Thoughts Of a Walking Atheist

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The sun rose on the morning after a night before. The sun rose into the February sky burning through the seasonal grip on Cambridge. For the first time in months the sun's warmth could be felt on my back and it was glorious. Like a hibernating animal, awaking in the spring ready to play after a long cold sleep.

I like to look on such a familiar place with new eyes, revealing what has always been there made me into a tourist for the day. So there I was, standing on Jesus Green, sun high in the sky, enticing people from all walks of life into the great outdoors. The repressed energy of a winter manifested itself in the people and activities. As I walked through the city, I couldnt help but smile at everyone who went by.

Today Cambridge had a vibe that makes it such an exciting and wonderful place to live, the close fusion of tourists on King's Parade to the intense rivalry of competing rowing eights on the river. With the news so full of job cuts and economic worries, I felt freed by the fact I had nowhere to go, no one to meet and nothing to do. The day was my own to with as I saw fit. And what better way to spend the first sunny day than to re explore ones own home.

The river path from Cambridge to Waterbeach is a seven mile winding track that is populated by rowers, cyclists, pedestrians and fishermen. As a cyclist myself I usually find myself in conflict with both the rowers and the fishermen. The cantabrigian anglers deem it reasonable to fish with poles that could and do reach the other bank, such that when they are not in use they block the path. Normally there are very few of these fickle fishermen, but such is the annoyance of having to stop every 10 meters for the middle aged man in his mac move his over compensating pole out of the way that fishermen hold a very special kind of hatred for their own. This is equalled only by the coaches of the rowers, these college boys and girls have more degrees than direction or common sense. It is only on the odd occasion that such a coach concentrates on the path ahead instead of the boat they are shouting at. Not a problem if they were on foot, but with the path being the width of two handle bars at the widest point and the coaches saddled on bicycles, they are positively lethal. It is most gratifying to overtake 8 finely honed atheletes in an hydrodynamic carbon fibre boat, all sweating and feeling the burn of 30 strokes a minute at nothing more than cruising speed on my bike.

for some reason neither the fishermen or the suicidal rowing coaches bothered me today, perhaps it was my euphoria from being in the sun for the first time in months or maybe it was the pint I had for lunch in a very nice pub. If anything the rowers and their entourage made my amble all the more enjoyable, with their banter and cries of encouragement to push the very boundaries of the human body, with the knowledge that I was taking it slow and loving it.

With this being the 800th year of Cambridge University, the distinction between towns and gowns is more in the conciousness than normal, or rather mine at least. It would be true to say that Cambridge would be nothing without such a prestigious academy of learning, but I can't help thinking that the city is divided not only on rich and poor but also on education. Those that actually study in a Cambridge college have access to a very exclusive side of Cambridge that the rest of us can only ever glimpse at. The acres of presteen playing fields, the astounding architecture of the buildings hidden behind porters and access only doors and gates. The most beautiful parts of the river flow under the bridges of Kings, St Johns and Trinity. The mere townsfolk are admitted on sufferance, the same level as the tourist. A tourist in your own home. The relation between town and gown, though at times strained and broken, is a symbiotic one. Cambridge is Cambridge because of the University. The University only exists because of the town.

For all of its intellectual might, there are glaring instances of grave stupidity. The latest one being the guided bus. Dubbed by many as the "misguided bus". This brainchild of our local government has caused disruption for the past year as they tear up road and rail to lay down ton after ton of grey concrete. Such a thing went out of fashion with the tower blocks of the sixties and seventies. This form of transport will increase the number of buses on the roads, forcing normal road users to abandon their cars and bikes for other modes of transport. What with an already expensive and suspect bus service and trains that are filled to capacity already, the future of Cambridge transport looks bleak.

Last summer while walking down Petty Cury street I heard the evangelising of an American Christian. With what is I think a very Cambridge attitude, the street audience gathered around in patience scepticism as he layed out the righteous fire that would surely engulf our immortal souls. Apart from the few denegrates armed with cans of special brew, the counter arguments from the crowds were on the whole logical, informed and polite. I stood as part of the crowd for the best part of an hour as this young American preacher argued from the scripture against the public of Cambridge. Fortunately for the young American, the audience of Cambridge understands the etiquette of debating and from this flowed the theological and logical arguments for and against micro and macro evolution, the existence of God and the immortality of the soul. Now this American as I stood listening did get the better of everyone who brought their view to the debate. Such a feat could go down as one of the great one man stands. It was during this time that I realised that such a person could not be bested in debate. I have a feeling that many of the silent onlookers thought the same as each critic was silenced by the American's rhetoric and adherance to the scripture. But for me it was not a debate to prove him wrong, it was to fully explore the pros and cons of each topic and stance and understand the points in question. Though in a debate where only one side can the virtue in backing down, there can only really be one winner. That didn't stop people from trying. One man did come close, from what he was saying, he had a secure grasp of evolution. Shooting down the creation story and intelligent design with examples straight from Darwin and from the modern world, citing examples of the spotted moth in industrial Britain, the birds of the Galapagos islands and the prevalence of sickle cell anaemia in west Africa. It was from these debates with the American evangelical that I actually started taking an interest in religion. It took me to Karen Armstrong's biography of Muhammed to the Tao by Lao Tzu all the way to the God Delusion by the infamous Richard Dawkins. If I ever see that evangelical American again, I shall thank him for leading me to the works of Mr Dawkins and my "conversion" to atheism. No doubt the irony will be lost on him.

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