Read the full article which is published on Philosophy Bits (external link)I’m standing before a great work of art, an unquestionable masterpiece. I cannot recall the name of the painting or the artist. I could read the small card beside the frame to get this information but it doesn’t matter right now. What matters is my experience of the artwork — the whole complex of perception and thought and feeling that constitutes what it is to see this painting.
If I were to attempt to describe my experience, I would discover that I’m not able to do so. I could go on and on for hours, talking about every imaginable aspect of my experience, and still I would never fully describe the experience itself. An unlimited number of words in any combination would still fail to capture the whole of it. The experience itself is always more, always beyond any possible description.
Poststructuralism as a Regime of Truth: Foucault and the Paradox of Philosophical Authority
Foucault’s critique of power and knowledge shaped poststructuralism, yet its rejection of truth risks becoming its own orthodoxy. To remain...
