Seriously, what are the principles of their theories, on what evidence are they based, what do they explain that wasn’t already obvious, etc? These are fair requests for anyone to make. If they can’t be met, then I’d suggest recourse to Hume’s advice in similar circumstances: to the flames.
Noam Chomsky on postmodernist theorists such as Derrida, Lacan, Lyotard, Kristeva, etc
The real world remains as a residuum of the birth of the divine world: real animals and plants separated from their spiritual truth slowly rejoin the empty objectivity of tools; the mortal body is gradually assimilated to the mass of things. Insofar as it is spirit, the human reality is holy, but it is profane insofar as it is real.
I hope you all will excuse me, but I’m gonna go on a little rant right quick. Post-Modern philosophy is absolutely idiotic. It is entirely based on the idea that there is no such thing as absolute truth. Truth is all entirely relative and subjective based on you and your experiences. It is out of this vein of philosophy that you get such beliefs as: morality is a social construct, gender is a social construct, you are a social construct, everything is a social construct. It entirely overlooks the fact that it is inherently self-contradictory. The statement that “there is no absolute truth” IS an absolute truth. It defeats itself. Moreover the large majority of the various veins of thought that flow from post-modernism either contradict themselves or are entirely moot points. The idea that morality is a social construct is one such moot point that for some reason is often used against Christians. Often times we will get blasted with the idea that we cannot dictate our own morality on others because morality is subjective and not everyone believes in it. What might be easy to miss is that that very statement is an attempt to enact a moral standard. If there is no such thing as moral standards, then there is no reason to enforce the idea that forcing your own morality on someone is wrong, because that would be enforcing a moral standard, which they just claimed didn’t exist. No matter what you do in government you are enforcing a moral standard, even if that standard is “tolerance.” This leads me to another faulty idea of post-modernism. Some post-modernists have come to the conclusion that humanity cannot have free will to make decision, and then have proceeded to write to convince others that they do not have free will. Even ignoring the fact that concluding you don’t have free will is an act of free will, this argument defeats itself. These people are still trying to argue to convince others. In a world without free will attempting to convince others through logic has about as much purpose as banging your head against a brick wall (which might honestly explain the shocking lack of logic in post-modern thought). The very act of convincing someone would be an exertion of free will. If somebody decides that you are right based on your argument, they are making a choice, and therefore using free will. The very existence of a movement to disprove the existence of free will proves its existence. That was kinda of long, but my point is this: never mistake your feelings for an argument. Feelings have no concept of self-contradiction. Really think about something before you decide to throw out thousands of years of thought for an idea that was invented 10 or even 50 years ago. Past humans thought the ways they did for reasons. True they were fallible, but so are you.
Now, if there is one thing that our ‘modern’ or ‘postmodern’ philosophers have in common, beyond the conflicts that divide them, it is this excessive confidence in the powers of language. It is the typical illusion of the lector, who can regard an academic commentary as a political act or the critique of texts as a feat of resistance, and experience revolutions in the order of words as radical revolutions in the order of things.
Bourdieu, P. (2000). Pascalian meditations. Stanford, California: Stanford University Press. p.2
He kind of had been for years now. But eh, you got used to them after a while. Except, they kept going missing recently and he had a sneaking suspicion it had to do with his girlfriend.
They’d met a couple of years back; it’d been raining, he couldn’t get his fucking cigarette lit and then some cute chick with green polka dot umbrella was smiling at him and shielding him from the rain. She didn’t even bother to scold him for smoking, even though she looked like the type. Messenger bag heavy with books, sweater, skirt, some kick ass boots (Soul heartily approved of the boots), and fucking ribbons in her hair. No, instead, she took the cigarette from his hand and took a long drag from it like an old pro.
“Philosophy major,” she offered when she gave the cigarette back. “Helps me keep my head on straight."
He grinned and invited her to go warm up over an Irish coffee. She said she preferred Italian coffee but would be delighted.
"My name’s Maka.”
“Soul.” Watching the way her eyes lit up made him wonder just who this girl was going to be in his life.
A few coffees turned into Soul dragging her to a few open mics and jazz nights, or Maka manhandling him into a fine arts museum, the dates turned into dinners, into afternoons lazing around together in nothing but their underwear, into waking up each other up with gentle kisses early in the morning.
Her father visibly balked when she brought Soul home for the first time, and yes, while he had tried to make a halfway decent effort not to look like a complete vagabond, between his hair, the gauges, his tattoos, it was pretty clear that he wasn’t the clean and cut boy Maka was supposed to be dating. But she held his hand, dressed in some kind of floral dress, looking completely out of place next to him, and told her father to back off.
It wasn’t always easy and sometimes the weird looks on the street really got to Maka. Soul was used to it, ever since he was a kid, the white hair kind of stood out. She didn’t fit in with any of his friends, in fact she kind of stuck out like a sore thumb, but they accepted her happily which relieved Soul.
Ever since they’d moved in together though, she was stealing more and more of his clothing. Not that she hadn’t done it before, but just…he was kind of running out of things to wear. She liked to wear his button down shirts (flannel or otherwise) over her dresses, or peaking out from under her sweaters, Maka was a notorious sweatshirt thief and he’d pretty much given up on the Great Boxer Wars and had resigned himself to buying more.
But the skinny jeans were a little baffling. He was a good deal taller than her and Maka was tiny. Even with a belt the amount of extra fabric around her waist would be absurd. So when she came back to their apartment one afternoon after class actually wearing his pants, Soul was more than a little surprised. They hung way too low on her hips, the crotch halfway down to her knees and some weird combination of rolled and slouched and perched on top of her boots so they wouldn’t drag on the ground.
“You thief.” Soul growled, eyeing her up and down again. Maka at least had the decency to blush.
"That’s what you always say."
"But I look punk!"
Soul snorted and walked up to her, "No, you look like a nerd who stole her boyfriend’s shit."
"Shut up, I look badass.”
“Oh yeah, the pink ribbons are really helping with that.” He toyed with one of them, loosening it so her pigtail slipped out.
“A cute badass?” Maka tried, her breathing uneven as she watched Soul watching her.
He could push her buttons, get her all flushed and mad. But that would probably end with her hitting him on the head with her book about post-modern philosophy that she’d been trying to read for the past month. Or, he could let her have this one and possibly engage in some nice afternoon sex. Yeaaaah, that sounded like a better plan.
Plus, she kind of was a cute badass.
“Sure.” He breathed against her lips right before he kissed her. Maka’s arms were immediately around his neck, her fingers threading into his hair.
She nipped at his lip and moaned when he returned the favor. “Y-you’re just saying that because you- mmmm, want something.” Not that she was at all adverse to what he wanted. It would be a great way to distract herself for a while from the several hundred pages of reading she had just done.
Soul tugged the other ribbon out of her hair so it hung loose. He loved her hair down. “Maybe a little bit. But you are a pretty cute badass.” Maka squeaked and then laughed when he hiked her up to wrap her legs around his waist.
“Aw, my punk knight in his plaid armor!"
He snorted and carried her to their bedroom, a weird mishmash of her flowery tastes and his own red and black shit. But it was them and it made him smile like a fool when he was sure no one else was looking. Maka bounced when he dumped her on the bed, trying to hold back her giggles when he tugged his pants off her.
"Mine and mine.” He said watching her shift on their bed.
@/jesseleesoffer: I was truly one with nature this morning, and I made a new friend. We had a surprisingly deep discussion. As we shared breakfast, he shared his thoughts on Nietzsche and post modern philosophy. #deepconvos #nature #birdman