Postlapsarian was a word I learned while engaged in my fancy schmancy liberal arts education (read: I needed more schooling to get a job after finishing college because I don’t have a trust fund nor am I connected in any way).
And unlike the other words I learned while engaged in my liberal arts education, I did not mock this term with derision. It spoke to me.
I learned the word from Milton’s Paradise Lost. I’m sure someone can throw down a more imposing collection of words, but that’s not why I still carry around a beat up copy of my Norton Edition (yeah, you nerdy English majors know what I’m talking about) Paradise Lost to score with all the hot chicks. I like the book. I mean, it’s really about some jealous guy trying to knock God in the nuts. Of course, you always lose against God. Or so I learned in Sunday school.
In this context, postlapsarian is about man’s fall from God’s grace. I’m sure there’s a more complex literary and much more complex ecclesiastical meaning behind it. But the way I understand it, postlapsarian has to do with things after the fall of man. Please note I used all lowercase letters.
Why do I use it? Because in a sense, everything we do falls short of perfection — the blissful state of being that we were putativey in under the care of God — but really, that’s where it gets interesting doesn’t it?
If you don’t get it, then go suck on a rock.
So, that’s why I chose the name postlapsarian, because I fancy it so.