Whatever It Is, I'm Against It!

 Groucho was a punk rocker

 

I.

 

I have given several attempts to explain what the polysemic phrase torpedo the ark - borrowed from Norwegian playwright Henrik Ibsen - means to me, including:

 

(a) to have done with the judgement of God ... [click here]

 

(b) to hate everything ... [click here]

 

(c) to find everything funny ... [click here]

 

But, every now and then, I get emails from readers asking me to further elucidate. And so, I thought I'd offer a new definition - this time one inspired by Groucho Marx, rather than (a) Gilles Deleuze, (b) the Sex Pistols, or (c) Larry David: 

 

Torpedo the ark means ... Whatever it is, I'm against it!    

 

 

II.

 

This amusing line is sung by Groucho playing the role of Prof. Quincy Adams Wagstaff (Head of Huxley College) in the 1932 Mark Brothers film Horse Feathers (dir. Norman Z. McLeod).

 

The original song - 'I'm Against It' - was one of several musical numbers in the movie written by Bert Kalmar and Harry Ruby. 

 

Verses include:

  

I don't know what they have to say 

It makes no difference anyway 

Whatever it is, I'm against it!

No matter what it is 

Or who commenced it 

I'm against it!

 

Your proposition may be good 

But let's have one thing understood: 

Whatever it is, I'm against it!

And even when you've changed it 

Or condensed it 

I'm against it! [1]

Such wonderful comic nihilism nicely supplements the earlier interpretations of the phrase torpedo the ark and builds upon my own natural impulse to say no, nein, and non merci to everything - including those kind offers and opportunities that it might make more sense to accept and take advantage of [2].    

 

This obviously shows a perverse streak in my character, but there you go; if someone opens a door for me, I turn and walk away. Similary, if someone invites me to join their literary society, political party, social network, or private members club, I again remember the famous words of Groucho Marx [3].

 

 

Notes

 

[1] To watch Groucho perform this song - the opening number of Horse Feathers (1932) - click here. 

 

[2] See the post 'Just Say No' (1 Aug 2014): click here. 

 

[3] Groucho Marx is believed to have said: "I don't want to belong to any club that would accept me as one of it's members." Or something very similar to this; no one knows the exact wording or the precise circumstances of its employment. This amusing line was first reported by the Hollywood gossip columnist Erskine Johnson in October 1949 and it has been repeated ever since.

 

 

Thanks to Thomas Bonneville for suggesting this post and reminding me also that the Ramones have a track entitled 'I'm Against It' which can be found on their album Road to Ruin (Sire Records, 1978): click here to play a 2018 remastered version on YouTube.  

 

Torpedo the Ark Means: Everything's Funny (5th Anniversary Reflections on the Death of a Parakeet)

Sorry about your bird ...

The phrase torpedo the ark - borrowed from Ibsen - is polysemic. That is to say, it has multiple meanings within a semantic field and thus invites fluid interpretation, rather than fixed definition.

Having said that, when originally conceiving the blog, I wanted a title that would first and foremost sloganise the idea of having done with the judgement of God. This, for me at least, remains the core meaning of the phrase that underlies all others. Understand this, and you understand that torpedo the ark is opposed to all forms of coordinating authority and does not mean destroy all species of life.

Those who like to read it in the latter sense are welcome to do so, but it's mistaken to describe this blog as ecocidal, even if it is often anti-vitalist in its nihilism and ultimately regards the epiphenomenal occurrence of life as a very rare and unusual way of being dead. What's being negated here isn't bios in all its evolutionary variety, but the lie of salvation.

Crucially, torpedo the ark also means having the freedom to criticise everything under the sun - even if this risks offending others. Nothing is sacrosanct or off limits; everything can be targeted and everything can be ridiculed, mocked, or scorned because, as Larry David rightly informs his friend Richard Lewis, everything's funny - even the death of a beloved parakeet ...  

Note: I am referring to a scene in the first episode of the ninth season of Curb Your Enthusiasm entitled 'Foisted!', dir. Jeff Schaffer, written by Larry David and Jeff Schaffer (2017): click here to watch on YouTube.  

Torpedo the Ark - Fire 500! (Ibsen, Nietzsche, and the Question of Revolutionary Nihilism)

Henrik Ibsen (2014) 
A low-poly portrait by Taudalpoi

taudalpoi.wordpress.com

In 1869, the Scandinavian playwright Henrik Ibsen composed a short poem entitled 'To My Friend, the Revolutionary Orator'. It was addressed to a critic who had accused Ibsen, then aged forty-one, of betraying the radical promise of his youth and becoming increasingly conservative. 

