A few months ago, while writing my dissertation, I came across an interview with Michel Foucault. I was immediately struck by the sound of his voice—clear, distinct, and confident: the voice of a philosopher. Although the podcast was dated, its content felt uncannily relevant and contemporary. At the time, I had little idea that this man had influenced several generations of thinkers and activists.
In France—both today and in the 1980s—it is quite common for intellectuals (writers, artists), philosophers, and scientists to appear on radio programs to discuss their research or promote their latest publications. I presume it was on one of these occasions that Foucault spoke about power and sexuality.
Rather than focusing on the content of the interview, I want to reflect on the way he delivered his ideas—that is, the way he communicated knowledge. Although Foucault is often associated with postmodernism due to the complexity and originality of his thought, I would argue that his intellectual style was in many ways modern—even old-fashioned.
Modernity is frequently described as relying on an explicit, rational language grounded in the positivist legacy of the Enlightenment. Modernists derived their knowledge through scientifically verifiable evidence and logical reasoning—an approach often associated with Plato and the rational mind.
Foucault, much like Simone de Beauvoir or her partner Jean-Paul Sartre, wrote and spoke with clarity and precision. He appeared committed to making his ideas accessible, as if he were speaking not just to scholars, but to a wider public—including, perhaps, a poor farmer living in a remote part of the country. I have the impression that this clarity was intentional: he wanted to communicate complex ideas in a way that could resonate with everyone, regardless of their background.
I had heard of Judith Butler on many occasions, but I had never taken the time to watch any of her lectures. Butler is often considered one of the key intellectual figures of the 1990s and a central reference point in postmodern theory.
In my view, postmodernism diverges from modernism due to their differing core beliefs. While modernism privileges the discovery of knowledge through empiricism—knowledge based on sensory experience—postmodernism shifts the source of knowledge inward, locating it within the individual rather than in an external, objective realm (such as Plato’s world of forms). In this sense, knowledge is no longer something “out there” to be discovered, but something constructed through language, identity, and subjective experience.
I believe it is partly due to this intellectual arrogance—or perhaps overconfidence—that we find ourselves in today’s post-apocalyptic cultural moment. I will return to that idea later. What is clear, however, is that the 1990s marked a kind of contemporary renaissance—what I would describe as a new Enlightenment. It was a time of discovery and plurality, when diverse voices could enter the academic and cultural space. Because knowledge was now accessible to anyone willing to theorise, there was also a kind of intellectual pressure to be controversial, provocative, and original.
To me, postmodernism celebrates subjectivity, which, while valuable, can also lead to confusion—and at times, to a kind of academic narcissism.
Let me offer an example. The video I included in this article illustrates this point. In it, Judith Butler speaks at a university conference—an academic setting where her audience is likely familiar with her theory of gender performativity. However, for a student unfamiliar with the theoretical context, her language may appear obscure or inaccessible. The subtlety and nuance of her ideas require prior knowledge. In that sense, Butler is speaking primarily to her peers—and perhaps, indirectly, to herself.
Of course, it would be an oversimplification to claim that postmodernism consists of a single school of thought. On the contrary, its richness lies in the multiplicity of voices and perspectives it fosters. However, my central point is this: in contrast to thinkers like Foucault—who made a conscious effort to communicate in an accessible and clear manner—many postmodern theorists chose to contain their ideas within established academic circles, using complex and highly subjective language that can alienate broader audiences.
I included an interview with RuPaul in this article because I strongly believe he represents a new era—one that is neither entirely postmodern nor modern, but rather a post-era: a period shaped by the idea of "the end of history." Arthur Danto famously wrote about the death of art, partially in reference to this concept. History, of course, has not ended in a literal sense, but the way we understood and engaged with it—particularly through ideological narratives—has shifted dramatically. What came to an end was not history itself, but a belief in a linear, progressive history rooted in Enlightenment positivism, which had dominated for nearly 200 years. After this shift, anything and everything became possible.
I included RuPaul’s interview because, if we consider language as a system of discourse built on symbols—whether rational or subjective—then major cultural shifts occur when new languages emerge and are actively used by communities to communicate. In the 19th century, for example, scientists coined new terms to describe emerging concepts and identities: homosexuality, lesbianism, extinction, electricity, battery, anaesthesia, etc. Similarly, postmodern theorists introduced other terms such as gender, queering, transgender, anarchy, species, and heteronormativity.
What is especially interesting about drag subculture is that it developed a new lexicon—although not a "language" in the formal sense, it represents a playful, semiotic distortion of the English language. Terms like gagging, no tea, no shade, girlfriend, twins, condragulations, and sickening emerged as part of a subcultural lingo. What began as an underground form of expression is now widely understood and used in mainstream culture.
I also want to raise a critical point. While postmodernists fought to dismantle traditional norms and claim the right to radical self-definition, they also, somewhat paradoxically, established a new normative framework—what some have referred to as homonormativity. RuPaul is very much a product of that legacy. In fact, both he and many of us (as gay individuals) exist within a normative subculture now referred to as queer.
The danger, as I see it, lies in this normalization. Normativity, even within subcultures, carries the risk of stagnation and decay. What once served as a radical or liberatory identity may, over time, become rigid, limiting, or even exclusionary. What was once queer may no longer feel disruptive or transformative.
In this sense, the word queer—though still widely used—may be at risk of losing its meaning through overuse and over-contextualisation. What once pointed to a radical critique of identity and normativity may now simply signify membership in another normative community.
Comments
Post a Comment