirement to build sinks shaped such that the water goes down one way in the southern hemisphere, and the other way in the northern hemisphere. The conversation sort of degenerated after that.

I’m not totally sure how serious he was; probably he was at least partially being stubborn and argumentative for its own sake. (He wouldn’t have been the only one.) But the point is that the conversation seemed strangely familiar. There’s something frustrating about trying to make a point to someone when the rules of evidence are reversed – instead of looking for the conclusion that best fits the facts you’re aware of, the conclusion is assumed, and the argument revolves around finding a way to make the evidence support the conclusion. Half-remembered personal experiences are quoted as unassailable facts, while other people’s experiences are dismissed. And when it looks like the other side is getting the upper hand, the goalposts move so that there’s still a chance of claiming a smaller or different conclusion as a win. I’m sure just about anyone has done some of these things in an argument at some stage, but what it really reminded me of was the argumentative merry-go-round that is religious apologetics.

There is something more specific that made the Coriolis thing remind me of a religious debate. The colleague in question is (now) the only believer on our project. I’ve been a bit hard on him so far in this post, but back when I was starting to have doubts about Christianity, he was one of the people I talked to at great length to look for some answers. When I started drafting this post yesterday I wasn’t even going to mention that he’s a Christian (I’m still trying to keep him anonymous of course), but then today we actually did have a discussion about religion, and it summed up what I think about Christianity so well that I thought it was worth writing about.

As I mentioned, we’d talked a while ago about the fact that I was having doubts, but I didn’t really keep him up to date with the fact that I’d reached a conclusion (the wrong one, from his perspective). Today the topic came up, and I (for lack of a less weighted phrase) broke the news to him.

The first thing he said was interesting – he agreed that Christianity made no sense. This is a position that, strangely enough, finds support in the Bible:

For the message about the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written, “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise, and the discernment of the discerning I will thwart.” Where is the one who is wise? Where is the scribe? Where is the debater of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since, in the wisdom of God, the world did not know God through wisdom, God decided, through the foolishness of our proclamation, to save those who believe. For Jews demand signs and Greeks desire wisdom, but we proclaim Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and foolishness to Gentiles, but to those who are the called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God. For God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength. 1 Corinthians 1:18-25, NRSV

Apparently it’s okay for the message to seem to make no sense, because God’s wisdom makes no sense to us. This is superior to evidence (Jews demand signs) or reasoning (Greeks desire wisdom). That’s fine, but how then are we expected to decide whether it’s true or not?

He went on to say that Christianity is based around an idea that doesn’t make sense on the surface of it – that you should put everyone else in the world ahead of yourself. Now a lot of religious people see atheism as a rejection of morality, because morality is part of religion. I had to point out that the idea of self sacrifice isn’t the most surprising part of Christianity, nor is it unique to Christianity; plenty of other religions and systems of morality say exactly the same thing. I have no problem with that. That’s not what I disagree with. The point of Christianity, which I do disagree with, is the claim that there’s a divine creator watching us, that he sent his son to us in the form of a human called Jesus, and so on.

After a bit more discussion, he told me that he was concerned that, against Hebrews 10:25 which tells us not to give up meeting together, I had stopped going to church because it’s “easier”, and then lost my desire to believe as I lost contact with the church, eventually justifying the fact that I didn’t want to go back by saying that I didn’t believe in God anymore.

My reply to this was sort of also the reason that I wanted to post this conversation, so that I have it on record for anyone who feels concerned about my decisions. I did not reach my current position lightly. I spent months looking at arguments from different angles, talking to people, asking God for guidance; one day I’ll post more detail about this, because it’s worth having stuff like this written down. As for it being a justification for my non-attendance at church, I actually stopped believing a few weeks before I stopped going to church. I was scheduled for songleading nearly every Sunday, which was a commitment I took seriously, and really enjoyed in earlier times when I was passionate about it. But for at least a couple of Sundays last year, I was looking out at a congregation, singing with them, while thinking, “I don’t believe these words anymore.” It was a surreal experience. My decision to stop going to church was nothing to do with the culture of the church, or the people in it; it was simply because I no longer believed in the God I was going there to worship.

After this, he more or less accepted what I was saying, and was good-natured if a little dejected about it. Full credit to him for recognising that someone has legitimate, thought-out reasons for what they believe or don’t believe. (My partner Tina wasn’t so lucky – one of her workmates told her that the solution to all her doubts was that she should read Philippians 4. She did. It wasn’t.)