In the verse, Ibsen not only wishes to refute the charge, but demonstrate that he remains a perfervid revolutionary; more - not less - radical than before; one who desires the total destruction of the old order. He's not interested, he says, in moving pawns about the chessboard, or in futile social reforms. He wants to make a clean sweep of things.

Becoming increasingly intoxicated by his uncompromising vision of a future founded upon absolute freedom and purity of being achieved via a purge of all existing life forms, Ibsen announces that, come a new flood, he will happily torpedo the ark.

Discontent with anything other than the dream of a new beginning and a new mankind, Ibsen finds it impossible to identify with any political parties or programmes. His extreme individualism leads him towards a form of anarcho-nihilism in which not just the modern state, but the world itself needs to be blown out of the water. 

For some, this might all sound rather like Nietzsche in his grand political mode when he imagines himself as dynamite; a sort of human bomb longing to explode and make a breach in the walls of whatever constrains and coordinates life. For it's true, there are elements of fascism in Nietzsche - particularly in the later works, as he grows ever-more frustrated and possessed by the spirit of revenge that elsewhere in his texts he deplores and seeks to combat.

We shouldn't overlook or deny this; but we should remember also the Nietzsche who wrote: "I do not love people who have to explode like bombs in order to have any effect at all" and advocates a politics of resistance rather than a politics of revolutionary redemption. The Nietzsche who also wrote:

"If change is to be as profound as it can be, the means to it must be given in the smallest doses but unremittingly over long periods of time! Can what is great be created at a single stroke? So let us take care not to exchange the state of morality to which we are accustomed for a new evaluation of things head over heels and amid acts of violence ..."

Of course, some will point out that this 'small doses' passage taken from his mid-period writings is no more indicative of the authentic Nietzsche, or any more quintessential than the later texts in which he fantasizes the seizure of history and evolution. And they'd be right to do so. However, it seems to me to offer a much more interesting and credible teaching than the lame and ludicrous notion of holy war and a return to Year Zero. 

I don't know if Ibsen ever had cause to regret his desire to implement a final solution - but shame on him, as an artist and as a man, if he never came to realise that the chick does not break the shell out of animosity against the egg (as Lawrence would say).

And I would hope, finally, after 500 posts, that the phrase torpedo the ark is understood to mean something very different in the context of this blog to what Ibsen meant by it ...


Notes:

Those interested in reading the Ibsen poem in which the line 'torpedo the ark' appears should click here.

The lines quoted from Nietzsche can be found in (i) The Gay Science, trans. Walter Kaufmann, (Vintage Books, 1974), III. 218, p. 210, and (ii) Daybreak, trans. R. J. Hollingdale, (Cambridge University Press, 1989), V. 534, p. 211.

 

Torpedo the Ark

Arrange for a flood to the high-tide mark,

And I'll gladly, myself, torpedo the ark.

The lines were written by Ibsen for a revolutionary friend. Whilst troubled by how such violent political fantasies came to fruition within modernity, nevertheless the final phrase continues to appeal to the nihilist in me. And this is so even when the concept of nihilism now has a rather hackneyed quality, as Ray Brassier concedes in his excellent study Nihil Unbound (2007).

In this text, Brassier argues persuasively that, as a philosopher, one remains obliged to affirm the essential truth of nihilism. This, of course, is the truth of extinction: a truth with which philosophy has long struggled to come to terms. Even Nietzsche, whilst boasting of his being the 'first perfect nihilist', wasted a good deal of his intellectual energies trying to find a way to revalue values and thus overcome his own fatal conclusion that life is not only without any meaning at all, but is purely epiphenomenal; i.e., just a very rare and unusual way of being dead.

If only he hadn't been so determined to make philosophy into a medium of life's affirmation and eternal return, then Nietzsche might have seen that, ultimately, it serves best as what Brassier terms the 'organon of extinction'. He might also have agreed that torpedoing the ark is necessitated not only because the sentimental notion of salvation for the righteous deserves to be sunk without trace, but because intellectual honesty requires it. 

For what nihilism teaches us is that even without Noah and his floating zoo - and even without a perverse and pathological deity first causing destructive floods and then gently placing rainbows in the sky - there remains an independent reality which is completely indifferent to our existence and oblivious to our vain attempts to make it more hospitable. Nature is not our home and we should forget about any covenant made with a dead God. 

Brassier is right: philosophy should do more than simply further human conceit. Its duty and, indeed, its destiny is to acknowledge the fact that "thinking has interests that do not coincide with those of the living" [2007: xi].