To play this classic 1979 punk single click here.
A woman emails to let me know she fundamentally disagrees with almost everything that is posted on Torpedo the Ark - and particularly the anti-Christian Easter message on warmheartedness [click here]:
"Most of the ideas - if we can even call them ideas - are no more than academic clichés. And to these you repeatedly return as if gripped by an obsessive compulsive disorder, offering the same crude assertions and vulgar insults as if also suffering from Tourette's. I'm sorry to say - though as a follower of Nietzsche perhaps you'll appreciate the cruelty - but I think you're in a deep philosophical rut."
This seems a bit harsh, I have to say, even to a follower of Nietzsche ...
"Most of the ideas - if we can even call them ideas - are no more than academic clichés. And to these you repeatedly return as if gripped by an obsessive compulsive disorder, offering the same crude assertions and vulgar insults as if also suffering from Tourette's. I'm sorry to say - though as a follower of Nietzsche perhaps you'll appreciate the cruelty - but I think you're in a deep philosophical rut."
This seems a bit harsh, I have to say, even to a follower of Nietzsche ...
For whilst it's true that I can't concentrate and I don't feel straight - and might also have some issues around the notion of sovereignty - I wouldn't say that I'm in a rut; certainly not in the wholly negative sense that is implied here.
I prefer to think that, as Madonna would say, I've got into the groove and that's ultimately how one proves one's love of wisdom. For philosophy demands a certain level of consistency and, yes, obsessive-compulsive behaviour; an eternal return to the same ideas, same scenes, same songs. It also involves the stuttering of language and a display of idiosyncratic tics, both verbal and behavioural in nature, which to an outside eye might seem to indicate a neuropsychiatric disorder.
But, really, why quibble or get pedantic over terms?
Ultimately, I'd rather be entrenched in the deepest and darkest of philosophical ruts than have my head in the clouds like my idealistic critic who concludes her email by telling me to cheer up and insisting that life is beautiful and Jesus loves me (which it isn't, and he doesn't).