The conversation drifted on to a few other topics; for example, he said that there are some things he has real difficuly believing deep down, but he knows they’re true because the Bible says so – a situation I’m familiar with but now find strange. These days I take the position that if the Bible says something that really doesn’t appear to be the case, then it casts the Bible in doubt, not necessarily just your own perception. This led him to the old assertion that it depends on faith, not on sensible reasoning. This has Biblical support as well:

I am saying this so that no one may deceive you with plausible arguments… See to it that no one takes you captive through philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the universe, and not according to Christ. Colossians 2:4,8, NRSV

There was a time when I accepted that, at least in some cases, blind faith and acceptance of Biblical authority was a better way to find truth than “plausible arguments”. These days I’m less convinced.

I’m aware that this post has rambled over a handful of topics without really doing justice to any of them, and may have generally sounded a bit patronising. The colleague I’m talking about is a good guy, and using conversations with him to make a point isn’t going to totally reflect his character in all its gritty human detail. What I’m trying to show here is that, as I see it in myself (as a former Christian and, to some extent, now as well), and in others, there’s an attitude towards reasoning that accompanies religion. It’s an attitude that says that some truths can be sacred, and anything that seems to contradict it is either wrong or is being misinterpreted. It says that not every truth needs to stand on its own merits, that some things should be accepted on faith, and that that faith is superior to any rational argument that disagrees with it. It says that someone who doesn’t hold certain beliefs is doing so for ulterior reasons, because they don’t want to accept it, or find it too hard, or have emotional barriers that they have to overcome.

This is how I see things. Feel free to disagree with me. None of my opinions are sacred.

No comments

My cousin is occasionally involved in local musicals. Last night we went to see her in the chorus of Ashfield Musical Society’s production of Les Miserables. I’ve seen Les Mis before at least once, and I know a fair bit of the music, but for some reason I could remember very little of the actual story (maybe I was too young to pay attention before). Anyway, it was amazing. So much so that I’ve added the novel (or a translation, anyway – my French vocabulary consists of the numbers one to fifteen plus the phrase “it is not the train station”) to my list of books that I resolutely intend to read one day and probably never will.

Random trivia: Les Miserables was the topic of what is generally considered to be the shortest correspondence on record. Apparently Victor Hugo was on holiday when it was published. He wanted to know how sales were going, so he sent a letter to his publisher: “?” His publisher replied, “!”

No comments

I was baptised in the name of Jesus Christ on the 26th of May, 1999. That would make today my seventh spiritual birthday.

For those who are new here (which would be most people – this site has only been up for a couple of weeks), I stopped believing in God sometime last year. Needless to say, today doesn’t hold the kind of significance it used to. But it’s as good an opportunity as any to reflect on the things that I’ve learnt in the last seven years. So here we go.

• There is a Bible verse that can be used to make any point you could ever want to make, and another verse (often from the same book) to make the opposite point.
• From Monday to Saturday, people say that the Sunday service should be a time of worship, to have fellowship with God, and to get their joy and inspiration from Him, not from the words of mere men. On Sunday, the buck stops with the preacher and songleaders.
• Hearing or reading a convincing argument against what you believe is very stressful. Christians tend to avoid this by reading only Christian books.
• If someone has an idea of what they’re supposed to want in order to appear spiritual, they’ll pray for it. If someone actually wants something to happen, they’ll do it themselves and pray for God to bless it.
• Any outcome can be interpreted as an answered prayer.
• The human mind is capable of believing almost anything.

This is just a random selection of thoughts; it’s not intended to be a well-reasoned argument. I might try to expand of some of this more coherently at some time in the future. But for now, you’ll just have to deal with wild unsubstantiated statements; after all, it’s my birthday.

No comments

Tina and I have a tradition of going to the Lovedale Long Lunch in the Hunter Valley. (That is to say, we went for the second time this year. How many times do you have to do something to make it a tradition?) Basically you buy a wine glass, and at each of seven participating wineries you can buy your choice of two meals and get your glass filled up. Or you can get dessert, or you can just do some wine tasting and listen to the entertainment that most of the wineries provide for the day. To be honest, the queues are long, the meals are expensive, and you struggle to find somewhere to sit; but there’s something indulgent about it that makes it worthwhile. And if you’re driving (as I was), you have to take your time and stay at each place for an hour or so just to be able to get around legally.

