Post Modernity

Two critics - one Marxist, the other literary - walk into a bar discussing Ronald J. Deibert's book, Parchment, Printing and Hypermedia.

The literary critic says, "In addition to being a book densely packed with information painstakingly researched and conclusions clearly and expertly argued, I was sublimely surprised to discover within Deibert's pages a compellingly epic historical narrative interwoven among the threads of thought and currents of conjecture in which he constructs, out of an expansive and apparently inexhaustible nebula of citation and cross-referencing, a massive, gaseous giant of an essay on the changes in modes of communication and their correlative transformations of the contemporaneous world order."

To this, the Marxist, visibly perturbed, replies, "You and your holistic, elitist perspective embodies the oppressive and self-appointed exclusivity that only serves to perpetuate the subjugation of the underrepresented masses whose viewpoints, perched precariously on the precipice of academic oblivion, subsist only on the self-delusion that those in power may have a vested interest in their preservation, when in fact those Traffickers of "truth" and "knowledge" in the Markets of Information (in which the underclassed are mere consumers), those Curators of Global Museums of hypothesis and speculation (in which the proletariat are mere spectating pedestrians) are concerned only to the extent of producing a new clever aphorism to join the established proverbs that decorate the day-to-day calendars on sale in the gift shops. Fie on your interpretation of the text in question!"

A social epistemologist nearby, whom the escalating encounter had repeatedly distracted from a text message reply, glances up at the two quarreling companions with a look that asks: Wtf? But, somewhat amused by this academic altercation, he decides to intervene:

"Excuse me. I couldn't help but overhear your discussion, and if you'll allow me to impart some premature wisdom upon you without your permission, I would just like to say that what seems to be at fault here in this decidedly dogmatic dialogue is a lack of perspective; of a coherent and agreed-upon vocabulary in which to engage discussion on an equal plane without the hierarchical framework to which your respective disciplines somewhat primitively tend to have recourse. You see, there is no privileged value system that exists for any of us to try and uphold here. You must be aware that you are the intoxicant-imbibing patrons of a dim, smoky, grimy social establishment on the outskirts of a local urban university campus, engaged in an intellectual conversation which is ultimately of no consequence to the unremarkably non-intellectuals among you. Since the effectiveness of each of your claims is contingent upon the other's level of tolerance (or lack thereof), your individual judgments are irrelevant and, therefore, expendable. You must admit this is a hopeless endeavor. Now: who wants a shot?" he says with a smile.

The Marxist and the literary critic glance at each other, dumbfounded at this interjection, and then, turning to the epistemologist, exclaim in unison, "Fuck off, poser!" and, with a clink! of their mugs and a hearty L.O.L., continue with their conversation...

-M.C.