We just went up for the Saturday, and more or less made up our route as we went.

Capercaillie

Not actually one of the participating wineries, but Tina loves their Dessert Style Gewurztraminer, a very light lychee-like affair. We got four bottles of that and a 2004 Ceilidh Shiraz.

Allandale

The same place we started last year. We both had the “Persian style lamb shank, on caramelised onion and potato mash” – normally we try to do the couple thing of getting different meals and sharing, but this was too much for either of us to resist. This went with their 2003 Shiraz, which I scribbled down as “coffee, dark berries, white pepper”.

Wandin Valley

I doubt anyone who grew up with Australian television manages to resist humming the theme to A Country Practice when visiting Wandin Valley Estate. We were originally going to try to get some profiteroles, but the food queue was too long so we just did some tastings, and bought a bottle of their Muscat.

Emma’s Cottage

I was massively torn between the two meals here – “Steaming noodle bowl with sticky BBQ pork, prawn meat and poached chicken, Asian leaves, chilli jam and crisp shallot”, and “Twice cooked lamb shank char-grilled with African spices on slow cooked ragout of tomatoes, chickpeas, dressed with lemon labna and pappadam flakes”. Eventually I settled on the lamb, despite the similarity to Allandale. Tina had a dessert, a “Three cheese Pashka with toasted lavosh and candied fruits”. The 1997 Shiraz was definitely showing its age, and tasted mouldy. We tasted a few of the other wines but nothing really stood out.

Cooper

By the time we got to Cooper it was starting to rain. Finding a dry seat while keeping the umbrella over both of us was an exercise in relationship dynamics. We got some desserts, a “Chocolate, caramello cheescake with vanilla bean creme anglaise” and “Jindi brie, crusty bread, tomato and fig relish and crackers”. Both were good, but between the previous meals and trying to balance the umbrella we didn’t finish either of them. It’s a bit of a shame, we finished at Cooper last year as well, and you don’t really appreciate the last stop as much. Maybe we’ll try it first next year.

Stay tuned for the Queen’s Birthday long weekend trip to the Barossa…

No comments

This blog is obviously in its early stages, and I’m sort of undecided about how much of my personal life (a) I want to disclose and (b) anyone else will give a hoot about in any meaningful way… but let’s see what happens.

As I’ve mentioned before, I recently became an atheist, i.e. during the last year or so. However, I’m still on the email list for my old church’s newsletter, which I still read, with a strange mix of interest, nostalgia, and amusement.

Recently the church has been compiling a list of people who have left the congregation (left God, backslid, fallen away, whatever) and have been organising prayer nights specifically to pray for them. Tonight is the second prayer night. I don’t yet know for sure whether I’m on the list, but I certainly fit the criteria.

It’s tricky to know how to feel about this. It’s bizarre to know not only that people are praying for intervention in my life, but even when they’re doing it. It’s weird to be on the other side of the fence. After all, a few years ago I would have been involved in this myself – I prayed for goodness knows how many lost souls during my time as a Christian.

On the other hand – and this is a discussion I’ve had with at least one person who’s still going to church – this a really clear-cut opportunity for God to reveal himself somehow. I’m planning on writing a fuller account of my “deconversion” later, but basically, for a long time I was asking God to give me some indication that he was there. It didn’t have to be a burning bush, but surely omniscience includes the ability to know what will actually make sense to my mind. And there was nothing. Not a whisper.

Now, Christians might claim that I wasn’t seeking honestly, that I wanted to leave for my own reasons and wouldn’t have responded even if God appeared before me in a flash of light, and that there were probably lots of signs in my life that I would have noticed if I cared to open my eyes. (Can you tell I’ve argued that side before?) I have no way of refuting that except to say that I know my own mind. I would have no hesitation in going back to God if something happened to make me actually think that he’s there to go back to. I haven’t seen that yet, but my eyes are still open. My theory about the nature of God is falsifiable.

So here’s the situation. I, a committed Christian for about six years, prayed repeatedly for God, who claims to desperately want a relationship with me, to somehow make it clear that he is there, and was honestly willing to follow him if he did. Now, his beloved children are more than likely asking the same thing for me. I’d be surprised if anyone could construct a request that is more obviously what God would want to do anyway.

And yet I’m still an atheist.

No comments